#bodycontrol

Made Miku! (Wingit)

CONTENT WARNING: This story includes themes of transformation and body control with a suggestive approach. If this type of narrative is not to your liking or you do not meet the recommended age, we suggest you do not continue. All images used (if any) belong to their respective owners. I claim no authorship over them and they are only used for illustrative purposes.

If you decide to go ahead, welcome to Possessed Desires, where mind and body are never completely under your control.

Dog Days Of College

— Bark, bark. Guaarfff, guarfff!

— Dude, calm down. Be quiet!

Oh shit. I don't know when I thought this was a good idea. I study Neuroscience at university, and like any other scientist, my dream was to be able to create something that would leave a mark, something that wasn't something typical or normal like brain mapping or the like. I wanted something evolutionary, something that the limits of science fiction had only dared to touch: Body swapping.

The idea was simple: two pills with nanochips that, once ingested, will travel through the bloodstream until they reach the brain. Once there, they settle throughout the gray matter in important places like memories or personality. And with an internet-like connection, the chips of subject A link to those of subject B, allowing the exchange. It was practically foolproof! But I didn't count on my idiot roommate. A brainless jock more concerned with building muscle and flirting with the girls on campus than paying attention to the basic things I was telling him.

We both lived in a dorm, luckily a house. I needed it because of the space my research required, and he... I don't doubt he did something with one of the administrators to get the spot. We didn't get along badly; he could be nice when he used his brain, but he was too dumb. Which irritated me on more than one occasion.

My plan was to test the experiment on two dogs, a Golden Retriever and a Chihuahua. They both had distinct personalities, so seeing if the experiment worked would be very noticeable. I had already given his pill to "Rex," a rather playful and cheerful Golden Retriever who needed to go running every day, and also had a voracious appetite.

I was about to give it to the other dog when the phone rang in the kitchen. I went upstairs with the pill in hand to leave it on the kitchen counter (maybe that was my mistake there too). When I answered, it was from the neuroscience department who wanted to talk to me, so I practically ran out of the house.

I thought it was something serious, but it was mostly doubts about the project, almost mockery about how I was aiming too high and that what I wanted to achieve was practically impossible, something that would take more than thirty years to accomplish. I returned home in low spirits, so low that I didn't notice at first the chaos in the whole place: Furniture overturned, a few broken things, pillows here and there, shoes strewn all over the floor. I thought we'd been robbed, until I heard the strange sound of footsteps in the kitchen, but they sounded... different. I advanced cautiously, armed with an umbrella, step by step. The refrigerator was wide open. I couldn't see anyone because the counter blocked my path, but I heard a noise behind it, like someone eating hastily, the food being ground clumsily and desperately.

Great, the thief was also stealing our food. I inhaled as calmly as I could, advancing until I reached the other end of the kitchen, umbrella on guard, but far from finding a thief, I found Jackson, my roommate. On his knees, his chin and mouth full of spaghetti. The food container was on the floor, a mess of sauce and saliva around it.

— Jackson? What the fuck are you doing?

He was wearing a tight workout outfit, a navy blue spandex shirt tightly clinging to his muscles, and black shorts. He looked up at me before simply barking.

— Bark! Bark!

He said with a smile as he happily swayed his hips from side to side. I thought it was a joke (or that he'd gone crazy), but then I saw the counter: Empty.

The studio locker room smelled like sweat, cheap soap, and leather benches. Sunlight poured through the windows, casting long shadows on the tiled floor. Two shirtless guys stood in front of the mirrors, still catching their breath from the last scene.

But these weren’t really Jace Norman and Asher Angel.

Inside Jace’s body was Ezra — a ghost who’d been lost for years, now breathing again.

And inside Asher’s was Kian, another spirit, long forgotten but just as alive now.

Ezra ran his hands over the smooth muscles of Jace’s chest, eyes wide. “Bro, this is insane. Like, look at this,” he flexed lightly. “I’ve never felt a body like this before. It’s like walking art.”

Kian chuckled from the bench, towel around his neck, admiring Asher’s reflection. “Right? I was a twig back in the day, now I’m this... hunk. Feels kinda wild.”

Ezra turned, grinning. “Honestly? You look mad good. Like, I lowkey wanna steal you.”

Kian smirked, stepping closer. “If you’re trying to flirt, you’re killin’ it, man.”

Ezra shrugged, feeling heat creep up his neck. “We’re ghosts. Rules are kinda optional.”

They both laughed but kept glancing at each other in the mirror, noticing how good it felt to be seen like this—not as ghosts, but as real people with skin and muscles and breath.

“You ever think we’ll wanna keep this? Like... actually be them?” Ezra asked.

Kian smiled softly. “Honestly? I think I already do.”

They stood there, close enough to feel the warmth between them. Then, like something electric sparked in the air, Ezra leaned in slowly.

Kian met him halfway.

Their lips touched — soft at first, testing — then deeper, like they’d been holding back forever. The world faded, and it was just them. Two souls who had no business being alive again but found a heartbeat worth fighting for.

A couple weeks later, they were fully in the groove of living as Jace and Asher. They’d mastered the moves, the voices, the fans. Social media was a whole new playground.

One afternoon, Ezra (Jace) snapped a photo in the mirror, shirtless and dripping with water from a quick shower. He posted it on “Jace’s” Instagram with a cheeky caption:

“Who needs summer when you got these gains? #Blessed #NoFilter”

Within minutes, the likes and comments exploded.

Kian (Asher) smiled, pulling out his phone. “Bet I can top that.”

He went live on “Asher’s” Instagram, shirtless, flexing his biceps and joking around. “What’s good, guys? Just out here, keeping it real. Y’all better keep up or I’m stealing Jace’s spotlight.”

Then Ezra popped into the live, waving and grinning. “Yo, don’t listen to this dude, I’m the real deal.”

The fans went wild watching the two “stars” joke and tease each other on live cam — shirtless, laughing, vibing like best friends.

And behind the screens? Ezra and Kian kept stealing glances at each other, the line between pretend and real blurring with every smile and touch.

One night, after a long shoot, they found themselves alone again in the locker room. Shirtless, tired, but buzzing from the day.

Kian caught Ezra’s eye and said softly, “You feel this too, right? Like... this is more than just playing a role?”

Ezra nodded, heart pounding like never before. “Yeah. I think I’m falling for you. Like, for real.”

Kian smiled, stepping closer until their chests almost touched. “Me too.”

Without thinking, Ezra pulled Kian into a kiss that was rougher, urgent. They’d tried to hold back, but now the floodgates were open.

The kiss deepened, hands exploring, breath mingling. The locker room faded into nothing but the two of them — alive, shirtless, and finally free to be exactly who they wanted.

Months later, they weren’t ghosts anymore. They were Ezra and Kian, living in Jace and Asher’s bodies — and more in love than ever.

They had their whole new lives ahead of them.

The air inside Matthew Uy’s apartment was still—too still. The kind of silence that doesn’t belong in a place where life should be moving.

Then, it happened. A shimmer in the air, barely visible, like heat rising from asphalt. The ghost of Elias Dela Torre slipped through the walls, unseen and unnoticed. He had been watching, waiting. And now, the moment had come.

Matthew had just returned from an event, tired, unaware of the presence lingering in the shadows. As he stood in front of his mirror, stretching his sore muscles, Elias made his move.

A sudden chill swept through the room. Matthew’s breath hitched. His eyes fluttered, and his body stiffened for just a moment. Then—stillness again.

But something had changed.

The figure in the mirror blinked. Then smirked.

Elias took a deep breath, feeling his new lungs expand. He stretched his fingers, flexing them experimentally. Then, with a smirk, he grabbed the hem of Matthew’s shirt and pulled it over his head, tossing it to the floor.

“Damn,” Elias whispered, admiring the reflection before him. He ran a hand over the smooth skin, tracing the lines of the toned torso he now possessed. “This body… is perfect.”

He turned side to side, rolling his shoulders, feeling the strength in every movement. The definition of his abs, the curve of his chest—it was all his now. A body so young, so full of life. So unlike the fading memory of the form he once had.

Elias chuckled, running a hand through Matthew’s dark hair, tilting his head as he examined his new face. “Handsome. No wonder people like him.”

He flexed an arm, admiring the muscle, then dragged his fingertips across his jawline. This was power. This was life again.

Stepping away from the mirror, he rolled his neck, reveling in the sensation of warm blood pumping through his veins. He clenched a fist, then relaxed it.

Elias grinned at the sound of the knock but ignored it for now. He was still busy. This body—his body now—deserved to be fully explored.

He turned back to the mirror, rolling his shoulders and watching the way the muscles moved beneath his skin. He let his fingers run across his collarbones, then down his chest, feeling every inch as if he had been reborn.

A thought struck him.

He grabbed Matthew’s phone from the nightstand, flipping to the camera. The screen lit up, showing his new face, new body—his new existence.

He switched to video mode, propping the phone against the mirror before stepping back. The red recording light blinked.

Elias spread his arms out and slowly turned, making sure to capture every angle. The light in the room cast sharp shadows on his torso, highlighting each ridge and dip of his toned physique. He smirked, brushing a hand through his hair before flexing, watching how the muscles tensed.

He ran his palms over his chest, down to his abs, exhaling as he traced each defined line. "This… this is a body worth having," he murmured to himself.

He leaned closer to the camera, tilting his head with curiosity. He touched his lips, felt the warmth of them, then ran a thumb along his jaw. He had forgotten what it felt like to be solid, to be alive.

He chuckled, turning off the recording and playing it back. Watching himself on the screen, he grinned.

"I could get used to this."

Elias stretched his arms, cracked his neck, and exhaled. The ghost of Elias Dela Torre was no more.

El prófugo intergalactico

Xylar, un alienígena del tamaño de una moneda y con piel luminiscente, sentía cómo su pequeña nave vibraba violentamente. Había robado un dispositivo de memoria crucial de la Federación Galáctica y ahora dos cruceros de la policía lo perseguían por la galaxia Andrómeda.

"¡Maldición!", exclamó Xylar en su idioma natal, mientras una ráfaga de plasma cortaba el motor de impulsión. La nave, dañada y sin control, fue succionada por un agujero de gusano no mapeado.

Xylar perdió el conocimiento. Cuando despertó, la nave estaba estrellada y humeante en medio de un denso bosque, en una atmósfera rica en oxígeno. Miró su rastreador: la policía galáctica estaba a pocas horas de localizar su firma energética. Tenía que ocultarse en una forma de vida local.

Salió de la nave y observó a través de unos arbustos. Era una zona rural de un planeta primitivo llamado Tierra. De repente, vio a un humano varón pasar cerca. Xylar analizó a la criatura: caminaba erguida, pero lo que más llamó su atención fue un gran, denso y tupido bigote que adornaba el rostro del hombre, moviéndose con cada risa.

—Interesante —pensó Xylar—. Esa estructura capilar es densa y perfecta para camuflar mi firma energética.

Xylar activó su capacidad de metamorfosis celular. Su cuerpo diminuto se expandió y reconfiguró, volviéndose marrón, denso y filamentoso. En cuestión de segundos, se convirtió en un bigote espectacularmente tupido, casi idéntico al del humano, pero con un brillo sutil en el centro.

Saltó justo cuando el hombre se detenía para amarrarse las agujetas y se adhirió bajo su nariz.

La simbiosis fue instantánea. Al unirse, el ADN de Xylar se entrelazó con el folículo piloso y las terminaciones nerviosas del humano. Xylar sintió una oleada de pensamientos extraños: deseo de comer barbacoa, arreglar tractores y decir frases graciosas.

—¡Vaya, qué bigote tan cómodo siento hoy! —dijo el humano, sin saber que su mente ya no era suya.

Xylar tomó el control total. "Perfecto", pensó el alienígena usando la voz del huésped. "Este humano, 'Don Roberto', es el alcalde del pueblo. Con su bigote, nadie sospechará de mí mientras reparo mi nave".

Xylar (ahora el Bigote-Líder) obligó a Roberto a entrar en una tienda de herramientas para comprar soldadura, mientras la policía galáctica pasaba por encima de la Tierra, buscando sin éxito una firma alienígena en un simple humano con un mostacho peculiarmente brillante. Xylar había ganado... por ahora.

Ever just feel like you need to dance? ...whether you want to or not...?

A literal switch.

A point on their bodies, hidden from view, a tight little bundle of nerves that when stimulated the right way sends a pulse of data through there bodies whether they like it or not, something they would hide as best they could, but who knows when midway through domming some sweet cute little thing their sub flashes that devious, mischievous smile, a hand snakes out and a long sharp fingernail strokes that secret little spot.

Suddenly that dommy little robot drone starts shivering and twitching uncontrollably as its desire to dominate is overwritten, sinking to the floor whimpering as it can feel its core needs altered and changed, spreading its legs wide as it drops, arching its back and straightening its body for display, the process deliberately slow, drawn out, it struggles each time, knowing those few seconds stretching out into eternity might be the last time for days thay it controls its own thoughts and body.