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Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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The older and younger bodybuilders were excited to merge their bodies. The younger man loved all the superior muscles and masculinity of the older man and wanted to be part of him and have him added to his own body. He knew he was losing himself in the process, but he wanted to be part of the alpha that the older man was. The older man loved the idea of the youth and smooth muscles being added to his body. After merging, the new version embraced his extra musky and masculine scent and explored his new body. The older man was in control of the new merged body while the younger man was still conscious but in a state of bliss in the passenger’s seat of their shared mind
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Johnny hummed a soft tune as he worked the shampoo into the young man's hair. The white foam piled up thick and sweet-smelling. The customer, a slim white guy with floppy blond hair, relaxed into the chair, eyes closed. He had no idea what was about to happen.
Johnny's fingers moved in slow circles. With each rub, strands of hair came loose. They slid down the young man's neck, onto the floor. Johnny kept humming.The young man felt a tingle. It started at his scalp and spread down his spine. He wanted to open his eyes, but his body felt heavy, too heavy. He didn't notice his shoulders pushing wider against his T-shirt. He didn't feel the fabric tighten over his chest as muscles swelled.Johnny kneaded deeper. More hair fell away. The blond mop thinned, then vanished from the crown. The hairline crept backward, leaving a smooth, shiny dome on top. Dark stubble pushed through the skin around his jaw and upper lip, rough and thick.
The young man's body grew dense, beefy. His arms thickened, veins rising to the surface. His hands, resting on the chair, turned into tough, square paws. His thighs spread apart as his whole frame became solid, heavy with man-weight.
But it wasn't just the body. Johnny's fingers sent thoughts into the young man's brain, soft and sneaky. The memories of college classes, video games, and a shy girlfriend melted away. New thoughts pushed in: sweaty nights, hungry mouths, the smell of leather and whiskey. A need that burned low in his belly.The young man's lips parted. His breathing deepened. He forgot his old name. Now he was Victor, a forty-year-old divorced man who hadn't been touched in too long. A man who craved rough hands and a hot mouth. A man who knew exactly what he wanted.
Johnny rinsed the last of the foam away. He watched the reflection in the mirror: a balding, beefy man with a face full of stubble, his T-shirt now too small for his thick chest. The man's eyes were still shut.Then Johnny leaned close. "All done," he whispered.
The man's eyes snapped open. Brown eyes, dark with hunger. He looked at Johnny's lips, then grabbed the back of Johnny's neck and pulled him into a deep, wet kiss. Tongues met, fierce and hungry, as if they'd done this a hundred times before.No one saw the magic, no one knew the young blond guy was gone forever. In his place sat a horny, beefy middle-aged man, already unbuttoning Johnny's shirt with one thick hand while their kiss deepened.
Tyra stood tall in Garrett's ripped, muscular form, the alien's perfect imitation of Zach's ultimate jock crush flexing those massive pecs right in front of the nerdy twink.
"What's up, little buddy," Tyra growled in Garrett's deep, cocky voice, smirking with those full lips while running a hand down the chiseled abs. "You been eye-fucking me all semester, huh? Bet you dream about touching this huge bod every night." Zach's cock twitched hard in his pants, his glasses fogging up as he stared at the godlike body, heart pounding.
"Tyra... I mean G-Garrett... Holy shit, you look so fucking perfect like this," Zach whimpered, voice cracking with lust.
"Fuckkkk yeahhh, I am perfect!" Tyra purred. "You like what you see, nerd? Tell me what you really want, Zach,"
Tyra-as-Garrett stepping closer until those sweat-glistened pecs were inches from Zach's face. The alien's eyes sparkled with wicked hunger, knowing exactly how to push his best friend's buttons.
Zach moaned softly, "I wish... I wish I could see you, Garrett, soaking fucking wet with cum all over those massive pecs." The words spilled out raw and desperate, Zach's dick throbbing painfully. "Like drenched in thick loads dripping down your nipples. Can you make that happen for me? Please.”
Tyra chuckled low and throaty, the sound vibrating through Garrett's broad chest. "Mmmmm, you're kinky, nerd. I like that. Your wish is my fucking command," Tyra winked, a mischievous grin plastered on his face.
With a wet shlorp of shapeshifting flesh, the alien amplified the transformation, Garrett's body glistening as gallons of hot, pearly alien cum suddenly erupted from hidden pores and his stretching mouth.
"Ahhhhn~ Fuck yessss!" Tyra groaned loudly, head tilting back as his long, serpentine tongue—now exaggeratedly huge and veiny—slid out impossibly far like a living tentacle. It spat out hot thick cum and smeared it all over its own heaving pecs, coating them in glossy white layers.
Thick white globs perfectly covering the hard nipples, sticky and oozed down the deep cleavage. Zach gasped, eyes wide, as the viscous load dripped in heavy strands from Garrett's chin onto the rippling abs.
Splat. Drip. Squelch.
The sounds were obscene, wet and filthy, the cum swirling in creamy patterns over the sweaty muscles. "Holy shit, Garrett... your pecs look like cum dumpsters, Ohhh goddddd!" Zach panted, reaching out to smear a handful across one throbbing nipple.
Tyra moaned exaggeratedly, "Mmmph~ Touch me, nerd. Feel how warm and nasty it is. This body was made for your pervy fantasies." The long tongue coiled around Zach's fingers, sucking them deep with vulgar slurps while more cum gushed from the alien's pores, soaking the silver chain necklace and making those massive tits bounce slickly.
Deeper into the bliss, Tyra pushed Zach onto the bed, straddling him so the cum-drenched chest smothered the twink's face. "Lick it up, Zach. Taste it. This is what you wanted, right? Your dumb hot jock boy is all wet and sticky with his own pent-up semen." the jock voice commanded between heavy groans.
Zach dove in eagerly, tongue swirling through the thick layers, moaning "Mmmph, so fucking creamy~" as the alien's endless tongue wrapped around his own neck, pulling him tighter.
Gluck. Squelch. Ahhh~.
The room filled with erotic symphony, pecs grinding and sliding, cum everywhere, the shapeshifter's body pulsing with more transformations—pecs swelling even larger, nipples leaking extra spurts. Zach's hands kneaded the slippery flesh desperately, lost in the vulgar heaven.
Tyra laughed breathlessly, tongue flicking cum strings across Zach's lips. "More? You want me to flood this whole room with jizz-pecs, buddy? You can just say it." The alien's hips rolled, grinding a massive bulge against Zach's while the chest continued its messy, hypnotic drip. Zach could only whimper and lap harder into the endless erotic loop.
"I can be your Garrett forever, and do whatever you want just for you," Tyra smiled, body still shifting subtly, the transformation theme continuing as they lost themselves in the pleasure.
"Aaaahhh yesss, more, give me more cum!" Zach begged.
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Finally, I'm here in front of this hot stud. And if I fail to possess him, I'll be royally fucked.
This is my third and last attempt to get a final grade and pass Junction. We all call it Possession just like in the days of our pa and ma, but textbooks and institutions have started to exclusively use the former word. It's considered more politically correct. In Ethics, we're told that usage of the word 'possess' alone, ableism asides, implies an inherent hierarchy that places possessors at the top and hosts at the bottoms. Now, I may get flake for saying this, but I've never been fond of the bookish term. It grates my ears (but don't tell Faculty that I'm telling you this).
Why third try? See, normies from trash majors like Telekinetics or Divination think possession finals are easy-peasy: hop in, hop out and you're done. No, it's fucking not. Every single time, it's a logistical nightmare for everyone involved. First there's the miserable student – me, that the faculty thinks is always up to no good. I don't deny that, but I would never stoop so low as to hire a professional possessor to pass the exam for me. And since someone did come up with that genius thought seven years before I became enrolled, security nowadays is tighter than my ass. Think airport security but they check your soul, too, so you have to move from room to room half-linked to your body with hands full of documents under the watchful eyes of the staff.
There's a whole load of other stringent requirements, like no alcohol, no drugs, no excessive caffeine, and students must eat a full meal before exam time. The reason, as they often love to say, is that they care about you and your safety. Bullshit. The main problem is that moving your soul around is energy-consuming, and they just don't want to spend extra effort then being caught in a lawsuit trying to resuscitate your meatsack when you expel your soul with too much force after drinking too much coffee or hitting a bong so potent that you fly high through the campus and collide with some hapless student. And since I did violate that exact rule, I was disqualified from doing any possession during exam season (not due to weed, I was just hungover).
I arranged a second attempt with our lecturer and examiner, Prof. Morozova. Gosh, I hate that hag, but more about her later. I have to finish my bitching about the logistics first.
It's times like these that I wish I was born in Southern Europe or South America. Aye, the men are fine, and the beaches are fantastic. But the best thing? Siesta. Ethical regulations dictate that you can only possess someone when they are sleeping, and try as best as you could not to disrupt their normal routine. Including their sleep. But since dudes infuse more energy into their hosts than dudettes, the chance of me or any other guy possessing someone without waking them up is near zero. Unlike my buds who went on exchange to Spain and passed their exam by jumping into hot Valencian men right on Wednesday afternoon, I am stuck with this shitty schedule dictated by the typical temperate continental European climate, where possession finals can only take place on the weekend (people wake up later in the morning) in registered areas (you can't just pick any residential building, the place must be approved by the university).
On my second try, I chose this cute banker and informed Morozova a week before. Tried to be a goody-two-shoes this time, and stayed clean the whole Friday night. Ate scrambled eggs with croutons and half an hour later, I was in front of his apartment with my examiner by my side. I did the usual stuffs just fine: detachment, propulsion, projection, yadda yadda. Then I found myself in his lanky body. Once again, someone was wasted, this time not me. Our sweet banker over here just got promoted the day before, so he decided to have a blast with his pals that night. Returned home still in his working attire, breath stale, clothes damp. And. Fucking. Horny. Yeah, you guessed it. He creamed his pants while I was in his body. I was in heaven, but then the old hag wrote "Disturbance of host's mental space" into the remark section, and my whole week was ruined. I did file an appeal, but Morozova's vindictiveness meant no one from administrative would dare overturn my examiner's decision. Third attempt awaits.
Here I am, once again with my professor slash lecturer slash examiner, a flawless case study for those interested in the phenomenon of nominative determinism. Her ice-cold forty-something face is frozen with exactly one expression: a frow that leaves wrinkles so deep in her glabella, her thin pointy nose and pouting lips almost look like the extension of one long whacky line. Her demeanours are frosty, and her grading habit sends chills down the spine of any student unfortunate enough to have her as their examiner. But I'm used to her presence now (the perk of taking an exam thrice), so I just need to focus on my target.
I did more research this time, and registered Nick over here as my target for the final. Decent, buff, good-looking, established routine, very-unlikely-to-be-high-or-drunk-right-now. The man is dozing off peacefully on his balcony, his hairy chest and beefy thighs out for us two ghostly figures to peruse. Well, probably just me – I'm not even sure if my examiner is into men. I concentrate on my energy flow. Still my core. Steady. I feels the heartbeat of my target, in tandem with his breathing. The physical level is synced, and with no discrepancies in bodily sensations at the deepest level, I just scored the highest point for projection. As I close the distance between us, random thoughts from Nick's subconsciousness start to pour into my mind. If I keep my calm and continue to navigate his mind labyrinth well enough, there won't be any problem.
The noisy storm of thoughts ceases, and then silence.
I open my eyes. Groggily adjust my ball cap. What time is it? I habitually pick up my phone. 9:18. I'll get myself some coffee then go to the gym. The thoughts come naturally to me, as if they were mine. That's because I am Nick now, and I do take on his personality, at least until this session of ours ends. The distinction is very blurry, and only advanced practitioners can tell us apart.
I am not exactly in 'steering mode'. If you bring a psychologist and have her map out all my behaviours throughout the day while I'm in Nick body, you will find out that I behaved exactly like how people and even Nick himself expect him to behave. This is what 'non-intrusion' looks like in practice. It's like being a privileged passenger. You feel everything the driver is feeling, and sometimes you two switch roles, you take the wheel and he can't do anything about it except to watch. But that is predatory behaviour. That's a criminal offense right there.
There does exist a grey area, called 'nudging'. I can make Nick suddenly feel the need to admire his body and flex, or go further and inject some lewd imagery into his mind so that he wants to whip out his meaty cock and jerk off to some steamy (gay) porn. As long as I can prove that all actions Nick 'does' while I'm inside him is characteristic and expected of him, and that he is not and will never be aware of my presence, I can get away with anything.
But not now. Morozova is watching, and my exam is not doing yet. I still need to do Nick's routine perfectly for at least 30 minutes to get my grade.
I strut into the kitchen, my morning wood straining against the shorts. A spring breeze sweeps through the opened door, caressing my hefty pecs. I press the power button of my Rancilio Silvia and let it pre-heat. Put some bread into and toaster, and start scrolling. Gym memes, group chat, messages from clients. Not really productive, but who cares, it's Saturday. I tip an 18 g dose in my grinder. Transfer the grounds into the portafiller and do some tamping with my brawny arms. There's ham in the fridge. Pull two shots.
The rich, aggressive scent of morning espresso punches up my nose. There's also another scent. My scent. Nick's own. I'm subtly savouring it right now as I'm chewing through my breakfast. Only five minutes left before the end of the test. A cold gust of wind gusts through my shirtless torso. That means she's gone. There's a telepathic message for me. Shucks. I want to read it, but that means I have to divert my mental resources and stop enjoying Nick's body.
JACKPOT! I passed, and I have two more hours to spend in this awesome body!
Shit, shit. Nick felt my presence. I may have been too excited there.
Hooray. Yippee. Yes. Yas Gaga. (I'm trying to curb my celebrating noises here.)
Perhaps I've been too harsh on old Morozova. She just gave me one more hour to spend in Nick's body. One more hour where I'll be pumping iron, sweating out and basking in my own godly musk. One more hour to be a hung hairy stud. This is the best day ever.
Suck to be you, but I'm not gonna narrate everything I do while I'm inhabiting this godly body. Getting this degree is already hard enough, let me have some fun, please. Also, I don't want Faculty up my ass (but only metaphorically, I don't really mind some of them being literally up my ass).
Injoying our neighbours again - I mean, they are just neighbours themselves, but they are just such a good match, aren't they? I mean their wife and girlfriend would probably say otherwise. Although I think Jakes single again.
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