Evan's TF corner

John was the one who spotted the brass-lettered sign: Mercer & Quill — Fine Costumes for Gentlemen. “Fancy British clothes,” he said, pointing to the door with a grin. “We buy the outfits, take some ridiculous photos, and look like we belong here.” The others laughed, but a minute later they were stepping inside, into the smell of cedar, wool, polished wood, and old pipe smoke.

The proprietor of Mercer & Quill was not at all what the four friends expected. He was a tall, silver-haired gentleman in a dark waistcoat with round spectacles and an expression of quiet amusement, as though young Americans wandering into his shop in search of bespoke photographs was something he had seen many times before.

He listened patiently as John explained their plan, nodding politely while Matt joked about looking like members of Parliament and Mason wondered aloud whether anyone still wore pocket watches. The old man simply smiled. “Gentlemen,” he said warmly, “if one is to dress the part, one ought to do it properly.” Without asking their measurements, he disappeared among the shelves and racks, returning with four carefully chosen ensembles. To each suit he added little details - a pipe here, a waistcoat there, a particular tie or collar - handling every item with the care of a museum curator presenting treasures.

Before any of them could compare outfits, the proprietor gently ushered them toward separate changing rooms lining the paneled corridor. “Best to try them on individually,” he advised. “These things have a tendency to fit more comfortably when a gentleman has a moment alone with his reflection.” He handed each young man his garments and closed the doors behind them one by one. Matt laughed and called through the wall that they should all meet outside for photographs. John shouted back that he wanted to see who looked the most ridiculous. Don promised he would emerge looking like an English duke, and Mason declared that he intended to keep the pipe as a souvenir. Standing alone in the quiet hallway, the proprietor adjusted his spectacles and smiled to himself. He had selected each costume with great care. By the time the four young men emerged, they would be precisely the gentlemen the clothes had always been waiting for.

For Matt, the proprietor had selected a dark London gentleman’s suit: black coat, crisp collar, waistcoat, tie, polished shoes, and a curved pipe that felt absurd in his hand until he saw himself in the changing-room mirror.

At first, Matt only smiled at the costume. Then the mirror seemed to pull his reflection deeper. A shadow formed above his lip, the first uncertain line of a mustache, while faint creases gathered around his eyes. His hairline drew backward into a widow’s peak, thinning at the temples as if years were being combed through it.

By the time the mustache had grown thick and distinguished, his dark hair had turned salt-and-pepper and receded, leaving him looking like a composed London gentleman of nearly 60. Matt tried to remember the joke he had been about to make, but the thought dissolved. The pipe found its way to his mouth, and the man in the mirror no longer looked frightened. He looked assured.

John’s outfit was heavier, earthier: tweed jacket, waistcoat, checked shirt, dark tie, the sort of thing that made him look as if he should be standing beside a stone wall somewhere in the countryside minding sheep. He laughed when he first put it on, flexing his shoulders in the mirror, amused by how serious the clothes made him seem.

Then his reflection aged before he could step back. His close-cropped hair thinned at the crown, the hairline retreating. Stubble pushed out along his jaw, dark at first, then threaded with gray, thickening into a salt-and-pepper beard.

The sharp college-boy confidence in his face settled into something calmer and more reserved. By the end, John looked to be in his mid-50s, bald at the crown, bearded, steady-eyed, and utterly at home in the tweed. He no longer thought of it as a costume. It was simply what a man like him wore.

Don had expected to enjoy himself the most. His outfit was sleek and theatrical: a dark London coat, waistcoat, formal collar, and pocket square, all sharp lines and old-city elegance. In the mirror, his existing mustache looked almost too perfect for the clothes, and he smirked as he adjusted his lapels.

Then his mustache began to change. Its ends curled outward, becoming broader, heavier, more commanding. White hairs appeared first at his temples, then spread in bright strands through his dark hair and across the mustache itself. His face lengthened into maturity, lines forming beside his mouth and across his brow.

Don’s expression became cooler, more appraising. At sixty, he looked like a man who had spent decades in private clubs, theaters, and drawing rooms, with a grand white-streaked handlebar mustache and the posture of someone who had never once rushed for anyone. Don tried to say his own name and found it sounded strangely informal.

Mason’s clothes had the warmth of the country: brown tweed, green tie, waistcoat, pocket square, and a pipe that made him laugh when he first lifted it. He looked cheerful in the mirror, still young, still himself.

Then his smile faltered as his hairline pulled back and the first weight of age settled into his features. A beard spread over his jaw and down to his collar, mostly brown but already streaked white at the sides and around the chin. He touched it, stunned by how real it felt.

His new beard kept growing, thickening past his collar until it reached the middle of his chest, full and heavy, brown with pale threads shining through it. By the time Mason looked fifty, pipe resting naturally between his fingers, the face in the mirror seemed less like a transformation than a correction. The younger version of him felt flimsy, half-remembered, like a photograph left in another coat pocket.

When the four men emerged from their changing rooms, they paused in the narrow hallway and looked at one another. No one laughed. The loud young American voices that had filled the shop only minutes earlier were gone, replaced by quieter tones, slower gestures, and the easy recognition of old friends. Their memories of spring break, college, flights, and camera rolls faded into something distant and unimportant. The clerk opened the door for them, and London waited outside in the gold of early evening. Matt suggested a pint. John agreed that it would be sensible. Don remarked that the light on the patio was rather fine. Mason tucked his pipe between his teeth and led them next door.

“Nico, what the hell! I’m gonna kick—” Iker had to barge into his own room after his little brother had locked him out. The twerp must have been in there the entire afternoon while he was out. However, upon getting inside was not his brother waiting for him. A massive man laid in his bed, with only a slight resemblance to his brother. The face was similar, sans facial hair but the body? Where had those carved biceps come from? The vein trailing from the shoulder to the forearm was insane. The chest that lay before him had slabs of beef that overqualified as pecs. Twin sets of skull crushing thighs fed down into his lower half. Then there was the gray, briefs bunched up, barely able to contain what it held anymore.

“Holy shit.” Iker started drinking more of the man.

The re-release of older gaming systems and official emulation mods to run older games had been talked about all over the world. It was originally supposed to celebrate the PS2, but once companies saw the hype, they wanted to jump in. Not that Iker cared about all that, he knew the exact games he wanted to try. The download however was taking forever (slow internet sucked!) so he just left out for a few hours. He never thought his brother would have the cajónes to sneak into his room. Nico had been meek and mild but the man currently lounging in Iker’s bed was quite brazen.

“You want your controller back, go ahead and take it, big bro. I think I’m done with it anyway,” Nico gave a short nod to his bulge. Iker's voice ran dry, as he crawled onto the bed between Nico’s legs. It wasn’t fair, Iker was supposed to be the jock of the family. The handsome one. The muscular one. But it was hard to deny how attractive Nico looked. Iker’s hand tentatively reached for his controller, sensing a warmth the closer it got. Nico’s cock throbbed and the controller shifted, falling against his thigh, as Iker’s hand landed squarely on Nico’s pouch. Whatever was under his briefs wanted out and was begging Iker to do it.

In time the news would reveal the grand gaming system ‘vintage’ world release, did more than reintroduce old games. Every ‘gamer’ that participated in the initial wave got struck with an additional 20 years, that no scientist could rationalize as to how. Countless people were affected in various ways, across lives, habits, personalities, and relationships, but the end result being the same: Hotter gamers introduced into the market.

I leaned against the cool metal of the blue SUV, heart still hammering from the race—this perfect, stolen body’s lungs burning in the best way. The black 2XU trisuit clung to me like a second skin, soaked through with sweat, the fabric so thin and slick it might as well have been painted on. The zipper was yanked down to my sternum, letting the cool air hit the deep valley between my new pecs, sweat dripping down the cut lines of my chest and abs, pooling just above the waistband. Every breath made the suit pull tighter across my shoulders and biceps, the material stretching over pumped muscle that still twitched from the finish line.

I looked down at the race bib pinned to my chest—515, MACKENZIE—and smirked. That was his name, not mine, but fuck, it felt right now. The name taped across this jacked triathlete body I’d been jerking off to for months. My cock—his cock—thickened instantly against the tight compression shorts built into the suit, the damp fabric outlining every ridge and vein, pressing the head up against my lower abs so obviously I could see the bulge twitch when I flexed my quads.

I dragged the black “FINISH” towel slowly across my chest, feeling the soft terry cloth scrape over sensitive nipples, then lower, teasing the slick skin just above the suit’s waistband. My free hand slid down, cupping the heavy swell of my package through the soaked material, squeezing just enough to feel the heat pulsing underneath. “Fuck, Mackenzie,” I muttered to myself, voice low and rough in this deeper throat, “you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to feel this body from the inside.”

I was already rock-hard, the trisuit doing nothing to hide it, and I couldn’t wait to get somewhere private to really explore what I’d taken. I tossed the towel into the back of the SUV and slid into the driver’s seat, the trisuit riding up even tighter as I sat, the damp fabric grinding against my swollen cock and making me hiss through my teeth. Fuck, every little movement in this body was pure sex—the way the seat leather stuck to my sweat-slick thighs, the way my heavy pecs shifted when I gripped the wheel. I started the engine and pulled out of the lot, one hand already drifting down to palm myself through the suit as I drove, slow and deliberate.

It all started six months ago, at the city marathon. I’d gone just to watch, bored and scrolling through my phone, when I spotted him—Mackenzie—cutting through the pack like he owned the course. He was wearing a skimpy singlet and those tiny split shorts, the kind that barely covered his ass, soaked dark with sweat and clinging to every ridge of muscle. His legs were endless, quads pumping, calves flexing hard with every stride, sweat pouring down his carved torso and making the fabric translucent so I could see his nipples stiff against it. The way his abs contracted, the bulge in those shorts bouncing with each step—thick, obvious, swinging heavy—I couldn’t look away. I stood there at the sidelines, cock throbbing in my jeans, imagining what it’d feel like to have that power, that raw athletic perfection, to feel sweat dripping down my own jacked chest, to have that fat dick straining against tight gear.

From that day on, I was obsessed. I stalked his socials, jerked off nightly to his race pics, fantasizing about stealing it all—his body, his strength, his life. And now… now it was mine. I squeezed harder through the trisuit, groaning as pre-cum leaked and darkened the fabric even more. “All mine now, bro,” I muttered, grinning at my reflection in the rearview—his reflection. “Every sweaty, perfect inch.”I couldn’t keep my hands off this body the whole drive home. The trisuit was still plastered to me, but I’d yanked on a loose black tee from the back seat just to feel something new stretching over these shoulders and chest. The fabric was damp in seconds, clinging to the ridges of my pecs and abs underneath, dark patches spreading where sweat kept pouring.

I pulled over on a quiet side road, engine idling, and twisted toward the rearview mirror. My hair—his hair—was soaked, dark strands plastered to my forehead, dripping down my temples. I raised my right arm and flexed hard, watching the bicep balloon into a thick, peaked mound, veins snaking over the surface like cables. The black sleeve rode up instantly, stretched tight around the swell, barely containing the pump. Fuck, the definition was obscene—every fiber popping, the skin shiny with sweat, that tribal tattoo wrapping around the forearm like it was branding this perfect gun as mine now.

I groaned low, lips parted just like in the mirror, and brought my left hand up to grip the flexed bicep, fingers digging into the hot, hard muscle. It didn’t give—an iron peak that made my cock throb painfully against the trisuit underneath my shorts. Pre-cum was already soaking through layers, the head outlined and pulsing every time I squeezed harder. “Look at this fucking arm, Mackenzie,” I rasped to my reflection, voice thick with lust. “All that marathon training, all those miles… and now it flexes for me.”

I pumped the flex a few times—slow, deliberate—watching the bicep jump and swell even bigger, the sleeve straining like it might rip. My free hand slid down to adjust the bulge straining my shorts, stroking once, twice, through the fabric. I wasn’t going to make it home without blowing in this body for the first time. Not a chance. I barely made it through the front door of Mackenzie’s apartment—my apartment now—before I was tearing at the clothes. The black tee came off first, peeled away from my sweat-drenched torso with a wet slap as it hit the floor. Then the trisuit, zipper yanked all the way down, the soaked fabric fighting me as I shoved it off my shoulders, down my cum-slick abs, and kicked it free from my ankles. My cock sprang up hard and throbbing, a thick arc of pre-cum already stringing from the tip to my thigh.

I stood there in just the black Calvin Klein briefs I’d found folded in his drawer—tight, low-rise, the waistband sitting right on my V-line, cupping my heavy balls and shaft like they were made for this body. The fabric was already darkening at the pouch, stretched obscene over the ridge of my cockhead, every vein visible through the thin cotton. I was glistening head to toe, sweat still pouring from the race, skin shiny and pumped under the dim purple glow of the infrared sauna room I’d stumbled into.

“Fuuuck,” I groaned, voice echoing off the cedar walls as the heat hit me. I stepped inside, door clicking shut, the purple light casting shadows that carved my pecs and abs even deeper. My chest heaved, nipples stiff and sensitive, sweat beading and rolling down the deep split between my pecs, over the ridges of my eight-pack, pooling just above the CK waistband before soaking in. The horseshoe tattoo on my left arm flexed as I brought both hands up, dragging them slow over my slick chest, thumbs circling my nipples hard, then down—tracing every cut ab, fingers dipping into the grooves.

I turned sideways to the mirrored wall, watching this stolen body move—shoulders rolling, lats flaring, the briefs riding lower as my cock pulsed and leaked, the wet spot spreading wider. I hooked a thumb under the waistband, teasing it down just enough to let the thick base of my shaft peek out, veins throbbing, but I didn’t free it yet. Not yet. I wanted to savor how this perfect jacked triathlete body felt when it was this pumped, this sweaty, this fucking horny—trapped in tight designer briefs that couldn’t hide a thing.

I pressed a palm flat against my lower abs, sliding lower, cupping the bulge, squeezing until my knees almost buckled. “All mine to use now, Mackenzie,” I rasped, lips parted, eyes locked on my reflection. “Every drop of sweat, every hard inch.” I was so close already, just from touching what I’d stolen. The heat in the sauna had me edged so close I was shaking, but I forced myself to stop—thumb hooked under the soaked Calvin Klein waistband, cock throbbing against my palm, pre-cum stringing thick between my fingers. I couldn’t blow yet. Not when there was more of this body to worship, more places to take it.

I yanked the briefs back up, the wet cotton snapping against my shaft, and grabbed my phone. A text from Kalani—Mackenzie’s gym bro—was already waiting: “Yo bro, late night pump? Gym’s dead, come flex.” Fuck yes. I needed to see this stolen body next to real size, feel the comparison burn through me.

Twenty minutes later I walked into the empty gym, skin still flushed and glistening from the sauna, wearing nothing but those navy shorts I’d found in his gym bag—thin, loose, riding low on my hips, the drawstring dangling against my abs. No shirt. I wanted every inch on display.

Kalani was already there, massive in his black stringer tank, veins popping down his arms, deep bronze tan making his delts and chest look carved from something harder than muscle. He grinned when he saw me, dapping me up, his huge hand swallowing mine. “Looking lean as fuck, bro. Race shredded you even more.”

We stepped in front of the mirror wall, shoulder to shoulder. He was bigger—thicker traps, wider lats, pecs that pushed his tank out like slabs—but I was cut to shreds, every striation in my abs popping under the overhead lights, skin still shiny, V-line disappearing into the low waistband of my shorts. The contrast made my cock twitch hard; I could feel it thickening down my thigh, the loose fabric doing nothing to hide the growing outline.

He threw an arm around my bare shoulders, heavy and warm, and snapped the pic. “Just a little more tan than me, that’s all bro,” he laughed, flexing his free arm, bicep exploding next to my head. But I could feel his eyes drag down my torso, lingering on the sweat trail running from my chest to the waistband, on the way my shorts tented slightly as blood rushed south.

I smirked into the mirror, flexing my own core subtly, abs crunching deep, making the shorts slip another fraction lower. “Yeah, just the tan,” I muttered, voice low, but inside I was burning—feeling his bigger body pressed to mine, the heat, the size difference, knowing this perfect lean machine was mine to flex, mine to get hard in, mine to compare and worship next to an even bigger alpha. My cock was fully hard now, straining down the leg of the shorts, head pushing against the fabric, a dark wet spot already forming.

Kalani’s hand lingered on my shoulder a second longer than it needed to, thumb brushing the ridge of my trap. “Wanna hit chest?” he asked, eyes flicking down again.

Fuck yes. I wanted to feel these pumped pecs bounce under a heavy bench, feel his spotter hands on my bare skin, feel this stolen body pushed to its limit right next to his.

I left the gym with Kalani’s heavy hand still burning on my bare back, his spotter grip lingering way too long on my pumped pecs during those last bench reps. The pump was insane—chest swollen, veins mapping every inch, my navy shorts soaked through with sweat and pre-cum, the outline of my thick cock snaking down my thigh so obvious he definitely noticed. We dapped up slow, his eyes dragging down my shredded torso one last time before I bounced, promising “next time, bro.”

Next morning, the sun was already brutal. I’d crashed hard in Mackenzie’s bed, waking up rock-hard and leaking, the sheets twisted around my waist. I threw on the same navy shorts—no briefs underneath this time, just the thin fabric hugging my bare cock and balls—and hit the rooftop deck for a quick dip in his private plunge pool to cool off.

The water was ice-cold against my hot skin, shocking my nipples stiff and making my abs clench tight. I hauled out dripping, every drop tracing the cuts of my chest and obliques, running down into the low waistband. The shorts clung instantly, darkened and plastered to my thighs, the head of my cock pushing visibly against the wet nylon, a thick ridge that twitched every time I moved.

I grabbed the sunglasses from the side table, slid them on, and couldn’t resist—threw one leg up high, foot planted on the railing, opening my hips wide to feel the stretch in my quads and groin. Fuck, this body was flexible—hamstrings long and lean, the high kick pulling the soaked shorts even tighter across my ass and bulge, fabric riding up so half my balls peeked out the leg hole. Water streamed down my raised thigh, over the horseshoe tattoo, dripping off my calf.

I stuck my tongue out at my phone camera, snapping the pic, but really I was just reveling in it—feeling the sun bake my wet skin, the breeze teasing my stiff nipples, my free hand sliding down to grip the back of my thigh, fingers digging into hard muscle while my cock throbbed hard against the clinging shorts, pre-cum mixing with pool water into a slick mess.

“Goddamn, Mackenzie,” I groaned, voice husky, dropping the leg only to flex both quads hard, watching them pop and separate under the shiny wet skin. The city skyline blurred behind me—I didn’t care. All I cared about was how this stolen athlete body felt when it was drenched, stretched, and aching to be touched deeper. I was gonna blow right here on the deck if I didn’t stop teasing myself soon.

I stumbled inside from the deck, skin still dripping pool water, cock throbbing so hard it hurt with every step. The navy shorts were plastered to me, but I kicked them off in the hallway, rooting through Mackenzie’s drawer until I found these loose olive-green sweats—soft, baggy, the drawstring loose enough that they hung dangerously low on my hips, the waistband barely clinging to the deep V of my abs. No briefs. Nothing between my bare dick and the fleece lining.

I grabbed a cold orange Gatorade from the fridge, the bottle sweating in my grip as I leaned against the cool marble counter. The kitchen light hit my bare torso perfectly—chest still pumped from yesterday’s gym session, nipples hard from the AC, every ridge of my abs casting shadows down to where the sweats barely covered the base of my shaft. I twisted the cap off slow, watching the scorpion tattoo flex on my forearm, the cowboy boot and hat ink curling around my bicep as I brought the bottle to my lips and chugged. Citrus flooded my mouth, some spilling down my chin, streaking over my pecs, dripping off a nipple and tracing the center line of my abs straight into the waistband.

“Fuck it,” I growled, voice rough in this throat. I’d been edging for days in this body—teasing, flexing, comparing—but I was done waiting.

I shoved the sweats down just enough to free my cock, the heavy length slapping up against my abs with a wet smack, pre-cum stringing thick from the head to my skin. Nine thick inches, veiny and flushed, balls heavy and drawn up tight. I wrapped my tattooed hand around the shaft—fingers barely meeting—and started slow, long strokes, thumb swirling over the slick head on every upstroke. My free hand roamed my chest, pinching a nipple hard, then dragging down the sweat-slick abs, feeling every hard ridge jump under my fingers.

I turned sideways to the dark glass of the oven door, watching my reflection stroke this stolen cock—shoulders wide, lats flaring, the green sweats pooled low around my thighs, framing my pumped quads and the obscene bounce of my dick in my fist. Faster now, grip tightening, hips thrusting into my hand like I was fucking it. “This body’s mine,” I panted, eyes locked on the mirror image of Mackenzie’s perfect face twisted in raw lust. “This cock… these abs… this cum… all fucking mine.”

My balls tightened, spine arching as I flexed everything—chest popping, abs crunching into bricks, forearm veins bulging around my shaft. I aimed low, stroking hard and fast, the wet slap echoing in the quiet kitchen. The orgasm hit like a freight train—thick ropes shooting across my abs, splattering up my chest, one shot hitting my chin. I milked it slow, groaning deep, every pulse coating this perfect torso in hot cum, marking it inside and out.

I slumped against the counter, breathing hard, cum cooling on my skin, cock still twitching in my hand. I dragged a finger through the mess on my abs, brought it to my lips, tasting myself—tasting him. “Forever now, bro,” I whispered to the empty kitchen, smirking at my wrecked, glistening reflection. “This body’s never going back.”

Manny was just reading a magazine on the occult when he discovered a section where they talked about a ritual of possessing someone else and became intrigued. It said that the ritual requires a dead body, a pentagram, and black candles to be put on each point of the pentagram.

Intrigued by this, Manny decided to go online and buy the candles and also found red chalk to draw the pentagram. He had someone in mind for him to possess, and it was his dad, Ricardo.

Their relationship has been really sour ever since Manny came out as gay to him. He kicked Manny out of the house with just the clothes on his back and outed him to everyone in their family, and they all ostracized him.

Since then, luckily for Manny his boyfriend took him in and they have been together ever since. But the anger he had for his dad has been seething in himself ever since and this ritual is the chance for revenge.

He then went over to his dad's house in the middle of nowhere and when Ricardo opened the door, he was only in his underwear after having finished a shower.

"What the- what are you doing here fag?" Immediately, Manny took out his kitchen knife and stabbed his dad in the gut. Due to there being no one in the vicinity, no one saw Manny stabbing his own dad and Ricardo bled out on the floor.

"W-what the hell?!" Manny, in all his supressed anger, approached his writhing dad and stabbed him once more in the same stab wound as before, but went even deeper and Ricardo dropped his head to the floor, dead.

"Well, then, dad, this is for you outing me and oustracizing me. And now, I'm gonna be you." Manny then dragged his dad into the living room and made the pentagram on the wooden floor.

He then chanted a spell in latin, word for word,

"Sanguis fluit, umbra ascendit. By the breath untethered and the form denied, Leave the flesh, as the ember dies and the ash takes flight, We weave into the shroud of night. No walls can hold, no chains can bind. Misceatur anima, vapor et umbra!"

Immediately, Manny fell onto the floor as smoke form came out of his mouth and flew into Ricardo's mouth. The invasion caused Ricardo's body to convulse, and as he took control, his dad' soul got kicked out of his own body.

As soon as the ritual was complete, Manny's old body disintegrated into ashes, causing him to cease to exist. Manny, now in full control of his dad, lifted up one arm and kissed it while looking at his dad's soul bead on the floor, and picks it up.

"Thank you dad, for your awesome body. I'm gonna turn your homophobic ass into a gay slut and you're not gonna stop me. Before that though..."

He then looks at his dad's soul in his hand and crushes it to pieces, and Manny can hear his dad scream as his soul bead is crushed, making sure that his dad is really dead.

He then took a look at the stab wound on his abdomen and put his saliva on it while reciting a healing spell, causing the wound to heal instantly.

"Now that you're dead and gone, why don't I take your, MY, own body for a ride and get fucked for hours hehe."

Jack sat at his office cubicle and sighed for what had to have been the fifth time in the last hour. He was getting bombarded by e-mails from people in his department asking him questions about things that they should have known to begin with. He had his own projects and issues to deal with so he didn’t have time to deal with everybody else’s problems.

“Dude?” somebody said from behind him. “Everything all right?”

Jack turned back and saw his co-worker Alan standing there with a cup of coffee in his hand and a look of concern on his face. Alan had been with the company a couple more months than Jack had been and he was actually in an entirely different department now. But when Jack started working there, Alan was the guy who sat in the cubicle next to him.

“Everything is fucking perfect,” Jack replied. “Sorry. Just a long morning with people asking me about things… yeah… never mind.”

Alan took a sip of his coffee and nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “You know Mabel? She went on vacation last week and locked herself out of all of her stuff. She’s been dealing with IT all morning.”

“Oh god,” Jack said chuckling. “How has that gone?”

“Let’s just say that I’ve heard words come out of Mabel’s mouth that I didn’t think were possible,” Alan said. “But seriously. You look like you need a break. Go out and take a walk. Grab some food. Do something besides staring at that stupid screen hating yourself.”

Jack closed his eyes. “I really need to finish working on these files for Starkist,” he said. He looked at Alan whose look had changed to the ‘you better get your ass out of here’ look that could kill.

“Fine fine,” Jack replied as he got up from the chair. “I get it. Yes Dad.”

“Good,” Alan replied. “Oh and by the way. Jack. Take out the garbage when you get home. Last week you forgot and I had to do it.”

Jack laughed and mock saluted. “Yes sir!” he said as he walked away from his desk for a while.

A walk would do him good for sure. As he walked towards the stairs, he looked as his supervisor Annie and said, “Hey. I need to take a walk and get some fresh air. I’ll be back in a bit okay?”

Annie smiled and nodded. “Good. If Alan didn’t get you to get out of here, I’d have done it for him,” she said.

He stopped at that. “Oh, I see… it’s a conspiracy. You sent Alan to do your dirty work,” Jack said arching an eyebrow.

“I can neither confirm nor deny that statement,” Annie said. “Get out of here. Take an hour lunch. Go to the park. Take a nap… do something besides work.”

Jack nodded and walked out of the office and out into the fresh air. He wasn’t one to actually land up taking lunches and he sure didn’t take hour lunches unless he absolutely had to. But today he was going to try his damnedest to actually listen to what other people were telling him and take a full lunch.

Without really thinking about it, Jack started to walk and let his mind wander. With everything that was going on in his personal life and work life, it was hard to keep everything straight. His wife of five years had asked for a divorce because she no longer loved him. The company he had worked for had gone through two mergers since he had started working there and rumors were that layoffs were on the horizon because profits weren’t good enough.

But for now, Jack needed to talk and forget about things. About ten minutes in, he turned the corner onto a sidestreet and came across a store that he didn’t remember being there before. There had been a gym boutique there the last time Jack had walked this way but that must have been a few months ago because things had obviously changed.

“What the hell?” Jack muttered as he saw the sign above the door saying ALPHA WORLD ORDER: THIS IS NOT A COSTUME.

Jack looked both ways to see if anybody was coming down the street and shrugged. Might as well take a look through the window and see what the hell was going on. What Jack saw was something strange. There were racks of merchandise for something called the Alpha World Order. Red accent lighting with screens on which a guy who Jack thought he recognized was talking about something that he couldn’t make out. There was a small gym area in one corner with a guy standing there with his arms crossed. Another guy was standing behind the counter and everything looked… polished… aggressive and honestly a bit off putting.

Standing out there for a minute Jack was totally lost as to what the hell he was looking at. Was it some sort of wrestling cosplay store? A gym? Some influencer brand store? Oh fuck… if it was that then it was probabiy a scam.

But Jack didn’t care and if it allowed him to forget about his job and home life for a few minutes, so much the fucking better.

He opened the door and immediately felt a cool and fresh breeze. The guy on the screen he recognized as one of the better known professional wrestlers Austin Theory. Although Jack wasn’t a huge wrestling fan and he hadn’t kept up with all of the stuff going on, he would watch a show here and there just to escape from things. The music was low and pulsing, almost throbbing. It didn’t give Jack a headache like most music did. It felt… relaxing.

The walls were black, the shirts organized and everything was clean and orderly. He felt a bit almost uncomfortable by the entire situation but Jack didn’t want to be a wimp and run out the door as soon as he walked inside.

He walked over to one of the racks and it was filled with AWO merchandise. There were black compression shirts as well as regular T-Shirts. On another rack nearby were shorts for gym use and every day wear all with the AWO branding and everything looked clean and solid.

He heard bootsteps behind him and saw a man walking towards him. He was wearing a tight AWO shirt, black jeans. He had a mustache that reminded Jack of an old school wrestler along with a bandana. The confidence that was coming off the guy was shocking to say the least. Jack involuntarily took a step back and almost hit the rack behind him.

“Brother,” the man said. “You all right? Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Sorry,” Jack replied as he composed himself quickly. “Just browsing.”

The man shook his head as he looked at Jack. “You didn’t come in to just browse,” he said. “There’s something more right?”

Jack frowned at the forwardness of the salesperson. “Great way to do a sales pitch,” he said. “Call a person a liar.”

“No,” the man said. “I didn’t do that. But you came in here for a reason didn’t you? What was it?”

“Fuck,” Jack said. “I honestly have no clue. I just needed a break from things you know? And… well…”

“Well what?” the man asked.

“Something here I kind of like,” Jack replied after a moment.

“The Alpha World Order is for everybody,” the man said. “We’re not here for cosplay or to become a fanboy. We’re here to offer the opportunity to unlock the version of yourself that you were always afraid to claim.”

“So you are a cult… or a scam…” Jack said as he shook his head and headed towards the door. “Pyramid scheme or whatever. Work on somebody who isn’t as smart as me.”

“Cult? Scam? Brother, if that helps you feel smarter, use whatever word you want. But you’re still standing here.” 

Jack sighed and shook his head. Honestly, anything would be better than what he was dealing with right now in his personal and professional life.

“Fine,” Jack said as he closed the door. “Let me look some more.”

“We’ve got a fine number of options to choose from,” the man said as Jack closed the door. “Go back to the Gallery. Take a look at what we have to offer you.”

The man pointed to a corner of the store where there was touchscreens. Jack chuckled and nodded and headed over to the Gallery and started looking and touching.

Immediately, Jack was watching a number of what were called Alpha Archetypes showed on the screen. Each archetype had characteristics, personality traits, physical attributes and the like. It was like playing a video game where the player was figuring out character generation.

Going through them he saw some like The Pretty Boy Idol, The Influencer, The Enforcer, The Champion, The Alpha Muse and others. The screens seemingly went on and on and Jack began to get more and more interested. What the fuck was going on here? Whatever it was it sure got him intrigued.

Ten minutes later, Jack was flipping through the archetypes again. Each of them called to him a different way but none of them fit perfectly. Finally, he found an archetype that was labelled The Genetic Freak. The description below it was straightforward to say the least: Unapologetic mass. Unfiltered mouth. Unchecked dominance. Become the man they cannot look away from.

Jack chuckled and sighed. Wow… talk about everything he was not. For a moment, he didn’t do anything but then saw that button at the bottom and he pushed it. Immediately, a screen to his left on the wall lit up and began to go through a list of traits for the Genetic Freak.

Finally, the screen projected Jack not as he was at that moment, but what he could have been. This version of Jack had broader shoulders, biceps to die for. He was wearing a tight black compression AWO tank top and an AWO armband that barely fit around his bicep. His pants were black and he was wearing black shoes. In the image, his hair was blond and cut short and he was wearing sunglasses that made him look dominant and like a douchebag.

But without thinking about it, Jack flexed and the image flexed back. A part of him was fucking embarssed to say the least but at the same time, something inside of him felt excited by the proposition. What the hell was he thinking? He needed to get fucking out of the store and back to reality.

He turned to walk out of the Gallery and the man from the front desk walked up to him. “Looks like you found it,” he said.

“If I want to look like a musclebound douchebag who doesn’t have a brain cell,” Jack said as he chuckled.

“And what’s wrong with that?” the man asked. “What’s wrong with opening yourself to the possibility of changing for the better?”

“And that’s what you did I take it?” Jack countered with.

“I did,” the man replied. “Three months ago I was in the same place you were. I took a chance and this is where I am today. And let me tell you brother, I am so much happier now than back then.”

“So…” Jack said after a minute trying to think of a way to stop this entire thing. “How much would this cost me?”

The man shook his head. “Stage 1 is about choosing. No payment, no obligation,” he replied. “You’ll need to answer a few questions and in a week’s time, you’ll come back for the next stage. But if it doesn’t feel real… or its a scam, then you can walk away and never come back.”

Jack sighed and looked around the store. He knew that he needed to get out of there. He knew that this was all a scam and that he needed to stop. But deep down, beneath the doubts, he needed to be something more. Maybe going on lunch was the world’s way of bringing him to this point so that he could take a chance.

“Fine,” Jack said. “Let’s do this.”

The man smiled and said, “Brother you won’t regret this. Let’s get you started.”

A few moments later, Jack was led into a smaller room that was quieter than the main floor. The walls were black. There was an AWO banner behind a desk on which there was a laptop. Jack sat down in the chair and looked at the laptop and saw The Genetic Freak profile staring back at him.

The salesman sat down on the other side of the desk and said, “I’m going to need to ask you a few questions to better align our program with your choices. If you don’t feel comfortable at any time, you can stop. All right?”

“Ask away,” Jack said.

The questions were general at first. Age, full name, marital status at first. It felt more like he was applying for a credit card than whatever he was in fact dealing with.

But then the questions became more personal.

“What do you hate about being yourself?”

“When do you feel smallest?”

“Who do you envy?”

“What kind of man makes you angry just by existing?” 

“What do you want others to see first when they look at you?”

“Do you want to be respected, feared, envied or lusted after?”

After all the questions were answered, Jack frowned as the man typed a couple of final things into the laptop before nodded.

“Just verify everything is right,” the man said. “I’ll be right back.”

Jack was left around and he stared at the screen and the information stared back at him:

Primary Archetype: The Genetic Freak

Primary Traits: Mass, arrogance, dominance, verbal aggression, physical intimidation, loyalty

Projected Path: Four step transformation.

Under the information was his information that he had given and the screen asked him if he accepted what he saw. Jack frowned and realized that he was fucking nervous. What the hell was he doing? How the hell did he land up here?

He shook his head and pushed the button to confirm his choices. The screen thanked him for his choices and the door opened and the salesperson walked back in with a bag in his hand.

“Here,” he said as he handed the bag to Jack. “You’ll get an e-mail about your next appointment next week. When you come back, wear that. Not because it’ll change you but because you have already chosen.”

In a mental haze, Jack walked out of the store and looked around trying to figure out what honestly had happened. It was just cosplay, just a weird fantasy. It was like an adult sex shop where you walked in, looked around, felt bad and walked out and would never go back.

Jack walked down the street and back to his job when he caught himself looking in a window. He looks a little bit wider and he raises his chin slightly. A smirk appeared on Jack’s face and then it disappeared just as quickly.

He fished in the bag and pulled out an appointment card: Stage 2: Beginnings. Jack knew that he could walk away any time and go back to his boring life.

He knew he had time to decide.

But the appointment card knew better.

Taylor received a pickup truck from his father for his high school graduation gift. He did ask for a sedan or just some casual city car, but his father insisted on the pickup truck so he warmly received it simply because all he needs is his own vehicle to drive around and go to his campus around 30 miles away from his hometown. He's majoring in Political Science while also taking Computer Science class on the side, and so far, he's been enjoying the routine of getting to campus and study and meet new people along the way

But, as his father intended, Taylor, or Tyler now, eventually dropped off from university and instead continued the family restaurant business while his father ran the hunting and fishing shop the family also owned. All thanks to the pickup truck that slowly yet surely corrupted the very essence that made Taylor and replaced it with the values and personality the father wished for his own son. But not just his son, all the people that joined his son on the truck at least a couple times are all affected by the pickup

Christopher and Wesley, the two guys he befriended in his Compsci class and his usual gaming fellas turned into Chris and Wes, two cocky douchebros that help new frat joiners to settle in to their Greek life while at the same time instilling values to despise nerds and other alikes as socially inept people who all would work as their lowly associates in the future while the frat bros are reigning over them with the power of networking and sweet-talking people with their good look and charming front personality.

Dorian and Chester, the two closest friend of his in most of his Polsci class also dropped out from their school after joining Tyler a bit too much in his pickup. Ryan and Chaz now worked for grassroots political operative for the local chapter of the Republican party in their hometown while spending their days with fellow like-minded people doing plethora of things like working odd jobs, day drinking or joining forces in the local gun range

While his dorm mates Julius, Vincent and Edward turned into bunch of fitness influencers barely surviving college in terms of their scores, but living the best moment of their life socially as they prioritize making content and enjoying life to the fullest over their class assignment. After all, the nerds that they joined forces with in their classes all willingly work on the task for them as long as the three studs give dating or fitness advice to them or letting some of the gayer nerds feasted upon their bodies. Win-win solution for the both sides

After the Covid-19 virus hit the world, no one planned for another pandemic to come right after. And especially not one like this.

My name is David and I’m a single dad with 2 boys. And outside of all of the craziness happening in the world we lived pretty normal lives.

But all of that changed quickly last month when a new virus started to spread around the world. No one knows where it comes from or how it spreads. Scientist are rushing to figure it out. I assume it was made in a lab somewhere. As far as side effects go it’s just like a common cold and non-life threatening. That said, there is one major side effect to this virus— if you catch it and spread it to another individual you will take over that persons body and they will take over yours. Which is where they got the name Swap Flu. And that’s why my family is in the predicament we are in now. 

Last week my youngest son George came home from school early after not feeling well. I left work and ran to go pick him up. Asked him how he was was feeling once he got into the car. His symptoms sounded like a cold but he hasn’t swapped with anyone yet. I figured by now if he had the virus he would have another body. But I was wrong and didn’t realize that the virus takes a minute to set in.

At home, I sent George to bed. Told him I would check in on him in a little and bring him some soup. I went to the kitchen, made him some chicken noodle, and brought it upstairs. That’s when I started to feel weird myself but brushed it off to take care of George. After dropping off the soup I went back downstairs to finish up some of my my work.

I opened up my laptop and that’s when everything went black for a second. Moments later I wake up in George’s bed with his soup sitting on my lap. I look down at my much smaller hands and knew what happened. A little panicked I start to get up but heard a knock at the door.

“Hey Georgie! It’s your Big Bro Caleb. Dad texted me and said you weren’t feeling well.”

I try to tell him not to come in but it was too late. Caleb already opened the door.

“Stay back Caleb!” I shouted.

“It’s okay buddy! We all get sick sometimes you have nothing to be scared about.” He says walking over to the bed.

“Caleb it’s me dad. You need to get out of here now.”

“Oh shit!” That’s when I blacked out again. Waking up on the floor this time I looked over my body and confirmed that I was now Caleb. George who I assume is Caleb starts to wake up.

“Dad?”

“Yeah buddy it’s me.”

That’s when my youngest son comes busting in excited in my body. “Daddy!! Look at me! I’m big now!! I was sleeping and now I’m you!!”

“Yeah buddy we know.”

“Oh hi Caleb! Look how strong I am now, do you wanna wrestle?”

“ I’m actually over here Georgie.” Says Caleb from George’s 9 year old body.

“What? Caleb’s in my body? That’s awesome!!” George runs over to his bed in my adult body and proceeds to pick Caleb up.

“This is cool!! I’m dad now so Caleb you have to listen to me!”

“George put me down now! I’m still your big brother!”

“No you’re not! I’m dad and your little Georgie!” He starts to tickle Caleb and turns him upside down.

“George put your brother down right this instance! Don’t make me count to 3!”

George gently sits Caleb down on his bed. “I’m sorry daddy.” he says shyly. His body language is child like and it’s weird seeing my middle aged body act like a kid who just stole a cookie from a jar.

“It’s okay champ but you’re going to be in my body for a little while. You have to be more careful with your brother.”

“Okay I promise I’ll be more careful daddy.” He then turns around and sticks his tongue out at Caleb.

“George! What did I say? Now apologize to your brother.”

“Sorry Caleb.”

“Well this is just great! I’m stuck in a child’s body for at least a month.”

“ It’s okay Caleb I’ll take care of you! I promise I’ll be the best dad ever.” He says patting called on the head.

“Fuck me! This is just perfect.”

“Language Georgie! Kids shouldn’t have potty mouths.” George giggles as he tries to mimic me.

That was last week. My job and the kids school knows what happened and now we have to quarantine until we all swap back to our respected bodies.

Although Caleb is still upset because George won’t leave him alone. Im pretty happy with my new body. I’m 18 and fit. And even though I’m sick I haven’t felt this good in years. The best part is when the boys go to sleep. I can have some alone time to do a little exploring and boy Caleb has been hiding a monster in his pants this whole time. You won’t believe how many times I’ve jerked off in the past week. I guess that’s what happens when you’re stuck in a teenagers body and have nothing better to do.

I invited Caleb’s boyfriend over and as you can imagine we ended up switching bodies.

Here’s the new me for the time being. Cute right?

Andrew and Caleb have been going steady for awhile before the Swapflu and we have been texting while I’ve been in quarantine. Getting to know Andrew has been so much fun that I couldn’t resist the urge to invite him over.

Of course, Caleb didn’t know that he was coming over. And my whole plan backfired on me for the worse. Andrew is in Caleb’s body and I’m now Andrew.

Here’s us quarantining together. Caleb gets pissed every time he walks by the door and sees us in bed together.

But I can put up with an angry kid and George is even happier because all this has done is pro-long the swap even longer.

I’m pretty happy with Andrew’s body. He’s much hairier than Caleb. And let me tell you I figured out real quick who’s the top in this relationship.

The best part of the swap is that I know get to wake up to Andrew’s cute face every morning. I always give him a little kiss before we start our morning round together.

“Hey, what the hell’s this?”

The men gathered around the odd, squirming slime near a corner of the locker room. Nothing connected the men together other than the odd satisfaction they got from leering at the phenomenon before them. There was a distinct excitement and confusion in the room as they gathered around.

“Someone gonna touch it?”

“Hell no. Thing looks like it’d give me cancer or super AIDS if I did,” argued one of them while his buddy next to him chuckled.

“Well, someone’s gotta do something about it. Aw, fuck it, lemme go get the staff and OOMPH!” Before the man could even move, a tendril of the green slime shot into his open mouth to the shock of the other men. Slime traveled down the man’s throat as his body shook and convulsed.

As multiple screams filled the locker room, the slime continued to invade the man through whatever orifice was available. For some, it was their anus being invaded. Their legs buckled and they collapsed onto the locker room floor as a bloby sensation filled a tight, sacred place for them. Despite their resistance, a few even grew hard and leaked pre-cum at the penetrating sensation tickling their prostates. One man even ejaculated as the slime infested each and every one of his cells.

For others, it was their dickholes that the slime invaded them through. The held their junk in a vain effort to protect themselves, but were unable to struggle much. They fell back onto the ground, hips moving on their own as they were abused by the strange invader in such a painful, pleasurable way.

In every man’s head was the question, “Why?” until their only thoughts were, “Give me more!”

Once the last of the slime entered their bodies with a whip-like slosh, the men convulsed as their nervous systems were invaded. Legs trembled as sensual grunts filled the locker-room air. As the last of their consciousness cried out in a ecstasy-fueled moan, the men smiled and spread out on the floor. Their limbs relaxed as they were no longer under their control. Nerves fired away as a barrage of blissful pleasure welcomed them to oblivion.

A few minutes later, the men rose from the floor and continued changing as though nothing happened. However, there was a link between them. Their minds were no longer their own as the slimy substance sloshed around in their skulls, engulfing their brains in the green goo.

A glint appeared in their eyes as a another man, fresh from a workout and covered in a coat of sweat, walked in. He gave a few curt nods to the men he recognized nice, and they mirrored the action. Though the slime puppeting the men wasn’t sure exactly what or why it was doing these things, it simply was right. There was nothing but instinct guiding it. To spread, to breed, to grow was its sole directive.

“Hey, what the fuck, man!” He shouted as two bodies drew the shower curtain back.

“Get the fuck out, I’m–ORRRGH!” The suds-covered man was unable to fight back as one man tackled him to the ground while another kissed him. A torrent of green goo slithered up one’s throat and down to the other.

Meanwhile, the slime continued to spread. Its hosts shivered with glee as it discovered just how effective the city’s pipes were in its conquest.

“Hey, what’s this fucking–ARGH!”

The meeting of two personalities is like the contact of two chemical substances: if there is any reaction, both are transformed.  

“Ahhh!” Michelle cried out, slamming her phone onto the table she and her friends were having lunch at.

At first, neither of them took a glance, just happily munching on their meals until Michelle cleared her throat and said, “Umm, UTV is having a concern next month! In our state!”

“AAAAHHHH!”

Finally, the response it deserves, Michelle thought as her friends joined in the shrieks.

“I’ve been waiting years for them to tour this dump,” Michelle’s friend, Cindy, said. “Can you believe it?”

“I’m practically dying,” their other friend, a girl who preferred to go by Nebula, said in a monotone voice. “But like, in a good way. Never thought UTV would ever have a comeback tour and stop by here in the armpit of the nation.” Nebula took the phone and eagerly began to read through the website details.

Cindy set her boba tea down and let out another quick shriek. “I was just watching their last tour the other night. It must be fate that this is happening.” She took Michelle’s hand, oblivious to Michelle’s blush, and cheered. “Luckily we got UTV’s number one fan as a bestie, huh, Nebby?”

Nebula cringed at the nickname but didn’t respond. Her attention too focused on the phone as her grimace grew. “Uh, Nebby? Everything ok?” Michelle asked.

The light clicked on, keys were tossed on the chest of drawers by the door, Thomas gasped and gaped at the titanic man sprawled on his sofa across the room.

“Startled you?” He purred in a deep, Eastern European accent.

Thomas paused and then choked out an impressed chuckle, pointing a finger towards the backpack, “So who’s it this time? Exchange student? New in your department?”

“Maybe. Maybe just some piece of ass I saw stumbling around campus. Does it matter?” He cockily flexed for himself, indulging in his huge size, taking heavy deep breaths intermingled with soft moans, teasing Thomas.

Thomas and Professor Navarro—Juan to Thomas now—had been going steady pretty much since the first month Thomas had his upper level religion class in his 3rd year. Juan was always so charming and intelligent to Thomas, not to mention he rocked a tight Latino silver fox look, and Thomas was always an attentive and passionate student, plus his short but stacked bod he’d maintained from his wrestling years in high school had always attracted its fair share of admirers. Including from his professors. Needless to say, visits to Professor Navarro's office hours quickly transitioned first into heavy petting, then followed by mutual suck sessions right there in the religious studies hall.

Since then, Juan and Thomas had turned their taboo situationship into a full blown relationship, with much more openness after Thomas finally graduated. But it had only been within the last two months since Juan—through his more esoteric studies—discovered that spell (hex, really, but who’s worried about precision of language when you’re dealing with possession incantations). Even in the short two months since the discovery, he and Thomas had taken insane advantage of it. Both Juan and Thomas had stuffed themselves into a village’s worth of people since then—other men, women, students, grad assistants, and professors alike, a small mob’s worth of men at the townie bars, into each other’s bodies (too many times to count really)—but this was easily Juan’s most massive find to date.

Juan continued to admire himself, relishing in the ridiculous scale of his borrowed body, flexing and copping a feel all over himself through hot and heavy pants of breath. Thomas had trouble catching his own breath, squeezing his thick hog that was forming a spike in his gym shorts at the sight, soaking his briefs in sweaty pre and coaxing Juan to tease him further.

Juan sighed and brought his massive hands down together to his crotch making an O with his hands and bunching up his stiffening package over his shorts making an obscene bulge, then waggled the copious bunch of meat at Thomas.

"You want I should stretch your hole wide open like pig, да?" He purred deeply again, really leaning into his borrowed Eastern European accent. “Come, let me taste, красотка.”

Thomas huffed another giggle and dropped his bag, swiftly moving over to the couch and basically falling on top of Juan's enormous form, immediately linking lips with him and exploring each others mouths and tongues. Thomas rutted his cock against Juan’s chiseled torso while Juan sucked face and took greedy firm fistfuls of Thomas’s ass. Suddenly, Juan manhandled Thomas up higher to his face, yanking down his shorts and briefs, burying his face into Thomas’s fuzzy bush and taking licks down his throbbing pole, while Thomas steadied himself with his hands around Juan’s buzzed head. Juan went to work swallowing deep gulps of Thomas’s chubby boyfriend cock, as Thomas gasped in deep satisfied moans of ecstasy.

Suddenly, after riding cresting waves of pleasure inside Juan’s mouth, stampeding quickly towards cumming, a devilish thought hit Thomas. Maybe even a risky thought, but that made it so much hotter—and fuck, could it be hot…

Between the noisy gulps and slurps he was making, Juan could also hear the first few syllables of that familiar incantation being whispered between whiny gasps. Juan immediately understood what was happening. Greedy fucker, Juan thought with a grin and intensified his assault on Thomas’s dick, pushing his man ever closer to unloading while he hurried out the last of the lines. Thomas panted urgently the last few syllables as he felt his balls hitch and his head vibrate as he flooded Juan’s gullet with spooge.

Simultaneously, as he voided his nuts into Juan’s new thick neck, Thomas felt the familiar sucking pull, as he began his plunge into his lover once again. Only this time, he felt a triple-fold hurricane wind of tightening pleasure pervading his goo-ifying body, sloshing around and through his own fresh load. He felt something—someone—with him there in the churning, throbbing vessel he was invading, and he knew within a second that it was Juan there he was sliding against, thrusting against, grinding against, melding into. Their body thrashed there on the couch, flexing and grunting involuntarily, humping against the air, their whole frame pulsating and cracking bigger while their clothes came loose at the seams, their cock hiccuping into thicker and longer extremes.

Thomas and Juan churned and twisted more into each other, squeezing into each other with such erotic intensity until—…

Their eyes shot open to the bright light in the same second as their neck cracked higher, forcing their shared body into its 7’8”, 430 lbs behemoth finality, also the same second their 13 inch coke can cock and orange sized nuts began gushing and spitting out a liters worth of hot, gooey jizz into the sweating, matted forest of his heaving barrel chest.

“Yeah, which one?”

They all sneered and puffed their chests out at me. They were really putting on quite a show. I loved how competitive they were being about it.

“Which one of us are you gonna fuckin’ pick, bro?”

“Well…” I gave them each a critique from left-to-right, “Bryan, I can see you’ve been working those abs in the gym like I asked, and I can see that you have your beard nice and neatly trimmed. That’s very good. And, Corey, those muscles just keep getting bigger and bigger every day. Jake, fuck bro, you are one sexy fucker. Look at that fucking grin on your face. You think I should pick you, don’t you?”

“Fuck yeah, bro,” he flexed for me and gave me a little wink, “You won’t fucking regret it.”

Corey, as usual, kept quiet. He was the most mature and reserved of the three of them. But he was the one that I had my eyes on. I decided that those big, hard muscles were just I what I needed to have myself wrapped up in for the day.

“It’s going to be Corey,” I announced, much to the other boys’ disappointment. 

The hard-bodied hunk nodded obediently and stepped forward from the center of the group. He turned around so his back was facing me and rolled his shoulders forward. I closed my eyes and quietly recited the ancient spell. My soul was poured from my body into his, and Corey was now mine to control.

“Let’s go, bros,” I told the other boys in my Corey voice, “Let’s wrap it up here at the park and find somewhere to lift some fucking weights.”

“Fuck yeah, bro!” Jake said.

Josh was stuck in a state of permanent hell. Being a teenager was hard enough with discovering sex and puberty. Josh, however, had all that as well as a slight case of post death limbo he was horny as hell with no body to get down with.  Worst of all he died on a beach with a pier that was the highlight of the surrounding areas. Bringing in tons of tourists  every season. Hot guys, gay and straight, running around half naked made limbo a literal living hell. The only solace Josh had was an occasional grouping of some guys ass or a peek at their junk when they were in the bathroom.

Next week was apparently supposed to be gay pride at the beach and josh knew it was going to be hunks on hunks on hunks. Depressed and wanting to take his mind off things, Josh went to the piers theatre to sit in on a movie. It was a throwback Thursday and they were playing the children’s film Casper Meets Wendy. Great a ghost movie thought Josh but he still stayed. And boy was he glad! The ghosts in the movie did this possession thing where they took over some guys bodies! This got Josh thinking maybe pride wouldn’t be so bad after all.

The next week came with rainbows and hot bods galore. Josh was staking it out on the beach to find the PERFECT guy to get into and test out this whole possession thing. He waited  and waited not wanting to make the wrong decision. Worried he was missing out, Josh started to float over to the pier. As soon as he started though, he stopped dead in his ecotoplasmic tracks to see this hottie walk by.

Now there’s a body I could get into. Josh always liked the beefy big guy type, he never thought he might get the chance to actually be one though! This guy seemed to be going to the changing rooms. Perfect! Some things going to change but it’s not going to be that swimsuit.

Chad entered the changing room when he felt a presence follow him in. Thinking it was some horny pride goer he turned around to tell him off.  Instead he was greeted by a bluish translucent form.  eyes wide Chad screamed in terror. “Sorry dude let’s hope this works” Josh said as he flew forward into Chad’s mouth. Josh threw all he had into charging into this guy, almost a little too much. Josh hit Chad’s mouth all of his ghostly form slamming onto Chad’s face, then popping into his mouth and down his throat. This not only caused Chad to fly back onto the bench, but all that momentum turned Josh into poltergeist pinball. As Chad’s big butt flopped down on the bench, Josh bounced into Chad’s stomach making it to expand out, causing Chad to groan deeply. Josh then ricocheted from Chad’s now round belly straight into his big globular ass, “I’m really sorry about this man!” Josh yelled embarrassed about the rough possession job he was doing. Slamming into Chad’s ass made a rubbery sound as it expand to almost double its size, this sudden bubble butt inflation bounced Chad up from the bench and hurled him across the room with him yelling. Just like the stomach though as soon as Josh bounced in he bounced out. This time he flew into Chad’s huge dong, which was already being barley contained in his speedo.  That didn’t matter though as momentum still propelled Josh forward. With a boing Chad stopped mid flail and his huge dick expanded to full staff in a matter of seconds. The feeling of Josh’s cool rubbery ectoplasm expanding in Chad’s dick  made his eyes cross and knees shake in pure ecstasy.

Josh kept moving forward and soon he was deflating out of Chad’s rock hard member first his head popped out , then the rest followed quickly in suit.  flying forwards, Josh was caught in the pouch which was stretching out as he flew forward. Meanwhile Chad was standing dazed from the orgasmic feeling of Josh flying out his dick. Josh was losing momentum as Chad’s speedo reached its maximum stretch. Coming out of his daze Chad looked at what was happening between his legs. Just in time to see his waist band come flying back at him filled with ghost. “Coming back at cha big boy” Josh laughed as he collided with Chad’s hard member. Josh was back in side but now had a better grasp on what he had to do. Chad’s mouth began to fill  with ectoplasm as Josh started to spread through-out his body. Doubling over from the forced entry, Chad thrust his crotch forward as Josh filled up his member and balls. Chad moaned as he felt the all too familiar swelling effect of an ecto filled dick.  Josh then started to fill in Chad’s ass causing it to shake and dance around the changing room.  Not wanting to waste much more time Josh pushed down into each of Chad’s legs making each of  them pop up respectively. Finally Josh went to the torso ending with Chad’s heavy pecs, each was filled with a small spring sound. Feeling filled completely with Josh’s ghostly presence, Chad fell back onto the bench with the sound of a ball bouncing.

He looked up beaming. “Wow! That was so much fun! I’m definitely doing that again” Chad said with Josh’s voice. The new Chad sprung up and grabbed his crotch,

Wo this guy is HUGE, I mean I knew that from getting into this hot bod, but it’s so different feeling the actual weight of this thing!

In a similar world where being gay can get you killed or worse, crippled unable to live a good life... magical measures had to be taken to punish the truly wicked and give relief to those harmed. This is a story about taking quality bodies away from the corrupt and giving them to those in need.

I was going on a run to get in shape, and out of nowhere, some bigots yelled, "what's with the pink shorts? Trying to bait a dick with that dumptruck ass?" They approached me from behind. Beaten to a pulp. I was knocked out.

Later I woke up from a 3 month coma. My legs wouldn't move. And my... oh no. Something was wrong with my dick. It really hurt...

And a handsome man walked in. He looked at me with pity, and then smiled. "Call me Mr. Fixer. You've been broken. How'd you like to be given a chance to not be broken. It's just a new life away. The secret Homosexual Protection Program. Just sign here for consent. And we'll have your soul relocated to a body that will fulfill your every need.

I signed it. Of course, I signed it. "What now?" I could barely look his pretty face in the eyes.

"Just go to sleep. And when you wake up, my magic will have done its work."

"Wait. How you know what kind of body I want?" I asked in a hurry.

"Instagram. Twitter. You name it. We went through it for your benefit. We have ideas..."

And I fell asleep by a magical wave of his muscular hand.

I slowly woke up. And I felt incredible! My dick had morning wood. And it didn't hurt! And I could move my legs. I felt like new.

Man. I was a real cutie. I was disappointed about my new package not being porn star long. But looking like this, I will have no problem finding action. I heard someone in the bathroom. And there he was... a total hunk.

"How you like your new body, Will? You're 19. Verse bottom. Oh. And I'm Dylan. Your Dominant Top boyfriend. Only bottom if you beg me for it. I previously introduced myself as Mr. Fixer. I was planning on putting you inside some other homophobic twunk, but the previous user of that twink body cheated on me. Enjoy."

"Okay. So, do you want to fuck me?" I asked blatantly. I got into position. And he ripped off my underwear, destroying them. His king tier monster of 10 inches long, and 7 inches girth, enters inside my bubble butt hole.

I screamed and started moaning rhythmically. And Dylan pounding my hole felt like a severe misplaced punishment. He told me, "I can give you a new body after I put my ex cheating boyfriend back inside Will's overstretchted body."

"Damn. That's savage..." I said as he kept at stretching my insides. Then Dylan somehow put the old Will back inside this body with me.

My voice said, "OH. Hey... I knew you'd come around. Wait. Why you using a body like that, it's gonna do damage to my ass!

Dylan started talking, "Welcome back home, Will." as my shared hole got obliterated in explosive rounds of monster cum. I lost my ability to walk normal after that.

"Sorry, new Will. You'll have to share control of that body until tomorrow. Just try to get along and sleep."

Going to the bathroom, we started talking, old Will said, "He's my boyfriend! The cheating was accidental. He always changes bodies. How am I supposed to know?"

I replied, "Either way, I think he said I'm his boyfriend now..." we started wrestling with our shared body. And he started grabbing the dick and competitively rubbing it up and down.

I then went to our so sore, it might be ruined ass... and I put the toothbrush up it. Old Will went, "You bitch!" And I went, "Yeah. Our ass is filled with cum. Most of it was pumped inside me before you arrived. Our body started sweating and having a shared emotional breakdown.

Dylan came. Looked. And went, "Calm down, you bottom bodymates, unless you're ready for round 2?" as he patted the infamous monster.

I forced my body to shake our head no. And we went to bed. Cuddling tightly with Dylan.

Went to the beach searching for my next body with Dylan. And there was many sexy men.

I ended choosing the beautiful hunk with a large package and a nice ass. Side note: Will was by himself in his body now. And left.

Dylan or Mr. Fixer possessed all the others to have sex with me on the nude beach. He let me pick his body. He said he'll stay in it for 2 years, only 2 years for bodies that aren't heartless assholes and forever potentially for corrupt ones based on memories accessed...it's his personal code. I picked him this one:

As you can see in the photo, he's a little upset by my choice. The body is great. Great ass. Good dick of 7 inches. Not too painful. Besides he's really skilled at being a classy yet bossy power bottom.

"Shouldn't our bodies be switched? You picked my first choice from the get go." Mr. Fixer or now called Dakota said.

"No... you promised to let me pick, remember? Pretty please..."

"Fine, but I'm topping your bubble butt first."

"Deal." I felt blood rush to my new member. Based on my body's incomplete memories, his name was Luke and he was here to... oh Luke is gay too. He was here trying to pick up guys. I should've known it was a secret nude beach for gay men. Well, sorry Luke. But I am you for the next 2 years.

2 years went by. We had to give these men their bodies back. Topping never felt so good. I'll miss this. Dakota and I saw a couple of men protesting against being gay, so we took their bodies. And my boyfriend went and paid our previous bodies for their time. I thought we were alone in those bodies. Or I'm not so sure of anything anymore. "They'll never have to work again." He stared at the cute body he lived in for 2 years as he walked away.

I'm the blonde. Nice. My new butt looks perky.

The world can come together for a great many things. However, it is the season in which the world unites for a very specific sport. While it goes by many names, the World Cup has sparked excitement among fans, passion among athletes, and after the Great Shift a means to expect the unexpected.

After 90% of the world swapped bodies, many found themselves in new countries as well as new bodies. Some managed to not only adapt to their new settings, but completely embraced it. Taking on a new body, but embracing the culture, the people, and the sport that body had mastered… well. That’s how legends are born.

The Great Shift News Crew wanted to hear from the very athletes that are making up this year’s World Cup. 

======

Guadalajara, Mexico

Hola! Lo siento. ¿Hablas inglés? Haha sorry. Sometimes I can’t help speaking and thinking in Spanish these days. You wanted to talk about how I got started in soccer right? 

It’s kinda a funny story. Guess I’ll start at the beginning. My name is Weilin Wu, from Portland Oregon! I was in college working on my degree in international studies with a minor in linguistics last year. But… that interest had to be put on hold when the Great Shift happened. 

I was probably the furthest from a prime athlete in college that you could imagine. In fact, up until recently my idea of a marathon would have been binging a few seasons of the anime My Hero Academia or Delicious in Dungeon.  Being 5’0 with a pension for chocolates and milk tea didn’t exactly give me the best physique. And I didn’t have that much confidence when I couldn’t grow any facial hair to safe my life.  Let’s just say I didn’t have a lot of confidence in my physical appearance my freshman year.

Well. I can honestly say after the Great Shift happened everything changed. I went from typing notes in my dorm room to running through a grass soccer field barefoot! 

The first thing I did? Immediately fall over…

I mean can you blame me? I was sitting at my desk and suddenly I was running 20 miles per hour shirtless and barefoot in a foreign country. 

I immediately tumbled to the ground and got acquainted with how this new body of mine can take a fall. When the world finally stopped spinning I realized just how much everything changed. I mean… look at me. 

Going from a short Asian American to a Mexico pro athlete was like a dream come true!

I’d gone from five foot nothing to 6’4 in the span of mere moments. When I tried to stand for the first time I nearly fell over again. People don’t tell you that you can get vertigo from a sudden growth spurt. And the height was just part of it. My snacking habit made it more difficult for me to see past my sizable stomach, so when I stood up straight for the first time and looked down to see a 6 pack, I nearly fainted. I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. And it wasn’t just any 6 pack, I had a thick treasure trail where previously I had no hair at all. That sexy strip led straight to my new vicious V and… well I don’t think I can say the next part for the audiences at home. 

What I can say though is how big my feet became. Being over 6 feet tall I expected to have pretty sizable feet, but size 16s kinda blew my mind. That’s literally twice the size of my former feet!

When I finally managed to catch my breath and take in my new body the rest became history. News broadcasts about the Great Shift, people panicking, and others… choosing to help those displaced. 

The teammates around me immediately asked if I was ok and helped me get acquainted with who I became when I told them what happened. It helped that I was already semi fluent in Spanish, otherwise I’d be completely lost.  To this day, the team still likes to tease me when I say something with a gringo accent though. 

Long story short I found I was in the body of César Huerta, the 6’4 Winger for the team that would be playing in the World Cup for Mexico. César  landed in my body and was equally confused. 

With some help from the team and some patience we eventually reunited. César understood he probably wouldn’t be playing soccer anytime soon, so instead he asked if I was interested in taking his place on the team. 

It wasn’t unheard of. Countless people began to start a career in pro sports after the shift. I’m pretty sure Nick and Joey Bosa’s bodies were now occupied by a brother and sister from Thailand. 

I wasn’t sure. I had never played a game of soccer in my life. However, with some encouragement and coaching from César I found I was a natural. His body had all this muscle memory waiting for me to use! After a few practices I was playing just as good as he was, if not better. 

From that day on I became a part of the team. My new teammates have been super welcoming and let me stay with them until I found a place of my own. 

I’ve been living in Mexico ever since. The language already felt natural to me after a few months. I’m not sure if it was me adapting to this culture… or perhaps this body just feels more comfortable speaking that language. 

My parents visit on the holidays. It helps that my older parents swapped into two handsome European backpackers who love to travel.  My mom likes to compare who has more abs these days and my dad always makes sure we finish a full bottle of whatever he brought on his last trip. 

As for me, getting used to the mundanities of César’s bodies has been the best part. From the very beginning he warned me to make sure I keep up his shaving routine. That wasn’t something I was used to considering I’d never had to shave. Only now I had a thick beard by 5 o'clock if I wasn’t careful. After that I made sure to listen to all of César’s advice. 

He taught me the proper way to care for my curlier hair, he showed me the best exercises for his body, and he even showed me a shoe store that catered to my larger size. That last one was important. Walking around with size 16s is more difficult than it looks. I stubbed my toes several times the first week in César’s body. And my feet got so sweaty all the time I just preferred to walk around barefoot most places. 

I’d need all the help I could get as I wasn’t the most… composed during my first actual game in his body.

There was something about seeing a huge crowd of people staring at you… yearning from some relief after all the stress the Great Shift had caused…  it was a bit overwhelming. All that expectation to be the source of entertainment for the masses really got to me that day…  I missed so many passes for that one game.  But it wasn’t the end of the world. I kept at it. I kept practicing.

To my surprise César was practicing right beside me most days. He enjoyed coaching sure, but even in my body he enjoyed playing the most. In this last year he lost over 40lbs in my previous body and is even considering rejoining the team once he feels ready.

I really appreciate how César and the rest of the team have been making sure I improve each game. Without their help I don’t think my transition into this body would’ve worked. And of course without their help I don’t think we would’ve been able to win the first game of the World Cup!

My team and I can’t wait to celebrate. They say my face is all over social media after our last play. It used to feel so… strange thinking that was me.  But now… Now when I look in the mirror I don’t see a stranger. I see a handsome, confident Mexican man. I see me. I see the person who is going to bring home the World Cup for Mexico this year!