Stolen Muscle for Hire
His name was Marco Reyes, 29 years old, ex-military, now a personal security consultant who made a living protecting rich assholes in the city. Tall, thickly muscled, with a dense pelt of dark chest hair that trailed down over carved abs and disappeared into his waistband. The kind of man who turned heads in the gym and made enemies in the underworld without even trying.
He never saw it coming.
The mercenaries had been watching him for weeks. They worked for El Lobo; the ruthless leader of the most powerful cartel on the West Coast. El Lobo’s original body had been rotting away in a private hospital, riddled with cancer and barely able to speak. He needed a new vessel. A strong one. A young one. Marco was perfect.
They struck at night outside his apartment building.
Two black vans boxed him in. Six masked men in tactical gear swarmed him before he could draw his weapon. Marco fought like a demon, elbows cracking jaws, knees driving into ribs, fists smashing noses. He dropped three of them before a taser hit him square in the back. His massive body convulsed, muscles locking up as 50,000 volts ripped through him. They zip-tied his wrists and ankles, shoved a black hood over his head, and threw him into the van like a sack of meat.
He woke up strapped to a steel chair in a dimly lit warehouse, shirt torn open, chest heaving. The same thick, hairy pecs that had been flexing in gym selfies just hours earlier were now glistening with sweat under harsh fluorescent lights. His arms strained uselessly against reinforced restraints.
“Let me the fuck out of here!” Marco roared, voice echoing off concrete walls. He thrashed so hard the chair legs screeched across the floor.
“You have no idea who you’re fucking with-”
A tall man in a tailored black suit stepped into the light. Behind him, a team of technicians hovered around a sleek, ominous machine humming with blue energy…the mind-transfer device El Lobo had spent millions acquiring.
“You’re exactly who we’re fucking with,” the man said calmly. “El Lobo picked you personally. Said your body is… exceptional.”
Marco’s eyes widened as the technicians lowered a gleaming metal helmet onto his head. Cold electrodes pressed against his temples. He bucked wildly, veins bulging in his neck, sweat dripping down the dense hair between his pecs.
“No… NO! Get that shit off me!”
The machine whirred to life.
At first it was just pressure, a crushing weight behind his eyes. Then came the burning. Marco screamed as he felt his consciousness being ripped out of his own skull like meat from a bone. His vision flickered. His powerful arms went slack. His thick thighs trembled in the chair as the last fragments of his mind were sucked into digital limbo.
Across the room, El Lobo, an old, frail man hooked up to life support, smiled for the final time.
The transfer completed in 47 seconds.
Marco’s body went completely still… then suddenly jerked upright in the restraints.
The new owner opened his eyes.
El Lobo, now wearing Marco’s flawless, muscular body, blinked slowly. He rolled his new, broad shoulders and felt the delicious weight of heavy pecs shifting under dense, dark chest hair. A low, satisfied groan rumbled from deep in his new throat.
“Fuck… this is even better than the photos,” he growled, voice now rich, deep, and dripping with Marco’s natural baritone.
The technicians quickly unstrapped him. El Lobo stood up on powerful legs, grey sweatpants tenting obscenely as he felt the heavy, thick cock between his thighs for the first time. He ran both hands down his torso, fingers spreading through the thick hair covering his chest, thumbs brushing over sensitive nipples that hardened instantly. A shiver of pure pleasure ran through him.
He squeezed his new pecs hard, then slid his palms lower, tracing every ridge of his abs, following the dark treasure trail that disappeared into his waistband. His new cock throbbed visibly, growing thicker by the second.
“Goddamn… look at this body,” he muttered, turning to admire himself in a nearby reflective panel. He flexed one massive arm, watching the bicep peak and the veins pop. Then he grabbed the waistband of the sweatpants and yanked them down just enough to see his new cock, thick, veiny, and already hard.
The real Marco’s consciousness was still trapped inside the machine, screaming silently as he watched his own body being molested by the gangster who now owned it.
“I’m keeping this one,” he said aloud, voice thick with lust. “This hairy, muscular, perfect fucking body is mine now. Every inch of it.”
He squeezed his heavy balls, then reached back to grope the firm, round ass that used to belong to Marco.
“Gonna put this body to work,” he growled, eyes half-lidded with pleasure.
“Gonna fuck, fight, and rule in it. And you…” he looked straight into the camera feed of the machine, straight at Marco’s trapped soul, “…you get to watch every second of it.”
El Lobo, now permanently Marco Reyes, smiled with pure, wicked satisfaction as one of his mercenaries approaches with a new set of clothes,
“Welcome to your new life, boss,” he said said, grinning.
El Lobo just flexed again, admiring how the muscles moved under his command.
“Best fucking vessel I’ve ever had.”
Epilogue
A few weeks later…
El Lobo stood shirtless in the blazing afternoon sun, the heat kissing every inch of his new, permanently stolen body. Marco’s tanned, hairy chest glistened with sweat as he took a slow, deliberate selfie in the backyard.
He smirked behind the sharp red reflective sunglasses, loving how they made him look like a total cocky bastard. The thick silver chain around his neck caught the sunlight, resting perfectly between his dense, dark pecs. He flexed subtly, making the heavy muscles of his chest bounce and the dark treasure trail shine with sweat.
“Still feels fucking unreal,” he murmured in Marco’s deep, smooth voice. He ran a hand down his torso, fingers dragging through the thick, sweat-damp chest hair, then lower over his tight abs. His cock was already half-hard in his shorts just from feeling the sun on this perfect skin.
He tilted his head, admiring the way the light highlighted every ridge and curve of muscle. The real Marco’s soul was long gone, locked away in some digital prison while El Lobo lived his best life in this hairy, muscular masterpiece.
El Lobo laughed low and filthy, gripping his thickening cock through his shorts right there in the open.
“This body was made to be used,” he growled, giving his pec a hard squeeze before flexing his bicep for another photo. “And I’m never giving it up.”
El Lobo smiled wide behind the red lenses, already planning how he’d spend the rest of the day breaking in his new favorite toy even harder.
