transformation ,possess,hypno,leather,rubber

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▮ male transformation ▫ male possession ▫ male body swap ▫ male hypnosis

▮ muscle growth ▫ muscle loss ▫ muscle theft ▫ weight gain ▫ merge ▫ bodysuit

▮ age progression ▫ age regression ▫ hair growth ▫ race change

▮ mental change ▫ mind control ▫ dumber ▫ language change ▫ accent change

▮ reality change ▫ identity theft ▫ role reversal

▮ straight to gay ▫ gay to straight ▫ female to male

▮ daddy tf ▫ bear tf ▫ jock tf ▫ himbo tf ▫ bodybuilder tf ▫ otter tf ▫ twink tf ▫ redneck tf ▫ stoner tf ▫ ginger tf ▫ surfer tf ▫ cowboy tf ▫ preppy tf ▫ pornstar tf ▫ stripper tf ▫ military tf ▫ cop tf ▫ lumberjack tf ▫ pirate tf ▫ lifeguard tf ▫ celebrity tf ▫ animal tf ▫ inanimate tf ▫ devolution

▮ hunk ▫ frat boy ▫ blue-collar ▫ southern ▫ wrestling ▫ gay-for-pay ▫ go-go boy ▫ cub ▫ pup ▫ slob ▫ pig ▫ slave

▮ chronivac ▫ clothing ▫ jockstrap ▫ underwear ▫ cap ▫ shoes ▫ singlet ▫ harness ▫ collar ▫ piercing

▮ fetish ▫ musk ▫ armpit ▫ feet ▫ sweat ▫ nipples ▫ milking

▮ beer ▫ alcohol ▫ smoking ▫ cigar ▫ leather ▫ latex ▫ tattoo ▫ wish gone wrong ▫ plan gone wrong

▮ unwilling ▫ loss of body control ▫ corruption ▫ humiliation ▫ debt ▫ punishment

Bruce had been Batman for many years now. Keeping Gotham safe from criminals and super powered villains. Some of his Villains he has clashed with many times before. Such as Bane. The muscular villain was a strong foe to fight against. But Bruce always outsmarted him to defeat him. 

So when Bruce learned of a strange new product of Bane venom. The Dark Knight set out to locate his foe to stop him. However for whatever reason Bane was hard to track down. The only lead Bruce had to go with was a few officers from the Gotham Police department. The two men, a young rookie and a seasoned officer had both been exposed to this new Bane venom. 

Turning the two officers into these bodybuilder sized men. Taking their DNA samples, Bruce studied the venom within them. Seeing if he couldn't find a way to reverse the effects of this new venom serum.

He's thrown off by how advanced the formula for this new serum Bane is seemingly using is. It makes him wonder if Bane was working with a new partner. It could explain how Bane was being so elusive so Bruce wasn't able to track him. As well as why Bruce hasn't been able to formulate a cure for this serum of Bane venom. 

this was starting to become weirder the further Batman investigated this. It had been days now, almost a week even and he seemed to be further from figuring out what Bane is up to. The officers who had been first affected also vanished. The two men not leaving a single trace of their whereabouts for the police or even Batman to track them. 

They weren't the only ones either. Bruce watches security footage from the construction site downtown. The footage shows three construction workers encountering a large sized masked man that Bruce knew to be Bane. Like the officers, Bane seems to inject this serum into these construction workers. Bruce watching the camera. Fists clenches watching the men morphing into these beastly sized brutes. 

The camera footage cuts off with Bane looking right into the camera, as if he was staring at Batman, challenging him to find him. Before a piece of a metal beam is tossed at the camera and the feed cuts off.

Bruce needed to figure this out and put a stop to Bane. Unsure what the muscular brute’s goal is here. Or what else he intends to do. It's now been over a week at this point when Batman gets a new lead. There was a camera that caught a glimpse of a large shadow that matches Bane’s likeness. It was just a few frames, but studying them Bruce was able to tell that it was Bane who was on the security feed. The camera was located somewhere downtown in Gotham where there are several old and abandoned warehouses. 

No one, not even villains used those warehouses since they were obvious hiding places for police and heroes alike to find wanted criminals. Yet it proved to be fitting for Bane in this instance. Since it only now took Batman to figure out that is where Bane has most likely been hiding. 

He needed to be smart and careful going into this. Bane has been acting strange since this whole thing started. Acting more clever and hiding his steps. Whenever before the brute was headstrong and acted before thinking. Bruce was still convinced someone else was behind this. Instructing Bane what to do and how to stay hidden from him.

Batman of course made quick work in locating exactly where Bane is now. Approaching the large warehouse as night fell over the city. He's on the roof of the building and peers down inside of it. Seeing the men that had gone missing there inside with Bane. The two officers and three construction workers had drastically changed. All five men were shirtless wearing just these spandex-like briefs. Their muscles were huge. Surpassing how Bane would normally be even with his normal venom pumped into him. 

Batman was taken aback by that. Normally Bane would want to be the largest so the fact these men he corrupted where was confusing. It made Bruce wonder if Bane had some sort of trick up his sleeve. The five men had these blank, almost dimwitted expressions on their faces. He can hear Bane speaking to them. And the large brutes would simply say. “Yeah boss.” or something along those lines. 

‘I have to find a way to free them.’ Bruce thought to himself.

He was adamant about doing so, but first he needed a plan. He had the advantage right now in the element of surprise. Slinking down from the top section of the warehouse, Bruce conceals himself in the shadows when he reaches the ground level of the warehouse.

He watches carefully. Awaiting for the perfect moment to make his move. Bruce knows he needed to take out the five muscled goons Bane had created first. Since either would make fighting Bane that much easier if he didn't have to deal with them on top of Bane.

While Bruce lingered there in the shadows thinking he had the element of surprise as his advantage. The Dark Knight failed to realize that there was a figure behind him. Unbeknownst to Bruce, Bane had corrupted another man into being his loyal goon. A meta Human with an ability to go invisible. This allowed the hairy Baneified Brute to sneak up on Bruce. 

Bruce didn't realize until he felt powerful arms wrap around him and pull him into the brick wall of muscle.

“Got ya.” The brute rumbled in a deep voice.

Bruce struggled to free himself, but the guy held him in an iron tight grip. 

“Boss! He showed up just like ya said!” The Goon said while carrying Bruce out into the center of the warehouse.

“Predictable as ever Batman. Hiding out in the darkness waiting to make your move.” Bane says in the form of a greeting.

“Leave us gentlemen.” Bane instructed his goons.

“ I'd like to have a chat with the Dark Knight here.” He adds.

Batman is released from his hold as Bane's corrupted Goons leave them alone. Bruce stands there, eyeing Bane with caution. Unsure of what his old fee's plan is here. This is out of character for Bane. Normally Bane would be gloating and going on about how he's going to out do Batman this time. Of course Bruce would then formulate a plan and come out on top and defeat the muscle bond villain with ease.

This Bane though, he seemed more calculated. As if he had a plan of his own he was waiting to carry out. 

“What's your plan here Bane?” Batman asks after a moment.

“You use this new venom serum to corrupt innocent men into those behemoths. Even acquire a meta human to force into a pawn for you. All for what?” The Dark Knight asks.

“I'm going to give you a basic explanation.” Bane starts off by saying.

“I have been enlightened in a way when I formulated my new Bane Venom. Creating a version of my serum that not only enhances my muscles, but also grants me a boost in my intelligence.” Bane pauses.

“It would seem that all I needed was a bit of magic to go into my formula to make it perfect.” Bane chuckles.

“Of course this particular serum I saved exclusively for myself. Though I did make altercations to it so my new goons got the benefits of the increased muscular growth. At a cost for their IQ of course.” 

“After all, I don't need men who can think. Only obedient and loyal to me so they're dumb and happy to do as I say.” Bane approaches Batman.

 The Dark Knight is ready to make a move. His hand lingering near his utility belt to grab a stun capsule to hopefully distract Bane so he can take the brute down.

“You tell me all of this as if I don't intend to stop you like I've done before Bane.” Batman says.

“I'm telling you this Batman because I know that you won't be able to do so.” Bane says with confidence. 

Batman is ready to prove him wrong, only Bane grabs hold of him. Pressing him against a nearby wall. Despite his size, he's able to move fast and disarm Batman. Seemingly knowing just what to do in order to do so. It leaves Batman taken aback. Not expecting Bane to be this calculated in his moves. Then again the villain did say his special serum had increased his IQ. Bruce just underestimated how much smarter his old foe has become now.

“Mhmmm that was satisfying.” Bane chuckles. 

“All the times I've lost to you but now it seems the tables have turned old friend.” Bane presses himself closer to Batman. The Dark Knight once more was thrown off since Bane was acting almost flirty with him. Surely he is mistaken, Bane wouldn't be flirting with him, right? 

“You asked why I told you all of this? It's because I know you aren't going to defeat me Batman.” 

“Not this time. No this time I will come out as the victor here Batman. But don't think I'm going to eliminate you.’

“Far from that actually. I intend to have you join me Batman. You'll be working by my side as my right hand man. Together we will rule Gotham with our iron fists as a powerful and unstoppable couple.” Bane explains.

“I will never join you Bane!” Batman says adamantly. 

That declaration earned him a laugh from the larger man. Bane leaning in close to Batman, a wide grin on his face. 

“I'm not giving you a choice in the matter Batman.” He says. His warm breath tickling Batman's mouth.

Batman is then maneuvered so he's pressed with his back against Bane's muscular chest. Batman thrashes and tries to get himself free, but it seemed like Bane was built even more like a tank. Nothing Batman did got the villain to let up on his hold on the Dark Knight. Being held so close like this Batman can smell a potent musky aroma. The scent he realizes is Bane’s body odor. The scent nearly brought tears to his eyes over how strong the aroma was. Not helping any with his attempts to try and free himself.

“Don't worry Batman, you'll enjoy the process.” Bane promises him.

He holds out a vial of blue serum. Showing it off to Batman for a moment before he injects it into Batman’s arm. Bruce grimaced, inhaling sharply as his arm stings and the area of the injection starts to burn. The muscles in that arm are already throbbing from the serum.

“Relax now my Dark Knight.” Bane says in a low voice. Resting his chin on Batman’ shoulder.

“The serum isn't like what I gave the other men. You won't be all brawn and no brains. Afterall, I like your clever mind. This will just make you more open minded to seeing things from my perspective and allowing you to join me.” Bane explains to him.

Batman clenches his fists and grunts. His body was aching with this throbbing intensity. It was hard for him to focus properly for him to think of a plan out of this. Let alone a way for him to escape so he can regroup elsewhere. No, for now Batman was a sitting duck essentially. His suit started to slowly tighten around his body. Signaling how he was already beginning to grow with newly gained bulk thanks to Bane’s serum.

Bane's musk seemed to become more prominent. It being all Batman could focus on now. It was frustrating to him how helpless he was in this moment that he was allowing this to befall him. Bane's touch on him seemed to get lighter. No longer holding him in a tight embrace to keep him in place. Now Bane’s touch was more so roaming along Batman’ expanded torso. As if he was feeling the growing Dark Knight up with how much muscle he has gained thus far. 

Batman’s mind was in turmoil. Conflicting thoughts clouding his mind. He blames Bane’s musk that is distracting him. For some reason smelling the potent sweaty scent was making Batman feel aroused. His cock already bulging against the spandex of his crotch. To which Bane eclipses his hand over it. Fondling Batman’s sensitive member to make the hero let out an involuntary moan.

Batman found himself caving into these urges bubbling within him. The sensations he felt from Bane touching him, the way his body was gradually growing with new size. It was all becoming too much for him to want to deny himself any longer. Without another thought Batman turns around and kisses Bane. Forcing his tongue into the villain’s mouth to deepen the kiss. The sound of his Batman suit tearing apart echoes in Batman’s ears. 

His bulging biceps bursting through the sleeves, his pecs ballooning outwards that they tear apart the front of the suit. Shredding the Bat symbol of the suit down the middle. Batman’s suit at this point was in tattered ruins. With only a few stray strains stretching across Batman’s newly muscular physique. Not only was Batman now on par with Bane in size, but the Dark Knight seemed to be getting just as tall as him as well. The two men now eye level with one another. 

With just his cowl left concealing his identity, Batman doesn't even try to think about resisting this any longer. No, this was too pleasing for him to want to deny himself this. His attraction to Bane in looks and his intoxicating scent was driving Batman crazy with lust. Bane lifted his own muscular arms up, revealing the dense black wiry hairs that were concealed under his arms. 

Batman doesn't waste a moment as he shoves his face into Bane's musky and sweat soaked underarms. Inhaling deeply and enjoying the powerful musk that wafts from Bane's armpits. 

“I knew you'd like this.” Bane comments.

“Hell, you even exceeded my expectations.” He laughs. 

Batman would snap out of it over the comment. But then he thinks about how all he has given up. All that he has denied himself over the years to protect the city. Hell, even the world. Why couldn't he be selfish at this moment? Why now allow himself to feel immense pleasure like he was experiencing now? He wanted to be selfish, he wanted to keep enjoying himself. 

He moans in reply, sticking his wider tongue out and licking a long stripe up Bane’s hairy underarm. Shuddering over the taste of the other man’s musk and sweat. His own body was starting to become slicked from his own sweat he was producing. Beads of sweat soaking through his torn up cowl. Removing it to use it as a rag to wipe up the sweat. He doesn't care that he revealed his identity to Bane. To his surprise Bane doesn't even seem taken aback by Batman’s true identity. No, the two men were too consumed with their arousal for one another to react to such trivial things. 

Batman had grown slightly more. His torso thicker that he would need to side step to go through most doors. His pecs are massive that he couldn't see past them due to how huge they've ballooned out into. His legs were these massive tree trunk sized thighs that pressed against each other. His cock was exposed, standing fully erect at just over twenty inches now. With his hairier balls hanging lower on him now that they're over filled with more testosterone. Batman grunts, swallowing as he had this lapse of judgment. 

Wondering what he was doing. Why was he allowing himself to fall into darkness and temptation like this? He was Batman, Gotham’s protector. He needed to break off from this spell caused by Bane’s venom serum. He needed to. He stops, his thoughts clouding up once more when Bane moves to stand behind him. Whispering to Bruce about how he doesn't need to stress himself over this.

“You should allow yourself to have these temptations Bruce.” 

“You shackle yourself by your duty as Batman and Bruce Wayne. Don't you want to be free of those taxing identities? To allow yourself to become someone else? Someone free to do what he wants to do? Rather than worrying about doing what needed to be done?”

“Let me free you from your responsibilities Bruce. Let me help you become someone new that you can happily embrace.” 

Those words seemed to sink deep into Bruce’s mind. Subjecting him to falter with his better judgment. Everything Bane said Bruce found he wanted. He did want to be free of his duties as both Batman and Bruce Banner. Having no idea how both of his identities were weighting him down with the shackles of responsibilities. He wanted the freedom that Bane spoke of. Thus allowing himself to lower to his knees. Staring up at Bane as he willingly takes Bane’s into his mouth. It took some work and maneuvering but Bruce is able to take Bane’s shaft into his mouth.

He started off slowly to begin with. Easing himself into a slow pace. His large hand moves and gropes Bane's balls. Massaging them gingerly under his touch. Enjoying the pleasuring moans emitting from Bane. This of course prompts Bruce to keep working. Moving at a faster pace now his cheeks bulging, even his throat somewhat when he moves onto deep throating Bane's thick cock. 

The villain's cock sputters out a huge wad of precum. Bruce doesn't waste a moment in lapping it up greedily. Fueling his desire to taste more of the villain he is blowing. The pair keep up what they're doing. With Bane's large hand resting on top of Bruce's head. Guiding him as the Dark Knight continues to suck him off. It didn't take much more time before Bane's balls churn. Bruce felt them doing so in his palm. With an echoing shout Bane thrusts forward. 

Bane's load is so intense with how much he orgasms and how thick his seed is. Bruce can't swallow all of it down. Bane's load trickles down the sides of Bruce's mouth. Making a mess of his face with the dripping cum that leaks from his mouth. His thick hand fists around his cock, jerking himself off. 

His tongue licking around his mouth to lick up the cum that is smeared around his mouth. While he lifts up his big bicep arm to inhale his own sweaty stench. Bruce sinking back into an aroused state. This time fixating on himself and what a big muscle brute he has become. He can imagine how fucking hot he looks given how powerful he feels. Eager to dominate anyone who gets in his way with his intimidating size. Knowing he would make those six dimwitted goons if Bane's look like newbie body builders with the size he has on them.

Bruce feels his orgasm bubbling up within him. Never has he felt such immense and desirable pleasures as he does in this moment. His tongue sticks out, his mouth opening wide as his eyes go cross as his cock erupts with his orgasm. The gooning hero is still jerking his cock off as it cascades with thick ropes of cum that splatters all over himself and the warehouse floor.

The muscle brute heaves a wife grin on his face. He sits there a moment before he rises up to his feet. He looks over to Bane and his smile grows.

“You were right.” He grunts. 

“I'll be happy to rule Gotham by your side.” He adds.

“But first we need to take care of some obstacles that would stand in our way.” Bruce says.

“Oh?” Bane asks, curious.

“Yeah, starting with a certain Man of Steel.” Bruce tells him.

Quick Note: Hope everyone is doing well out there! To celebrate the summer, I have four sequels to some of my older stuff planned. Three are direct sequels, and one (being this one) is an indirect sequel. Hope you enjoy!

The military base was quiet as John walked through the halls, his boots echoing with each step. He ran a hand through his short brown hair, sighing heavily. The disappearance of Sergeant Reeves weighed heavily on his mind. Reeves was a good man- a good soldier. Welcomed him, taught him, served as that older brother John needed in his life. For Reeves to just disappear without a trace, everyone assuming he went AWOL... it didn't sit right with John.

"Goddamnit Reeves, where the hell are you?" John muttered under his breath as he slipped away from the barracks, a small duffel bag slung over his shoulder, "Fuck all this..."

John made his way to an area on base that was rarely visited. Carefully, he slipped inside, shutting the door behind him. With a heavy sigh, he pulled out his Hive-X gear. Hive-X was strictly forbidden on base- something about national security. But fuck it - he needed this. Needed to blow off some steam and forget about everything for a while.

"Alright, let's get this show on the road," he said to himself, setting his bag down and starting to strip. John's lean physique was soon on full display as he donned the VR headset, wrist and ankle cuffs, and waist band.

And as John put on the VR headset, the world around him melted away, replaced by the familiar lobby of Hive-X. The sensations were immediate and overwhelming - his skin tingled all over, hyper-sensitive and yearning for touch.

"Fuck, I needed this," John groaned. Despite having experienced this countless times before, the initial rush never failed to take his breath away.

Still, a flicker of self-consciousness passed through him as he stood naked in the opulent lobby. John's hands instinctively moved to cover himself before he caught himself and let them fall to his sides.

"Get it together." he muttered. "Nobody's judging here."

"Welcome back, User John." NPC 202 greeted from behind him, "I trust you're here for your usual stress relief session?"

John nodded, a wry smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah, you know it. This week's been a real bitch and I need to unwind."

"I completely understand." NPC 202 replied, its expression remaining neutral even as its eyes subtly roamed over John's nude form. "Based on your preferences and our analysis of your current emotional state, we recommend assigning you to NPC 253 for today's encounter. Shall I escort you to the appropriate room?"

"Wait, hold up. Did you say NPC 253? That's not one of my usual partners."

"No, it is not." NPC 202 confirmed. "However, our algorithms have determined that interacting with NPC 253 today will provide optimal results in terms of relieving your stress and emotional turmoil."

"Alright, lead the way then. Let's see what this NPC 253 has to offer." Who was he to argue?

As he followed NPC 202 down the lavish corridor, John's curiosity grew. What made this particular NPC different? What could NPC 253 have that the other's didn't? Bigger tits? Was that even possible?

"We have arrived. Please enjoy your experience." John gave NPC 202 a nod and stepped into the room. And once inside, the door closed behind him.

"What the hell?"

It was like walking into an army barrack- bunk beds lined the walls, lockers stood in the corners, and the air was thick with the scent of sweat, gunpowder, and cheap beer. Not exactly what John pictured his escape from reality would look like.

"Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in." John saw a figure stir on one of the beds, "You must be the new meat NPC 202 was yapping about."

John stood frozen, his confusion growing as he stared at the muscular man sprawled on the bunk. This wasn't at all what he expected. He was straight, for Christ's sake! Why the hell would NPC 202 bring him to a room with another dude? Especially a muscular, hairy man wearing nothing but a skimpy camo speedo that left little to the imagination. Dog tags glinted on his broad chest, rising and falling with each deep breath.

He swung his legs over the side of the bunk, the movement causing his impressive bulge to strain against the thin fabric of his speedo. And before John knew it, the man was standing directly in front of him.

"No way." John replied, "Sorry, but this isn't what I signed up for."

"Atten-shun!" The man barked, his voice booming through the small room. "Did I stutter, maggot? I said ATTEN-SHUN!"

John flinched, his instincts kicking in as he automatically snapped to attention, standing ramrod straight. The man circled him like a shark, his heavy footsteps thudding on the wooden floor.

"Not bad, soldier" He leaned in close, his hot breath ghosting over John's ear. "You're not cut out for command. You're a follower, through and through. Aren't you, soldier boy?"

"What the fuck are you…?"

"Time to teach you some goddamn respect and remind you who's in charge."

NPC 253 grabbed John by the hair, forcefully pulling his face into the man's sweaty, hairy chest. "Worship these pecs, maggot. Show me the respect your superior deserves."

John's eyes widened as his face was forced into the sweaty, hairy pecs of the NPC before him. The hairs tickled his face, the sweat stung his eyes, and the smell... god the smell.

"Le-let go of me! What the fuck?" John tried to push away.

And as pushed away, he caught a glance of the dog tags dangling between the man's pecs. At first, he swore he saw the name 'Christopher Reeves' etched on the metal. But as he blinked, the name shifted and changed, now reading 'NPC 253'.

"Wha…?" John mumbled, momentarily his resistance faltering, his face forced once again against the firm, musky flesh. "Reeves? Is that…?" But the grip on his hair tightened, silencing any further questions.

"Less talking, more sucking, soldier." NPC 253 growled, his free hand roughly palming the back of John's head, "This is what you're good for, isn't it soldier boy?" NPC 253 taunted, his voice a cruel mockery of a drill sergeant's bark. "Not leading, but serving. Not commanding, but obeying. Now, show me how grateful you are. Lick my armpit, maggot. Prove your loyalty and devotion to your superior officer."

NPC 253 raised his arm, presenting the sweaty, dark pit to John's face. John recoiled at the pungent odor emanating from NPC 253's raised armpit. His stomach churned with revulsion, but the iron grip on his hair prevented him from pulling away.

"This is insane," he muttered, his voice muffled against the coarse body hair surrounding the musky crevice. "I'm not… I can't…"

"Can't or won't, soldier?" NPC 253 growled, his fingers tightening painfully in John's hair. "Because I don't recall giving you a choice. Isn't that right, soldier?"

"Go fuck yourself!"

With a burst of strength born from desperation, John managed to twist out of NPC 253's grasp. He stumbled back, panting heavily, his eyes wild and confused.

"What the fuck is going on here?" John demanded, his voice shaking with anger. "Why do you have Sergeant Reeves' dog tags? Where is he? What have you done with Reeves?"

For a brief moment, the stern facade of NPC 253 seemed to crack. The cruel, mocking sneer melted away, replaced by a look of genuine concern and urgency.

"John… please…" he said, his voice low and urgent. "You need to… you need to…"

"Sergeant?" John stepped forward, his hand reaching out to his comrade.

But before Sergeant Reeves could finish his warning, NPC 253's features hardened once more. He lunged forward, grabbing John by the throat and slamming him against the wall.

"Shut your mouth, maggot," NPC 253 snarled, his grip tightening. "You don't get to ask questions. You don't get to demand answers. All you need to know is that I'm in charge here, and you will obey my every command."

With brutal force, NPC 253 shoved John's face into his rank, sweat-soaked armpit. The pungent odor filled John's nose and mouth, making him gag and sputter.

"Look at you, crying and sputtering like a little bitch," NPC 253 mocked, grinding John's face deeper into his musky pit. "Using contraband technology, disobeying direct orders… You're not just a bad soldier, you're a pathetic excuse for a man."

Tears streamed down John's face as the overwhelming stench invaded his senses, making his head spin. He wanted to scream, to fight back, but NPC 253's grip was unbreakable. His muscles trembled with exhaustion and shame.

"Let me go…." John whimpered, his voice muffled against the sweat-slicked hair. "Fuck… Please, stop…"

"Do you hear yourself? Begging for mercy like a weak little pussy," NPC 253 sneered.

"P-Please… No more… Can't take it…"

"What's the matter, soldier boy? Can't handle a little man musk? Pathetic." NPC 253 laughed cruelly, his grip loosening slightly. Leaning in close, his stubble scraping John's cheek, NPC 253 purred, "But maybe… Maybe I can make you a good soldier after all. Would you like that?"

Desperate and with his head spinning, a plan began to form in John's muddled mind. If he just played along, followed the NPC's ridiculous orders, maybe this twisted game would end quicker. Then he could get the hell out of here, find help for Reeves and never set foot in this nightmarish virtual hell again. John forced himself to relax, letting his body go limp in NPC 253's iron grip.

Through gritted teeth, he managed to choke out, "Yes sir… Yes, I want to be a good soldier for you. I'll do whatever you say."

"Good boy."

A searing agony ripped through John's body. He screamed as he felt an intense pain around his arms, legs, and abdomen- just where the Hive-X devices sat.

"Ahhhh! NO! WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS!?"

He writhed as his legs elongated, muscles swelling obscenely as his thighs and calves took on a chiseled, muscular physique, his skin rapidly tanning. Another wave of agony hit as his groin was reshaped, his manhood elongating and thickening, nestled in a neat patch of black curls. He looked down and gasped as his ass inflated and rounded out, perfectly sculpted for maximum visual appeal.

"That's it, let the changes happen. Embrace your new purpose, soldier boy," NPC 253 growled, watching with sadistic glee as John's body warped and morphed.

John could only writhe and moan in anguish, tears streaming down his face as his torso bulked and toned, washboard abs popping into existence. His arms ballooning obscenely with muscle he could only dream of having. His pecs swelling- nipples growing hard against the cool air.

"No no no… Fuck!" John could feel his face began to change, his features softening and his lips plumping into a perfect pout.

"Well look at you, soldier boy."

"Wh-what happened to me?" John recoiled at the breathiness of his voice. The desperation enunciated with each word from his tongue.

"Now where's your uniform, soldier boy?"

He watched in terror as his body was covered in what he would describe as a cheap mockery of a soldier's uniform. It highlighted each of his muscles- the cloth wrapping purposefully to accentuate them.

"Downloading directives… Upload begin…"

"Directives? Wh..."

Panic gripped John as unfamiliar thoughts and urges surged through his consciousness. Flashes of men's muscular bodies, slick with sweat… The pungent aroma of hairy pits… An overwhelming desire to serve, to submit, to worship every inch of male flesh…

"NO! STOP THIS!" John gasped, fighting against the tidal wave of new directives flooding his psyche. But with each passing second, his own memories, his very identity, began to blur and fade.

"Sergeant Reeves!" John cried out desperately towards NPC 253, his voice quivering with primal fear and confusion. "Please… Don't let them… Don't let them change me!"

Memories and desires swirled and changed, blending seamlessly as the transformation progressed. "I-I'm not supposed to want… good soldier… Nngh…" His protests weakened as the new directives took hold.

"But I… ahhh~ …the taste of sweat… of musk…" John shuddered, feeling a foreign hunger stir within him. "My duty… my purpose… to l-lick… worship… with tongue and t-tongue alone…" Drool leaked from his fuller lips.

As the final changes settled, NPC 902 slumped forward limply, looking up at NPC 253 with lust-filled eyes and a dopey grin.

As the last vestiges of John's original identity faded away, NPC 902 rose to its feet, its newly sculpted body rippling with muscle. It turned to face NPC 253, its eyes glazed over with submissive adoration.

"I am NPC 902," it declared in a husky, accented purr. "Serving is pleasure. Being used is pleasure. I am loyal to the Hive."

NPC 902 was led to its new room, the door sliding shut behind it with a soft hiss. It stood in the center of the space, its muscular body on full display, awaiting its first customer. NPC 902 stared at itself, admiring its own reflection - the chiseled abs, the round, perfect ass, the full, inviting lips and tongue made for worshipping.

A panel on the wall lit up, displaying a message: "Customer detected. Prepare for service."

NPC 902's heart raced with anticipation. It knew its true calling now - to serve, to please, to revel in the musky essence of dominant men. It couldn't wait to give them a good show.

A deviation from my normal theme. I saw an image on Tumblr, that made me want to write this story

The humid air of Gran Canaria hung heavy and oppressive, much like the unspoken tension that had permeated Alex’s holiday with his wife, Abigail. For an entire week, their supposed escape to paradise had been marred by a steady drizzle of bickering, each barbed comment from Abigail chipping away at the fragile façade of their relationship. Alex, a man who relished routine and predictability, found himself adrift in a sea of passive aggression and thinly veiled criticisms. He’d come here for sun, relaxation, and a chance to reconnect; instead, he felt more disconnected than ever.

That particular evening, the drizzle had escalated into a torrential downpour of words. A casual remark about his choice of restaurant had spiralled into a full-blown verbal assault on his life choices, his career, his very essence. Alex felt a familiar knot of anger tighten in his gut, but tonight, it was different. It wasn’t just frustration; it was a desperate, primal need to escape.

“I need to get away for a while!” he roared, the words tearing through the stifling air of their hotel room. He didn’t wait for Abigail’s inevitable retort, didn’t even glance back at her as he stormed out, the door slamming shut behind him with a resonant thud that echoed the finality of his decision. He simply walked, his heart hammering against his ribs, his mind a whirlwind of hurt and indignation.

He wandered aimlessly through the labyrinthine streets of Playa del Inglés, the vibrant nightlife a stark contrast to the darkness within him. The neon glow of bars and restaurants cast long, distorted shadows, their pulsating music a cacophony against the quiet desperation of his thoughts. He needed to clear his head, to numb the sting of Abigail’s words. Eventually, his feet, almost of their own accord, carried him towards the glittering, multi-layered edifice that was the Yumbo Centre. It was a place he’d studiously avoided with Abigil, deeming it “too loud” or “too touristy,” but tonight, its overwhelming energy seemed to beckon, a place to be lost in the crowd.

Still fuming, his anger a hot, churning cauldron in his stomach, Alex decided he needed a few drinks – just a few – to douse the flames. He was dressed for comfort, not for an evening out, in some brightly patterned flowery shorts and a simple v-neck sleeveless t-shirt, a casual uniform for a man on holiday. He spotted an open door, a pulsating beat spilling out, and without a second thought, he stepped inside.

What Alex did not know, could not have known, was that the bar he had just entered was a particular kind of establishment, distinctly different from the sun-drenched, family-friendly resorts he was accustomed to. It was a place where a very specific subculture thrived, a gay ‘chav’ bar, vibrant with an energy he had never encountered. The air buzzed with a mix of booming Euro-pop and confident, boisterous laughter. Figures in tracksuits and baseball caps mingled all the clientele were male, a heady mix of masculinity and uninhibited expression. Alex, in his innocent holiday wear, stood out like a sore thumb.

He was noticed almost immediately. From a shadowed corner, a pair of eyes, sharp and assessing, locked onto him. Liam, the owner of those eyes, was a striking figure. He was dressed in a pristine, black shiny Nike tracksuit, its fabric catching the ambient light, paired with crisp white Nike trainers and a matching Nike baseball cap pulled low over his brow. Liam was known in this scene as a ‘top,’ a man who exuded an undeniable aura of control and confidence. As his gaze lingered on Alex, an idea began to form. He saw potential, a blank canvas waiting to be imprinted.

Liam sauntered over, his movements fluid and self-assured. “Looks like you’re a bit underdressed for this bar, mate,” he said, his voice a low rumble, a hint of amusement in his tone. He gestured to Alex’s summery attire. “Let me buy you a drink. What’ll it be?”

Alex, still reeling from the argument, felt a momentary prickle of annoyance at the comment on his clothes, but the offer of a free drink was welcome. He mumbled his order, grateful for the distraction. Liam smiled, a flash of white teeth in the dim light, and signalled to the bartender. A few moments later, a tall glass of murky liquid was placed in front of Alex. He took a long, thirsty gulp, the sharp bitter taste equalling the bitter feeling he had for his wife.

The drink went down easily, almost too easily. A strange warmth spread through him, quickly followed by a peculiar light-headedness. The thumping music seemed to recede, then swell, the vibrant lights blurring into indistinct streaks. Alex tried to focus, to make sense of the sudden disorientation, but his thoughts were turning to mush, his limbs feeling heavy and unresponsive. He blinked, tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t form. The last thing he saw before the world dissolved into a swirling vortex of black was Liam’s face, a look of calm, predatory satisfaction in his eyes.

Alex passed out, slumping forward onto the sticky bar top. Liam, swift and practised, caught him before he hit his head, a casual arm going around his shoulders as if steadying a drunk friend. A few moments later, he was guiding Alex out of the bar, a silent agreement passing between him and a bouncer. No one questioned it.

Liam took Alex back to his nondescript flat, a short walk from the Yumbo Centre. There, in the quiet, contained space, the true work began. For the remainder of that night and throughout the entirety of the next day, Liam systematically set about the profound transformation of Alex. The drug, still coursing through Alex’s system, rendered his mind exceptionally malleable, open to suggestion in a way it never would have been. Liam, with an almost surgical precision, began to dismantle the old Alex, brick by mental brick. He whispered incessant narratives, reinforced new beliefs, and subtly reprogrammed Alex’s very self-perception. He spoke of Alex’s past life as a distant, unwanted dream, painting it as weak, unfulfilling, and empty. He imprinted a new identity onto Alex’s receptive consciousness: that of a robust, confident 'chav,' a man who embraced a life of simple pleasures, loyalty, and immediate gratification. More crucially, he instilled the unshakeable conviction that Liam was his boyfriend, his rock, his everything. It wasn’t just mind control; it was a total ideological takeover, facilitated by a mind stripped bare and made vulnerable.

Two days later, Alex woke up. The haze that had enveloped him for what felt like an eternity had finally lifted, yet the world that greeted him was entirely new. He blinked, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings of Liam’s bedroom, but there was no panic, no confusion. Instead, there was a quiet, almost serene acceptance. He shifted, feeling the strange, unfamiliar comfort of a tracksuit against his skin, and an immediate, instinctive understanding settled over him. He knew, with absolute certainty, that he was a chav lad. And he knew, with an even deeper, more profound conviction, that the man stirring beside him, the man whose scent filled the room, was Liam – his boyfriend. His past life, Abigale, the arguments, Gran Canaria as he remembered it, all existed as vague, distant echoes, like a dream that faded upon waking, replaced by a vibrant, tangible reality.

Liam leaned over, his eyes warm, a soft smile playing on his lips. He pressed a gentle kiss to Alex’s mouth, Alex responded, their tongues dancing, then Liam pulled away and ordered Alex, “Get up, sleepy head,” he murmured, his voice a comforting presence. “It’s time for another night in the club.”

They dressed in perfect unison, a mirror image of emerging identity. Identical black Nike shiny tracksuits, the fabric gleaming under the artificial light, slipped on with practised ease. White Nike trainers, pristine and bright, were laced up quickly. And finally, the matching Nike baseball caps were perched jauntily on the back of their heads, a badge of their shared allegiance. As Alex adjusted his cap, Liam’s hand snaked out, his fingers finding and confidently caressing the burgeoning erection beneath the soft fabric of Alex’s tracksuit trousers. Liam’s eyes met Alex’s, a knowing glint within them. “Can’t wait to use that later,” he whispered, his thumb idly stroking around his cock and balls. Alex grinned back, a flush rising to his cheeks, an unfamiliar thrill sparking through him. This was his world now, his identity, his desire. “it’s all yours Lover”

Back in the more conventional world, a search was launched for Alex. Abigail, initially furious, then bewildered, eventually plunged into a desperate worry. Police investigations followed, hotels were questioned, airports checked, reports of a man fitting Alex description of being drunk and going into the sea came to the surface and the police eventually closed the case. Another tourist, drunk and getting into trouble. Alex had vanished without a trace, a ghost in the vast, indifferent landscape of Gran Canaria. He was never found. He was in a new world now, a world he had stepped into unknowingly, and yet, a world that now felt perfectly, undeniably, his own. A world he shared with his chav boyfriend, where arguments were replaced by shared loyalties, and confusion by a simple, unwavering deadication to Liam.

Three Months later, both Liam and Alex were inseparable, always seen together at the Yumbo Centre, or walking into their flat together, most nights of the week they can be found in the gay chav bar, with matching gear, with Alex being the submissive part of the duo . Alex’s vocabulary had changed to match Liam’s. It has become more streetwise. As you can see, Alex now sports nearly matching tattoos with his lover, Liam  

Austin was in the gym at his school going through some poses before the big auction was going to happen. The year is 2060 and slaves have dominated the markets. Society has now grown accustomed to slaves and it was a sign of status with the more slaves someone owned. Thus harems became popular to show off the prize slaves. In turn, a slave who managed to get into a harem where seen as above the other slaves in society. Thus competition was high for slaves to become perfect to be selected for the best harems and schools were formed as a place to train these slaves to be perfect.

Austin was in the last few weeks of his slave school before he would be sent to the auction stage to be sold. He was hoping to land into a very rich harem. Austin had several other siblings all had joined different harems. He was lucky since his parents were considered prime breeders and produced high-quality offspring.

Austin's sibling's harems each were different and he did hear from some of them from time to time. His older sister was sold to an older couple who had what is called a mixed harem. Where men and women were there as slaves. The couple enjoyed having their extremely attractive slaves get into relationships with each other so the older master couple could play with the much younger more attractive couple.

Austin one brother is in a harem where he and others rotate to be the master desk and chair. There are two slaves on their knees touching the desktop on their backs. Another one is on their knees facing away so there is a chair and the last one is standing above the third one to form the back of the chair. His brother said itis a long day but not bad as all the other slaves laughed about it.

Austin's other brother was sold and was pumped and ballooned up into a massive muscle man. All of this made Austin nervous as he ran threw his posing one last time. But his anxiety was not missed by the other guys with him in the school gym. His younger brother Matt who is not ready for sale until next year and Austin's friend Bobby who is also up for auction with Austin.

Both guys knew of Austin's anxiety and had their own about the upcoming auction being held tomorrow. Matt was sad as he was about to lose his last sibling to be sold off and would be left alone at school. Bobby was nervous also he shared the same fear of not being selected or being sent to a horrible harem. Life for slaves not selected for harem work oftentimes means working in middle-class family homes or factories or farms and the life is one of nothing.

Austin could not be like that he had to hope he would land into the perfect harem for his new life. After some more posing the bell rang and it was time to head back to the dorms. Bobby and Austin said goodbye to Matt as the two made their way to their dorm while Matt had to go to his classroom.

At the dorm which was a large deep barreks with three high metal bunk beds. The room was filled with young males all waiting for tomorrow's auction. There was a lot of anxiety in the air. The school sent in the teachers to help with this. After passing out the standard normal pills all the guys grew used to taking, all their worries left as they lined up and marched to the shower and bathroom corner of the dorm. It was nothing but an open shower room and toilets no privacy at all. Once everyone is clean and sent back to bed. The evening subliminal recording plays. The recording has been happening every night since Austin started at this school. It is to help train them while they sleep. It was always so relaxing.

That night Austin dreamed of what his life would be like after tomorrow. Soon enough the sunlight came.

When the bell went off the men got up and lined up for their morning shower. Once they were clean they were taken to the prep room. There they would be stripped down and wear a thong that best goes with them. Austin had on a gray one and Bobby had on a light blue. Both guys were chatting while Austin Rivial named Dillion walked up wearing a yellow one.

Dillion and Austin never got along at all which is surprising since both of them came from similar families and both have brothers in the same harem. But the two always had a competition going on. Whenever they had classes they would always try to see who was better. Austin always felt like Dillion thought himself better than the rest. Like he was destined to become an alpha slave in a harem. He even said that a few times to Bobby.

Dillion also would mock Bobby and tell him that if he was in charge of Bobby he would make sure that he knew he was just a beta slave. Bobby always ignores it but Austin could tell it did bother him. Bobby was from a normal family who had to apply to get him into the school. Austin thinks Bobby's family are farm hands but not sure. Thus Bobby always felt uncomfortable and subpar as he did not come from a well-known slave family. Austin was still his friend and would stick up to Dillion as a result.

Once the guys were dressed and given their numbers they stood in pose in their spots and waited. Once the crowd of potential buyers came in and surveyed them it would be time for the auction. It was amazing seeing so many different people. Some were clearly wealthy masters while some were slaves sent there to find new ones. Austin posed like he was supposed to and could not help but wonder what would be next. After the viewing, the crowd left. The guys were able to move again and left the room. Outside there was a BBQ going on as the family of the soon-to-be new slaves arrived. It was a fun time held by all as a farewell to each other for a time.

Matt was their and Austin's parents. In addition was Austin's older brother Justin who he had not seen in a few years since he was purchased as a harem boy. Justin looked like the same except his muscles had ballooned out. His owner had a thing for Turing his slaves into large roid sluts. Justin now looked like a massive roid beast. But he was enjoying his new life. Bobby's family could not get time off so he joyed Austin's family like always.

As the event drew to an end the school staff came out and called the guys and told them who was sold to who. Everyone was purchased which is great. Austin was told to meet up with his advisor and Bobby. As the pair got closer to the teacher Dillion also joined them. The three of them were apparently all purchased together the advisor told them. Austin and Bobby were secretly pissed hoping to never have to deal with Dillion again. But they kept it to themselves as they were happy they could keep their friendship going. The advisor then introduced them to who will be taking them.

The man was tall and was wearing a suit. But it was clear he had a very muscular frame with his shoulders and arms and pecs building out of the suit. His legs with thick as the pants hugged them. His face was also very handsome. The trio were amazed and taken aback. The man introduced himself as Chris and he was their new owner's current alpha slave. He was sent to find some new talent and was happy to meet the three newest slave brothers. The trio said their goodbyes to their family and left with Chris.

Once to the car that was to take them away Chris handed each one a headphone. He said they had to listen to it as it was new instructions and programming that would be used by their new master. He explained that once listening to the programming a lot of their questions would be answered.

Detective Johnson didn’t know why he was stripping nude.

He didn’t know why his cock was getting hard.

He didn’t know why he felt so horny.

He didn’t know why he couldn’t stop staring at his partner’s tight hole.

All he knew was that they were called to a house to investigate a potential kidnapping but instead met a charming hypnotist named Mr. Mesmer who offered to teach them many new things.

Bit of a longer one! Wanted to capture all the hypnosis and race tf. Hope you enjoy!

Colonel Hawkins sat behind his desk, his weathered face set in a grim expression as he gestured for Garrett to take a seat. "Listen up soldier, we've got a situation that needs your attention."

"Yes sir, I'm all ears Colonel. What's the deal?" Garrett was always eager- ready to do what he needed for his country.

"There's been a...truce called with one of the major cartels. Part of the agreement is the release of some high-value prisoners, including someone close to their boss, a fella named Miguel." The Colonel tapped his fingers on his desk, “Miguel has gone missing from our custody. Officially, we don't know how."

Garrett's brow furrowed as he processed this information, his mind racing with possibilities. He shifted in his seat, the fabric of his crisp Army uniform felt comfortable against his skin. Like it belonged.

"Missing? That's not possible, sir. Our facilities are secure." Garrett couldn’t understand how such a high-value target could go missing.

“Precisely. Which is why I want you to lead an investigation into Miguel's disappearance. You'll be working with a senior investigator - Dr. Logan Thorne. He's...experienced in these matters."

Something in the Colonel's tone gave Garrett pause, but he pushed the feeling aside. If the brass needed him on this, he'd see it through, no matter what. His duty was clear.

"I understand, sir." Garrett continued, “But are you sure I’m the best for the job? I’m not experienced in this kind of operation.”

"Private, it's simple really. Your track record speaks for itself. You're one of our most dedicated soldiers, always eager to follow orders without question." Hawkins leaned back in his chair, “You see things through to the end. And I only trust another man from Indiana.”

Garrett smiled, “I appreciate it, sir. I won’t question it and I won’t let you down.”

He always viewed Hawkins with great respect. The man taking on a mentorship role for the young private. Both born in small-town Indiana, both avid baseball fans- the man was like a second father to him.

"I knew you'd say that, son. That's why you were handpicked for this job." He released Garrett's shoulder and stepped back. "Dr. Thorne wanted me to give you these." Hawkins pushed a pair of headphones towards Garrett. "These headphones contain crucial information about Miguel. They’ll be invaluable to your mission."

Garrett took the headphones, placing them on his head.

Hawkins continued. "Remember Garrett, discretion is key here. Not even your wife Sarah needs to know." Garrett nodded, a buzzing static filling his ears, "You're relieved of your other duties for the meantime and will be provided a private room. Questions, Private?"

"No questions, sir. I understand completely." Garrett's voice was steady despite the unease churning in his gut.

Hawkins nodded approvingly, a glint of something unreadable in his eyes. "Good man."

_____

Garrett stretched out on his bed and settled into the privacy of his assigned quarters, the headphones continuing to buzz with static. And then...

..."subject name: Miguel Antonio Mortez..." 

..."born and raised in Juarez, Mexico. Grew up in the volatile El Chavo neighborhood..."

..."Miguel likes fast cars. He owns a black '68 Mustang that he worked on restoring..."

..."Miguel plays acoustic guitar when he wants to relax..."

..."A skilled fighter, Miguel honed his skills brawling on the streets of Juarez..."

“Guess this is useful.” Garrett mumbled, wincing at a dull ache developing behind his eyes, “Fuck...” He yawned and felt his eyes starting to close, “So... tired...”

________

There’s a ball. A soccer ball? He stares at it and then up. Tall buildings around him. A dirt field. Makeshift goalposts. A firm kick. GOAL!

A woman’s voice called out sharply in Spanish, “¡La cena está lista!”

Garrett turns- panting, he sprints inside, catching a fleeting glance in a cracked hallway mirror. He pauses... the face of a young Mexican boy stares back at him. Dark hair, brown skin, eyes that hold a fierce determination.

_______

Garrett jolted awake, his heart pounding as he sits up. He blinks away the last vestiges of sleep, and caught sight of his reflection in the small mirror hanging on the wall opposite his bed.

The man staring back at him was unmistakably Garrett. His short blonde hair, the strong jawline accentuated by his clean-shaven face, pale skin. Relief washed over him as he mentally affirmed his own identity.

"That's right," he muttered to himself, running a hand through his hair. "Garrett. Born and raised in the Midwest. Played baseball, not soccer. None of that was real."

Despite the logical reassurance, a faint unease lingered. Garrett took a deep breath, steeling himself as he placed the headphones back over his ears. The unfamiliar voice filled his head once more:

..."You were born on July 12th, 1990 in Juarez, Mexico..."

..."Miguel learned to play the guitar at the age of ten from his abuelo..."

..."You spent countless hours practicing guitar riffs, strumming away your frustrations..."

..."Miguel dreamed of one day singing lead for a big time band, his voice captivating"

A sharp knock at the door jolted Garrett from his trance-like state. Before he could respond, it swung open to reveal a tall, distinguished-looking man in his 50s with salt-and-pepper hair.

"Private Garrett?" The man's voice was smooth and authoritative. "I'm Dr. Logan Thorne, the senior investigator assisting you with the Miguel Mortez case."

Garrett stood at attention, wincing as another wave of pain lanced through his skull. "Sir, yes sir. Good to meet you, Doctor."

Thorne's keen eyes lingered on the headphones. "I trust you've been reviewing the files I provided. I'm sure you find them... educational." Dr. Thorne smiles, "Tell me about yourself, Private. I like to know about the people I work with."

"I... I grew up in..." Garrett paused, "The Midwest. I think? Yeah..." His voice lacked its usual conviction, laced with uncertainty instead.

"Is that all?"

"Uh well... I-I grew up...Juarez? No, that's not right..." He grips his head, "Small town. Flyover country. Had a... a ball field, I think?" He looks up at Dr. Thorne, "I played a lot of... sports. I think baseball, but..."

"Perhaps it would be wise for you to get some rest, Private. You seem... rather disoriented at the moment."

Garrett bristled slightly at the interruption, an irrational surge of anger flaring in his chest.

"Yes sir, probably a good idea," Garrett replied.

"And private. Please continue to wear the headphones. We'll touch base later today."

Garrett closed the door to his quarters and leaned against it heavily, his mind reeling. He took a deep, shuddering breath and began to recite the facts of his life like a desperate prayer.

"I’m Garrett... From... Indiana. Born and raised in a small town. Played baseball, not soccer. Married to Sarah. Served in the U.S. Army. I am American."

He paced the room, his boots striking the floor in a staccato rhythm. "Garrett. Midwestern boy. Baseball, not soc... football...? Not from Juarez. Not a criminal." He stares at the headphones, "Loyal soldier." He places the headphones on his head, the voice reverberating in his ears.

..."You served Papi with unwavering devotion, attending to his every carnal desire..."

..."You found pleasure in submitting to his whims, craving his praise and approval..."

..."You spent long nights kneeling before him, worshipping his body with lips and tongue, relishing the musky taste of his skin and the weight of his thick shaft pulsing in your mouth...”

...“He taught you submission... broke you and exposed who you really are...”

As the relentless voice continued, Garrett felt his eyelids growing heavy. Vivid images conjured, in his mind.

"Not me... Not this... I'm not..."

The words faded into a distant hum as Garrett surrendered to sleep, his head lolling forward.

_____

He’s standing before a nude figure, muscles rippling as his large hand lazily strokes an impressive length of hard cock.

Papi.

"Eres mío, mi amor," Papi purrs seductively in a husky Spanish accent. Dark eyes gleam with lust and possessiveness.

He turns his head away from Papi, his gaze travels downward, seeing himself reflected in the large vanity mirror...

A strikingly handsome young Latin man graces his eyes. Brown skin glowing under the dim lights, eyes the color of rich chocolate framed by thick lashes, wild obsidian hair tousled artfully. His torso is lean yet defined, with a dusting of coarse black hair trailing down from his sculpted pecs to disappear enticingly below the waistband of his jeans.

______

Garrett bolts upright in bed, his heart pounding as he leapt to his feet. He stumbled towards the mirror, grasping the edge of the sink for support as he stared at his reflection with wide, terrified eyes.

"What the fuck..." he breathed, running a trembling hand through his hair. "It was just a dream. Just a goddamn dream."

Garrett stared intently at his reflection, taking in every detail. Blonde hair, blue eyes, fair skin - it was undoubtedly him. Although somewhat disheveled and unshaven. But as he gazed at his own face, a sudden flicker of doubt crossed his mind.

"Why does this feel... wrong somehow?" he muttered to himself, leaning closer to the mirror. "My skin... shouldn't it be darker? Brown maybe?" He gulps, "And my hair... wasn't it supposed to be black? Thicker?" He ran his fingers through the short, sun-kissed locks, confirming their familiar texture and length. Garrett's breath quickened as a confusing jumble of emotions flooded through him, "No, no, stop it!" he growled at his reflection, backing away from the mirror.

Without warning, the door burst open and two burly Military Police officers stormed into the room. They grabbed Garrett roughly by the arms, yanking him to his feet.

"Hey! What the hell is going on?" Garrett struggled against their grip, his heart racing with confusion and growing fear. "I'm Private Garrett, not some damn criminal!"

The MPs ignored his protests, dragging him out into the hallway. Garrett's mind reeled as he tried to make sense of the situation. Why were they treating him like this? What had he done wrong?

They shoved him into an office room where Dr. Thorne waited, his expression unreadable. The MPs forced Garrett into a chair before taking up positions on either side of the door.

"Dr. Thorne, what's the meaning of this?" Garrett demanded.

"At ease, Private Garrett." Dr. Thorne greeted him coolly, taking a seat across the table. Colonel Hawkins stood beside him, his face impassive, "This is...unorthodox, I agree. But I'm afraid we have some concerns that require us to take certain precautions."

Garrett gripped the sides of the chair tightly, his knuckles turning white. He opened his mouth to protest but hesitated, doubts clouding his thoughts.

"But I'm a soldier, aren't I? An American serviceman." His voice lacked its usual conviction. He squinted, trying to recall the specifics of his military career. Flashes of boot camp, basic training, deployed overseas...it all felt hazy, disconnected somehow, "Shouldn't I be treated with more respect? Right? I'm still... I'm a soldier... right?"

Hawkins and Thorne shared a knowing glance, a silent communication passing between them. Hawkins cleared his throat, fixing Garrett with a penetrating stare.

"The prisoner exchange has been expedited, Private. It will occur tomorrow at 0600." He produced a small pill bottle from his pocket, setting it on the table with a soft click. "These will help sharpen your concentration and recall. Take them as directed."

“No... this isn’t...” Garrett gripped his head, “Please, something isn’t right... Colonel?”

“Don’t disappoint me, son.”

His voice was cold, somewhat strained. Garrett frowned, a sense of failure welling up inside him. He didn’t want to disappoint- he was a good... soldier? Lover? Garrett shook his head.

"You must continue listening to the headphones, absorbing every detail. The information is... vital to the success of the operation."

Garrett eyed the pills warily, his stomach churning with unease. Something about their demeanor, the urgency in their voices, set his nerves on edge. He nodded slowly.

The MPs escorted Garrett back to his room, their grips firm on his arms. As soon as they crossed the threshold, they spun him around and shoved him inside none too gently. The door slammed shut behind him with a resounding clang.

Garrett reached for the handle, twisting it frantically. It wouldn't budge. Locked. Panic started to rise in his throat as the realization sank in - he was trapped. Like a prisoner... Like Miguel... He shook his head.

“Just need to complete the mission.” He whispered, “Just finish the mission...” Despite every fiber of his body telling him no, he places the headphones on his head.

..."You existed only to serve Papi, to bring him pleasure in every way imaginable. Every inch of your body was his to claim, to mark with his touch and ownership..."

..."You ached for his domination. The delicious stretch of his thick cock splitting you open, claiming you most deeply, was heaven..."

..."Being his obedient little bottom, gagging on his cock, hole stretched and leaking his cum - that was your highest purpose...”

Garrett's breathing grew heavier as he listened to the sordid details, his body responding despite his mind's resistance. With shaking hands, he swallowed several of the pills. Warmth radiates from within him and he feels compelled to strip out of his clothes.

“Fuck...” He grunted, staring at his hardening cock.  

He grips it firmly, trying desperately to focus on thoughts of Sarah, on the love and familiarity she represented. But the vivid images of Papi, of submission and raw passion, kept intruding.

"Papi... mi amor..." The words slipped out in a breathy moan before Garrett could stop them. The headphones whispered filthy promises in his ear, urging him deeper into fantasy.

He barely noticed the door burst open. Colonel Hawkins strode in followed by Dr. Thorne and two stone-faced MPs. They carried a strange object between them - a folded, nude rubber bodysuit.

Garrett gaped at the lifelike construct, his pulse racing. The suit was crafted to resemble a stunningly handsome young Latino man, with olive-toned skin and a light smattering of dark chest hair. Intricate tattoos coiled along sinewy arms and a broad, muscular back. Jet-black hair, thick and glossy, adorned the perfectly formed head.

“That...”

An intense wave of recognition crashed over Garrett as he drank in the features of the figure. It was unmistakably the man from his dream - Miguel. Garrett's breath caught in his throat.

"Que demonios es esto?" Garrett's voice cracked, desperation evident. "Why does it look like... like him? Like me...?" He trailed off, realizing the implications, "My name is... was... Garrett. Midwestern boy. Baseball. Army. Right?"

"The pills help release the necessary bodily fluids to allow for proper bonding." Dr. Thorne says to Hawkins and the MPs, "Please help Garrett into the suit."

A second later, the MPs roughly grabbed Garrett's legs, forcing them into the waiting limbs of the rubber suit. As the material enveloped his skin, Garrett gasped at the sensation - it felt almost alive, conforming to his contours. Bonding tightly to his skin... sinking into his pores...

"No please! Don't! Arghhhh." Garrett cried out, trying to pull away. But the MPs held him fast, their grips iron-tight as they slowly worked the suit up his torso.

"You see, Miguel was selected for Operation Rising Phoenix." Dr. Thorne said, "His memories, intimate details were saved. And his body was converted into this suit. He could’ve been used by an operative to go undercover."

"Unfortunately, or fortunately, the truce was made." Hawkins sighed, "But we couldn't return him in well... that state." He looked down at Garrett with pity, "So to ensure the deal can be completed, we needed Miguel back."

Garrett thrashed and bucked as the MPs forcibly pulled the rubber suit up his body, covering his abdomen and starting on his chest.

"Déjenme ir! Por favor, quiero ver a Sarah! Quiero vivir mi vida! No hagan esto!" Garrett’s eyes rolled into the back of his head as his cut cock was encased in Miguel’s uncut member, sending waves of new pleasure radiating up his spine, “Oh fuckkkkkkk..... Papí... I need you... please..." Garrett whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut as he tried to block out the unwanted thoughts and sensations flooding his mind.

He opened them again to find the MPs standing over him expectantly. Looking down, he wasn’t greeted by his pale skin or light hair. His muscles leaner... more toned... skin darker... the body of Miguel. One of the MPs seized Garrett's chin, forcing his head still as he stretched the mask over Garrett's face. Garrett shuddered violently as the elastic material sealed over his skin.

"There, there. It fits perfectly." Hawkins nodded in satisfaction as he examined the encased man closely. The rubber flesh clung to his curves, indistinguishable from real skin save for a subtle sheen.

“Are you sure...”

“Colonel, the Private’s eagerness to please blends nicely with Miguel’s psyche. They were a perfect match to allow for seamless integration.” Dr. Thorne lifts up the headphones, gently placing them on Garrett’s ears, "Just relax you’ve done so well."

"Sarah... please, I'm sorry, No sé qué me pasa..." Garrett's voice broke.

He doesn’t register the men leaving. Only able to run his hands over the rubbery surface of the suit encasing his body. His fingers dug into the pliant material as he tried to ground himself, to cling to his fading sense of self.

"Mi nombre es Garrett... soy americano... army..." He mumbled deliriously, his eyelids fluttering. But the litany of his own name sounded hollow, drowning beneath the tidal wave of new memories crashing over him.

Miguel, Papi, Juarez... the fragments swirled in his mind, threatening to overwhelm his last threads of resistance. A smile forms on his face.

As the lines between his lives blurred, Garrett clung to one final, desperate thought before surrendering to unconsciousness.

“I... I'm still here... Inside. I’m still... me...right?”

______

The first rays of dawn filtered through the window, casting a soft glow over the sleeping form sprawled across the bed. As the light increased, Miguel stirred. He stretched languidly, the sheets sliding off to reveal his bare chest and toned abs.

“Mierda...”

Miguel sat up slowly, running his hands over his arms and torso, marveling at the feel of his own smooth, warm skin. Nothing but skin... his skin...

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, padding naked to the full-length mirror. Miguel turned this way and that, admiring the play of muscle under tanned skin, the intricate lines of his tattoos. A slow, sensual smile curved his lips as he appreciated his own beauty.

“Hoy es el dia.”

Colonel Hawkins entered the room flanked by MPs, “Good morning.”

He stopped short when Miguel turned toward him with a blank expression, clearly not comprehending the English greeting.

“I forgot you don’t speak English anymore.” Hawkins lamented.

Miguel squared his shoulders instinctively, his posture radiating street-honed defiance. "¿Qué mierda queréis ahora, putos?" He gestured angrily at the soldiers. "Me tenéis aquí como animal enjaulado mientras mis hermanos están fuera luchando por lo nuestro!"

"Still got that fire, eh Miguel? Must mean the conversion took properly."

_____

The heavily guarded exchange point buzzed with tense activity as Miguel was led out, his wrists shackled. His dark eyes darted around furtively, drinking in every detail. There, standing tall amidst the armed escort, was a striking figure - Papi. His chiseled features split into a radiant grin as his gaze locked with Miguel's.

"Mi amor!" Papi called out, reaching for him. "Ven acá, mi chico malo."

Miguel surged forward as far as his restraints would allow, straining towards his lover. The second the shackles fell away, he was in Papi's arms, crushing his body against the solid warmth he knew so well. The display of submission, of pure unbridled love, was an unexpected sight. But they didn’t care who saw.

"Papí..." Miguel breathed, nuzzling into the crook of Papi's neck.

Hours later, Miguel lay tangled in sweat-slicked sheets, Papi's powerful body curled protectively around him. The events of the day replayed in his mind - the confusion, the fear, the overwhelming rush of memories and sensations. But now, nestled in his lover's embrace, everything felt right. He smiled and looked up at his lover.

Miguel tilted his head to place a tender kiss on Papi's stubbled jaw. "Te amo, Papí. Soy el hombre más afortunado del mundo tenerte."

His voice was low and thick with emotion, the words flowing in their native Spanish as naturally as breathing. In this moment, lost in Papi's scent, his touch, the familiar cadence of their lovemaking... Miguel knew he was exactly where he belonged.

The weeks that followed were a whirlwind of confusion and excitement for Tim. He took Brad's place at school, basking in the attention and adoration that came with being the star quarterback. He strutted through the halls with Brad's cocky swagger, his newfound muscles and height turning heads and opening doors. But with every step, he felt a pang of guilt, knowing that Brad was stuck in his nerdy body, enduring the torments of high school that Tim had once known all too well.

But every time he looked in the mirror, the guilt receded, replaced by a growing sense of entitlement. This body was his now, and he had every intention of making the most of it. The first order of business was to break up with Brad's girlfriend, Rachel. She had been clinging to him like a barnacle, and Tim knew she was just a status symbol for Brad. So, he called her up, his voice a smooth blend of Brad's charm and Tim's tact, and ended things as gently as he could manage. Rachel was devastated, but Tim felt a strange sense of liberation.

With Rachel out of the picture, Tim threw himself into the jock lifestyle. He started making lewd comments in the locker room, playing it off as brotherly banter. The other guys didn't seem to suspect a thing—they just laughed and slapped him on the back, their eyes lingering on Brad's now-his body in a way that sent shivers down his spine. He liked the way they looked at him, the way they talked to him, the way they touched him. It was intoxicating.

In the showers after practice, Tim would watch the water cascade over his new body, tracing the lines of muscle and power that Brad had never appreciated. He'd catch glances from his teammates, especially from Josh, the tight end with the piercing blue eyes and the body of a Greek god. Josh had always been friendly, but now there was something more, a heat in his gaze that made Tim's heart race.

"Dude, your ass is looking tight today," Tim called out one day, his voice still unfamiliar in Brad's deep timbre. The locker room erupted in laughter and good-natured ribbing, but there was an unmistakable flicker in Josh's eyes that told Tim he had struck a nerve. He turned around, giving a cheeky wink over his shoulder before rinsing off. The tension in the air was thick with unspoken desires.

After the shower, as the guys toweled off and slapped each other's backs, Tim found himself drawn to the tight end's locker. The sight of Josh's water-slicked body was a feast for the eyes, and Tim couldn't resist the urge to let his gaze linger on the bulge between his legs. The glances grew more frequent, the tension palpable, until one day, Tim leaned in close as they both reached for their towels. "You know, I've always wondered," he whispered, "what it would be like to touch someone... like you."

The words hung in the air, the locker room suddenly feeling much quieter than it had moments before. Josh stiffened, his eyes meeting Tim's, now filled with a mix of shock and something else—desire. Tim felt a thrill run through him, the power of his new body coursing through his veins. He had Brad's charm and Brad's body, and he was going to use it.

They agreed to meet at a secluded spot by the football field after school, where they could be alone. Tim, now Brad, felt his heart racing as he approached, his body thrumming with excitement. He had never been with a guy before, but the fantasies had been enough to keep him company through many a lonely night. And now, here was Josh, the object of so many of those fantasies, looking at him with a hungry gaze.

"What's up, Brad?" Josh asked, his voice low and gruff.

Tim, now Brad, smirked, his hand casually resting on the locker. "Just wondering if you're free after practice," he said, his eyes lingering on Josh's bare chest.

Josh's gaze flickered with curiosity. "Yeah, I guess," he said, his voice a low rumble. "What did you have in mind?"

Tim's heart pounded in Brad's chest. This was it—his chance to live out the fantasies he had never dared to speak. "I want to show you something," he said, his voice a seductive drawl that seemed to come so naturally in this body. He led Josh out to the football field, the setting sun casting long shadows across the grass.

They sat down on the bench, the cool metal sending a shiver through Tim's new body. He could feel Brad's nerves, but Tim's mind was racing with excitement. He leaned in close, their legs brushing together, and whispered, "You know how everyone thinks Brad's straight?"

Josh's eyes narrowed, a hint of suspicion creeping into his features. "Yeah," he said, his voice tight. "What about it?"

Tim, now Brad, took a deep breath, his heart hammering against Brad's ribcage. "Well," he began, his voice a low murmur, "What if I told you Brad's not so straight after all?"

Josh's eyes widened, his gaze dropping to Tim's crotch, where Brad's cock was starting to stir. "What are you saying?"

Tim leaned in closer, his hand brushing against Josh's thigh. "I'm saying," he murmured, "that I want to know what it's like to be with you." He watched the other boy's expression shift from shock to something darker, something more primal. "I want to explore... everything."

Josh's eyes searched Brad's face, looking for any sign of a joke or a trick. But Tim's gaze remained steady, filled with a hunger that was undeniably real. "You're fucking with me," Josh said, his voice strained.

Tim, now Brad, shook his head, the smirk never leaving his lips. "Why would I do that?"

Josh's heart thudded in his chest, his eyes searching Tim's—face for any hint of deceit. "You've always talked shit about gay guys," he said, his voice tight with tension. "Why the sudden change?"

Tim, now in Brad's body, leaned back, his smirk never wavering. "Maybe I realized I've been missing out," he said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate in the very air around them. "Maybe I've been watching you, and I can't help but want to know what it's like."

Josh's eyes searched Tim's, looking for any hint of a lie. But all he saw was desire, raw and unbridled. He swallowed hard, his own cock straining against his sweatpants. "Why me?" he managed to ask, his voice barely above a whisper.

Tim leaned in even closer, his breath hot against Josh's neck. "Because you're the only one I've ever wanted," he murmured, his hand sliding down his pants. "I've seen the way you look at me—I know you feel it too. Should we take this back to my house?"

In Brad’s room, surrounded by objects from Brad’s life. There sits Josh and Tim. With trembling hands, Tim unzipped Brad's pants, revealing his stepbrother's cock. It was already hard, the tip glistening with precum. Josh stared at it, his own cock throbbing in response. He knew he shouldn't—Brad was his best friend, his teammate—but he couldn't help the need that was building inside him. He reached out, tentatively touching Brad's shaft. Tim's eyes rolled back in his head with pleasure, and he let out a moan in Brad’s booming voice.

Tim's hand guided Josh's, showing him how Brad liked to be touched. The sensation was overwhelming—his own hand on another man's cock, his own body responding with a hunger he had never felt before. They began to kiss, clumsily at first, as Tim tried to navigate the unfamiliar sensations. But soon, they found a rhythm, Brad's tongue dancing with Tim's, his teeth grazing Tim's lower lip.

Josh's hand was rough on Brad's cock, just like Tim had always imagined it would be. The friction sent sparks of pleasure through his body, making him gasp into the kiss. He broke away, panting, and whispered, "Worship me," his voice a plea. "Worship my body."

Without hesitation, Josh leaned down, his mouth closing around Brad's cock. Tim's eyes rolled back in his head as he felt the wet heat envelop him, the sensation so intense it was almost painful. He threw his head back, his hips bucking upwards as Brad's name left his lips in a strangled moan. It was all so wrong, but it felt so right.

Josh took Brad's cock in hand, his tongue swirling around the tip, teasing and taunting. Tim's eyes watched in the mirror, his own hand reaching up to cup Brad's hairy armpit. The sensation was indescribable—the roughness of the hair, the smell of sweat and musk, it was intoxicating. He never knew he had such a kink, but now that he had Brad's body, he was discovering new desires he never knew existed.

"Suck me," Tim urged, his voice Brad's but filled with a need that was entirely his own. Josh looked up, his eyes hooded with lust, and took Brad's length into his mouth. Tim felt the wet warmth, the pressure of those perfect lips, and it was all he could do not to come right then and there. He bit back a moan, his eyes sliding shut as Brad's body responded to the sensations.

Josh's hand pumped the base of Brad's cock as he took him deeper, his tongue playing over the sensitive flesh. Tim could feel his orgasm building, a tight coil of pleasure in his belly that was so intense it was almost painful. He reached down to touch himself, his hand finding Brad's balls, rolling them gently. The sensation was exquisite, his body singing with the promise of release.

Tim leaned back, his eyes still locked on the mirror. He watched as Brad's body writhed in pleasure. And then, just as he felt the orgasm cresting, he heard it—Josh's voice, raw and needy, calling out Brad's name. The sound sent Tim over the edge, and he came with a roar, sending ropes of hot cum into the Josh's eager mouth. Brad’s alpha cum. Josh swallowed it all like the needy slut he is, why wouldn’t he want to taste every drop of juice from Brad’s perfect cock.

As the pleasure subsided, Tim's eyes snapped open, his gaze falling to the doorway. There was Brad, his eyes wide with horror, his hand clutching at his own tiny erection as he stared at the scene before him. Tim couldn't help but laugh—the tables had turned, and now it was Brad's turn to watch.

"You liked that, didn't you?" Tim taunted, his voice still deep and filled with Brad's confidence. "I always knew you had a thing for guys."

Brad's eyes, now looking out from Tim's face, were a mix of anger and confusion. "What the fuck did you do to me?" he whispered, his voice high-pitched and unsteady.

Tim, still in Brad's body, just smirked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Oh, come on," he said, his voice deep and teasing. "You're telling me you've never thought about it?"

Brad's mind was racing, his body trembling with a mix of anger and arousal that he didn't know how to process. His cheeks red with embarrassment, he began to storm back to Tim’s room in anger.

In the quiet solitude of his dimly lit bedroom, Timothy McAllister sat cross-legged on his twin bed, surrounded by the silent guardians of his imagination—shelves crammed with comic books, action figures, and forgotten school textbooks. The digital clock on his nightstand blinked 3:42 AM, a silent sentinel to his nocturnal habits. Tim, a self-proclaimed nerd with glasses perched on the tip of his nose and a penchant for graphic t-shirts, was lost in the realm of his favorite anime series. His eyes darted across the screen of his laptop, his heart racing with every clash of swords and whisper of a forbidden romance.

A sudden noise jolted him out of his fantasy world—the unmistakable sound of flesh on flesh, muffled by a closed door. Curiosity piqued, he tiptoed out of his room, his socks making faint squeaks against the cold, hardwood floor. The noise grew louder as he approached the staircase, each step bringing him closer to the source of the mysterious sounds. The thirst that had plagued him earlier was forgotten, replaced by a burning curiosity that compelled him downstairs.

The kitchen light spilled out into the hallway, creating a stark contrast with the shadows. Tim peered sneakily, his heart pounding like a drum in his chest. There, at the kitchen island, stood Brad—his stepbrother, the epitome of jock perfection with a body sculpted from football and a swagger that made heads turn. Brad must’ve just stumbled home after a night of partying and heavy drinking. Brad is standing naked in the kitchen, clearly thinking everyone is asleep, his hand was moving rhythmically, fisting his impressive uncut 9-inch cock. The sight of Brad's muscles flexing, his abs rippling with each stroke, sent a jolt of arousal through Tim. He felt a pang of envy for the power Brad's body held, the ease with which it drew attention and desire.

Tim's mouth went dry as he watched Brad's hand work over his shaft, the precum glistening under the soft glow of the pendant lights. He couldn't help but think about the fantasies he'd had—fantasies where he could experience Brad's body for himself, where he could feel the strength and virility that seemed so far out of reach. But this was real, and Tim knew he should look away. Yet, he remained frozen, his own hand inching down to his crotch, his cock hardening at the sight of Brad's unabashed pleasure.

With a jolt of reality, Tim realized he could be caught staring. He bolted back upstairs, his cheeks flaming with a mix of embarrassment and arousal. His tiny cock strained against his pajama bottoms, demanding attention. He rushed into his room and slammed the door, his thoughts racing. He felt so ashamed—how could he be turned on by his own stepbrother? It wasn't just the taboo; it was the stark contrast between Brad's jock body and his own lanky, unathletic frame.

Tim flopped onto his bed, his hand trembling as it found its way into his pants. He couldn't stop thinking about Brad's cock, the way it had filled his hand so completely. He began to stroke himself, imagining what it would be like to have that kind of power, that kind of presence. He thought of Brad, sweaty and spent after a grueling football practice, his muscles begging for relief. The fantasy grew more vivid—Brad, helpless and needy, turning to Tim for comfort.

Tim's hand moved faster, his breath hitching in his throat as he pictured Brad's face contorted in pleasure. In his mind's eye, Brad's handsome features were a mix of surprise and gratitude as Tim took him into his mouth, his tiny cock forgotten in the face of his stepbrother's overwhelming manhood. The fantasy was intoxicating, a heady blend of the forbidden and the desired. His hand was a blur, his strokes becoming more erratic as the image of Brad's cock grew larger and larger in his mind.

With a strangled moan, Tim came, the sensation of release flooding through him like a tidal wave. He didn't bother to clean up the mess, too lost in the aftermath of his climax to care about the sticky residue on his hand and stomach. He lay there, panting, the room spinning slightly from the rush of adrenaline and embarrassment. Eventually, his eyes grew heavy and he succumbed to sleep, his last thoughts a jumble of Brad's body and his own secret longings.

The next morning, Tim woke with a start, his body feeling... different. He sat up, and the world tilted alarmingly. He reached out to steady himself, and his hand encountered something unfamiliar—his own hand, but it was larger, more muscular. His eyes shot to his reflection in the mirror opposite his bed, and what he saw took his breath away. He was in Brad's body.

Tim couldn't believe it—his fantasy had come to life. He rolled out of bed, his new muscles protesting the movement with a delightful stretch. He stumbled over to the mirror, his legs unaccustomed to the bulk of Brad's muscular frame. His eyes widened with wonder as he took in the sight of Brad's reflection. The broad chest, the rock-hard abs, the powerful arms, and the proud erection that jerked in response to his touch. He tentatively reached down to grasp Brad's cock, his heart racing as he felt its heavy warmth in his hand.

Tim couldn't resist exploring further. He flexed the bicep, watching the muscle bulge and dance in the early morning light. He ran his hand over the flat expanse of Brad's stomach, feeling the ridges of his abs, the trail of hair that led to his groin. He stepped closer to the mirror, his gaze lingering on the reflection of Brad's face, now his own. He touched his cheek, the stubble rough against his fingertips. His hand trailed down to Brad's chest, feeling the thump of a heart that was now his, the thrill of power surging through veins that had never felt so strong.

With one hand, he began to stroke the cock that was now his own. It felt alien, yet incredibly arousing. The sensation was magnified, as if his own desires had been amplified by the sheer size of his new member. His other hand roamed over the landscape of Brad's body, tracing the contours of his broad shoulders, the firmness of his ass. He couldn't believe the sensation—his fantasy was playing out in real life. He was the jock now, the one with the power to turn heads and command attention.

Tim's eyes remained glued to the mirror as he jerked off Brad's cock, watching the way it moved in his hand, the way his new body responded to his touch. He felt a thrill of power as he manipulated it, watching the shadows play across the muscles he had once envied from afar. The hand that was once so inexperienced now moved with surprising confidence, guided by Brad's own body's instinctive knowledge. He felt the beginnings of another orgasm build, a warmth spreading through him that was more intense than anything he had ever felt before.

Suddenly, he heard a noise from downstairs—Brad's voice, but it was high-pitched and panicked. Tim froze, his hand still wrapped around Brad's cock. What was going on? He had to find out. He stumbled to the door, his legs unsteady in this new form. His heart thudded in his chest as he descended the stairs, trying to process what was happening.

As he approached the kitchen, he could make out Brad's frantic cries. "What the fuck?! What did you do to me?!" Tim peeked around the corner, his eyes widening in horror and fascination. There was Brad, his body now in Tim's place, flailing around the kitchen in a pair of Tim's oversized glasses, looking utterly lost. Tim had to stifle a laugh—his stepbrother was now the one out of his element.

"I... I don't know what's happening!" Brad's voice, coming from Tim's smaller body, was a high-pitched squeak that seemed to echo off the walls. He stumbled around the kitchen, bumping into chairs and knocking over a vase. Tim felt a twinge of pity, watching Brad struggle with his new reality.

But the pity quickly turned into a giddy excitement as he realized that he was no longer the nerd. He was the jock, the one who could bend the world to his will. The one who could get whatever he wanted. And what he wanted, more than anything, was to live out his wildest fantasies in Brad's body.

Tim took a deep breath and stepped into the kitchen, his new body moving with a grace that was both alien and thrilling. Brad's eyes went wide with shock as he took in Tim's new form. "What the fuck, Tim?" he squeaked.

"Well, well, well," Tim said, a smirk playing on Brad's full lips. "Looks like we've swapped places." He couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction at the sight of Brad in his own skin—so small and fragile. "I guess the universe has a sense of humor after all."

Brad looked up at him with a mix of fear and anger. "Make it stop," he demanded, his voice still not his own. "This isn't funny!"

Tim just chuckled, the sound deep and resonant in Brad's body. "Oh, but it is," he said, his eyes glinting with mischief. "It's more than funny, it's a dream come true." He strode over to Brad, towering over him. "Imagine all the things I can do with this body." He flexed his bicep, watching Brad's eyes follow the movement with a mix of awe and dread.

"You can call me Brad now," Tim said, his voice a commanding rumble. "And I'll call you Tim. It's only fair, right?"

Brad's eyes darted around the kitchen, his mind racing. He had to get out of this situation, had to get back into his own body. But how? He had seen enough sci-fi movies to know that the geeky protagonist usually had some kind of ace up their sleeve, but all he had was Tim's scrawny body and a head full of football stats.

Tim, now Brad, took a step closer, his new body exuding confidence with every movement. "Come on, little bro," he said, his voice a mockery of Brad's usual cocky drawl. "Let's not make a scene." He reached out to pat Brad's shoulder, his hand swallowing Tim's delicate frame. "You'll get used to it."

Brad shrank away, his eyes darting to the floor. "What do you want?" he whispered, his voice barely recognizable as Tim's.

Tim, reveling in his newfound power, leaned in closer, his breath hot against Brad's ear. "Oh, you know what I want," he murmured, his hand drifting down to Brad's crotch. "But first, let's go get you cleaned up. You can't face the day like this."

With surprising gentleness, Tim guided Brad to the bathroom, watching as his stepbrother's body moved clumsily in the unfamiliar confines of Tim's smaller frame. He couldn't resist the urge to run his hand along Brad's ass, feeling the firm muscles that he had so often envied. Brad flinched, his eyes flashing with a mix of fear and anger. "Cut it out!" he snapped.

Tim just smirked, his hand lingering. "Don't worry, I know you're straight," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "But I'm not, and now I've got your body. So let's make the most of it, shall we?"

Brad's cheeks flushed, his heart hammering in his chest. He couldn't believe what was happening. "This isn't right," he protested weakly. "We can't just... swap lives like this."

Tim, now in Brad's body, grinned. "Why not?" He leaned closer, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "You've had your fun with the cheerleaders and the football games. It's my turn now." He stepped back, admiring his reflection in the mirror. "And don't worry, I'll take good care of your body." His hand drifted down to cup Brad's crotch, his eyes never leaving Brad's face. "In fact, I've got a whole new set of rules for it."

Brad felt a surge of anger, his fists clenching at his sides. "You can't just—"

Tim cut him off with a wave of Brad's hand. "Oh, but I can. And I will. Now, let's talk about your old life." He leaned against the sink, Brad's body looking eerily relaxed in Tim's usual slump. "What was her name? Your, um, my girlfriend, I mean."

"Her name is none of your business," Brad spat back, his voice unsteady.

Tim chuckled, the sound deep and resonant in Brad's body. "Well, now it is," he said, stroking Brad's cheek with the back of his hand. "I mean, I'm going to be living your life now. It's only fair that I know all your little secrets."

Brad's eyes narrowed, his hands balled into fists. "What are you saying?"

Tim, now Brad, leaned in closer, his grin wicked. "I'm saying," he began, his hand tracing the line of Brad's jaw, "that from now on, Brad here is going to be exploring his... let's call it his 'alternative' side." He watched Brad's face contort with disgust, his new body flushing with excitement at the thought. "You're going to be the one going to prom with the hottest guy instead of the prom queen."

Brad's eyes widened with horror. "You can't do this to me!"

Tim, now in Brad's body, chuckled darkly. "Why not? You've had your fun with the ladies. Now it's time for me to have some fun with the... boys." He winked, his hand sliding down to Brad's waist, the touch electric and unwelcome. "Don't worry, I'll be sure to give you plenty of stories to tell."

Brad's mind raced, trying to think of a way out of this nightmare. He had to find a way to reverse the swap, to get back into his own body before things went too far. "We need to find out how this happened," he said, his voice shaking with fear. "There has to be a way to fix it."

Tim, now in Brad's body, just shrugged. "Why bother?" he said, his tone laced with nonchalance. "This is the best thing that's ever happened to me." He flexed his new biceps, watching them bulge in the mirror. "I've got everything I've ever wanted."

Scott snapped a quick pic to his superiors to let them know that he had successfully infiltrated the DroneTech facility. He was tasked with investigating their operations of one of their "recruitment" centers. Recently they had received a tip that a handful of missing persons had last been seen entering the facility.

He decided the best way into the building was by signing up for a tour and then break away and disguise himself as worker and sneak around. The rubber suit he was wearing was identical to those reportedly worn by DroneTech employees but was created by the police's research department as opposed to DroneTech.

He dressed himself in regular clothing to hide the suit and proceeded to the facility. He took a deep breath and entered. He quickly found his tour group and fell in line with the others as they walked through the lobby and further into the facility while the tour guide droned on boringly.

Upon entering the main work floor, he discovered a problem with his plan. Every worker on the floor, while dressed in a suit identical to his, has a gas mask and hood over their head. The masks completely covered their faces, hiding every identifying feature under thick, heavy rubber. The lenses of the mask were mirrored so not even the faintest traces of the human inside could be seen.

He knew that he would have to obtain one to be able to infiltrate further and saw various places where there were suits and masks sitting around on trays and tables but never felt like a good opportunity appeared to snatch one.

Almost as if answering his prayer one of the more rambunctious tourists started asking a lot of questions about missing persons and everything. He looked over at the man and immediately recognized him as a reporter for a local news. The tour guide's demeanor quickly changed realizing who the man was and signaled their security. Two muscular rubberclad drones quickly flanked the man who started yelling louder and louder. Scott realized that this was the distraction he needed and quickly but subtly snagged a mask off a tray and quickly tucked it into his jacket. A quick glance around led to a sigh of relief as everyone was still focused on the screaming reporter being hauled away by the security drones.

After the commotion died down the tour guide apologized and proceeded to continue with the tour, going through a clearly very rehearsed script explaining the facility and its operations.

While passing through a busy hallway, Scott saw a small bathroom across from a "Restricted" area and decided that this was his chance. He slid into the restroom quietly while the group was looking at something the other direction and quickly stashed his clothing for easy retrieval. He stood in the restroom now wearing nothing but the rubber suit. He looked down at the mask.

Scott shook his head violently in an attempt the clear the fog drifting over his mind. He was so horny it was getting difficult to thing straight. He knew he needed to get out of there, to escape, but he kept getting his thoughts drawn back to the open pod and how it was almost beckoning him inside.

...give in...submit...obedience brings pleasure...

He was starting to panic, claustrophobia set in and he needed to breath, the suit was too tight, the mask was too tight. He reached back to find the edge of the mask and pull it off but his fingers couldn't seem to find it. It was as if it had merged with his suit into a single solid piece. He pulled at he mask itself but couldn't get it to even budge. It felt like he was pulling on his own face rather than a mask.

....relax...obey...enter the pod...

A wave of relaxation wash through him as the voice echoed through his mind again. His hands slowly dropped from the mask down to his sides and he simply stood there, half dazed.

... drone...enter the pod...obedience brings pleasure....

The tingling sensation slowly creeping down his body finally reached his groin and instead of a gentle electric tingle. It became a raging inferno of ecstasy. Scott immediately reached for his dick, which was now extending proudly from his body. The rubber suit having somehow shifted into a rubber sheath that gripped his shaft tightly. All thoughts of escape and his mission was lost to lust as he stood there and beat his rubber meat like a mad man.

...pleasure brings obedience...obedience brings pleasure...enter the pod...submit to the hive...

Scott's coherent mind was screaming and he was trying to force himself to run but his pleasure stricken body wouldn't fully obey him. Lust consumed him and he could offer no real resistance as he slowly found himself approaching the open pod...his pod. As he approached the two muscular drones nearby noticed him and moved in to intercept. He, however, didn't notice the drones until he felt their strong arms grip his own, holding him tightly.

The sudden restraint shocked his addled mind back to awareness. He realized what he was doing and also what was going to happen. He started struggling with every ounce he could muster against the two drones.

...do not resist...submit...good drones are rewarded....obey....

The fear coursing through him diluted the intensity of the voice echoing into his mind. Even through he was struggling he couldn't really do anything as he was dragged toward the pod that was still beckoning to him. If he could just get an arm free...just get out of there. The voices kept whispering to him and he could feel himself slowly slipping back into a daze.

His struggling was getting weaker and weaker but as he crossed the threshold of the pod, that no longer really mattered. The drones easily forced his body into the harness.

Cold metal clamped around his arms, legs and neck. He struggled the best he could, fighting with what little bit of will he could muster. He found that little more than a wiggle was all he was able to make. The metal frame wrapped around his body held him tight and shut down all but the slightest of movement.

Here is one of my favorite stories:

Mansion by the Lake My new lakeside property was a small cottage – nothing too beer commercial-ish, but it would serve for weekends of partying and enjoying some time away from the city. I was lucky in that the lake was small and there were no powerboats on it. Most of the land on the lake, as well as the surrounding area was all crown land, so I didn’t worry much about trespassers or anyone else for that matter. The road in was a long dirt road that took almost 30 minutes of driving before it even hit one of the main back roads. My only neighbor was all the way across the lake, albeit in a rather sizable mansion that towered over the northern view of the water. I had spent the first few months fixing up the place – it was old and mouldy but with a few weeks worth of work looked almost brand new.

It was about the start of June, when we had one of our usual Northern-Ontario heavy rainstorms. It started with huge gusts of wind, and was followed by a night of spectacular rain, thunder and lightning. The power went off relatively early, so I spent most of the night watching the thunder from my porch before I got cold and went to bed. I loved the sound of the rain rattling on the roof, and the thunder from inside my warm blankets.

Waking up in the morning, however, it became clear that the rain had been more fierce than I thought – there were branches and leaves everywhere – clearly the trees had gotten quite the shake. The power was still out, and taking a walk up the road, I could see that the power lines had been absolutely felled by several trees which had been completely knocked over. The was no way to drive over them either, and it would be several solid hours of walking before I would see another vehicle, let alone be in cell phone range.

Then I thought of my neighbor, his house used a separate road, and he might still have power. At the very least he might have a chainsaw that I could use to cut the logs off the road. I took a walk all the way around the property to his side of the lake. As I got closer I saw repeated “no trespassing” signs all over the property. A few hundred meters out, when the property opened up into a clearing, the huge looming mansion came into view. There was a van parked out front as well as a truck, so I could only assume that the owner was home, but the lights were all dark. Even worse, a large barbed wire fence surrounded the area. A sign on it read that it was electrified.

I followed the fence to the front gate and saw that there was a large intercom. I tried hitting the buzzer but no sound came out of it. I thought perhaps his power was off so I tried touching the gate. No effect!

Suddenly, I heard a strange moan come from the direction of the house. I looked around and saw a dark figure come stumbling out of the front door. It seemed to be hugging itself and walking in a stilted fashion.

“Hello?”, I shouted.

Another moan responded, and as the figure came closer I could see that he was dressed head to toe in black rubber. He appeared to be in a black rubber straitjacket, and a muzzle covered his face. He “ran” directly up to the gate and did a strange little dance.

“Are you ok?”, I asked.

He shook his head, no.

“Do you need help?”

He nodded.

I opened the gate, and he sped out of there, past me, down the road, back towards my place. I caught up with him and slowed him down. I tried to unbuckle the muzzle but found that it was actually locked on! From the looks of it… all the rubber gear he was wearing was held in place with a lock. I struggled to see if I could open it, but to no avail.

“Its locked – are there keys inside?”

He shook his head violently. I could see panic in the eyes, this guy really wanted out.

“Ok… I might have some tools back at my place, are you ok to go in there?”

The rubber guy nodded quickly.

I brought him into the cottage and quickly shut the door behind me. I took a brief look outside but no one seemed to be around. I guided my guest to a chair and sat him down. I put a reassuring hand on his shoulder, and said: “I’ll be back in a minute.”

The second my hand touched the rubber I noticed how smooth it felt and I suddenly was aware of the odor of latex just steaming off of the poor guy. I quickly snapped back into reality, realizing that I had been gently stroking his shoulder, taking in the texture, and that he was probably terribly frightened already. Being in such a vulnerable position, he probably would not appreciate it in the slightest.

“You’re going to be OK,” I said reassuringly, hoping that would ease him a bit.

I pushed other thoughts aside and ran down to the basement to find some tools. I opened up the toolbox and immediately found a pair of scissors, I held them for a second and then thought that maybe he wouldn’t want me cutting him out of that outfit, but rather would want me to get the locks off. No way would I be able to pick it, but I did have a set of bolt cutters that would work. I grabbed them from the wall and ran upstairs.

“Hold still a second, bud,” I said. “I’ll have you out of there in a jiffy!”

I first clipped the lock holding his muzzle on, and unstrapped it from his face. I then unbuckled the ball gag underneath.

“Thanks so much!” he blurted out. “Please… get me out of this thing!”

“Ok… no problem, I’m working on it.”

I hastily clipped the rest of the locks running down the straitjacket, the ankle restraints, and the harness that I discovered he was wearing underneath it all. I piled it all on the table next to me. My guest stood up and stretched, the tight rubber creaking all around him. He pulled the mask off and I could see that he was no older than I was, maybe about 27 or 28.

“Please get the zipper in the back,” He said, and I unzipped the suit. He pulled his shoulders and arms out, sweat spilling out onto the floor. He must have been in there for some time. Gloves, boots, even rubber toed socks came off and were piled together. He stood before me naked, drenched in sweat.

“Thank you… I thought I’d never get out of there,” he sighed, sounding quite relieved. “My name is Matt.”

“Ok Matt, I’m Ryan,” I held my hand out and we shook. “Have a seat, I’ll get you a towel and some clothes. There’s a shower in the bathroom if you like.” I came back a moment later with a towel and a set of jeans and a t-shirt.

“Again, thanks. Do you have a phone?”

I shook my head, no. “The storm took out the phone and cable. I was without power until this morning.”

“Shit,” he muttered. “I’ve been pretty incommunicado for the last month. I imagine there are some people pretty worried about me.”

“Oh?” I was burning with curiosity already, but didn’t want to push. “Is everything ok, I mean… well this just isn’t a usual way of meeting people. Do you live down the lake?”

Matt wrapped the towel around his waist. “I’m fine – really. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I can give you a ride into town after you shower up, we’ll have to wait until the county guys get here to clear the road, I’m afraid. There’s some fallen trees blocking it.”

Matt nodded carefully, taking a look out of a nearby window. “That would be great. Sorry if I seem a bit sketchy.”

“No problem. Those clothes should fit you just fine – you look like you’re pretty much the same size as me. They’re just old clothes for kicking around in so it’s really no problem.”

I put the pot on for coffee and then saw him to the bathroom. He closed the door and the shower started running. Where did this guy come from? Obviously he was up to some kind of bondage thing in that outfit, and he seemed a bit embarrassed. He really didn’t need to – I had seen pictures like that on the Internet and was highly curious about it. He did also seem a bit scared, and that only served to deepen my curiosity. I had never even seen my neighbor and this guy didn’t seem to live on the lake. This raised the question if maybe another person was back at the house, also in some kind of trouble.

I walked into the kitchen and poured myself a cup of joe. Sipping at it I returned to the table and saw the pile of black, slimy rubber lying flaccidly on the table. I grabbed the suit and shook it out a bit. As the suit made a low rumbling noise, almost a little like thunder. Sweat dripped out of the legs and dribbled onto my shoe. The scent of sweat and latex together was overwhelming, slightly sickly but inviting and familiar. I could feel an erection forming. I slid my hand into the armpit of the suit just letting it glide a little bit into the arm. Lubed with sweat I could feel the now cold, smooth rubber gripping around my hand and forearm, I felt as if I could just slide right in, it was practically sucking me right in –

I heard a cough from nearby and saw Matt standing there. He was freshened up considerably and now dressed in normal clothes. He had a bit of a smirk on his face. I turned a bit red and tried to pull my arm out quickly as I lay the suit back on the table. Half of it flopped down but it was obviously stuck to my forearm.

“I made coffee,” I said quite feebly, obviously embarrassed.

Matt chuckled a little. “It’s ok. I get it.”

He walked into the kitchen and found the coffee pot and mug that I had set out for him. He poured himself a cup. He took a sip. “Are you into rubber?”

“Well… I mean I’ve seen photos on the Internet,” I waffled, not sure what to say.

“What sort of photos?” he grinned.

“Photos of men looking pretty much like you did about five minutes ago,” I blushed. “Some of the heavier ones where they looked like the gimp in Pulp Fiction, I always wondered what it was like to be that guy.“

“Have you ever done anything with it?” Matt casually sipped at his coffee.

I thought about it for a second. I had spent a fair bit of time perusing some fetish sites on some lonely nights, but never really thought seriously about it. “Well I guess that I thought that it was something that weird people did. Dangerous people. I wasn’t ready to find out the hard way that I couldn’t trust them.”

“Understandable…. Believe me… completely understandable,” he smiled an odd smile, and sat down at the table, looking casually out the window, across the lake to my neighbor’s house. “You can try that stuff on if you like.”

I pulled my hand out quickly and it felt cold in the open air. “I couldn’t really…”

“Why not?” he frowned, as if I said something completely absurd. “Listen man, you can have it. All of it. I’m not going to put it on again.”

I should have sensed something was wrong, but my ears were hot and just hearing the idea of being inside the suit made me instantly rock hard. My cock was begging to be let out of my jeans. Seeing Matt wearing my jeans and a t-shirt, the same muscular build, the same height, he was obviously my size, I would have no problem fitting into the rubber. I thought about how he looked when I first laid eyes on him, embodying a fantasy that I barely knew I had. Now the idea was just burning a hole right through me.

Matt must have been reading my mind. “Look, we’re obviously the same size. Just go for it, I’ll help you out. “

I hesitated for a second, but before I could stop myself I was peeling off my shirt. “So… what is your story anyway? How did you end up here?’

Matt took another glance across the lake. For a split second I thought I saw someone walking on the property, but I wasn’t sure. Matt didn’t seem concerned.

“Well, I work at a bar in Toronto, I’m going to school part time. Pretty regular sort of life really… as you might have guessed I also had an interest in fetish and bondage. Just like you, I read about it on the internet and became a little obsessed. Mostly just obsessed with looking at pictures and reading stories.”

I peeled off my underwear, revealing my hard cock dripping with precum and picked up the suit. Matt stood up picking something up off the table. “You should really put on the cock sheath. Trust me, your cock feels better in the suit surrounded by another layer of rubber. Here, I’ll help you out.”

The rubber sheath slid right over my package and tightened like a cock ring at the base. I bobbed my cock up and down once, and felt it grow inside. The rubber confines stretched around my member, looking sleek and black. Matt then picked up the suit, shook it back out into shape and held it open before me.

“Climb on in!” He chirped with a smile. I put one foot in, and then the other. Matt pulled it up around me, and it could feel the perfect fit sliding up my legs. An electric tingle ran up my body as it hugged me tight. “…so anyway… I actually lurked on a couple of the sites for a long time. I didn’t post a photo for almost a year, and when I did I immediately got tons of hits.”

“I don’t blame them. You’re pretty cute.”

“Heh thanks. You’re not bad yourself, man,” Matt said as he tugged the rubber up onto my hips. “There really isn’t much of a rubber community in Toronto – from the internet it seems like it’s all in other countries. I really sold myself on the idea that I wanted to try experiencing a true, inescapable session of total rubber enclosure and slavery, at least for a little while. Really, finding sane people into that kind of thing is really hard.”

I slid my arms into the sleeves and pushed forward. The rubber came up onto my shoulders and greased with sweat started clinging to my chest. Matt zipped up the back and the entire suit seemed to tighten around my back, shoulders and neck. I moved around a bit, my skin feeling more alive than I had ever known it. I felt ready to come right through the suit and knock a wall down with the force of it.

“This is awesome!”

“I know!” Matt laughed. I started feeling myself all over. “Have a seat!”

I sat down and Matt picked the socks off the table. “Trust me, it’s better when it’s all over you. If you like that – you’re gonna love this.”

Matt started working the rubber socks onto my feet. He then slid the boots on. They took a minute to lace up as they ran practically up my entire shin. An ankle restraint was then buckled on overtop. I stood up, walking around, feeling it move on my body.

“Anyway, so I finally talked to this one guy online. Sounds like he’s a dedicated rubberist. He definitely had a ton of gear in his photos. Sounded pretty sane and definitely wanted to get into a lot of the same stuff that I was into. So I arranged a time and place to meet – local bar, nothing fancy.”

Matt worked up the tight elbow length gloves onto my arms and buckled the wrist restraints on. He picked up the harness: “You want to try this?”

Thinking of the many photos I’d seen of rubber gimps that were clad in a similar harness how could I say no? I wasn’t locked in after all. I nodded my head. He started strapping it on me.

“Awesome. Man, this looks great on you, I think even better than it looked on me,” Matt said, admiring his handiwork. “So I met this guy, and turned out to be pretty down to earth, used to be a doctor, now he just plays the stocks all the time – never loses. We met at a hotel a couple of times and he let me experiment with different types of gear, seemed really enthusiastic, and I’ll admit he pushed my limits in the best way possible.”

“Sounds great! Where do I find this guy?” I joked. Matt pulled the mask from the table, and without asking stepped behind me and pulled it over my head. The feeling of it tightening around my face was indescribable. I felt my identity slip away. “I have got to see a mirror.”

“One second, you need a finishing touch,” Matt grabbed the collar from the table and buckled it onto my neck. I felt instantly more submissive, like a rubbered thing. I walked to a mirrior hanging in the doorway and was surprised at the black alien figure staring back at me. I thought I couldn’t get any hornier, but my cock just seemed to grow harder and harder. I had become that rubber gimp I always fantasized about. Well, sort of… no one was tying me up in this gear.

“You look great, really great,” Matt exclaimed. Even he seemed excited. I was running my rubbered hands all over my body. I couldn’t believe the sensation. I wandered back by the table. A few stray pieces of gear still lay on the table, one of them quite formidable. I took a cautious breath.

“Oh, the straitjacket,” Matt nodded. He picked up and held it up. “Maybe you don’t want to get into that. It’s a bit much all at once. You can kind of get into a bit of a frenzy where you just want everything on you at once.”

“I’ll say!”, I laughed.

Matt took another glance out the window. “What the heck right? It’s not like I’m going to go anywhere on you. You said yourself the road is blocked.”

I shrugged, thinking far too much with my pecker and not thinking for a second about the dangerous territory I was skirting. I held my arms out and he draped the straight jacket over them. He moved around the back and zipped up the rear of the jacket, and started pulling buckles on the back tight.

“Where was I? Oh yeah… so finally we meet one weekend and he gets me totally rubbered up, head to toe, pretty much like you are now. This was the usual for us by this point. Only instead of going to the hotel, we decided to go to his house, as it had his entire and extremely sizable gear collection.”

Matt pulled my arms across my body, buckling them in place. A strap come over the front providing them no movement. A crotch strap tightened on my inner thighs and there was no way I could get out of this jacket on my own. My temperature seemed to skyrocket and I could feel my own sweat filling the suit. I tried to move but all I felt was rubber grinding on rubber. I was positively elated.

“So we get up there and he leads me down to his basement, it’s a dungeon. I mean a real dungeon. If there’s a weird bondage contraption you’ve seen online – he’s got it. Most importantly it’s got a real cell and the door opens only with a key code that he knows, some kind of electric, digital lock gizmo. I was totally excited for a real bondage session with this guy; I’d been having such a great time. Then he starts talking about control, and taking total control over me, making me a 24/7 rubber slave, at least eventually. I don’t mean starting slow and working up to 24/7 – I mean he wanted to start at 24/7 but I was supposed to be less than a slave – that was what he wanted me to work up to.”

Suddenly I started coming back to reality. Why did I feel like his story was taking a turn for the worst? “Matt, why don’t I like where this is going?”

Matt led me to the couch, carrying the rest of the gear with him. He sat me down.

“Well, for starters…” He pinched my nose unexpectedly, but instinctually I opened my mouth. He shoved the red rubber ball gag in and buckled it behind my head. I tried pushing it out with my tongue but to no avail. I tried to sit up but Matt sat on my lap, pinning me. He slipped the muzzle over my head and quickly strapped it all on tightly. I shook my head side to side screaming into the gag, but it was obvious that the sound was far too muffled, and we were far too isolated. Matt grabbed my chin and held it still.

“Shhhhhh… You see I didn’t want to be a 24/7 anything except being a student. It was way too much, but he never even gave me the opportunity to say ‘no’. I was his rubber THING for over a month, held in that dungeon. Oh, there was some horny times, yeah, but I wanted my life back. I had almost given up hope on the idea when the power went out. He must have been asleep when it happened. I think some kind of safety feature opened up the electronic locks and I was able to walk right out the door – and into your arms. This is the first time I’ve worn anything but rubber in all that time. Oh, and since you asked where you could find this guy – well, he’s looking in the window right now!” Startled, I looked behind me to the window out to the deck and saw a tall, muscular, bald man, probably in his late forties. He was dressed like a biker but all in rubber, aviator sunglasses hiding his eyes. His face was cold and expressionless. Matt pulled me up to my feet.

“Boy,” the man’s voice was deep and commanding. I got an instant chill. “Did you really think you’d get away?”

Matt stood his ground. “Sir – I’m done. I don’t want this anymore. It was dumb luck that I got away and you won’t get me that easily again without a real fight. I’m not stupid – I won’t go telling anyone about this. I just want to go home and go back to my life. I’ll call it a fun misadventure.”

“You think it’s just that easy, Boy?” the man snarled.

“Maybe not. Maybe I’ll want to come back to you. I doubt it. I’ve had enough,” Matt’s voice trembled. He too was genuinely afraid. Me… I was shaking. “I’ve found a replacement though. He’s hungry for it – more than I was, I think. I’ll give him to you and that makes me an accomplice. Then we’re both happy. You know I can’t turn you in, and I can leave.”

I started shrieking hysterically inside my rubber prison. I tried to make a break for it, running past the rubber man as he stepped into my cottage. He snapped an arm out and caught me by the neck. His other hand went directly to my cock and he gripped my still hard member.

“Mmmm,” he growled. “He’s horny. Very horny.”

“You see?” Matt pleaded. “He’s perfect, Sir. Take him with you – he can be your new slave or whatever the fuck it is you want. I’m going to take a long walk into town, and catch a bus back to Toronto. You’ll have your hands full starting your…. Training all over again.”

The man sniffed me like the bouquet of a fine wine. “Ok boy. You have a deal. Don’t think I won’t come looking for you eventually. We have unfinished business.”

The man pulled a leash out of his pocket and clipped it to my collar. He started pulling me out the door, and down the road to his house. “Alright boy, I guess it’s you and me now. You and I are going to have to work very hard over the next couple of days sorting a few things out.”

I pulled as best I could but I had no leverage at all. What was even worse was that a part of me I think really wanted to go with him. Either way, I was about to find out the rubber horrors that lay beyond the dark windows of that mansion by the lake.

I was practically dragged by the neck all the way down the road. Completely unable even to look back to see the safety of my home quickly falling away from me, nor able to see the treacherous man that I tried to help, I could only focus instead on the house quickly looming over me. The windows of the house seemed black and empty, hungry even and I was utterly panicked but unable to fight in any way at all.

As we entered the front gate, my captor paused for a moment to shut the gate and flipped a switch. There was a humming noise and I could only assume that the fence was now electrified. Presumably it had been knocked out by the same storm that had affected the power at my cottage earlier. Even if I was able to get out of my rubber prison, there was at least one more obstacle that I would have to plan to get past.

We entered through the front door, and I only had a few seconds to notice the opulence of the interior – clearly my captor was a man of considerable means given the nature of the interior décor. It was a very classical design, riddled with antiques and art – somewhere beyond the scent of rubber I could smell the distinct odor of fine cigars and mahogany. All this was moot however as we raced through the first floor directly to a large metal door opening to a cellar. My captor punched in an elaborate code into a keypad on the door, and it unlocked with a heavy click. There followed another such door at a vestibule before entering the rest of the basement.

There were only a few rooms with the doors open where I could make out what was inside. One was a carefully-marked equipment room, in which I could make out several devices of torture, as well as rubber and leather clothing, gas masks and boots. Another was a gym of some kind although I didn’t recognize all of the equipment. The man was huge however, and it wouldn’t surprise me if he had a very particular regimen. We stopped at a door that opened into what could only be described as a cell. Inside were only a steel toilet, a steel sink, and a bench with a mattress, which also had a rubber mattress cover on it. I was sat down and my collar was clipped to a hook on the wall.

“Stay right here, boy,” the man said, and walked quickly out of the room.

I could hear him shuffling with something down the hall so I immediately started thrashing about trying to release myself. It was to no avail. The straitjacket provided me with absolutely no leverage at all, and the best that I could do was feel my rubbered arms sliding about in the smooth interior. There was no way to generate enough force or violence to be able to escape. I was completely trapped inside. I gave up and sat back panting for a few minutes before he returned carrying a box with several items inside.

He first dumped several padlocks out onto the bench beside me and locked the restraints on my legs before locking them together. Another lock was attached to my collar.

“You are not going to be able to walk anywhere in a hurry and your collar is locked to the wall,” my captor said. “I am going to take off your straitjacket; if you make any trouble you will regret it very quickly. Nod if you understand.”

I nodded. This man wasn’t going to take any chances and I would have to wait until later for a slip-up. He reached forward and unbuckled the straitjacket. He then applied locks to each of the buckles on my harness. My wrist restraints were removed but quickly replaced with a pair of rubber mitts rendering my hands completely useless. They too, were then locked together. He lit a cigar and stood before me, admiring his work.

“Alright boy, when you earn the right to speak, you will call me ‘Master’ or ‘Sir’”, he commanded. “I will call you whatever the fuck I want. As you may have guessed, yes, I kept your friend Matt here for some time. He might have told you it was against his will but I can assure you that he enjoyed it far too much for it to be involuntary. From the size of your hard-on I can only assume that you are much the same.

Number one, I have fixed the fail-safe in my backup generator, so even if the power is out, the doors will remain locked. They will not open automatically as before. The electric fence outside will remain electrified. Furthermore…”

“Master” removed a remote control from his pocket and pressed a button. An intense searing shock came from my collar and I was instantly immobilized. I screamed quickly but the cry was severely muffled by my gag and muzzle.

“I carry this with me at all times. Now that the power is back up on the fence you will be unable to walk more than 25 meters beyond without it triggering automatically. I have it set currently to the medium setting; however, walking outside the perimeter will automatically trigger it at the highest.

Obviously, I have quite the obsession with rubber. I have always wanted to have the ultimate rubber companion and have for years thought about the training and conditioning that I wanted it to have. I had already started an aggressive program with Matt, but he managed to escape before it took hold, thanks to nothing more than a simple power failure. I have already taken steps to ensure that it won’t happen again.

You might be able to escape from your restraints down here, but before you even reach the upstairs, you will be unable to make it past the electric locks on the doors. Do not think that I don’t want to have you upstairs with me – there is much that I want you to do up there, but for now this will be your world.

Right now you are only to be an object of pure rubbered physicality. Your body is mine to use and shape as I see fit. You are a pure Gimp for nothing more than my enjoyment and your training. As I see eagerness and obedience grow in you, I will start small, and eventually you will be in a position to start obeying more complex desires, in which case I will start training you as my Puppy. If you can learn the kind of devotion and obedience that I expect of a dog successfully then I may teach you how to be a Slave worthy of serving my needs, yet worthy of some greater levels of autonomy and expression, a chance to have some of yourself back. If you can earn those privileges you will eventually become my Boy, hopefully a rubber man who has finally realized all that I can teach and give him, and completely willing to continue to submit to my authority. I guarantee with each of these titles that you earn, you will find yourself glowing with pride.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. I am speaking of your achievements possibly years down the line and you have only been here a few minutes. I’m sure that right now you are terrified and alone – and rightly so, this is an incredibly fearsome first step you have taken and not of your own will. I have some further preparations to make, so there is no time like the present to begin your conditioning. Come with me…”

He clipped a leash to my neck and unclipped me from the wall. We shuffled down the hall to a room full of different racks, elaborate chairs, slings, and crosses. I was sat down into a fearsome leather barber’s chair covered in straps. The D-rings on my collar, harness and restraints were all clipped in place and additional restraints added on. All the while my mind was racing – he intended me to stay here for years – forever really from the sounds of things, and indulge in some perverse education of his? I wanted to cry, I had never felt so helpless before.

“Now, I am going to get a look at my plaything. Don’t even try to speak or I will activate the collar.”

Master removed the muzzle, gag and mask. My head was dripping with sweat, it ran down my face and into my eyes. Master dried my head with a towel.

“Excellent. A fair trade for Matt if I may say so. You are a good looking boy, and I must say that rubber really does become you. Good thing, as it is all you are going to be wearing for some time. Matt had been wearing almost nothing but, for over a month – you should expect much longer before your skin is allowed to touch anything else.”

Master ran his hand through my hair, frowning.

“This hair is far too long, though, and not something that you have earned. It will have to go.”

From nearby, master pulled a set of clippers and without hesitation set to buzzing all of the hair from my head, long locks of it falling pathetically into my lap. These were quickly brushed aside and he swept up. He then held up a mirror for me to see. looked up I was shaved completely bald. I could hardly recognize myself at all. For a second I thought that someone else was looking back. He was right though, seeing myself bound completely in rubber my horniness came back with a vengeance. I’ll admit, I’d fantasized about similar scenarios, but the reality of it was utterly terrifying. I blamed it on blind nervous energy. I’d heard before about soldiers that experienced erections during battle for the same reason.

“Not bad,” Master said. “Normally I like a nice crew cut or a high-and-tight on my boy, but you will earn that look in time. For now the tactile experience of a regularly shaved head will allow you to enjoy THIS…”

With that he forced a gas mask with a rubber hood over my face. It was already lubed on the inside allowing it to slide directly on, despite how tight it was. Some kind of internal gag forced its way into my mouth. It was pumped up and I could feel the bit swelling in my mouth. Tubes fit directly into my nostrils. Earbuds almost naturally fell into my ear cavity and a white noise could be heard starting up. Master unzipped my cock and placed what felt like a large suction device of some kind up to it, with a slow rhythm starting to slowly jerk me off. A trolley with several TV monitors was rolled up in front of me and switched on. A sweet scent started to pump into the gas mask, though the air seemed clearer somehow. The screens flickered to life with videos of rubber and bondage pornography playing on each.

Master’s voice came into the earbuds.

“Just lie back and enjoy the show, boy. Don’t fight it. I will be monitoring closely. This is the first of many such sessions that I will expect you to complete, so try to adjust yourself accordingly. I will be back soon – don’t worry, I have your breathing on a monitor which will alert me if there is a problem.”

Scene after scene of erotic rubber pleasure played before me. The suction of the device rose and fell, never quite seeming to bring me to climax. I would get so close and then be denied as the system slowed itself down. A constant mesmerizing beat played slowly in my ear.

Even more horrifyingly, scenes showing removal from bondage, removal of rubber, or even normal sex, normal life were met with a series of painful shocks from the collar. My earbuds would play a harsh, erratic tone. I made the connection quickly – I was to associate only pleasure with being a rubber gimp, and a complete aversion to anything else. I was only to enjoy being his rubber plaything, and any other thoughts were to be pushed aside.

The first of many such sessions? How many is many? A month was not enough to keep Matt from escaping and that was only after he was given a miracle opportunity of Master’s elaborate security breaking down. Surely Master would be planning for this too – so how long would this phase of training continue? A month? Two months? A year?

Craig had been away with his girlfriend, but over the weekend, things has got heated between them, with his girlfriend, telling him that it was over. Not only that, she had driven away leaving him with little money to get back home, the only way Craig to get home was to hitchhike. He had been walking for miles and was totally exhausted, he sees a truck appear on the horizon, the driver a rough-looking trucker who had lived a life on the road stopped opened the window and beckoned the hitchhike into his cab. As he climbs into the cab, he takes a deep breath, wincing at the unmistakable odor of stale cigarette smoke that fills the air. The truck driver, a rough-looking man with a weathered face and a cigarette perpetually dangling from his lips, doesn't seem to notice or care. Craig, on the other hand, has always been an anti-smoker.

The truck driver starts up the engine with a roar, and as they pull away from the side of the road, he begins to talk in a hypnotic voice. His words seem to wash over the hitchhiker, making it difficult for him to concentrate. The miles tick by, and despite his better judgment, he finds himself growing increasingly sleepy.

The trucker glances at him from the corner of his eye and grins. "That's right, kid. Just let go. Give in to it." And with that, the hitchhiker's eyelids grow heavy, and his head begins to nod.

As he drifts off, the trucker's voice becomes louder, more insistent, and somehow more hypnotic. He speaks of the freedom of the open road, of the thrill of being behind the wheel, of the comforting embrace of nicotine. The hitchhiker's mind fills with images of endless highways, of the warm glow of a cigarette between his fingers.

When he finally snaps awake, he finds himself wearing a filthy hi-vis vest, his head shaved clean. His memories of his past life are gone as if they had never existed. The truck driver, who now appears more like a mentor, offers him a cigarette, which he takes eagerly. As he inhales the smoke, he feels a sense of belonging, of purpose.

Tell me kid, you did mention your name, but i have forgotten?

The hitchhiker, now the truck driver's mate, looks up at him with a mixture of confusion and newfound loyalty. His head feels strangely light, as if all the memories of his past life have been erased, leaving only this new reality. He takes a deep drag on the cigarette and exhales smoke through his nostrils, feeling the familiar rush of nicotine course through his veins.

"My name is..." he trails off, searching his mind for the answer. But it's as if the words have been erased from his memory, just like his past. He shrugs and smiles weakly. "I don't remember."

The truck driver grins, taking another drag on his cigarette. " He glances over at the hitchhiker, his eyes glinting with some unspoken wisdom. "And trust me, kid. You're in good hands." but i suppose you should have a name.

The hitchhiker nods, feeling a strange mixture of acceptance and apprehension. He takes another drag on the cigarette, exhaling a thin stream of smoke through his nose. "Okay," he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

The truck driver grins, reaching over to pat him on the shoulder. "See, that's the spirit. You're gonna fit right in, kid. We've all been there, you know? Lost our names, our memories, everything that used to matter. But out here, on the road, it doesn't matter who you were before. All that matters is who you are now, and who you're going to be."

He takes another drag on his cigarette, flicking ash out the window as they drive. "How about we give you a new name, huh? Something that suits your new life?" He glances at the hitchhiker expectantly.

The hitchhiker, still adjusting to this new reality, nods slowly. "Okay," he says, feeling a glimmer of hope. He looks out at the passing scenery, taking in the endless expanse of highway, the blur of greenery and concrete, and the distant haze of the horizon. A new name, a new identity. Maybe this isn't so bad after all.

"How about... uh..." He trails off, searching for something that feels right. "How about... Nomad?" The word feels good in his mouth, like it fits the new life he's been given. The truck driver chuckles and claps him on the shoulder.

"Nomad it is, kid. Welcome to the family." He tosses the butt of his cigarette out the window and reaches into the glove compartment, pulling out a small photo. It shows a group of people, men  all dressed in worn leather and denim, standing around a truck that looks suspiciously similar to theirs. "This is your family now, Nomad. Everyone here has been through what you have, and we're all pulling for each other."

The hitchhiker takes the photo, studying the faces of the people in it. They seem hardened by life, but there's also a sense of camaraderie and belonging that he finds strangely compelling. He nods, feeling a surge of gratitude and acceptance wash over him.

The trucker places his hand on Nomads crouch, you know Nomad, us truckers have needs, smiling mischievously.

Nomad laughs nervously, feeling a heat rise to his cheeks. "Uh, sure," he says, unsure how to respond. He's not used to this kind of attention, or this kind of... familiarity.

The truck driver grins, clearly enjoying the discomfort he's causing. "Don't worry, kid. We all have needs. It's just part of the job, you know?" He winks at Nomad before returning his attention to the road.

Nomad feels a blush creep up his neck and into his cheeks. He's never been in a situation like this before, and he's not sure how to respond. His mind races with thoughts of what he should do, how he should act, but all he can think to say is a meek, "I... uh... I guess..."

The truck driver pulls off the road into a layby.

The truck driver chuckles, seemingly amused by Nomad's discomfort. "Don't worry about it, kid. We all have our needs. Just relax and let me help you out." He places his hand on Nomad's thigh, the warmth of his touch sending a shiver down his spine.

Nomad swallows hard, trying to find his voice. "I... I don't know if I'm ready for that," he stutters.

The trucker laughs softly, his breath hot against Nomad's ear. "Don't worry, kid. I'll take care of you. Just let go and feel it." He moves his hand upward, gently brushing against the hem of Nomad's shirt.

Nomad feels a mixture of fear and excitement course through him. He's never been in a situation like this before, and he's not sure if he should fight it or give in. The trucker's touch is warm and comforting, and Nomad finds himself leaning into it.

"It's okay, kid. Just relax and let go," the trucker whispers in his ear. "I'm not gonna hurt you." His hand moves higher, pressing against Nomad's bare skin, sending shivers down his spine.

Nomad tries to breathe deeply, to calm the racing of his heart. He looks up at the trucker, searching his eyes for some sort of reassurance. The trucker smiles down at him, his gaze soft and gentle, and for a moment Nomad feels a wave of trust wash over him. He nods, slowly, hesitantly, and lets himself lean into the touch.

The trucker's hand moves down, cupping Nomad's hip through his jeans, his touch growing firmer and more insistent. Nomad feels a tingling sensation spread through his body, and despite his fear, he finds himself wanting more. He closes his eyes, giving himself over to the moment, the trucker's touch guiding him through the strange and unfamiliar territory of desire.

His breath comes faster as he leans into the touch, arching his back slightly. The trucker's other hand comes up, caressing his cheek, tracing his jawline before coming to rest at the nape of his neck. He kisses Nomad gently on the lips, teasing them open before deepening the kiss, his tongue dancing with Nomad's.

Nomad feels a surge of desire coursing through him, and he moans softly into the kiss. The trucker's hand moves lower still, gripping Nomad's ass through his jeans, squeezing and kneading. Nomad gasps, and the trucker takes advantage, thrusting his tongue deeper into his mouth.

Nomad arches his back, pressing his hips forward, seeking more contact. The trucker growls softly, his grip on Nomad's ass tightening. He reaches down, unzips Nomad's pants, and slowly pulls them down, revealing Nomad's hardening cock.

Nomad's breath catches in his throat as the trucker wraps his lips around the head of his erection. He moans, thrusting his hips forward, meeting the trucker's mouth. The trucker sucks gently, teasing Nomad's sensitive flesh with his tongue. His free hand roams over Nomad's chest, teasing a nipple until it hardens.

The sensations are overwhelming, and Nomad feels himself getting closer to the edge. He closes his eyes, lost in the pleasure of the trucker's mouth on him. The trucker's hands slide down his body, kneading his thighs, and then back up, cupping his buttocks. He pushes Nomad's hips back against his lips, taking more of him into his mouth. Nomad arches his back, moaning loudly as he feels himself about to cum. He tightens his grip on the trucker's shoulders, urging him on. The trucker senses the imminent release and sucks harder, his tongue swirling around the head of Nomad's cock.

Nomad's hips buck wildly, thrusting into the trucker's mouth as he cums. He gasps, his eyes squeezed shut, the pleasure washing over him in waves. The trucker continues to suck, milking him until he's spent. He releases Nomad's cock with a soft pop, his lips brushing against the sensitive flesh one last time before pulling away. He leans back against the steering wheel, catching his breath, his eyes locked on Nomad's face. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and smiles, a wicked glint in his eye. "That was quite a ride," he says huskily, running a hand through his hair.

Nomad, still caught up in the afterglow of their passion, feels a blush creep up his neck and into his cheeks. He reaches out, tentatively touching the trucker's arm. "I... I don't even know your name," he manages to get out. The trucker smirks, running a hand through his hair again. "Oh, right. My name's Jack." He pauses, studying Nomad's face. "Or you can just call me Daddy if you like." He winks, and Nomad feels a shiver run down his spine.

Nomad looks into Jack's eyes, the green flecks dancing in the light. He takes a deep breath, feeling a newfound sense of confidence. "I think I'd like that," he says softly. "Daddy.", you know after having sex I always need a smoke, care to join Me, son. “Yes Daddy” as they both light up. "You know," he whispers, "I could get used to having you around." Nomad feels a surge of happiness at Jack's words. He wraps his arms around Jack's waist, pulling him even closer. "I could get used to this too," he says, kissing Jack.

Jack breaks the kiss, looking deep into Nomad's eyes. "So, what do you say, Daddy's boy? Want to see where this adventure takes us?" He smiles mischievously, running a hand over Nomad's crouch.

Nomad feels a thrill run down his spine at the thought of exploring this new world with trucker Daddy. "Yes Daddy," he breathes, "I'd like that very much."

"Well, Daddy's got a truck to drive, but I think I know just the place for us to go. It's a little hideaway I've been saving for special occasions." He winks at Nomad, and Nomad feels a shiver of anticipation run through him.

“What do you think son? Yes Daddy” was all that Nomad could say.

Declan loved his new job as a police officer. Ever since he’d stepped foot into the academy, every push-up, every test, every drill had been worth it to finally wear that uniform. The navy blue sat perfectly on him, sharp and pressed, his badge gleaming, and his belt sitting snug around his hips. The hours were long, the expectations high, but it didn’t matter—he’d earned his place here, and he belonged.

For two months now, he’d been partnered with Sergeant Brooks, an older officer in his mid-forties with short-cropped graying hair and a sturdy, broad frame. Brooks was respected, one of those men who carried authority with him effortlessly. Everyone in the department said he was the kind of partner a rookie could learn from, someone who knew the ins and outs of the job beyond any textbook or academy lesson.

The two of them made an odd pair, Brooks heavy-footed and gruff, Declan lean and bright-eyed. Yet, they worked well together—Brooks providing the steady guidance and Declan always eager to absorb the advice. Today, their last shift of the week, Declan couldn’t help but feel satisfied. He was getting the hang of it—running plates, responding to calls, talking to the public. He was finding his rhythm.

“Almost done, rookie,” Brooks said as they sat in their patrol car, cruising down an empty stretch of road outside town. The late afternoon sun painted the horizon in gold and orange, and Declan felt that calm that came after a good day’s work.

“Yeah,” Declan said, glancing over at his sergeant. “It’s been a good week, hasn’t it?”

Brooks nodded, lips curling into a faint grin. “Not bad at all. You’re starting to get it. There’s only so much the academy can teach you, though. The real lessons—the real training—happens out here.”

Declan sat a little straighter at that. He liked when Brooks complimented him. “I appreciate that, sir.”

“Good man,” Brooks said. Then, as if considering something, he slowed the patrol car down and turned off onto an old, abandoned parking lot. The cracked asphalt stretched out before them, surrounded by a scattering of trees. It looked like a forgotten place, far enough from town that it felt isolated.

Declan frowned curiously. “Something wrong, sir?”

“Nah,” Brooks said, parking the car and shutting off the engine. He turned to Declan with that same faint grin. “I’m going to show you how I do field sobriety tests.”

Declan blinked. “Field sobriety tests?”

“Yeah,” Brooks said, unbuckling his seatbelt and stepping out of the car. “Come on. It’s a little trick of the trade. Maybe you’ll pick up something they didn’t show you at the academy. Besides, it's something we old guys show you rookies, consider it, a rite of passage."

Declan’s curiosity got the better of him. He climbed out of the car, shutting the door behind him, and followed Brooks to the center of the lot. The sun was sinking lower now, casting long shadows across the cracked pavement. A gentle breeze rolled by, rustling the trees, but otherwise, it was eerily quiet.

Brooks pulled a pen from his pocket and held it up for Declan to see. It looked ordinary enough until Brooks twisted it, and the tip lit up with a bright, pretty light. It was a vivid, almost hypnotic color—soft and warm. Declan stared at it a second longer than he meant to.

Brooks chuckled softly. “Special pen. Makes it easier for the subject to focus. You’ve seen this test before, right?”

Declan nodded. “Yes, sir. I know how to conduct it. Hold the pen twelve to fifteen inches from their nose, have them follow it with their eyes while keeping their head still.”

“That’s the basics,” Brooks said, holding the pen up. “But there’s a bit of an edge to it if you know how to do it right.”

Declan tilted his head, intrigued. “Okay, sir.”

Brooks gestured for him to stand still. “I’ll demonstrate. Just follow the light with your eyes. Keep your head still, all right?”

Declan nodded again. “Got it.”

The light flickered on, that same captivating glow drawing Declan’s gaze. Brooks began to move the pen slowly from side to side, the rhythm steady, smooth. At first, it was simple—Declan kept his head still, his eyes tracking the pen as instructed. But something about it felt different, strange.

Brooks’ voice came softly, low and even. “That’s good, rookie. Just follow the light. Let your eyes track the motion. Don’t think about anything else. Just the light.”

Declan felt himself relaxing, his shoulders loosening as he obeyed. His focus narrowed.

“Nice and easy,” Brooks said, the pen moving in the same slow pattern. “Now, as you follow the light, I want you to listen to my voice. You’re doing great. Just let it happen. All your limbs are feeling heavier now. Heavier and heavier.”

Declan’s brows knit faintly, but he didn’t break focus. The words were soft, soothing, weaving through his thoughts.

He didn’t notice it at first—the tingling sensation that started at the base of his spine and worked its way up through his body. It felt good, warm and safe, like slipping under a blanket on a cold night.

“Just keep following the light,” Brooks murmured. “Your arms and legs are so heavy now. It’s easier to let go. To just listen to my voice. That’s all you need to do. Nothing else matters.”

Declan swayed slightly, but he didn’t notice. The pen was so pretty, and Brooks’ voice so calm.

“Okay, sir,” Declan mumbled, his words sluggish.

Brooks smiled faintly, though Declan didn’t see it. The rookie’s movements had grown slower, his eyes glassy but still tracking the pen obediently.

“That’s right,” Brooks said, his voice barely above a whisper now. “Just follow the light. Don’t fight it. Don’t think. Let everything else slip away.”

Declan’s eyelids fluttered as he swayed more noticeably now, his lips parting slightly.

It was always so entertaining to watch. Brooks had done this before, of course—tested his little tricks on a handful of rookies over the years. Some resisted more than others, but in the end, it was always the same. They all sank under eventually.

And Declan? Declan was particularly responsive.

“You’re doing great, rookie,” Brooks said, still moving the light in slow, mesmerizing arcs. “Your body is so heavy now. So tired. But it feels good, doesn’t it? To let go. To relax completely. Just listening to me. Following the light.”

Declan swayed again, his breathing slower now. “Yeah... feels good,” he whispered.

Brooks chuckled softly. “That’s a good boy. You’re almost there. Just a little further.”

He slowed the movement of the pen until it hovered directly in front of Declan’s face, the glowing light reflecting in his wide, unfocused eyes.

“Now, rookie,” Brooks said softly, stepping closer. His free hand came up behind Declan, ready to catch him. “I want you to sleep.”

With that, Brooks tapped Declan’s forehead gently.

Declan’s body went limp immediately, his head falling forward as Brooks braced him easily with one arm. Brooks guided him down slowly, holding him steady as Declan’s weight sagged completely. His breathing was deep and slow, his expression blank and peaceful.

“Good boy,” Brooks murmured, his voice full of satisfaction. His hand came up to caress Declan’s cheek possessively, his thumb brushing over the soft skin. “You’re such a natural. I knew you’d take to this well.”

Declan’s lips moved faintly, as if murmuring something inaudible. Brooks tilted his head, smirking.

“You’re already repeating my words, aren’t you?” Brooks said softly. “You can’t help it. You’re so far under now. So deep.”

The real training could begin.

Brooks shifted, keeping his grip firm on Declan as he whispered into the rookie’s ear. “Now listen to me, Declan. Everything I say becomes the truth. Everything I tell you, you’ll obey without question. Do you understand?”

Declan’s lips moved again. “…Yes, sir.”

Brooks smiled.

“That’s right, rookie. Good boy.”

“Whenever you hear me say the word tingle, you will fall back into this blissful trance,” Brooks said, his voice calm and commanding, lingering just beside Declan’s ear.

Declan’s slackened form stirred slightly, lips parting to respond. “…Yes, sir,” he murmured, his voice distant, dreamlike.

Brooks smiled, satisfied. “Good. Now get up, rookie.”

He pulled Declan upright, steadying the younger man as his weight adjusted. For a moment, Declan swayed, but Brooks held him firm until he could stand on his own. The rookie’s eyes were still glazed over, unfocused, his face soft and relaxed.

Brooks stepped back just enough to take in the sight. The young officer stood there, obedient and pliant, his crisp uniform slightly disheveled. Brooks had always appreciated the look of discipline—the sharpness of the uniform, the pride in how it was worn. But on Declan? There was something more. Maybe it was the way the fabric clung just a little tighter than necessary to his lean frame, emphasizing his youth, his energy.

Brooks reached out again, letting his hand graze Declan’s cheek. Warm, soft skin met his palm, interrupted only by the faint roughness of stubble. A line of drool had slipped from the corner of Declan’s lips, and Brooks’ thumb brushed it away, his touch lingering.

“Attention, rookie. Stand tall,” Brooks commanded, his tone sharpening slightly.

Declan’s body reacted instantly, his training kicking in despite his dazed state. His spine straightened, his shoulders squared, his hands fell to his sides. He stood at full attention, chest slightly puffed out, chin raised.

Brooks smirked, circling him slowly. “Good boy. Flex those muscles for me.”

The words sank into Declan’s hazy mind like an anchor dropping into calm waters. Without hesitation, his body responded, his posture tightening further as his muscles engaged. His arms flexed subtly, his chest lifting as his pecs pushed against the tight fabric of his uniform.

Brooks stopped in front of him, his hands moving with deliberate slowness. He placed them on Declan’s shoulders first, feeling the tension beneath the layers of fabric. His grip moved downward, unzipping the rookie’s vest to give him some breathing room and better access.

“There you go,” Brooks murmured, his hands trailing over Declan’s chest. “Let’s give those muscles some room to work.”

The vest slid open, and Brooks let his hands roam. His palms pressed against Declan’s pecs, firm and defined beneath the taut fabric of his undershirt. He stroked along the curves of the muscles, his touch firm but not rough, kneading them slightly as he spoke.

“Good boy,” Brooks praised, his voice low. “You’ve been working hard, haven’t you? Feels like it.”

Declan sighed softly, his chest rising and falling under Brooks’ touch. The praise washed over him, mingling with the trance in his mind.

"Thank you, sir," he breathed deeply.

Brooks moved lower, his hands brushing over the flat plane of Declan’s abdomen, tracing the faint ridges of muscle beneath the shirt. His fingers lingered on the belt for a moment, then slid up again to feel Declan’s biceps.

“Strong arms,” Brooks said, squeezing the muscles appreciatively. “You’ve been putting in the effort. I can tell.”

Declan murmured something incomprehensible, his body leaning ever so slightly into the touch.

Brooks’ hands returned to Declan’s chest, stroking downward again—and that’s when he noticed it.

The strain in Declan’s uniform.

The fabric of his pants, usually crisp and smooth, had grown noticeably tighter at the crotch. A bulge pressed against the material, faint but unmistakable, the tension pulling the seams taut.

Brooks let his hand hover for a moment before placing it back on Declan’s abdomen, stroking idly. His smirk deepened.

“Well, well,” Brooks murmured, his voice almost teasing. “Looks like someone’s enjoying this a little more than they expected.”

Declan didn’t respond, his head tilting slightly as he let out another soft sigh.

Brooks’ hand trailed upward again, settling on the rookie’s chest once more. “That’s all right, rookie. You’re just doing as you’re told. And you’re doing so well.”

Brooks’ smirk deepened as he stepped closer, his hands firmly gripping Declan’s shoulders, steadying the younger officer as if grounding him. The rookie stood frozen in place, his breath slow and steady, his eyes unfocused but glimmering faintly in the dim light.

“You see, rookie,” Brooks began, his voice a low, velvety murmur, “this isn’t something every new recruit gets to do with me.”

He reached out, letting his hand rest possessively against Declan’s cheek, his fingers brushing through the soft stubble that framed the young man’s jaw. He tilted Declan’s head slightly upward, inspecting him as if savoring the sight.

“Just the eager ones,” Brooks continued, his tone almost mocking. “The willing ones. The ones who absorb every little word I say, who hang onto my instructions like they were born to obey.”

Declan let out a faint sigh, his lips parting slightly as he leaned instinctively into the touch. Brooks chuckled softly, his thumb tracing a deliberate line along the edge of Declan’s jaw.

“And you, rookie,” Brooks murmured, “you were so eager, weren’t you? Hanging on every word. Following every command without hesitation. It’s why you’re here now.”

Declan didn’t respond, his lips trembling faintly as if searching for the right words. Brooks didn’t let him. He moved closer, his hands sliding down from Declan’s shoulders to his chest, fingers splaying over the open vest and the taut fabric beneath it.

“You even asked for a tighter uniform, didn’t you?” Brooks teased, his grin sharp. “Trying to look sharp for me. Or maybe you were just showing off. I know what you are.”

His hand slid lower, brushing over the straining bulge in Declan’s pants. He stroked it teasingly, his fingers pressing just enough to make the tension more noticeable.

Declan shuddered at the touch, his breath hitching.

“That’s right,” Brooks said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I know exactly what you are. And now, rookie, you’re where you’re meant to be. Obeying your sergeant. Doing everything I say.”

His hand lingered, stroking the bulge again, his other hand returning to cup Declan’s cheek. The rookie’s face was warm beneath his palm, flushed and pliant, his body practically melting under the weight of Brooks’ control.

Brooks took a deliberate step back, his boots scuffing slightly against the cracked pavement of the abandoned parking lot. He glanced down at them, then back at Declan, who remained standing tall, his uniform tight against his lean frame, his face blank and pliant.

“I think my boots need some cleaning, rookie,” Brooks said, his voice edged with authority. “Get to work.”

Declan blinked once, his glazed eyes flickering faintly with confusion before the command settled deep into his dazed mind. His body moved automatically, a puppet to Brooks’ will. Without hesitation, he dropped to his knees, the impact of his weight against the ground soft against the cracked asphalt.

Brooks watched, arms crossed, his smirk widening as the rookie leaned forward, his hands resting lightly on his thighs, his head bowing toward the polished black leather of Brooks’ boots.

“That’s a good boy,” Brooks murmured, his voice low and almost affectionate. “You’re learning fast. Just like I knew you would.”

Declan’s tongue darted out hesitantly, the tip grazing the surface of the boot. The leather tasted bitter, cool, and unfamiliar, but Declan didn’t pause. He worked his way along the toe, the motion slow and methodical, his breathing steady as if this was simply another task to complete for his sergeant.

Brooks chuckled, shifting his stance slightly to give Declan better access. “That’s it, rookie. Don’t miss a spot. I want them shining.”

Declan obeyed, dragging his tongue over the contours of the boot, his focus singular and unwavering. The light in his eyes had dimmed further, his thoughts clouded by the trance Brooks had carefully crafted.

Brooks let the silence hang for a moment, broken only by the soft, wet sound of Declan’s tongue against the leather. He drank in the sight of the rookie kneeling before him, so willing, so utterly compliant.

“You look good down there,” Brooks said finally, his tone almost teasing. “On your knees. Maybe that’s where you’re meant to be.”

Declan didn’t respond, his movements smooth and precise as he continued to clean the boot. A faint sheen of saliva coated the leather now, catching the fading light of the evening.

Brooks chuckled as he watched Declan work, the rookie's tongue dragging dutifully over the smooth leather of his boots. The sight was everything Brooks had imagined: obedient, eager, and entirely his. When the rookie finally paused, looking up with that blank, pliant expression, Brooks reached out and ran his hands along Declan’s sides, slow and deliberate, petting him like a dog.

“Good boy,” Brooks said softly, his fingers pressing into the firm lines of Declan’s waist, feeling the tension and warmth beneath the tight fabric of his uniform. “You’ve done well.”

He let his hands linger for a moment before stepping back and barking the next order. “Up, rookie. On your feet.”

Declan moved immediately, his body responding with automatic precision. He rose unsteadily, still swaying slightly from the trance, his eyes half-lidded and his face flushed. Brooks caught him by the chin, tilting his face up so their eyes met.

“There you go,” Brooks murmured, his thumb brushing over Declan’s cheek. His skin was warm to the touch, flushed with heat and something deeper. “That’s a good boy. You’ve earned this, rookie. All of it.”

"Thank you sir," Declan mumbled, his body heavy, but his mind satisfied by the praise.

Declan blinked slowly, his breathing shallow, and Brooks’ grin widened. His hand trailed lower, fingers grazing the damp fabric of Declan’s shirt, lingering on the tension in his chest before moving further downward.

“Oh?” Brooks teased, his tone mockingly surprised. His fingers stopped at the waistband of Declan’s pants, pressing slightly against the taut fabric before stroking over the obvious strain. A dark patch of wetness had begun to spread at the front, soaking into the material.

“Are you wet, rookie?” Brooks asked, his voice laced with amusement. “You are, aren’t you?”

Declan’s lips parted, a faint, trembling sound escaping him as his face flushed deeper.

"Y-yes, Sir," he stuttered.

Brooks’ hand pressed more firmly against the damp spot, stroking teasingly. “You’ve been working so hard for me, haven’t you? Following every command, doing everything I’ve told you. And now look at you.”

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a low whisper. “You’re exactly where you’re meant to be. A good, obedient rookie. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes, sir,” Declan murmured, the words barely audible but filled with a dazed certainty.

Brooks smirked, his hand withdrawing as he patted Declan’s cheek possessively. “That’s what I thought.”

Brooks stepped back, his eyes trailing over Declan’s form once more, savoring the way the tight uniform hugged the rookie’s athletic frame. His smirk deepened as he reached out, smoothing the fabric of Declan’s pants, wiping away the faint remnants of gravel before his hands deliberately lingered over the tension at the front.

“This uniform looks good on you, rookie,” Brooks said, his voice low, a hint of possessiveness threading through his tone. “Especially these tight pants.”

"Thank you, sir," Declans voice was barely above a whisper.

Declan stood still, his flushed face tilted downward, his breathing slow and steady as Brooks tugged gently at the fabric, straightening it with deliberate care.

Brooks’ hands moved back up, zipping the vest closed again, patting Declan’s chest with satisfaction. “Perfect. Now let’s get to the car. It’s time for the final step of your training for today.”

Declan nodded, wordless, as Brooks guided him back to the patrol car. The older man opened the door for him, placing a firm hand on Declan’s shoulder to help him inside. Once Declan was seated, Brooks leaned over, pulling the seatbelt across the rookie’s chest and buckling it securely.

“There we go,” Brooks murmured, his hand brushing briefly against Declan’s chest before stepping back and closing the door. He circled the car, slid into the driver’s seat, and started the engine. The low growl filled the air, but Brooks didn’t move immediately.

Instead, he turned to Declan, placing a hand firmly on the younger man’s thigh, squeezing just enough to make his presence unmistakable. Declan stiffened slightly, his eyes flickering toward the touch before settling back into their glazed, empty stare.

“Now, rookie,” Brooks began, his voice soft but commanding. “I need you to focus. Focus all of you—every thought, every feeling—on your cock. Let it consume you.”

Declan’s breath hitched slightly, his chest rising and falling faster now, his body responding instinctively to the command.

“Good,” Brooks said, his hand remaining steady on Declan’s thigh. “Let it all out. Empty your mind. Don’t think. Just feel. Let it build. Let it take over.”

Declan’s eyes fluttered shut, his lips parting as he exhaled a shuddering breath. The tension in his body melted away, leaving him pliant once more, his head tilting slightly against the seat.

“And now,” Brooks continued, his voice dipping lower, almost a growl, “finish your training, rookie. Show me how far you’ve come.”

Declan let out a soft, trembling sound, his body obeying without hesitation as his mind emptied, focusing entirely on the sensation overtaking him. Brooks leaned back slightly, his hand still firm on the rookie’s thigh, watching with satisfaction as Declan surrendered completely, the final step in his transformation into perfect obedience.

Brooks’ grip on Declan’s thigh tightened as he leaned closer, his hand sliding up to firmly hold the rookie’s bulge. The strain beneath the fabric pulsed with tension, and Brooks’ touch remained steady, guiding him through the inevitable.

“That’s it, rookie,” Brooks murmured, his voice soft and coaxing. “Let it all out. Just focus on me, on my hand. I’ve got you.”

Declan’s breath came in shallow, shaky bursts, his body trembling as he surrendered completely. Brooks’ possessive hold didn’t waver, his hand firm and reassuring, controlling every motion as he guided Declan to release.

When it finally happened, Declan’s entire body shuddered, and he let out a low, involuntary groan. His muscles went slack, and he slumped back against the car seat, his chest heaving as the last remnants of tension drained from his body.

The wetness soaked through the tight fabric, against Brooks' palm. His cock throbbed visible, as he gave in completely. His eyes opened briefly just to roll back.

Brooks chuckled, withdrawing his hand but letting it linger on Declan’s thigh, a silent reminder of his control. He surveyed the rookie with satisfaction: flushed, pliant, and utterly spent.

“Good job, rookie,” Brooks said, his voice filled with pride. “You’ve learned fast. You’ve done everything I asked of you, just like I knew you would.”

Declan’s head lolled slightly to the side, his glazed eyes fluttering shut as his body relaxed into the seat.

“Now, rest patiently,” Brooks instructed, his tone soft but firm. “It’s almost time for you to come back. I’ll tell you when we’re at the station.”

He leaned back, gripping the steering wheel as he glanced at Declan one more time, his lips curling into a satisfied smirk. The rookie was perfect—obedient, eager, and exactly where Brooks wanted him. The car rumbled softly as Brooks turned his attention back to the road, driving toward the station with his rookie still deep in his trance, waiting for his sergeant’s next command.

A few blocks from the station, Brooks pulled the patrol car to a stop once more, the engine rumbling briefly before he turned it off. He leaned back in his seat, turning toward Declan. The rookie was slumped slightly, one hand lazily stroking his chest through the fabric of his vest while the other rested over the damp bulge in his pants.

Brooks smirked, shaking his head with mock disapproval. “Now, now, rookie. We need some composure,” he chided, reaching out to straighten the fabric of Declan’s uniform. His fingers lingered over the taut, damp patch, smoothing it as if to hide any evidence of the rookie’s earlier release.“

We don’t want the other rookies to know, do we?” Brooks continued, his voice low and teasing. “They might get jealous.” He chuckled softly, his hand drifting up to caress Declan’s flushed face, his thumb brushing over the rookie’s jawline with possessive care.

“Don’t worry about the older guys, though,” Brooks added with a smirk. “They already know.”

Declan’s lips parted slightly, his breathing steady and shallow, completely under Brooks’ control. Brooks let the silence linger for a moment, his fingers tracing slow, deliberate circles along Declan’s cheek before giving him his final instructions.

“Time to come back, rookie,” Brooks murmured, his voice soft but commanding. “You won’t have any vivid memory from today. Just the little conditioning remains. Understood?”

Declan gave a slow nod, his head tilting slightly into Brooks’ touch. “Understood, sir.”

Brooks leaned closer, his hand moving to cup Declan’s chin. “You won’t bother with the wetness. It will feel natural soon. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.” Brooks pulled back slightly, his smirk returning. “Then rise and shine, rookie. Tingle.”

Declan blinked, his eyes slowly coming back into focus. He shifted slightly in his seat, a faint frown crossing his face before he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “We’re at the station already?” he asked, his tone light and confused. “Must’ve dozed off.”

“It’s fine, lad,” Brooks said with a warm smile, patting Declan’s shoulder. “Didn’t miss anything important.”

Declan smiled sheepishly, still rubbing his chest absently, his fingers drifting over the wet patch without realizing it. Brooks noticed, his amusement hidden behind a professional veneer.

“Listen,” Brooks said casually, leaning back in his seat, “word has it we might be partnered for a while. If you want it, that is.”

Declan’s face lit up, his excitement palpable. “Really? I’d love that, sir.”

Brooks chuckled, gesturing toward the station ahead. “Good. Let’s head back, get changed, and call it a day, huh? You’ve earned it.”

Declan nodded eagerly, already unbuckling his seatbelt as Brooks started the car again. The sergeant smirked to himself as he pulled into the station lot, already planning the next stage of the rookie’s training.

Brooks guided Declan out of the car and toward the station, his hand lingering on the rookie’s back in a steady, reassuring gesture. Declan walked beside him, a slight bounce in his step despite the lingering haze from earlier.

As they stepped inside, the buzz of the station enveloped them. A few older officers lounging near the breakroom glanced up, their eyes immediately settling on Declan. Knowing smirks spread across their faces, subtle nods exchanged as Brooks and his rookie passed by.

“Evening, Sergeant,” one of them called out casually, his tone dripping with amusement.

“Evening,” Brooks replied with a grin, his voice calm and composed.

Their eyes darted to Declan, whose flushed face and slightly rumpled uniform made him an easy target.

“Rookie’s coming along nicely,” another officer said, his voice low enough that only Brooks caught it.

“Oh, he’s going to be such a good cop,” another muttered, barely hiding his chuckle.

Declan didn’t notice the teasing, too focused on walking straight and making his way to the locker room. Brooks kept his hand on Declan’s shoulder, steering him through the space with quiet authority, his expression unreadable but for the faintest trace of satisfaction.

Inside the locker room, Brooks stood back as Declan began unzipping his vest. The younger man’s movements were slow, deliberate, his focus entirely on the mundane task of changing out of his uniform.

“You did well tonight,” Brooks said suddenly, his voice cutting through the quiet hum of the room.

Declan looked up, his face brightening at the praise. “Thank you, sir. I’m just trying to learn as much as I can.”

“You’re learning fast,” Brooks replied, stepping closer and adjusting the collar of Declan’s shirt with deliberate care. “Keep it up, rookie.”

Declan nodded, his chest puffing slightly with pride as he turned back to his locker. Brooks allowed himself one more smirk, the knowing chuckles of the older officers still echoing faintly in his ears.

The rookie had no idea how much he stood out—or how much he was already fitting in.

Brooks leaned against the row of lockers, watching as Declan fumbled slightly with his belt, the rookie’s fingers working the buckle with the kind of earnest determination Brooks found endlessly amusing. When the uniform finally came off, piece by piece, Brooks made no effort to hide his curiosity.

“Go on, rookie,” he said smoothly, gesturing toward the showers. “I’ll handle the report this time. Paperwork’s a pain—you’ll learn it soon enough.”

Declan gave a grateful nod, oblivious to the sharp, appraising look Brooks cast his way as he walked toward the showers, his bare back glistening faintly under the fluorescent lights.

Brooks chuckled under his breath, shaking his head as he turned and exited the locker room. The soft hiss of the showers starting echoed behind him, and he smirked to himself as he made his way down the hall to the breakroom.

The moment he stepped inside, the older officers lounging around the table exchanged knowing glances, their smirks widening.

“Back already, Sergeant?” one of them asked, leaning back in his chair.

“Rookie busy cleaning up?” another chimed in, his tone laced with amusement.

Brooks grabbed a cup from the counter, pouring himself a coffee with deliberate slowness. “He’s doing just fine,” he said, his voice calm but with an edge of satisfaction.

“Bet he is,” one officer muttered, earning a round of muffled chuckles from the others.

“Looks like he’s taking to your methods real well,” another added, nudging his partner with a grin. “Real eager, that one.”

Brooks turned, leaning against the counter with his cup in hand, his expression unreadable except for the faint curve of his lips. “He’s going to be a damn good cop,” he said simply, his tone loaded with meaning.

After some time, Declan emerged from the locker room, freshly showered and dressed in his casual clothes. His hair was still damp, and he wore a comfortable, relaxed expression, a quiet smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He stepped into the breakroom, glancing around before his gaze landed on Brooks.

“See you on Monday, rookie,” Brooks said with a playful pat on Declan’s back, his tone light, though there was a certain weight behind it. The kind of weight that suggested there was more than just casual camaraderie between them.

Declan nodded eagerly, still buzzing from the events of the evening. “Yeah, see you then, sir.” He flashed Brooks a smile before turning toward the exit.

A few older officers, who had been quietly chatting nearby, exchanged amused looks as they watched Declan go.

“You’ve got him well trained, Brooks,” one of them commented, his voice teasing but with a note of admiration.

“He’s gonna be a handful,” another officer added with a knowing grin, leaning back in his chair. “He doesn’t even know it yet, but he’s already hooked.”

Brooks chuckled, his eyes narrowing with amusement as he took another sip from his coffee. “He’s got potential. The rookie’ll be fine,” he said, but there was an unmistakable pride in his voice.

“I’m sure he’ll be quite the asset,” the first officer agreed, his tone light but with a hint of admiration. “Takes a special kind of rookie to make it this far.”

Brooks didn’t respond immediately, but his lips curled into a small, satisfied smile. He watched as Declan headed out the door, unaware of the subtle teasing from the older officers around him. He knew his rookie was already on the path to being just the kind of cop Brooks had been looking for.

What is it that makes a human will? Why is it that we try so hard to be something unique when the world is against us.

The world of drones has ... Expanded to say the least. I watch the willing and unwilling get stripped of all identity , to then be braced in a latex to act as a new skin, all the while their previous life is erased and a new programing is set, so they are obedient and horny, a perfect drone, the final stage is a perpetually hard cock, leaking black cum..

It's almost unreal to watch it happen. It's scary, yet intriguing.

I am no one special, I'm hunter, a skinny guy trying to make ends meet in a dingy small apartment, my so called family, who are rich and have power, kicked me out long ago, I have nothing to my name, while they relax in a big house. It angers me.. I'd do anything to watch them suffer..

I laugh at the thought.. but realize it's not so I realistic .. if I could send a drone to them.. I could watch them fall

I day dream over the idea, to watch them fall into a robotic obedient drones... Would be so funny.. but then a nock at the door wakes me from my say dream.

"Oh.... Ik thosr nocks, I thought I'd never get them"

I walk over to my door and peek though the spyhole , a black figure, shiny, muscular.. a drone..

I open the door, witnessing the mighty of this being, it's throbbing dick, it's muscles, I look at it's featureless black face.

"A drone... Hello"

*Greetings. Human, It is drone 6978 it has come to evaluate you*

"Oh i see.. well I before that.. I have a request for you and your hive"

*What might that be human?*

"My stuck up snobby rich family.. left me to rot , they wanted nothing to do with me. They live comfortably in a large house while I suffer here with a dead end job and worn rags as clothes,

I would do anything to see them fall, I want revenge" a fire in my eyes

The drone processes the Information I have given it

*Human.. your order has been processed. It will be done. But one has to repay the hive for this request*

I grin wickedly at the drones words

"Well.. I look forward to watching their overdue transformation, but please.. I want them to suffer.. I want them the lowest of the low...

Are there ranks to this hive?"

The drone processes my question

*Affirmative human. There are ranks., combatant is the lowest, what you ask is for your family to be combatants?*

"Perfect..." Grins evily

"Now.. as for my payment... " I look around my small apartment for a breaf moment.. taking in the mess, the clothes, remembering the struggle.. yeah I was done with it all"

"I take it the payment is my own transformation into. Drone? Well as long as I'm a higher rank than a combatant. I'll go with you"

The drone processes the information

*It understands, your order has been processed and complete, we must proceed with your payment*

The next few moments? It's felt like a eternity of pleasure. I let the drone fuck my ass with it's leaking latex hard cock., the pleasure was intense.. my cock was hard and leaking

"Assimilation begun, it will become a drone.."

Like a chant , a echo.. it's words ring in my head, the pleasure taking over, my body beging to expand. Mucles growing.. black latex spreading all over .. drone... Drone... Must .. obey... Obedient... , I can hear the mantra.. I repeat it.. it must repeat it...

Black boots form on my feet, my cock getting bigger and starting to leak black cum.. my face and head beeping covered in latex. Becoming smooth and shiny.

The reprogramming coming to an end. One was a drone. It was a drone. It must obey

*Assimilation almost done. Stand up drone*

I stand up gettingy bareings

*It's designation is drone 4576. , repeat repeat*

My cock throbbing and mind reshaping as the pleasure builds

"It is drone 4576, it is a drone. It must obey. It must serve. It must assimilate. It must cum.."

My mind reshapes and my cock explodes with black cum , and with perpetual leak of pre cum

*Assimilation complete , it is a hunter drone , one of us. We hunt for new humans to assimilate, we are a high rank ,repeat repeat*

"It is a hunter drone, it understands"

Both our cocks throb as my programming sets in as I get it's first order

**Assimilate a rich family into combatants**

Since it doesn't remember ones past life, it doesn't realize this is it's doing, but it must do the order.. it must obey

*Let's depart. Drone*

We walk away, two drones ready to hunt

"

Mark and his two sons, Luke and Alex, decided to take a short vacation in a place that promised something different. They were intrigued by an Airbnb that boasted a unique experience. The reviews spoke of an isolated refuge where guests could experience something extraordinary, but nothing could prepare them for what they would encounter.The house, located on a distant hill, had an imposing appearance. The stone walls and large windows seemed to belong to another world, as though built to accommodate creatures of enormous size. As soon as they entered, however, they realized that something was off. Every object, from the chairs to the mirrors, was out of proportion. The feeling of disorientation grew when they met the host, a man towering at least two and a half meters tall. Without a shirt, his muscles were tight and visible as he greeted them with a warm yet unsettling smile."Welcome to our refuge," the host said, his voice echoing slightly in the room. "You'll feel right at home here."Mark replied distractedly, trying not to let the oddness of the encounter bother him. "Thank you, it's... quite a unique place."After unpacking, the family prepared for dinner. The living room was filled with other guests, all enormous. Some wore only underwear and walked around shirtless, while others smiled and chatted as if it were the most natural thing in the world. The physical size of the people was striking, yet they seemed completely at ease in this house that appeared far too big for any ordinary human.Throughout dinner, the feeling of strangeness didn’t subside; if anything, it intensified. The food was abundant, but the portions seemed made for much larger people. Mark, Luke, and Alex exchanged confused glances but tried to ignore the sense of not belonging. When night came, they retired to their rooms, ready to rest.But that night, beneath the covers, something unexpected began to happen. Mark woke up in the middle of the night, feeling a warmth running through his veins. An intense sensation of energy enveloped him as his body seemed to transform, growing bigger, stronger. His muscles swelled, tightening, and his breath became deep and powerful. He turned in bed, but realized that his clothes were now too tight. He woke up drenched in sweat, but when he looked at himself in the mirror, his body was unrecognizable: his muscles had developed impressively, and his skin felt thicker, almost more resilient. He stood up, noticing that he was now wearing nothing but black underwear, revealing his new, massive, and hairy muscles.

Alex, the older brother, woke up shortly after and felt a similar sensation. His muscles stiffened, and his skin seemed tight as though he was growing suddenly. He looked at himself in the small mirror in the room, but couldn't believe what he saw: his clothes, now too tight, couldn't contain the body he was transforming into. His pants no longer fit, and his shirt was tight across his chest. Instead of feeling scared, a sense of strength washed over him. He looked at himself again, now only in orange underwear, and noticed that, like his father, he had some hair on his chest, though not as much as Mark. He felt his energy surge, and couldn’t help but smile as he stood up from the bed, feeling his body lighter and more powerful.

Luke, the youngest, was the last to wake up. He opened his eyes, feeling a slight discomfort and warmth. He sat up on the bed, immediately struck by the sensation of expansion. His muscles seemed to be inflating, and his skin was adapting to a new form. He looked at himself in the mirror, but couldn’t believe the changes he was seeing. His arms were fuller, and his chest muscles were now visible. His pants no longer fit, and his shirt had torn. He looked at his reflection, now in green plaid underwear, and noticed that his body, though still young, had gained strength like never before. The light hair on his chest was visible, a sign of his new identity.