The Mogui's Curse: Mistaken Skin
(AI Generated - A spin-off from my story last month, set in the same universe of The Mogui’s Curse. Enjoy!)
The sun blazed over the turquoise waters of the island resort, its golden rays shimmering on the waves as laughter and music filled the air. I was a 22-year-old college student on summer break, soaking in the carefree chaos with my group of friends. We’d rented a beach villa at this sprawling resort, a paradise of palm trees, white sand, and endless parties. The days blurred into a haze of tequila shots, beach volleyball, and late-night skinny dipping, our laughter echoing through the humid nights. I was the quiet one in the group, always a bit self-conscious about my smooth, hairless body and the constant pressure to stay in shape. My friends, a mix of jocks and socialites, didn’t share my insecurities, their confidence as bold as their sunburns.
The resort wasn’t just for college kids like us. Families filled the grounds, their kids splashing in the pool while parents sipped cocktails under umbrellas. One family caught our attention during a family party night in the resort’s open-air pavilion. A Middle-Eastern family, their voices loud and warm, danced to the live band’s music.
The father stood out, a big, burly man with a thick, hairy frame that seemed to take up twice the space of anyone around him. He was dancing with his kids, his chunky arms wrapped around them, his laughter booming over the music. His body was a forest of dark hair, covering his broad chest, arms, and legs, the hair so dense it looked like a pelt. His belly jiggled as he moved, a soft mound of flesh that spoke of indulgence rather than neglect. His face was almost hidden behind a lush, black beard, streaked with strands of gray, and his thick, tousled brown hair matched the wildness of his appearance. Despite his size, his brown eyes sparkled with a kind, carefree joy that I envied.
My friends couldn’t help but snicker, whispering among themselves as we sat at a nearby table, our drinks sweating in the heat.
“Look at that guy,” one of them, a wiry guy named Jake, muttered, stifling a laugh. “He’s like a walking bear rug. Bet he sweats buckets under all that hair.”
Another friend, a blonde girl named Sarah, giggled, leaning in. “Can you imagine how heavy he must be? All that hairy, sweaty flesh… gross.”
They laughed, their voices low but cruel, and I forced a chuckle, my cheeks burning with shame. I didn’t say much, my silence a shield for the secret I kept buried deep. I was still in the closet, my attraction to men a quiet ache I’d never shared. And truthfully, I found the father attractive in a way that made my stomach twist with jealousy. His carefree confidence, his unapologetic embrace of his thick, hairy body, was everything I wished I could be. I hated how self-conscious I felt about my smooth, lean frame, always obsessing over staying in shape to fit some ideal I could never quite reach.
The night wore on, and I drank more than I intended, the tequila shots blurring the edges of my thoughts. The music pulsed through the pavilion, the jovial father spinning his kids around, his hairy arms flexing with each lift, his laughter a deep rumble that carried over the crowd. I watched him from the corner of my eye, my friends’ mocking whispers fading as I lost myself in the sight of him.
Then, the need to relieve myself grew urgent, and I stumbled toward the restroom, my head spinning from the alcohol. I pushed through the door, my vision hazy, and collided with a solid, warm wall of flesh. It was the Middle-Eastern father, shirtless and glistening with sweat, his hairy chest pressing against me as he too hurried to pee. The impact knocked the breath from me, and I stumbled back, my hands instinctively bracing against his broad torso.
“Whoa there, my friend!” he boomed, his voice deep and jovial, his brown eyes crinkling with a drunken grin. He was clearly tipsy, his movements loose and carefree. “Looks like we both had too much fun out there!”
Before I could apologize, he pulled me into a warm, sweaty hug, his thick arms enveloping me, the heat of his body radiating through me. I stiffened at first, surprised by the sudden intimacy, the coarse hair of his chest brushing against my smooth skin, his musk a heady mix of sweat and spice that clung to my cheek. But as the hug lingered, I felt myself relax, leaning into it, my face pressed against his damp flesh, the scent intoxicating.
I couldn’t help my curiosity, my hands wandering as I squeezed his thick dad bod, feeling the soft bulk of his belly, the dense hair crinkling under my fingers, the warmth of his skin a stark contrast to my own. The sensation sent a shiver through me, a secret thrill I couldn’t deny. He felt my hands exploring, and with a hearty laugh, he released me, stepping back with a playful grin.
“No touching, eh? This is mine,” he teased, running his rugged hands across his hairy, thick chest, the motion emphasizing his unapologetic confidence.
I nodded, my face flushing with a mix of embarrassment and admiration, my eyes unable to look away from his bold display. He brushed past me, heading to one of the urinals, sliding down his shorts with a casual ease. I stood there, frozen, as his thick, juicy ass came into full view, the hair dusting the cheeks catching the dim light, the flesh bouncing slightly with his movement. Even more so when he reached around to scratch it, his fingers digging into the soft mounds, the ass jiggling playfully as if to seduce me.
I was lost in the thought of touching those juicy mounds of flesh, my mind racing with forbidden fantasies, the image searing into my memory. I didn’t even notice when he finished, washing his hands with a quick splash of water before turning to me with a smile. He placed one of his large, rugged hands on my shoulder, the touch warm and firm, before brushing past me to rejoin his family at the party.
I returned to my friends, my mind a whirl of conflicting emotions, the memory of his hairy chest and thick ass lingering like a forbidden secret. I couldn’t stop imagining what it would feel like to be so free in a body like his, to carry that confidence with every step. The night ended with me and my friends stumbling back to our villa, the image of the hairy daddy etched into my thoughts as I drifted into a restless sleep.
—
A few nights later, the resort suddenly descended into chaos. It started with a scream, sharp and piercing, cutting through the hum of the evening crowd. I was at the resort’s main plaza with my friends, a sprawling open area lined with palm trees and string lights, the air thick with the scent of grilled seafood and coconut sunscreen. We’d been drinking, our laughter loud as we played a drunken game of truth or dare, when the first scream rang out. More followed, a chorus of terror as people began to flee, their faces pale, their voices shouting about a monster skinning humans alive and devouring them. The crowd surged around us, families grabbing their kids, couples sprinting toward the beach, their footsteps pounding against the cobblestones.
My friends froze, their drunken haze giving way to confusion.
“What the hell is going on?” Sarah asked, her voice trembling as she clutched Jake’s arm.
Before anyone could answer, a jock in our group, a broad-shouldered guy named Tyler, scoffed, his arrogance unshaken. “It’s probably some stupid event, like a haunted house thing. Let’s go check it out.”
I hesitated, my gut telling me to run, but Tyler’s confidence was infectious, and the group followed him deeper into the plaza, toward the source of the screams. I trailed behind, my heart pounding, my flip-flops slapping against the stone path.
We reached the center of the plaza, a wide clearing with a fountain at its heart, and stopped dead in our tracks. A pile of human skins lay discarded on the ground, their empty, glistening forms illuminated by the flickering string lights. The skins were intact, their faces frozen in expressions of horror, their limbs limp and hollow. Standing over the pile was a grotesque creature, its bony, clawed limbs glistening with a sickly sheen, its hollow black eyes glinting in the dim light. Its maw of jagged teeth dripped with blood as it devoured a quivering mass of flesh, the sound of its chewing wet and sickening.
It was a mogui, a skin-stealing ghoul that devoured humans and wore their skins to blend in. I’d only just happened to read about them in high school after I had to pick a random course during my second year and thus chose ancient mythology.
Tyler didn’t even have time to react. The mogui leapt onto him with a guttural snarl, its claws sinking into his shoulders as it pinned him to the ground.
“What the fuck!” Tyler screamed, his voice high with panic as the creature grabbed his mouth and pulled.
His skin stretched like latex, the sound a wet, tearing pop as the mogui yanked it over his head, peeling him alive in a single, fluid motion. Tyler’s screams turned to gurgles as his flesh was exposed, his body a quivering mass of muscle and blood, and the mogui devoured him whole, its jagged teeth tearing into his raw form with savage hunger. My friends screamed, scattering in all directions, their footsteps fading as they fled.
I tried to run, my legs heavy with terror, but I was too close. The mogui grabbed me from behind, its clawed hand wrapping around my throat, lifting me off the ground with effortless strength. I kicked and thrashed, my hands clawing at its bony arm, but its grip was irontight.
“No, please!” I begged, my voice a desperate sob as tears streamed down my face.
The mogui’s hollow eyes bored into mine, its rancid breath hot on my face, a mix of decay and blood that made me gag. It shoved its other clawed hand down my throat, its bony fingers wrapping around my tongue, the pain searing as its claws scraped against the inside of my mouth. I gagged, my lungs burning, my body convulsing as it pulled, a sickening tug radiating from my throat to my gut. With a violent yank, it drew my entire flesh out through my mouth, peeling me like a fruit, the sensation a ripping, tearing agony as my skin separated from my body. My skin came free in a single, intact piece, the sound a wet, sucking pop, and the mogui threw me to the ground, my exposed flesh hitting the cobblestones with a sickening thud, blood splattering around me.
It tossed my skin onto the pile, the empty shell of my face staring back at me, and turned to devour me, its jagged teeth glinting with hunger. But before it could strike, gunfire erupted, a group of security guards charging into the plaza, their weapons blazing. Bullets tore into the mogui, its grayish skin oozing black ichor as it roared in fury, dropping me to the ground as it fled, its heavy footsteps echoing into the night.
The guards chased after it, their shouts fading as they assumed I was already dead, my raw, bleeding form motionless on the cobblestones.
I felt myself slipping, my consciousness fading as blood pooled beneath me, the pain a white-hot inferno that consumed every thought. Every movement was torture, the cool night air searing my raw nerves, my vision swimming with black spots. But a primal instinct to survive surged within me, a desperate, animalistic drive that overpowered the pain. I dragged myself across the plaza, my exposed flesh scraping against the stone, leaving a thick trail of blood in my wake.
Each movement was agony, my muscles screaming, my vision blurring, but I reached the pile of skins, my trembling hands fumbling through the slick, warm pile, searching for my own. My mind was disoriented, my eyes blurry with tears and blood, and I grabbed what I assumed was my skin, the weight heavy in my hands as I pulled it toward me.
I was too weak to think clearly, my body trembling with shock as I slipped my raw arms into the skin, the flesh yielding with a wet squelch. The inside was slick and warm, the musk unfamiliar, a heavy, masculine scent that wasn’t my own. I pushed deeper, my raw legs sliding into the skin, the heat suffocating as I pulled it over my torso, the flesh stretching to accommodate my form.
It was only when I was fully inside, the skin too big, the weight too heavy, that I realized something was wrong. The limbs were too thick, the torso too broad, and the musk was overpowering, a mix of sweat, spice, and raw masculinity that didn’t belong to me. But it was too late. The mogui’s magic took hold, the skin tightening around me with a series of sickening cracks, my raw flesh expanding to fill the new form, bones stretching, muscles swelling, my insides becoming flesh and bone as they fused with the skin I’d chosen. The sensation was a mix of pain and perverse intimacy, the skin molding to me like a lover’s embrace, sealing me inside with a final, wet snap.
I blacked out, my consciousness slipping into darkness, the weight of my new body pulling me under.
—
I woke up half an hour later in the resort’s infirmary, the sterile scent of antiseptic sharp in my nose, the hum of fluorescent lights overhead. I was lying on a narrow bed, a thin blanket draped over me, my body heavy and unfamiliar. Voices murmured outside the room, a security guard and a nurse speaking in low tones.
“The monster escaped,” the guard said, his voice tense. “Wore one of the dead guard’s skins and drove off on a boat. We couldn’t catch it.”
The nurse sighed, her tone solemn. “At least we saved one. He’s awake now.”
They entered the room, the guard a broad-shouldered man with a shaved head, the nurse a petite woman with tired eyes. The guard forced a smile, trying to lighten the mood. “Happy you survived, sir. Wasn’t easy carrying you over here, considering how much bigger you are than me.”
I blinked, confusion clouding my mind. The guard was obviously bigger and stronger than me, his muscles straining against his uniform. I tried to speak, my throat dry, but the nurse cut in, her expression solemn. “You’re probably wondering where your family is... I’m so sorry, we couldn’t save them.”
I stared at her, my mind reeling. I had no family here, just my friends. “What are you talking about?” I croaked, my voice deep and gruff, unfamiliar to my ears.
They exchanged a glance, the nurse patting my arm gently. “You’re in shock. It’s okay, just get some rest.”
They left, closing the door behind them, leaving me alone with my confusion.
I noticed an unfamiliar wallet on the desk beside me, its leather worn and scratched. I reached for it, my hand heavy and sluggish, and froze as I saw my arm. It was thick, muscular, and covered in a dense mat of dark hair, the skin a warm olive tone that wasn’t mine. Panic surged through me as I flicked the wallet open, revealing an ID card. The photo showed the Middle-Eastern father from the family party night, his lush beard and kind brown eyes staring back at me. His name was written on the card: Joseph Arslan, age 47.
My heart pounded as I pulled the blanket off, revealing a body that wasn’t mine. My chest was broad and thick, covered in a pelt of dark hair that trailed down to a soft, chubby belly. My legs were massive, the hair so dense it looked like fur, and my hands were large and rugged, the fingers thick with calluses.
Realization crashed over me like a wave. I hadn’t crawled into my own skin. I’d accidentally chosen Joseph’s, the burly father we’d mocked, his hairy, chunky body now mine.
I stumbled out of the bed, my weight heavy and strange, my center of gravity off as I scrambled to the sink in the corner of the room, a small mirror hanging above it. The face staring back was Joseph’s, his lush beard covering most of his face, the black hair streaked with gray, his thick, tousled brown hair wild and unkempt. His brown eyes, kind but now wide with shock, looked back at me, the reflection a stranger’s.
“Oh my God, no… this isn’t me,” I whispered, my voice a deep, rumbling growl that echoed in the small room. I ran my hands over my face, the beard coarse under my fingers, the hair tugging at my skin as I pulled, hoping to find a seam, a way out. But the skin was fused to me, the mogui’s magic binding me to this new form.
I turned to the nurse, my voice rising in panic. “This is a mistake! I’m not Joseph! I’m a college student, my name is Ryan! The monster… it took my skin, and I… I put on the wrong one!”
The nurse and guard exchanged a look, their expressions a mix of pity and disbelief.
“Sir, you’re in shock,” the nurse said softly, her tone placating. “You’ve been through a lot. Your family… we couldn’t save them. It’s natural to feel confused.”
I shook my head, my beard swaying with the motion. “I don’t have a family here! I’m here with friends! You have to believe me!”
But they didn’t, their eyes filled with sympathy as they urged me to rest. Infuriated, I ignored their advice, storming out of the infirmary, my heavy footsteps echoing down the hall, the weight of Joseph’s body a constant reminder of my new reality.
—
I made my way back to the beach villa my friends and I had rented, the night air cool against my skin, the resort eerily quiet after the chaos. The villa was trashed, furniture overturned, windows shattered, the remnants of the mogui’s rampage evident in every corner. My friends were gone, either fled or devoured, their absence a hollow ache in my chest.
I went to my room, my suitcase still on the bed, and stripped off the hospital gown, the thin fabric falling to the floor. I tried to wear my old clothes, pulling on a pair of skinny jeans that strained against my thick, hairy legs, the denim refusing to stretch over my massive thighs. I tugged on a T-shirt, the fabric tight against my broad, hairy back, the seams creaking as I moved.
I glanced at a nearby mirror, and the sight was absurd: a hairy, thick bear of a man trying to fit into a college boy’s clothes, the shirt barely covering my hairy belly, the jeans stuck halfway up my thighs.
I brought my thick arms up, flexing my biceps, the muscle bulging under the dense hair, and the T-shirt ripped apart with a loud tear, the fabric falling to the floor in tatters.
“Holy shit,” I muttered, my deep voice startling me as I stared at my reflection. The hair on my arms was so thick, the olive skin stretched taut over my new bulk. I ran my hands over my chest, the hair crinkling under my fingers, the sensation both shocking and exhilarating.
“This body… it’s so big, so hairy,” I whispered, my voice trembling with a mix of disbelief and arousal. I looked down, my eyes widening at the sight of my new cock, massive and engorged, the thick shaft covered in a nest of dark hair at the base. It was uncircumcised, the foreskin heavy and warm, and it throbbed with a need I couldn’t ignore.
I kicked away the skinny jeans, knowing I’d never fit into them again, and lay on the bed in my full, hairy nakedness, the mattress creaking under my weight.
“I’m really stuck like this… I’m Joseph now,” I murmured, my voice a deep rumble as I grabbed my new cock with my rugged fingers, the calluses rough against the sensitive skin. I stroked slowly at first, the sensation overwhelming, my entire body humming with pleasure and desire.
“God, this cock… it’s so thick, so heavy,” I moaned, my other hand reaching up to tug at my beard, the hair coarse and thick, the slight pain of pulling at it mingling with the pleasure radiating from my groin. I jerked harder, my deep, gruff moans filling the room, the sound primal and raw, a stark contrast to the voice I’d known my whole life.
I pulled at the foreskin fiercely, the sensation intense, and tugged at my beard with more force, hoping to loosen the heavy, hairy skin around me, to find a way out.
“Maybe I can get out… maybe I can peel this off,” I grunted, my voice strained as I yanked at the hair, the follicles ripping free with a stinging pain that only heightened my arousal. But the skin didn’t budge, the mogui’s magic holding it fast, and the realization that I was trapped in this thick daddy’s identity for good drove me over the edge.
“I’m stuck… I’m wearing this hairy flesh… I’m him,” I growled, my voice rising as I exploded, cum shooting everywhere, thick ropes splattering across my hairy chest, some getting tangled in my beard, the musky scent of Joseph’s essence filling the air.
I lay there, spent and panting, my hairy, sweaty body glistening in the dim light of the villa. The future was uncertain, the mogui still out there, wearing a new skin, its whereabouts unknown. But as I ran my hands over my new body, feeling the coarse hair, the soft bulk of my belly, I realized something had shifted inside me. I didn’t feel self-conscious anymore. With a body this hairy and chunky, I didn’t care what others thought, as long as I enjoyed it myself.
“Maybe this isn’t a curse,” I murmured, my deep voice soft as I traced the hair on my chest, the sensation grounding me in my new reality. “Maybe this is a blessing in disguise...”
I closed my eyes, the weight of Joseph’s body a comforting presence, and drifted into a dreamless sleep, my new identity a strange, perverse gift I was only beginning to understand.
