#buffasian

—Prologue—

—Part 1—

—Part 2—

Mr. Chen’s smirk deepened as he watched Junhao wrestle with his own longing. The tension was thick in the air, charged with unspoken desire, humiliation, and something darker—acceptance.

He reclined further into his chair, spreading his thick legs, giving JunHao the full display of his superior form. His chest rose and fell in slow, deliberate movements, knowing full well how mesmerizing his body had become. Each muscle, sculpted and hardened through his efforts—JunHao’s past dedication, but now perfected under Mr. Chen’s reign.

“You spent years training this body,” Mr. Chen continued, rolling his shoulders, letting the immense weight of his own superiority settle over the room. “But you never unlocked its true potential.”

JunHao’s breath hitched again. His fingers twitched against his thighs, itching—aching—to reach out and touch what had once been his.

Mr. Chen noticed.

And yet, there was something… unfinished.

“Tell me, JunHao,” Mr. Chen mused, flexing his bicep just to watch the thick, sculpted muscle peak. “Do you miss it?”

JunHao’s breath hitched. His eyes flickered up, meeting Mr. Chen’s, then immediately dropped back down to the very body he once called his own.

“Miss… what?” JunHao asked, though they both knew the answer.

Mr. Chen smirked. “This,” he said simply, running a hand down his chest, over his hardened abs, relishing the way the grooves of his muscles responded under his touch. “The power. The perfection. The body you spent years building… only for me to take it to new heights.”

JunHao shuddered, his fists clenching against his own thighs.

Mr. Chen leaned forward, his smirk widening. “I’ll give you a chance,” he said smoothly. “A chance to step back into what was once yours. To feel every fiber of strength, every ounce of virility that I’ve cultivated. Maybe then you’ll truly understand how much work I’ve put into my body.”

JunHao’s eyes widened. He should have said no. He should have resisted. But the temptation was too much.

“…You’d let me back into my own body?” he whispered.

Mr. Chen chuckled, tilting his head. “Of course,” he said. “Its my body now, but I want you to know what you lost. To feel what true greatness is. I want you to know how it feels to be me.” He reached out, his fingers gripping JunHao’s chin firmly. ““When you realize you can’t measure up to the man I’ve become and when you fail to handle it… you’ll know why it belongs to me.” Mr. Chen breathed against his lips, his grip tightening, his biceps flexing in raw power.

His voice was final. Undeniable.

And deep down, although JunHao accepted, he knew Mr. Chen was right.

The swap was instant.

Power surged through JunHao’s veins, the sheer weight of his former body crashing onto him like a tidal wave. His muscles screamed with untamed strength, his chest heaving as he inhaled deeply, taking in the overwhelming presence of his returned physique.

He stood up too fast.

The moment his feet planted on the ground, his legs buckled, his balance thrown off by the sheer density of his thighs. His vision blurred from the sudden rush of testosterone. His biceps felt alien, his pecs too heavy, his core too tight. Even his…

A sudden throb between his legs sent a violent shudder up his spine.

JunHao gasped, gripping onto the nearest surface, his head spinning.

It was too much.

This wasn’t the body he had once known. It wasn’t the JunHao that had belonged to him.

It was Mr. Chen’s now.

Every single fiber, every cut of muscle, every inch of it had been reworked, refined, and perfected to serve a different master.

And it wasn’t him.

A low, knowing chuckle echoed from behind him.

JunHao turned—his body sluggish, unresponsive, as if rejecting him—and met his own smug gaze.

Mr. Chen, now in JunHao’s new, lesser body, leaned back against the chair, watching with pure amusement.

“Struggling?” Mr. Chen taunted, stretching out his arms. “Tsk. I knew you wouldn’t be able to handle it. You see, JunHao… I made this body mine.”

JunHao’s breath came out in ragged pants, his hands trembling as he tried to steady himself. But the heat—the sheer intensity—was relentless. His own virility overwhelmed him, the constant pulse of need to release that Mr. Chen had cultivated within his flesh rendering him helpless.

Mr. Chen tilted his head. “Go on,” he urged. “Flex. See what real power feels like.”

JunHao hesitated. But he had to. He had to prove he was still worthy.

He clenched his fists and flexed.

—And then he felt it.

A pulse at his crotch. A swelling heat that spread through his core, surging like liquid fire through his veins. His length twitched, a bead of wetness forming at the tip, his peak of energy leaking through. It was uncontrollable—unstoppable.

He looked down, mortified, as a small wet patch seeped through the fabric.

Mr. Chen laughed. Loud, cocky, knowing.

“Oh? You’re already leaking?” he taunted, shaking his head. “You haven’t even done anything yet.”

JunHao clenched his fists, his face burning with a mix of shame and undeniable pleasure.

He instantly crumpled.

His biceps surged, his chest tightened, his abs contracted—and the sheer intensity of it sent a violent jolt straight to his core. His cock throbbed, a sharp, unrelenting ache shooting through his body as his knees buckled. His breath hitched, sweat dripping down his temple as he fought to regain control.

Mr. Chen laughed.

A deep, rich, dominant laugh.

JunHao was drowning in the sheer masculinity of his former body.

Mr. Chen stood, rolling his shoulders, smirking as he stepped forward, pressing a firm hand against JunHao's shoulder.

Mr. Chen knew.

And right now, what was supposed to be his body was begging for release.

Mr. Chen was relentless. His hands explored every ridge of muscle, his grip firm, possessive. He knew exactly where to touch, where to press, where to command the body to respond.

With a slow, deliberate motion, Mr. Chen reached forward and grabbed JunHao’s thick, trembling thigh. His grip was firm, possessive—his fingers digging into the hard-earned muscle that once belonged to JunHao.

Junhao moaned, his body jerking under the touch.

“Oh?” Mr. Chen purred, his other hand trailing up to squeeze JunHao’s massive pec, feeling the firm weight of it beneath his palm. “Sensitive, are we?”

JunHao barely managed to choke out a response. His jaw clenched, his chest heaving, his body on fire.

Mr. Chen leaned in, his breath hot against JunHao’s ear. “You don’t have control over it anymore, do you?” he whispered, fingers tracing over every ridge of muscle, every overcharged nerve ending. “Your own body listens to me now.”

A violent shudder racked through JunHao as another pulse shot through him, a fresh surge of wetness spreading at his crotch. His hands clawed at Mr. Chen’s arms, gripping onto him for stability, his mind blank with raw sensation.

“You feel that?” Mr. Chen whispered, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction. “This body isn’t yours anymore. It’s mine. It only responds to me—my dominance, my discipline, my drive.” He grinned, leaning in closer.

Mr. Chen grinned, loving every second of JunHao’s struggle.

“Don’t hold back,” he taunted, voice smooth, commanding. “Let it happen.”

JunHao’s breath hitched. His entire being was teetering on the edge, the unbearable pressure inside him reaching its breaking point.

And then—

The floodgates burst open.

A choked cry tore from JunHao’s lips as the biggest release of his life crashed over him, his body seizing under the sheer force of it. His abs clenched, his legs trembled, and his cock throbbed violently, unleashing everything he had. JunHao thought that once he had released again in his body, he would feel back at home... like a soft reset.

But it was different. The sensation was too much—his mind white-hot with pleasure, his body locked in pure, uncontrollable bliss.

He could feel it, every rope of release, every pulse, his senses overloaded to the point of devastation.

Mr. Chen’s laughter rumbled low in his throat.

“Look at you,” he murmured, brushing a hand through JunHao’s soaked, trembling form. “Ruined. Completely undone by your own body.”

JunHao collapsed, gasping for air, his limbs too weak to even support him. His vision swam, his muscles shaking, his mind reeling from the sheer intensity of it all.

It wasn’t just a release—it was something deeper, something that reached inside him and rewrote the pleasure itself. Every fiber of his being felt like it was on fire, burning with a new, unfamiliar ecstasy.

And then… the horror set in.

Because no matter how good it felt—no matter how perfect it was—he couldn’t enjoy it.

It wasn’t his. It didn’t belong to him anymore. The pleasure, the power, the control—it all belonged to Mr. Chen. JunHao was just a passenger now, trapped in the very body he once owned, feeling everything but owning nothing. The orgasm he had felt like it was meant for someone else. Someone more cocky, someone more worthy of his body's potential.

Mr. Chen smirked, watching as realization dawned on JunHao’s face, the aftershocks still rolling through his trembling form. “Now you understand,” he murmured. “This isn’t your body anymore.” He leaned in, his breath hot against JunHao’s ear.

“See?” he murmured. “You don’t own this body anymore. It owns you.”

Junhao whimpered, the sound humiliating—degrading.

Mr. Chen leaned in, voice dripping with amusement.

JunHao’s body shuddered. His pride shattered.

And for the first time, he truly knew what it meant to be owned.

“You’re not worthy of it,” he whispered. “And you never will be again.”

And with that—he took it back.

The swap snapped into place.

JunHao was ripped from the overwhelming power, shoved back into his weaker body, gasping as the sheer absence of strength left him hollow. He fell to his knees, panting, shaking, his head spinning.

Mr. Chen, now back in his rightful body, “Damn,” he exhaled, rolling his shoulders. “That was fun.” He glanced down at Junhao, who knelt before him—defeated, wrecked, utterly submissive.

The moment his mind settled into its true vessel, a slow, satisfied exhale escaped his lips. The lingering warmth, the twitching aftermath of pleasure, the residual echoes of JunHao’s devastating release—it was all still there. His muscles pulsed with power, his skin tingling, his core tight with an aftershock of pleasure that made him let out a low, pleased groan.

This was his body.

And it felt incredible.

Mr. Chen flexed his fingers, rolling his shoulders, feeling the residual shudders coursing through his sculpted frame. His pecs still twitched, his thighs burned, and down below, his cock still throbbed—not out of need, but out of pure, overwhelming satisfaction.

He grinned. JunHao had done well.

The sensation was different—a release that wasn’t fully his own, yet one he now owned entirely. The echoes of JunHao’s climax belonged to him, his nerves still alight with the pleasure he had stolen back.

Mr. Chen stretched, the flex of his dominant, powerful muscles sending a fresh pulse of testosterone through his veins. His body was radiating heat, still fresh from its most recent eruption.

A chuckle rumbled from his throat as he glanced down at JunHao—now slumped in the weaker body, his expression dazed, his skin flushed, his chest rising and falling in exhausted gasps.

"Pathetic," Mr. Chen muttered, dragging a finger along his rock-hard abs, still glistening from the mess that had just been claimed. “You couldn’t even handle one round in MY body.”.

Mr. Chen smirked, rolling his shoulders before reaching down to remove his sneakers—his sneakers, though they had been thoroughly worked in by JunHao’s sweat and struggle. The moment he slipped them off, a thick, heady musk filled the air—pure testosterone, pure ownership.

He lifted one sneaker to his face, inhaling deeply.The moment the scent hit him, his cock twitched again. Thick, indulgent musk—a mixture of sweat, testosterone, and dominance—clung to the well-worn fabric, a tangible reminder of his endless workouts, his relentless perfection. His cock twitched instantly, his body reacting viscerally to the proof of its own greatness. Every moment that JunHao had taken, every ounce of effort he had put in, all of it had been absorbed into his sneakers, his body, his essence.

His cock—already semi-hard from the lingering echoes of his last eruption—gave an urgent throb, pulsing with a new demand.

His breathing grew heavier as he pressed the sneaker to his face, savoring the potent musk. This was what it meant to own a body—to dominate it, to break it in, to let its very scent mark him as the true master. His cock throbbed, swollen with undeniable arousal, and the moment he ran a hand down his sculpted abs, feeling the sweat still clinging to his perfect skin—

He barely had time to smirk before it happened.

A sudden, uncontrollable convulsion ran through his body, his muscles tightening, his veins surging with liquid fire. His balls ached, still swollen from the first massive release, but they had more to give.

His breath hitched. His grip on the sneakers tightened.

The semen gates burst open once again. Thick ropes of his pent-up dominance shot forth, his entire body trembling with the force of it. His toes curled, his calves flexed, his pecs tensed, and a deep, guttural moan escaped his lips—unfiltered, primal, completely unrestrained.

He couldn’t stop it.

He didn’t want to stop it.

The realization only made him cum harder.

The sheer masculinity of it, the undeniable proof of his superiority, his raw virility—it sent him spiraling into another relentless high.

His chest heaved, his vision blurred, his senses overwhelmed by the musk still flooding his lungs.

When the last wave finally subsided, he stood there, shaking, drenched in the aftershocks of his own overwhelming potency.

A low chuckle rumbled from his throat.

“Two releases… in under ten minutes.” His voice was thick with smug satisfaction as he wiped a streak of his own warm release from his abs. “I really am… too much for even myself.”

His cock throbbed, standing hard and proud, a testament to his unmatched virility.

He grabbed his sneakers again, pressed his nose deep into the soaked fabric, and took a long, indulgent inhale—letting the raw, intoxicating essence of his own manhood flood his senses.

The effect was instant.

A sharp jolt shot down his spine, his muscles flexing involuntarily, his thighs tensing, his balls tightening with that all-too-familiar aching fullness.

“Oh fuck… would you look at that?” he groaned, gripping his pulsing shaft, feeling the veins bulge against his palm.

His body wanted it.

His body demanded it.

And who was he to deny his own greatness?

He spread his stance wider, his thick quads tensing, his calves flexing, his entire physique pulsing with the sheer excess of power coursing through him.

Then, with a deep, guttural growl, he gave in.

The third floodgate burst open—violently, relentlessly, like a dam finally giving way to a tidal wave of raw, unrestrained virility.

Thick, hot ropes of dominance shot out with explosive force, coating his perfected form, marking his superiority with every pulse of release.

His pecs tensed, his biceps flexed, his veins throbbed, his body shook with the sheer magnitude of his own masculinity.

And fuck—he’d never felt more powerful.

He gasped, chest heaving, dripping in the aftermath of his third release in under fifteen minutes.

“FUCK, Three.” He let out a deep, cocky laugh, rubbing his own thick, leaking tip against his streaked abs, letting the evidence of his undeniable virility spread across his godlike body.

“And I’m still not fucking done.”

He took another deep breath, letting the lingering scent of his own perfection fill him.

And the ache in his cock told him—he wasn’t even close to done.

As his climax faded, Mr. Chen exhaled with satisfaction, rolling his neck before looking down at JunHao, who lay covered in three releases worth of his former body's essence.

“Consider that,” Mr. Chen panted, still riding the high, “your final lesson.” He tossed the sneaker onto JunHao’s chest, smirking.

“This body was never yours to begin with.”

Mr. Chen—no, JunHao—stood before the mirror, taking in his godlike form with an undeniable sense of ownership. His massive chest rose and fell steadily, his muscles pumped and primed, glistening under the soft glow of the room’s lighting.

He flexed an arm, watching his bicep peak, veins pushing to the surface like rivers of pure dominance.

This was his body now.

The true JunHao.

The only JunHao.

The moment that weak, the former version stepped out of this body a second time, he left behind everything that made him worthy. His confidence, his hunger, his overwhelming virility—all of it absorbed, enhanced, perfected by the superior mind now in control.

JunHao ran his hands down his hardened abs, feeling the power coursing through him, knowing that every ounce of testosterone, every drop of essence, every intoxicating trait had been claimed, amplified, and made absolute.

He grinned—not just with satisfaction, but with the pure, unshakable knowledge that this body had finally reached its true potential.

And it was his.

“JunHao Chen…” He whispered the name to himself, letting it roll off his tongue like a declaration of superiority.

Yes. This was who he was.

The perfect name for the perfect mind, controlling the perfect body.

There was no one before him.

There would be no one after him.

Only JunHao.

Always.

—Part 1—

The New Owner of JunHao

Mr. Chen stepped out of the hot tub, water cascading down his sculpted form, every ripple of muscle flexing as he moved. His biceps bulged as he ran a hand through his wet hair, smirking as he watched JunHao's eyes dart over his former body—now perfected, refined, made into something far greater than it ever was under its original owner.

Still wet, Mr. Chen slid a pair of shorts on and snapped his fingers, signaling JunHao to follow. The obvious bulge showing an outline left nothing to be imagined. "Come," he commanded, his voice deep, rich with amusement and control. "Let’s get you ready for your new place in my world."

————————————————————————

JunHao’s breath was ragged as he stared at himself in the mirror. The first thing to do was to take a selfie. His new body was good—tall, strong, muscular—but it wasn’t his body. Not his perfect masterpiece. His abs were defined, but not carved to perfection. His biceps bulged, but they didn’t have the effortless dominance his old arms once commanded. His thighs were thick and powerful, but they didn’t exude the same sheer supremacy he had cultivated for years.

He clenched his fists, flexing experimentally, feeling the strength coursing through his new form. It was almost enough. Almost.

Then, Mr. Chen stepped forward.

"Enough staring," Mr. Chen murmured, towering over him in his old body—his real body. The one JunHao had once owned, sculpted, and perfected. "You know your duty."

JunHao swallowed.

He did.

He dropped to his knees.

His hands moved with reverence, fingers gliding over the carved ridges of Mr. Chen’s abs. His abs. Or at least, they used to be. He knew every sensitive spot, every dip and curve that could send shivers down the spine.

Mr. Chen inhaled sharply as JunHao’s palms trailed lower, tracing the obliques that led down to that undeniable power.

"You remember well," Mr. Chen muttered, his voice strained yet smug.

JunHao’s lips curled. "How could I forget?" His new hands, unfamiliar yet eager, caressed the pecs he had once flexed proudly in the mirror. His tongue flicked over a nipple, knowing exactly how sensitive it was.

Mr. Chen let out a low groan, his massive hands gripping JunHao’s shoulders. His new servant wasn’t just worshipping him—he was testing him, proving that no one knew this body better than its original owner.

JunHao smirked against Mr. Chen’s chest. "It’s strange," he mused, his voice thick with something dangerously close to amusement. "Touching my own body like this. Knowing exactly where it’s most sensitive, where it needs attention."

Mr. Chen growled, his fingers digging into Junhao’s shoulders. "My body now," he snapped.

"Of course," JunHao murmured, pressing his lips to the chiseled valley between Mr. Chen’s pecs, savoring the familiarity.

He didn’t stop there.

As his hands moved lower, he felt the body respond—Mr. Chen’s legs tensed, his breath hitched, his control frayed.

JunHao relished it.

He traced his fingers down the deep cut of the Adonis belt, lips trailing lower, heat coiling between them like a storm waiting to break.

And then—

Mr. Chen snapped.

A deep, guttural sound tore from his throat as the floodgates burst open. Even without touching his cock, the pure sensitivity that JunHao made him feel through sensual touch caused him to orgasm already. His grip tightened, muscles flexing in a final, uncontrollable release.

JunHao gasped as warmth spilled over him, his new body drenched in proof of his former form’s absolute dominance. A large, thick white load covered him which had a heavy scent of primal testosterone.

Silence fell between them, heavy and charged.

JunHao looked up, his lips curling as he wiped a stray streak from his cheek.

"Still the ultimate body," he murmured, reminiscing of all his sexual encounters and how every girl was always amazed by how much and potent his load was. JunHao could remember how virile his body matched with his neverending stamina which resulted in fast rejuvenation of insane large loads.

Mr. Chen, still catching his breath, smirked down at him.

"And now, it's mine."

————————————————————————

JunHao gritted his teeth as he lowered himself into another deep squat, his thighs burning, his breath ragged. The barbell trembled on his shoulders, loaded heavier than it should have been, but he needed to push more. He needed more.

Each day, he woke before dawn, forcing his new body through the same relentless punishment his old one had thrived under. He started with heavy compound movements—deep squats, brutal deadlifts, overhead presses—grinding his muscles down to failure. His lungs burned with every set, his heart hammering in his chest. His stamina was nothing like before.

Yet, he refused to accept his limits.

Midday brought isolation training—biceps curls, chest flies, endless crunches to carve out the abs he should have had by now. He slammed protein shakes, ate like a beast, and trained until his body screamed. But the exhaustion crept in faster than before. His new body wasn't built for this.

Still, he pushed. He had to surpass his old self.

"I will be better than before."

But no matter how hard he worked, the mirror reflected the same bitter truth. His pecs weren’t swelling the way they used to. His veins weren’t popping. His body wasn’t chiseling itself into dominance like before.

Why?

Why wasn’t he getting better?

————————————————————————

That night, drenched in sweat, body aching from his latest punishing gym session, Junhao found himself where he always did—on his knees, hands roaming across the thick, sculpted muscle of his former body.

Mr. Chen leaned back, arms folded behind his head, smirking as JunHao’s hands traced his solid pecs, down his ridged abs.

"Still at it, huh?" Mr. Chen murmured. "I can feel how hard you've been working."

JunHao swallowed, pressing his lips to the firm chest he once called his own. So perfect. So strong. His fingers trembled as he kneaded the thick muscle, his own body yearning to match this one.

Then Mr. Chen flexed under his touch—his biceps swelling, his abs tightening—and the realization hit JunHao like a freight train.

This wasn’t just a feeling.

Mr. Chen had actually grown stronger.

JunHao pulled back, eyes widening as he stared at the body before him. The pecs were fuller. The veins on the biceps thicker. The deep cuts in the abs sharper.

It wasn’t possible.

His voice shook. “W-what…?”

Mr. Chen grinned, running a hand over his powerful chest. “You’ve been training so hard, JunHao. So damn hard.” He stretched, flexing his arms. “And it’s paying off… for me.”

JunHao froze.

No. No, that couldn’t be right.

“I don’t… I don’t understand,” he whispered.

“Oh, but you do,” Mr. Chen said smoothly, gripping JunHao’s chin and tilting his head up. “Every rep. Every squat. Every drop of sweat you’ve poured into this… it’s been feeding me.”

JunHao’s breath hitched. His stomach twisted.

“You've been making me bigger,” Mr. Chen continued, voice thick with satisfaction. “While you? You’re just burning yourself out.”

JunHao trembled, his heart pounding in disbelief. He wanted to deny it, to push away the truth—but his fingers told him otherwise.

The muscle beneath his touch was denser, thicker, stronger than before.

His own training… his own suffering… had been fueling the very body he once owned.

A deep, guttural laugh rumbled from Mr. Chen’s chest. “Look at you,” he murmured, running a heavy hand through JunHao’s damp hair. “On your knees, worshipping the results of your own hard work. It’s almost poetic.”

JunHao’s hands clenched against Mr. Chen’s thighs. His chest tightened, a deep pit of sadness and frustration clawing at him.

All that work.

All that effort.

And it was all for him.

Before JunHao could react—before he could even process the weight of it—Mr. Chen exhaled sharply, body tensing. His fingers tangled in JunHao’s hair as a deep, loud groan rumbled from his throat.

And then—

Mr. Chen's body spasmed and his hips shot out with power. The strongest he has ever felt so far.

JunHao barely had time to register what was happening before he was drenched. Warm, thick, undeniable. His breath caught in his throat, his entire body frozen as Mr. Chen let out a satisfied sigh above him.

He was covered in the proof of his defeat.

JunHao sat there, trembling, stunned, soaked in the essence of the body he once owned.

Mr. Chen exhaled deeply, flexing once more. "That was a big one," he murmured, looking down at JunHao with a smirk. He dragged his fingers down his abs, spreading the lingering mess across his sculpted stomach. "Guess I had a lot to thank you for."

JunHao's vision blurred, shame, exhaustion, and frustration crashing down on him all at once. His fingers dug into his own thighs, body trembling.

Mr. Chen leaned forward, gripping JunHao’s chin again, forcing him to meet his gaze. His voice was low, victorious.

“You belong to me,” he whispered. “And every time you train, every time you push yourself… I will always be the one who gets stronger.”

JunHao swallowed hard, his throat tight.

"Keep working, JunHao," Mr. Chen murmured. "Keep worshipping. Because no matter how hard you try..."

He smirked. He flexed.

"You'll never be me."

————————————————————————

JunHao kneeled before him, eyes locked onto the body he once called his own. Every inch of Mr. Chen radiated strength—his broad shoulders, his sculpted chest, the ridges of his abs that looked even more defined under the dim lights. His biceps flexed lazily as he ran a hand through his thick hair, a smirk permanently carved into his face.

JunHao swallowed hard.

He’s… perfect.

There was no denying it anymore. No amount of hatred, jealousy, or frustration could change the fact that Mr. Chen was better in his body than he had ever been. The way he carried himself, the effortless confidence, the sheer cockiness in every smirk, every taunt—it wasn’t something Junhao had ever truly embraced before.

But seeing it now?

He was obsessed.

“You’re quiet tonight,” Mr. Chen mused, rolling his shoulders back, making a show of flexing his pecs. “Finally accepting reality?”

JunHao’s lips parted, but no words came out.

Because deep down, he had accepted it.

His body—his former body—deserved to be worshipped.

Mr. Chen leaned forward, gripping JunHao’s chin with rough fingers. “Admit it,” he whispered, tilting Junhao’s face upward. “You love seeing me in your body. You love that I made it better.”

JunHao shivered at the touch, heat pooling low in his stomach. His heart pounded against his ribs, shame mixing with a dangerous thrill.

He did love it.

The way Mr. Chen pushed the limits, never settling, always making it more.

JunHao had spent months training, believing he could surpass his past self, only to realize every drop of sweat, every rep, every moment of exhaustion had only served to make his former body even greater.

It was the ultimate humiliation.

And yet…

He couldn’t stop.

He wanted to see his body grow. He wanted to see just how much stronger, more powerful, more perfect it could become under Mr. Chen’s rule.

“Say it,” Mr. Chen pressed, fingers tightening around his jaw.

JunHao licked his lips. His breath was shallow, his resolve crumbling.

“…You’re better in my body than I ever was,” he whispered.

A slow, arrogant grin spread across Mr. Chen’s face.

“Good boy.”

JunHao didn’t just serve—he devoted himself.

————————————————————————

Morning and night, he followed Mr. Chen’s every move, ensuring his former body was treated like a god. He prepared every meal, calculated every calorie, adjusted every supplement to perfection. He massaged the thick muscles, feeling every fiber of power that pulsed beneath the skin.

And when the nightly rituals came…

He worshipped.

He ran his tongue along the sweat-slick ridges of the abs he once worked for. He traced every vein that bulged across the thick biceps, pressing kisses against them, tasting the salt of his own former perfection.

Most of all, he savored the essence of his past self.

The first time he had swallowed down Mr. Chen’s release, something in him had clicked.

It wasn’t just submission.

It was reverence.

This was his body—his legacy. Every drop that spilled from it was a part of him, a reminder of what he had once been. And instead of feeling disgust, he felt pride.

Because he had built this body.

And now, under Mr. Chen, it was finally being used to its fullest potential.

JunHao moaned softly, licking his lips as he pulled away, the taste still lingering on his tongue. His new body trembled, overwhelmed by the sensations he had long denied himself.

Mr. Chen smirked down at him, wiping a thumb across Junhao’s bottom lip. “You really do love it, don’t you?”

JunHao looked up at him, eyes dark with something dangerous.

“…Yes.”

The more he served, the more Junhao realized—Mr. Chen deserved this body. He piloted his former body better than he could have ever done on his own.

He was arrogant. Cocky. Narcissistic beyond belief.

And that’s exactly what JunHao had lacked before.

He had treated his body like a tool—something to maintain, to refine. But Mr. Chen treated it like a weapon. Like a statement. He flexed with purpose, walked with an unshakable presence, made sure everyone knew exactly how superior he was.

JunHao had been strong. But Mr. Chen was dominant.

He belonged in that body.

And JunHao?

He belonged at his feet.

Not out of shame. Not out of defeat.

But because he wanted to see perfection thrive.

He wanted to be part of the reason his former body became the ultimate form.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” Mr. Chen drawled, arms crossed over his broad chest.

JunHao exhaled, fingers trailing down the thick thigh in front of him. He felt the firm muscle twitch beneath his touch, the sheer power beneath the skin intoxicating.

“…I think you were always meant to have this body,” he admitted.

Mr. Chen arched a brow. “Oh?”

JunHao met his gaze, lips parting slightly. “And I think I was always meant to serve it.”

Mr. Chen’s smirk widened. “Now that’s what I like to hear.”

He grabbed JunHao by the hair, pulling him closer.

Mr. Chen ran a hand down his abs, tracing the sharp definition, his smirk widening as he admired himself. “You should see yourself, JunHao,” he said, voice dripping with amusement. “All that hard work… and look where it ended up.” He flexed his arms, letting the veins pop, reveling in the sheer perfection of his form. “Every rep, every drop of sweat—you weren’t training yourself.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “You were training me.”

"Now be a good boy and show me just how much you appreciate your masterpiece.”

And JunHao obeyed.

JunHao’s breath hitched, his hands still resting on Mr. Chen’s thighs, fingers pressing into the firm muscle. He slowly reached for his former cock. Hard and veiny. The slightest touch caused it radiate so much heat and filled the air with a strong manly scent. His mouth went dry.

Mr. Chen stepped closer, towering over him, his presence suffocating. “And now,” he murmured, “you get to enjoy the rewards.” JunHao jerked it a few times causing an immense pleasure to fill up in Mr. Chen.

With that, he clenched his core, his entire body tensing—pecs bouncing, abs rippling, biceps bulging—as the pressure inside him reached its breaking point.

Then—release.

A monumental flood.

JunHao gasped as the first thick rope splattered across his chest, heat sinking into his skin. Then another. And another. It was relentless—like a damn fountain, as if every rep, every flex, every ounce of strength had been stored for this single moment.

Mr. Chen groaned, his head tilting back, utterly engulfed in pleasure. “Fuck… that’s what I call a reward,” he muttered, rolling his neck as he came down from the high. His hands ran over his pumped chest, smearing some of the evidence of his dominance across his skin like war paint.

JunHao?

JunGao was soaked.

His lips were parted, his breath shaky, his entire body trembling beneath the sheer weight of it all.

Mr. Chen leaned down, gripping JunHao’s chin and tilting his face up, forcing him to look at him. “You love it,” he murmured, cockiness dripping from his tone. “You love knowing that your body is still superior. That all you can do is serve it. Worship it. Train it to be even stronger.”

JunHao’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, the truth crashing down on him.

“Go on,” Mr. Chen taunted, stepping back and spreading his arms wide, giving JunHao a full, unobstructed view of his godly physique. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

JunGao shuddered, his fingers tightening against his own thighs, his body weak, exhausted… yet so damn aroused.

“You…” he finally whispered. His voice was hoarse, raw with submission. “… You own me.”

Mr. Chen sat at his grand mahogany desk, the faint glow of his jade desk lamp casting sharp shadows across his angular features. In one hand, he swirled a glass of aged whiskey, the amber liquid catching the light as he leaned back in his chair. Before him lay a file marked Confidential—a dossier on JunHao, the man who had once been an untouchable icon of success, strength, and masculinity.

“JunHao,” Mr. Chen murmured, savoring the name like a delicacy. “You had it all, didn’t you? A thriving business, a loving girl, and a body that could make even gods envious.”

He glanced at the photo pinned to the top of the file. There JunHao stood, shirtless on a magazine cover, his sculpted physique the picture of perfection. The biceps that could stretch the seams of any suit, the chiseled abs, the confident smile—it all reeked of success, of invincibility. But Mr. Chen saw something else. Ambition. Greed. A man who had soared so high he never bothered to look down.

And that was where Mr. Chen came in.

He had orchestrated the entire downfall with surgical precision. Junhao’s business, a chain of high-end fitness centers, had been booming. But like many businessmen who thought themselves untouchable, JunHao had been careless with his partnerships. He hadn’t noticed when a shell company, quietly owned by Mr. Chen, began acquiring shares in his supply chain. He hadn’t realized when critical shipments of equipment were delayed or canceled, choking his operations.

Then came the financial strain, and with it, the loans.

“Desperate men make desperate decisions,” Mr. Chen muttered to himself, taking a sip of whiskey. He remembered the day JunHao had walked into his office, his broad shoulders weighed down by stress, his usual aura of confidence cracked.

“I need a loan,” JunHao had said, his deep voice betraying a hint of desperation.

Mr. Chen had leaned back in his chair, feigning concern. “A loan, you say? From me? The terms would have to be… unconventional.”

JunHao had hesitated, but he was a man with his back against the wall. He had signed the contract without reading the fine print. It was a devil’s bargain, one that Mr. Chen had designed with a very specific clause: in the event of the business fails, all of JunHao’s assets—all of them—would transfer to Mr. Chen.

It wasn’t just the gyms. Not just the properties or the accounts. It was everything JunHao had. Without him realizing, it included his body and the ownership to it.

————————————————————————

The collapse had been swift. Within months, Junhao’s business was in shambles. The loans he had taken to save it became an anchor, dragging him further into the abyss. And when the inevitable happened—when Junhao defaulted—Mr. Chen made his move.

He had summoned Junhao to his private estate, the contract in hand. Junhao, now a shadow of his former self, stood in the opulent office, his powerful frame visibly worn by stress. "Guess your business failed and everything of yours is now mine!"

“You can’t do this,” Junhao had growled, his fists clenched.

“Oh, but I can,” Mr. Chen had replied, his tone calm and cold. “You signed the contract. You agreed to the terms.”

“I’ll fight this in court!”

Mr. Chen had chuckled darkly. “You won’t get the chance. The clause is binding, immediate, and irrevocable. I don’t just own your business, Junhao. I own you.”

Before Junhao could react, Mr. Chen had signaled to his guards. They restrained the struggling man as Mr. Chen retrieved a small vial from his desk—a blend of ancient Chinese alchemy and cutting-edge bioengineering.

“This,” Mr. Chen said, holding the vial up to the light, “is your key to freedom—or, rather, mine.”

Junhao’s eyes had widened as the liquid was injected into his neck. He had thrashed against the guards’ grip, but it was no use. The process was instantaneous. A searing pain had coursed through his veins as his consciousness was pulled away from his body, drawn into a swirling void.

When Junhao woke, he found himself in a frail, elderly body, his once-pristine physique now a distant memory. Across the room, Mr. Chen stood in front of a mirror, marveling at his new form.

“This… is perfection,” Mr. Chen had said, flexing his biceps and running his hands over his chiseled abs. He turned to face Junhao, a smirk playing on his lips. “You should be proud, Junhao. Your body will be put to far better use in my hands.”

Junhao had screamed, lunging at Mr. Chen, but his new, weakened body betrayed him. The guards dragged him away as Mr. Chen laughed, his deep, commanding voice echoing through the halls.

“You should have read the fine print, Junhao,” Mr. Chen had called after him. “You’ve given me everything. And I do mean everything.”

Mr. Chen stepped out of the private chambers in only his underwear, feeling the weight of JunHao's powerful form. His every movement felt fluid, controlled, and effortless. It was a far cry from the frail, aging shell he had once inhabited. As he walked down the hallway, he marveled at the strength that now surged through his limbs, the sensation of each muscle flexing with the slightest movement.

He flexed his biceps—massive, round, and hard as stone—and let out a deep, satisfied breath. It was like a drug, this power. His former body, though fit, had never compared to the raw might he now commanded. These arms—these biceps—could easily crush anyone who dared to oppose him. The veins that snaked across his skin pulsed with vitality, evidence of his newfound strength. Every push, every pull, every lift was easier now, as if the world itself bent to his will.

He grinned, eyes tracing the contours of his new physique in the mirror as he walked past. The chest—wide, firm, and densely packed with muscle—caught his attention. His pecs were like slabs of stone, firm and unyielding, pressing against the tight shirt he had chosen to wear. When he flexed, the movement was hypnotic, a showcase of sheer power. The depth of his ribcage felt more pronounced, the muscles more pronounced, each fiber finely sculpted to perfection. He could feel the strength of his lungs, the way they expanded and contracted with ease, fueling his movements.

His mind raced with the possibilities. In this body, he was capable of feats that would’ve been impossible in his former, weaker form. There was no limit to what he could do, no obstacle he couldn’t crush beneath his new strength. He felt like a god, a man whose very presence commanded the room. Every glance from a passerby, every flicker of acknowledgment from those around him—he could see the admiration, the envy, the lust in their eyes.

But it wasn’t just the physicality that set this body apart. It was the knowledge embedded in every fiber, every cell of this machine.

Now, Mr. Chen stood in front of the mirror in JunHao's—his— gym, his reflection a living testament to his triumph. He flexed his biceps, marveling at their sheer size and power, and smirked as he ran his fingers down the ridges of his abs. His servants were in awe of what he attained.

“This body,” he said to himself, his voice rich and resonant, “isn’t just a vessel. It’s a weapon. A masterpiece.”

Mr. Chen lifted the weight, a staggering amount, effortlessly. As the barbell rose and fell in perfect rhythm, he couldn’t help but feel a rush of excitement. Every inch of JunHao’s body was designed for optimal performance. His shoulders were broad and thick, built for lifting, carrying, and crushing. His legs were powerful pillars of strength, veins and tendons twisting beneath the skin as they absorbed the pressure with ease. His calves were muscular and solid, able to sprint for miles without tiring, propelling him forward with each step.

He was a walking weapon—a machine capable of destruction.

The gift of virility was perhaps the most intoxicating. Mr. Chen had always been a man who desired control over everything, and now, he had control over the most primal part of his new form. He could feel the sheer force of Junhao’s masculinity coursing through him, the power in his loins that seemed to radiate outward, a constant hum of energy that never faded. His once-feeble self had known nothing of this.

This was a different kind of strength.

It wasn’t just about physical satisfaction. It was about dominance—asserting control over the very essence of another person. The body’s virility wasn’t a mere function of attraction; it was a weapon, a means of asserting his superiority, of owning and controlling.

The mind that came with this body was just as powerful as its physical form. Junhao’s intelligence had been sharp—business savvy, ruthless in his own right. But now, those instincts and ideas had become Mr. Chen’s. He could feel it—the knowledge embedded deep within the muscle, the experience that came from years of competition, of pushing himself to the limits. Every decision Junhao had made, every business deal, every negotiation—it was all there, like an archive waiting to be unlocked.

Mr. Chen felt as though he were walking in the footsteps of a man who had already laid the path for success. Every strategy, every move he needed to make, was now at his fingertips. JunHao’s thoughts, his methodical and strategic way of thinking, now surged through Mr. Chen’s mind as though they had always been his own.

He could feel the instinctual knowledge of how to read people, how to control a room, how to exploit weaknesses. His ability to manipulate, to strategize, to make others bow to his will—it was second nature now.

Every touch felt electric, as if JunHao's body was awakening to its new owner, recalibrating itself to fit Mr. Chen like a finely tailored suit. Every nerve ending seemed to buzz, hyperaware of his movements, responding to his commands with an eagerness that was both exhilarating and addictive.

Running his hands over his chest, Mr. Chen marveled at the power beneath his fingertips. The solid ridges of muscle, the soft yet firm hairs brushing against his palms-it was all so alive. His previous body had been stiff, sluggish, and unresponsive, a constant reminder of his age. But this? This was perfection incarnate, and it responded to him like a finely tuned instrument.

He progressed to his bedroom and then on the full-length mirror that dominated the corner of his suite, captivated by the sight before him. Mr. Chen wanted to explore this new opportunity in private. As he flexed, his reflection seemed to shimmer with vitality, every muscle rippling beneath his skin in perfect harmony. The sheer control he had over this body was intoxicating.

But then, something unexpected happened.

A faint warmth began to build, spreading through him like a slow burn. It started in his chest, radiating downward with an intensity that took his breath away. By the time he noticed the faint wet spot forming on his underwear, it was too late to deny it-this body wasn't just alive; it was thriving, responding to his every whim with an energy that left him breathless.

"This... this is something else," he murmured, a grin spreading across his face as he pressed his palm against the damp patch, feeling the heat beneath. "You've really outdone yourself, JunHao."

Rather than being embarrassed, Mr. Chen reveled in the sensation. He let the feeling wash over him, leaning into the raw vitality that coursed through his veins. He flexed again, harder this time, watching in awe as his biceps bulged, veins snaking across his forearms like rivers of power. Mr. Chen moaned every so loudly as he groped his new cock. The wet patch grew slightly, and he couldn't help but laugh -a deep, resonant sound that echoed through the room.

"This is what it means to feel alive," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "This is what I've been missing."

He sat on the edge of the bed, letting his hands roam freely, exploring every inch of his new form. The hard planes of his chest, the taut curve of his thighs, the firmness of his calves-each touch sent a jolt of pleasure through him. It was as if the body itself was rejoicing, celebrating its new owner with a symphony of sensations.

After a few minutes of indulgence, Mr. Chen was covered in JunHao's precious juices which reeked of testosterone, a testament to the new virility. A taste of it sent shockwaves of energy and flavors to his tongue as he forced himself to stand, steadying his breathing as he wiped a bead of sweat from his brow. He wasn't going to let this body overwhelm him-not yet, anyway. There was so much to explore, so much to discover, and he wanted to savor every moment.

He changed into fresh clothes, opting for a tight-fitting shirt that showcased his physique and a pair of jeans that accentuated his powerful legs. As he left the room, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror one last time and couldn't help but to pose what he had.

"Let's see what else this body can do," he said to himself, stepping out into the night, ready to test the limits of his newfound strength and charm.

My tattoo shop wasn’t just a place for art—it was my altar of transformation. With every stroke of my needle, I didn’t just mark skin; I rewrote destinies. Yuki was my crowning achievement. I saw it the moment he walked in: a lean, uncertain young man who didn’t yet understand his potential.

Yuki was perfect for my craft.

I started him small—a sigil of growth etched into his shoulder, its curves and symbols almost imperceptibly pulsing with power. The changes came slowly at first: a little more size in his arms, a slight broadening of his chest. He came back weeks later, excited about how “great” he felt, eager for more. I smiled as he asked for his next piece, knowing this was only the beginning.

With every tattoo, his body evolved. His biceps swelled into veiny, granite peaks that screamed power with every flex. His shoulders rounded into dense, cannonball-like deltoids, framing his now barrel-like chest. His traps rose thick and powerful, connecting to a neck that had widened with dominance. His abs chiseled themselves into a perfect grid, and his legs became columns of raw strength, quads rippling with every step.

But it wasn’t just his body that changed—it was his mindset. The magic infused into the ink worked its way into his mind, planting seeds of confidence, focus, and even pride. Yuki started walking taller, speaking louder, smiling wider. He was becoming the image of perfection, the kind of man who turned heads wherever he went.

Yet for all his outward changes, I could see the cracks beneath the surface. His body was magnificent, a masterpiece of strength, but his mind? It was fragile, too weak to wield the power he now carried. He didn’t realize it, but he didn’t own his body—it owned him.

That’s when I knew. Yuki didn’t deserve to be the vessel for this perfection. I would take what he couldn’t handle. I would be the rightful owner of the body I had created.

————————————————————————

When Yuki came in for his final tattoo, I knew it was time.

“I want something big,” he said, his deepened voice now carrying a weight of confidence that almost made me laugh. “A back piece. Something that shows how far I’ve come.”

I nodded, hiding my anticipation. “I’ve got just the thing. It’ll tie all your tattoos together, make you the most powerful version of yourself.”

He grinned, utterly unaware of what I had planned. “Let’s do it.”

As he lay on the table, his massive frame barely fitting, I prepared the ink. This batch shimmered with a dark crimson hue, alive with a magic so potent it seemed to hum in the air.

“This is going to be special,” I said, my voice steady as I pressed the needle into his back. The sigil I designed was intricate, its lines flowing like rivers of power. It was a sigil of dominion, designed not to enhance him—but to bind him.

The ink seeped into his skin, spreading its magic like roots. Yuki didn’t notice at first, too distracted by the hum of the needle and the occasional compliments I gave him. But as I finished the last line, the sigil activated.

The lines glowed crimson, the light pulsing outward to connect with every other tattoo on his body. Yuki stiffened, his breath hitching.

“What... what’s happening?” he asked, his voice cracking with sudden unease.

“It’s the final stage,” I said calmly, stepping back to admire my work. “Your body is adjusting to the power. Don’t worry—it’ll all be over soon.” The sigil wasn't just enhancing him, it was linking us together.

His muscles flexed involuntarily, the sigils on his arms, chest, and legs glowing faintly as the magic coursed through him. His breaths came faster, his massive chest heaving.

“Whoa, I feel... weird,” he muttered, his voice trembling now. “I'm separating... Like I’m not in control.”

“Because you’re not,” I said, my voice low, almost reverent.

“What...?” His words faltered as the sigil worked deeper, binding his body and mind to me.

I could feel it then—his thoughts, his emotions, his weak, feeble protests. His mind was small, trembling, barely able to comprehend what was happening.

“You’ve been given everything,” I said, circling him like a predator. “Strength. Power. Perfection. But your mind? It’s too fragile. You’re not worthy of this body.”

“No... no, I am,” he stammered, his voice breaking. “I’ve worked hard—”

“You’ve done nothing,” I snapped, cutting him off. “I gave this to you. I built this body. I made you perfect And now, I’m going to enjoy taking it back.”

The sigil flared, its crimson glow brightening as I pressed my hand against his back. Yuki let out a strangled gasp, his massive frame shuddering.

“Please,” he whimpered, his voice so small now, so helpless. “I can’t—please don’t—”

His mind was breaking, crumbling under the weight of the magic. I could feel it giving way, his thoughts fading as mine poured in.

“This body was never yours,” I whispered, my voice filled with both triumph and hunger. “You were just the placeholder. The vessel. And now, I’m taking what’s rightfully mine.”

Yuki’s protests dissolved into silence as my consciousness fully took hold. I felt the power of his body envelop me, the sheer strength in every muscle, the perfection in every line. I stood tall, rolling my shoulders and feeling the incredible width, the weight of my traps pressing against my neck.

I flexed my arms, marveling at the way the veins snaked across the massive peaks of my biceps. My chest expanded with a deep breath, the muscles stretching and contracting like steel cables.

“This... this is what perfection feels like,” I said, my voice deep and resonant in Yuki’s body. I ran my hands over the ridges of my abs, feeling their unyielding strength.

Yuki’s presence was still there, faint and distant, like a whisper in the back of my mind.

“You... you can’t...” his voice echoed weakly.

“I already have,” I replied, smirking. “You were too weak for this body. But don’t worry—I’ll take care of it. I’ll show the world what true power looks like.”

His voice faded completely, and I stood there, flexing, relishing the power that now belonged to me. Yuki’s body was mine, and with it, I would carve my own destiny.

————————————————————————

I stood before the full-length mirror in my shop, Yuki’s body—my body—radiating power like a beacon. The sigils I had etched glowed faintly beneath my skin, alive with magic, enhancing every detail of my form. This was no longer Yuki’s body, shaped and perfected yet bound by a weak mind. It was mine now, and my will was strong enough to unleash its full potential.

I flexed, watching the muscles ripple and bulge. My biceps rose like mountains, veins snaking across the surface, pumping with power. My pecs swelled, thick and solid, every striation visible under the shop’s lights. My abs were like carved stone, an impenetrable wall that tensed with every breath. This body was a masterpiece—but I wasn’t done yet.

The sigils on my skin began to hum, responding to my thoughts. They weren’t just markings anymore; they were alive, feeding on my willpower, amplifying my strength and focus. Yuki’s mind had been too feeble to fully unlock their potential, but I could feel the magic bending to me now, craving my direction.

I stepped closer to the mirror, tracing my fingers over the intricate lines of the sigil of growth on my shoulder. A surge of warmth spread through my body, and I watched in awe as my muscles swelled slightly, growing denser, thicker. The sigil responded to my command, its power flowing through me, pushing me beyond human limits.

I clenched my fists, feeling the raw energy coursing through every fiber of my being. “This is what strength truly feels like,” I said aloud, my voice a deep, resonant echo in the quiet room.

————————————————————————

The next morning, I decided it was time to test the body outside the shop. I threw on a tank top that barely contained my chest and arms and headed to a local gym—a place I knew Yuki had frequented. As I walked through the doors, heads turned immediately.

I could see the envy and admiration in their eyes, the way they whispered to each other. Some recognized the body as Yuki’s, but there was hesitation in their glances, as if they could sense something different.

I headed straight to the weight section. It was time to see just how far I could push this new vessel. Gripping the barbell, I loaded it with weights far beyond what Yuki could have lifted before. The sigils glowed faintly as I tightened my grip, and I felt an almost electric surge of strength.

With one powerful motion, I lifted the barbell overhead, the plates rattling as they strained against gravity. The room went silent as I pressed the weight effortlessly, the veins in my arms bulging, my shoulders burning with power.

The rush was intoxicating. I added more weight, pushing myself harder, testing every limit. Each time, the sigils responded, feeding me strength, endurance, and focus. My body grew warmer, my muscles swelling with each lift. I could feel the magic inside me, reshaping me, making me even more formidable.

As I finished my set, drenched in sweat that glistened on my skin, a group of gym-goers approached.

“Yuki, man, you’re insane,” one of them said, awe in his voice. “How did you get so big? So strong?”

I smirked, feeling the weight of their admiration. “Hard work and the right... tools,” I said, flexing my arm. The sigil on my bicep shimmered faintly, drawing their eyes.

“Those tattoos... they’re incredible,” another said. “Do they... do they help?”

“You could say that,” I replied, my voice dripping with confidence.

———————————————————————————

Over the following days, I explored every limit of my new body. The sigils responded to my will, pushing me further each time. My sigil of endurance allowed me to train for hours without tiring, my muscles swelling with every session. The sigil of focus sharpened my mind, giving me absolute clarity and control over my movements.

But it wasn’t just the physical changes that set me apart—it was my mind. Unlike Yuki, whose feeble thoughts had been overwhelmed by the power of the sigils, I embraced their magic. My willpower turned the tattoos into more than enhancements; they became extensions of me, tools for my ascension.

I began crafting new sigils, experimenting with the ink to see how far I could push my transformation. One night, I etched a sigil of magnetism along my collarbone, its lines intricate and deliberate. The next day, I walked into a crowded room and felt the shift immediately. Eyes turned to me, drawn by an unseen force. People gravitated toward me, their admiration palpable.

The attention was addictive. I started wearing tighter clothing, tank tops and shorts that showed off every inch of my sculpted physique. My tattoos became a signature, a part of my identity that drew people in. Everywhere I went, I could feel the power I held—not just in my body, but in the way people looked at me, envied me, desired me.

————————————————————————

One evening, I stood in front of the mirror again, admiring the culmination of my efforts. My body was larger now, more defined, every muscle honed to perfection. The tattoos glowed faintly in the dim light, their power radiating from my skin.

“This is how it was meant to be,” I said, running my hand over the ridges of my abs. “This body... this power... it was wasted on Yuki. But now, it’s mine. And I’ll take it further than he ever could.”

I flexed, watching the veins in my arms pulse, feeling the raw strength beneath my skin. The sigils hummed in response, their magic intertwining with my thoughts. I wasn’t just stronger—I was unstoppable.

"Liking this, Josh?" Coach's voice echoed smugly in my head. My body moved without my consent as he turned my head from the socks on my feet up to my face reflected in the mirror. That smirk-the one I'd always seen on his weathered face-now stretched across my own lips. It felt eerie, like a predator testing its new disguise.

Give me my body back, Coach.

He ignored me, his voice full of authority as he commanded, "You've got a week off from work. Give me a break, will you?" His words oozed with self-entitlement. "I've been stuck in my own body for over 50 years. Day in and day out, staring at the same gray face in the mirror. Don't I deserve to feel young for once? Just for this break?"

He tilted my head, examining my sneakers, then let his gaze trail up to my thighs. My thighs. His appreciation of them made me shudder internally.

You know this isn't right. Get out of my body.

"Quiet, much?" he quipped with a smirk that twisted my features into an expression that didn't feel like mine anymore. "Guess I can't blame you. If I suddenly woke up with a body like this, I'd be speechless, too. Let alone your coach being the one inside it." His words dripped with cockiness. His hands moved to my chest, slapping my pecs with audible force, then pushing them forward. The smirk grew wider. "Solid. Damn solid."

That's my body, I growled in the recesses of my mind. Those are my muscles. Stop!

Coach cut me off by flexing my chest again, watching the muscle ripple in the mirror. "Let's see how hard this body works," he said with confidence that wasn't mine. "I'm gonna give it the best workout of its life."

My biceps bulged as he flexed them, the veins standing out like rivers on a map.

He twisted my torso side to side, admiring how the muscles moved and stretched. Then he leaned forward, putting his hands on my thighs. "Damn," he muttered to himself, feeling the strength in every inch. "You've got power in these legs, Henry. I've been wasting away in a tired, old body while you've been walking around with this gift. It's about time someone really put it to use."

You don't have the right, I snapped in my mind. My frustration built, but I couldn't move a finger. I could only watch helplessly as he stretched my arms over my head, the muscles rippling as he admired them in the mirror.

"You should be thanking me," he said, grinning. "I'm gonna make sure this body is in the best shape it's ever been. And who knows-maybe when I'm done, you'll appreciate what you've got. In the meantime, sit back and enjoy the ride. I know I will."

He slapped my abs with a resounding thud, chuckling as he did. My rage boiled beneath the surface, but it was no use. He was in complete control, and I was just a prisoner in my own body, forced to watch as he lived out his twisted fantasy of youth and strength.

I screamed internally, my voice echoing in the silence of my mind. This isn't over, Coach. Not by a long shot.

----------------------------------------------------------

The gym smelled of rubber and sweat, a sharp tang that felt all too familiar. But for the first time, I wasn't here to push my limits. I was here to watch-helpless -as Coach worked my body harder than I ever had.

Coach walked to the bench press, my footsteps heavy and purposeful. "Let's see what this body can really do," he muttered, grinning as he racked the barbell with weights. He didn't warm up -my muscles just didn't need it, apparently. Lying back on the bench, he gripped the bar and hoisted it, my chest muscles contracting and releasing like well-oiled machinery.

You're going to hurt me, I snapped internally, watching as the barbell rose and fell, each rep controlled and deliberate.

"Hurt you? This body's a machine," he responded, out loud this time. A smug chuckle escaped my lips. "You've got more in you than you've ever used, Josh. It's pathetic, really. All this potential, and you've barely tapped into it."

He increased the weight, my arms straining but managing the load. The sweat dripped down my forehead, but he seemed to relish it. The burn in my muscles that would normally have me tapping out only seemed to drive him further. "This... this is what it feels like to be young again," he muttered, more to himself.

You're going too far. This isn't your body to push.

But he didn't listen. He moved on to squats, my thighs trembling under the weight of the barbell as he pushed deeper and deeper into each rep. "These legs are beasts," he said, his voice filled with admiration. "You've been holding back, Josh. I'll show you what they can really do."

The session stretched on, each set leaving me more exhausted. Yet, he didn't stop. The treadmill was next, the pounding of my feet against the belt rhythmic and relentless. My lungs burned, my chest heaving, but he grinned at the reflection of my flushed face in the mirror. "This body's a work of art," he said, wiping the sweat from my brow with the back of his hand. Within seconds, my stamina replenished and my breath caught up- something only a super fit athlete could do apparently.

After what felt like hours, Coach finally ended the workout. My muscles ached, and I could feel the fatigue setting in. But he wasn't done.

The locker room was quiet, the hum of fluorescent lights the only sound as he stripped my shirt off, tossing it onto the bench. He stood in front of the mirror, running his hands over my chest and abs, the droplets of sweat catching the light. "Look at this," he said, flexing my biceps again. "You don't even appreciate what you've got, Josh. It's a waste on you."

Stop. Just... stop violating my body. It's just wrong and you know it.

Ignoring me, he stepped into the shower, the water cascading over my body. It felt strange to be this detached-to feel the warmth of the water but have no control over it. He tilted my head back, letting the stream wash away the sweat and grime from the workout. His hands roamed over my chest, my arms, lingering longer than they should.

"You don't take the time to admire this, do you?" he said, smirking again. "Well, I do."

The warm water pounded against my skin as Coach began to run his hands lower, over my abs, and down to my stiffening cock. I recoiled internally, shouting protests, but it was useless. "Relax, Josh" he said, his tone mocking. "You're just along for the ride. And trust me, I'm going to enjoy every second of it." he exclaimed as he gave it a few tugs and squeezes trying to clean all the sweat and grime while distracting me with awkward flashes of pleasure.

The rest of the evening blurred into a haze of routine violations. He ate, lounged, and later took my body through its nightly ritual-something I did in private, something personal. But for him, it was just another way to revel in control.

As I screamed within my mind, a dark thought crossed me: he wasn't going to stop.

----------------------------------------------------------

The day wound down, but I felt anything but relaxed. My body ached from the relentless workout Coach had put it through, and I wanted nothing more than to collapse into bed and sleep. But Coach had other plans.

As he stood in front of the mirror in my room, shirtless, the dim light reflected off the sheen of sweat still clinging to my skin. He traced his fingers along my collarbone, then down to my chest, his touch deliberate and exploratory. My pecs flexed instinctively under his fingertips, and he smirked at the reaction.

"Look at this," he muttered, tilting my head to get a better angle of my reflection. "Perfect symmetry. Strength. Power.... and you've been wasting this. You don't even know how to enjoy it. Josh, you've got no idea how lucky you are," he murmured, his voice softer now, almost reverent. "This body... it's perfect. Every muscle, every line. It's a privilege to feel this alive again."

It's not yours to feel. I seethed, though the anger in my voice felt weak compared to the exhaustion clawing at me.

Coach ignored me, of course. He moved to the bed and lay down, stretching out my arms and legs. My skin tingled as he ran his hands over my thighs, testing the firmness of the muscles he'd pushed to their limits earlier. A low sigh escaped my lips-his sigh, my body's involuntary response to the sensation.

Shut up, I growled, though I couldn't deny the truth. I felt everything he did, every brush of skin, every jolt of pleasure that coursed through my body.

His hands drifted lower, over the waistband of my shorts. "Relax, Josh," he said, his voice a mix of teasing and command. "This is part of taking care of the body, isn't it? You do it every night. I'm just... carrying on the routine."

He ran his hands down my chest, his palms brushing over my nipples, pausing there for a moment. A shiver ran through my body, and he chuckled softly. "Sensitive, huh? I didn't realize how horny your body was." His hands continued downward, over my abs, fingers gliding along the ridges of muscle.

The sensations were maddening. Every touch was amplified, a strange mix of his enjoyment and my own body's natural responses. My frustration only deepened as he reached the waistband of my shorts.

"This is all part of the nightly routine, isn't it?" he said, his voice almost casual. "Don't act like you don't do this yourself, Henry. I'm just... taking over for tonight."

I wanted to scream, to fight back, but there was nothing I could do as he slipped my shorts down, exposing more of my body.

The cool air against my skin was a sharp contrast to the warmth that spread through me as he touched areas I usually kept private. His hands were firm yet deliberate, exploring the contours of my body with a sense of ownership that made my stomach twist.

The sensations were overwhelming, each touch sending a wave of pleasure that I couldn't block out. My body reacted as it always did, responding to the stimulation despite my internal protests. Coach's breathing deepened, and I felt the warmth of his enjoyment mirrored in my own sensations.

"See, Josh?" he said, his voice low and satisfied. "It's not so bad, is it? Sharing this moment. Feeling this together."

This isn't right, I whispered in my mind, though even I could hear the weakness in my protest. The lines between my anger and his pleasure blurred as I was forced to experience everything through his perspective.

He took his time, savoring every moment, every sensation. The pleasure built steadily, a growing intensity that neither of us could ignore. My body trembled as he pushed it to its peak, and I could feel his satisfaction intertwining with mine, like two minds caught in the same wave of euphoria.

Don't-I started, but my protest was cut short as he slid my shorts down.

The cool air hit my thighs first, then higher, and I felt exposed in a way I never had before. He took more of a moment to admire my body, running his hands over my thighs, testing the firmness of the muscle he'd worked so hard earlier in the day.

"Strong legs," he murmured. "I knew they'd feel like this. All that power, right here." His hands moved upward, tracing the curve of my hips. The touch was slow, deliberate, as if he were savoring every inch of skin.

My body reacted against my will, heat spreading through me as his hands drifted lower. The sensations were undeniable, and I hated how my body betrayed me, responding to his touch with a tension I couldn't control.

"See, Henry?" he said, his voice quiet but filled with amusement. "Your body knows what it likes. You're feeling it too, aren't you? Don't bother denying it."

This isn't right! Please stop! I'm begging you. I shouted in my mind, but the words felt hollow, drowned out by the rising tide of sensation.

He took his time, exploring every part of my body with a mix of curiosity and reverence. His hands moved over my groin, firm but slow, and I could feel the pleasure building, impossible to ignore. The warmth of his touch, the rhythmic motion-it was overwhelming. My breath quickened, and so did his, our shared connection amplifying everything.

"You feel that, Henry?" he asked, his tone almost intimate now. "That's what it means to live in this body. To enjoy it, to push it to its limits. This isn't just about control-it's about experiencing everything this body has to offer."

The pleasure surged, building to an intensity that left me breathless. I hated how powerless I was, how my own body responded so willingly to his touch. When it finally peaked, the release was both a relief and a torment, the shared sensations leaving us both momentarily stunned.

When it was over, he lay there for a moment, breathing heavily. "That," he said, his voice thick with satisfaction, "was incredible. I haven't felt anything like that in decades. Thank you, Josh. Really."

I didn't respond. I couldn't. My mind was undergoing a strange, reluctant understanding of why he was so unwilling to let this go. The sensations lingered, haunting me as I wrestled with the conflicting emotions of shame, anger, and a grudging insight of why he was so drawn to my youth and strength.

As he drifted off to sleep, still in control, I lay awake, trapped in the confines of my own mind. The sensations lingered, haunting me as I wrestled with the conflicting emotions of shame, anger, and a grudging understanding of why he was so drawn to my youth and strength.

Days blurred together as Coach continued his routine of dominance over my body. Each morning, he'd push it harder than the day before-grueling workouts, shameless self-admiration, and nightly rituals that left me feeling more powerless and detached. The sensations were overwhelming, and the more he indulged, the more I felt a strange, creeping sensation that something was slipping away.

By the fourth night, as he stood shirtless in front of the mirror yet again, I could feel it. My connection to my own body felt weaker, as if my presence was fading into the background.

"You've been awfully quiet, Josh," Coach said, smirking as he flexed my biceps in the mirror. "Starting to accept it, aren't you? I can feel it. You're not fighting me as hard anymore."

I'm just... tired, I muttered weakly, though even I could hear the resignation in my voice.

Coach's smirk widened. "Tired? Or are you realizing how good it feels to let go? To let me take the reins? Face it, Josh- this body is thriving under my control. I'm making it better, stronger. You're just holding it back."

He ran his hands over my chest, his fingers tracing the curves of my pecs before sliding down to my abs. The sensation was electric, amplified by the strange connection we now shared. I could feel his pleasure intertwining with my own, and it was getting harder to tell where his feelings ended and mine began.

"This is what you've been missing," he said, his voice lower now, almost soothing. "You've been wasting this body, but I'm showing you what it's truly capable of."

That night, he didn't just stop at exploring the physical sensations. He pushed further, testing the limits of what my body-and my mind-could endure.

His touch was deliberate, almost hypnotic, as he guided my fingers along my body into a state of pleasure so intense it felt like I was dissolving into it. Unknown areas of my body was being discovered with a sense of curiosity. Coach tried everything until he found the perfect spot in me.

"You feel that?" he murmured, his breath heavy. "That's pure ecstasy, Josh. That's what it means to own this body."

It's still mine, I tried to protest, but the words felt hollow. The pleasure was overwhelming, a tidal wave that drowned out my resistance.

Every nerve in my body seemed to light up, responding to his every touch, his every command.

And that's when I felt it-the shift.

Somewhere deep inside, something cracked, like a tether snapping. It was subtle at first, a faint pull that grew stronger with every passing moment. Coach's presence wasn't just occupying my body anymore. It was rooting itself into it, intertwining with every fiber of my being.

"What's this?" he said, pausing for a moment as if sensing it too. A slow, wicked grin spread across my face-his grin. "Oh, Josh... you're slipping, aren't you? I can feel it. You're letting me in. You're giving up."

No, I whispered, but it was barely audible now. My voice was fading, weaker than ever.

He chuckled, the sound low and satisfied. "Don't fight it, kid. It's inevitable. The more you submit, the more this body becomes mine. And let's be honest-you're enjoying this, aren't you? You're starting to see that I'm the one who truly belongs here."

The pleasure surged again, more intense than ever, and I felt my grip on my own body slipping further. My thoughts grew hazy, like I was sinking into a deep, warm pool. His emotions, his sensations -they were becoming mine. Or maybe it was the other way around. I couldn't tell anymore.

By the time the ritual ended that night, I was barely a whisper in my own mind. Coach posed in the mirror, my chest heaving as he caught his breath, a satisfied grin still plastered across my face.

"This is it," he said, his voice dripping with triumph. "This is where I belong. And deep down, you know it too. You're not fighting anymore, Josh. You're accepting it."

As I drifted into a dreamlike state, I could feel him solidifying his hold, like roots digging deeper into the soil. My consciousness felt like it was being absorbed into his, merging until there was almost nothing left of me.

The last thought I had before I faded completely was a terrifying realization:

Coach wasn't going to leave. Not ever.

I wake up to the feeling of power. Real, undeniable, tangible power. My hands move over thick, muscular arms—my arms. My chest rises and falls, broad and firm, the kind of chest I used to dream about, the kind I used to worship.

I throw off the covers, stretching, flexing, feeling the perfect tension in every muscle. The body of my dreams. The body I built. The body that should have always been mine.

No, please—stop this! Give it back!

Jordan’s voice rings in my mind, raw with desperation. I smirk at my reflection in the mirror. His reflection. No—my reflection now. The ultimate bear, manly, husky and the physique of a man sculpted by years of dedication. I roll my shoulders, feeling the weight, the sheer presence of this body. I lift an arm, flex, watch the biceps peak.

I laugh. "Oh, Jordan, I’m just getting started."

He whimpers. I feel his anguish like an undercurrent, a presence I can’t ignore but choose not to acknowledge. He’s there, always there, experiencing everything I do, screaming and begging for control, but it’s useless. He’s just a passenger, a whisper in the back of my mind, a ghost trapped in his own flesh.

And I?

I am free.

————————————————————————

Jordan always thought he was in control. He thought he was the one leading this relationship, the one making the choices. I had once promised him I was always going to take care of his body and I was always one step ahead. I saw the way he relished his dominance, how he loved the way people admired his physique, his discipline. And I loved it too. I planned all his outfits. I fed his body. Forced him to go for a workout even when we didn't want to. I built what his body is.

But I always knew… if the day ever came that he decided he didn’t need me anymore, I would take what I had rightfully earned.

It was a small thing, really. A tiny, enchanted apparatus, the result of careful research and a desperate need to never lose him—or at least, never lose his body. I had hidden it in a protein shake, a kiss, a night of whispered promises. It embedded itself inside him, dormant, waiting for the moment he betrayed me.

And he did.

"I think we should break up."

His words cut like a knife, but I had already prepared for this. My heart pounded, my breath hitched, but beneath the pain, there was something else. Anticipation.

He didn’t even realize what was happening. The moment he uttered those words, the magic activated. A slow numbness crept through me—not fear, not sadness, but something deeper. Something powerful. I felt myself slipping, my consciousness stretching, untethering.

And then—impact.

At first, there was a searing pressure, like my entire being was being pulled forward, twisted, merged. Then, the rush of new sensations—strength, weight, solidity. My hands moved first, clenching, feeling the thick veins running along my forearms. The smoothness of my chest as I exhaled, deeper and richer than before. My thighs, powerful and thick, tensed as I adjusted myself in his—my—seat.

I gasped, drinking in the overwhelming power of this body. Every muscle was alive, buzzing with the energy of years of training. My skin felt tighter, my movements smoother, more refined. Even standing felt different—stronger, more commanding.

Then I heard it.

"No, no, no! What’s happening?!"

Jordan’s voice, frantic and distant, like someone screaming from behind a locked door.

I smirked. "Relax, babe. I got this."

His panic surged, but I ignored it, rolling my neck, stretching, feeling everything. He was still there, locked away, screaming and thrashing. But I was in charge now and him being awake makes me more pumped up and horny. This body is now mine.

————————————————————————

I’m not just staying because I won.

I’m staying because this is what I deserve.

I had given Jordan everything. My time, my energy, my support. I cooked his meals, made sure he had the right nutrients, pushed him to train harder, sculpted him into the ultimate man. But what did I get in return? A breakup. A discard.

No. Not anymore.

I wasn’t just going to take his body. I was going to be better than he ever was.

A better athlete. A stronger man. A more dedicated and disciplined figure.

And most of all—a better boyfriend to anyone.

Jordan wasted his potential on shallow flings, on momentary indulgences. But now, I had the chance to be someone worthy of real love. I could be the perfect partner—the kind of boyfriend people dream about. Someone who had the body, the discipline, the devotion.

I deserved this.

I built this.

I earned this.

Jordan sobs in my head. I feel his despair, his horror, his utter helplessness as I slip seamlessly into his life, as I flash his signature smirk, as I take his body further than he ever could.

"You should be grateful," I whisper, smirking at my reflection. "I’ll do more with this body than you ever could."

————————————————————————

I slip into Jordan’s routine effortlessly. His mannerisms, his habits—I access them as easily as a second nature. When I walk into the gym, his friends greet me like nothing has changed. They don’t know the man they’re talking to isn’t the same one from yesterday. They don’t know the real Jordan is watching, helpless, as I take his life for myself.

I bench press more weight than I ever could before. I feel the raw strength coursing through me, the efficiency of muscles trained to perfection. Each rep is a reminder that I’m everything I ever wanted to be.

Jordan sobs in my head. He doesn’t want to feel this, doesn’t want to experience the burn, the strain, the rush of power—but he has no choice.

With my smarts and his body, nothing is impossible for us with me in control. Not that I'm not already used to it, but I am able to access all the knowledge about his life as well. His mannerisms, his likes/dislikes, his history.

At night, I indulge in the luxuries this body affords me. The way people look at me, admire me. The way my physique draws in attention without me even trying. Jordan always took these things for granted, but not me.

I savor every glance, every touch, every whispered compliment. So many guys want to show their worth to me. The feeling of someone’s hands sliding over my muscular built, fingers lingering over biceps that pulse with strength. The weight of another body against mine, tracing the contours of my muscles, worshipping me the way I once worshipped Jordan. "I never understood why you always denied me sex and cuddles when your body is always this horny!"

And he?

He feels it all.

Every. Single. Sensation.

Every breath against my skin. Every moan. Every shuddering wave of pleasure.

"Stop—please, stop!" His voice is frantic, desperate. But it’s not just agony. It’s helpless pleasure too. His body reacts as mine, his nerves intertwined with my experience, forcing him to feel every surge of pleasure, whether he wants to or not. Jordan's body is more sensitive than I have ever imagined.

I stretch out in bed, exhaling deeply, muscles loose and warm after a night of indulgence with just a random twink. Sweat clings to my skin, my breath slowing, my body thrumming with satisfaction. Jordan trembles in the back of my mind, humiliated, exhausted, but unable to escape the aftershocks of pleasure that ripple through us both. "Urgh, no no no. Stop this!"

As I show my twink for the night out, I thank him for the wonderful time, something Jordan would have never done after he climaxed.

I chuckle, wiping a hand over my pecs. "See, Jordan? I’m taking good care of this body. Just like I promised."

He sobs. I flex.

He fights. I get horny.

Because this body is mine now. And I am never giving it back. My balls seem to still be heavy and I'm still horny as hell. Maybe it's time for a round two and three and four.

From KorKor to GongGong.

JunHao couldn’t believe how far he’d fallen. Once, he had everything—a loving girlfriend, a thriving business, and a body that turned heads everywhere he went. Now, all of that was gone. The debt he owed the Chinese mafia hadn’t just taken his money or his livelihood. They had taken him.

It all started years ago when his business began to crumble. Desperate to stay afloat, he’d taken a loan from the wrong people. Rumors of the Chinese mafia’s brutal, unorthodox debt collection methods had been whispered around town, but JunHao never imagined he’d become one of their victims.

At 35, JunHao had been the epitome of masculinity. Years of waking up at dawn to lift weights in his makeshift gym-esque courtyard had sculpted his body into a oriental masterpiece. His biceps, thick and powerful, could split the sleeves of any shirt. His abs, chiseled and defined, were a testament to his discipline. And his manhood—well, his girlfriend used to blush just thinking about it. JunHao was proud of his natural endowment, which had always made him feel invincible, as if he were destined for greatness.

But that was before. Now, at 70 years old and trapped in a frail, withered body, he was a shadow of his former self.

Determined to confront the man who had taken everything from him, JunHao arrived at Mr. Chen’s opulent mansion. The doors were opened by two towering young men, their muscles bulging against their tailored suits. Their chiseled jaws and cocky smiles hinted at their borrowed origins. JunHao knew these weren’t their real bodies—probably stolen from aspiring athletes or struggling gym rats who couldn’t pay their dues.

The guards dragged JunHao through the mansion’s marble hallways, past walls adorned with priceless artwork. The air was thick with the scent of testosterone and power. Finally, they arrived at the courtyard.

And there he was—JunHao's old body, lounging in a hot tub like a god.

Mr. Chen, now inhabiting JunHao's former body, looked like a vision of strength and virility. His light, sculpted chest glistened with water, the ridges of his abs catching the sunlight. He grabbed his growing cock and let out a sexy, alpha groan. A black necklace with the Chinese Mafia's logo now rested against his broad chest. He oozed confidence, his powerful legs stretched out lazily as if he owned the world.

When he saw JunHao, his lips curled into a smug smile. “JunHao!” he boomed, his voice deep and commanding—JunHao's voice. “Come to admire your handiwork?”

JunHao's heart twisted in his chest. Hearing his voice come from someone else, especially someone who was desecrating everything he’d worked for, was unbearable.

Mr. Chen stood, water cascading down his muscular frame. He flexed his biceps, their size seemingly even more pronounced than when JunHao had owned them. “This body,” Mr. Chen said, running his hands over his chest and abs, “is a masterpiece. A gift from you to me.”

He laughed, grabbing his stiffening crotch with an audacious smirk. “And this? This is a real treasure. Your little secret, huh? What they say about Chinese people, isn't true apparently. Don’t worry, I’m putting it to good use now. Let’s just say it’s… thriving in the right hands.”

JunHao's face burned with shame. He’d always been proud of his virility, his ability to satisfy his girlfriend and leave her breathless. Now, Mr. Chen was flaunting it like a trophy, using it in ways that made JunHao's stomach churn.

Mr. Chen stepped out of the hot tub, water dripping down his thick thighs. “You know, JunHao, I’ve never felt more alive. This body—it’s a machine. The stamina, the strength… And let’s not even get started on the bedroom. Let’s just say the boys can’t get enough.”

He flexed again, this time making a show of clenching his pecs. “I don’t know how you kept this gem hidden for so long. If I’d known what you were packing, I’d have taken it sooner.”

JunHao couldn’t take it anymore. He dropped to his knees, his frail body trembling. “Please,” he begged. “I want my body back. I’ll do anything.”

Mr. Chen chuckled, the sound rich and mocking. “Anything, you say?” He gestured for one of his guards to get him another bottle of beer. Taking a long sip, he let some spill down his chest, then wiped it off with a slow, deliberate motion. “You couldn’t handle this body anymore, old man. Look at you—pathetic.”

He stepped closer, towering over JunHao. “But I’ll tell you what,” he said, his voice low and menacing. “I’m feeling generous. I’ll give you a new body—not this one, of course. This beauty is staying right where it is. But I can get you something… better than the sack of bones you’re in now. A younger body. Maybe even a little attractive.”

JunHao's heart leapt. “You’d do that?”

“Sure,” Mr. Chen said with a grin taking of his sunglasses seductively. “On one condition.”

JunHao's hope faltered. “What condition?”

“You’ll become my personal servant,” Mr. Chen said, leaning in close. “Every day, you’ll oil this body, shave this chest, and make sure it looks its best. You will also be my own personal cum dump. You should know how virile I am now and my precious liquids aren't to be just spilled on the ground. You’ll clean my mansion, pour my drinks, and watch as I live the life you gave up. And maybe—maybe—I’ll consider giving you a slightly better body in return. A body that will please my sexual needs more.”

JunHao's stomach kept being churned. The thought of serving Mr. Chen, of watching him flaunt what was once his, let alone serving and pleasuring a body that was once his, was unbearable. Yet what choice did he have? To live the rest of his days as an old, broken man was equally unthinkable.

“So,” Mr. Chen said, flexing his biceps one more time for emphasis. “What’s it gonna be, JunHao? Serve me, or rot in that pathetic shell of yours?”

JunHao looked up at his former body, now radiating power and confidence, and felt his world closing in.