jocktime

This jacked new body was looking killer to me.  The tight washboard abs, the V-shape that was tight enough to cause that telltale vascularity to pop out below my naval, the cum-gutters, the thick slope of huge rounded deltoids that formed a mountain ridge up to my neck.  The tattoos gave me a fearless, extra-confident edge I’d never really had before.  My arms were vascular the whole way down, with just enough of a vein that popped and drew attention further past the realm of your standard muscle jock without overdoing it.  Tight pecs, and absolutely great triceps.  Serious gymgoers know that triceps are what separate the men from boys.  This new bod would being paying dividends for years.  Transition went through with a really fast recovery time, too.

You get what you pay for.  I was glad I really did my research and consulted with a lot of physicians before I found the right one for me.  The donor was more than willing to agree to the swap, as my body was still in a pretty healthy condition and only six years older than his was  The money was what was in it for him, of course.  I don’t see why folks think a premium swap and getting the body of your dreams always has to come with letting your mind slip, dumbing down and getting so stupid.  I understand the way neural networks are said to operate, and it’s true that it is inevitable that you’ll take on a lot of the qualities of the guy who’d inhabited it before.  But I’ve been doing just fine ever since I did my transfer and I’m as sharp as brass tacks still.

The key to really to watch as many videos and read as many reviews and testimonials as you can.  It’s no different than preparing for cosmetic surgery or even going through the process of choosing a trusted physician.  That’s where a lot of people go wrong:  they don’t shop around enough.  You’ve gotta shop around.  A lot of them don’t take the time to review all the essential details.  There are so many synapse-protecting and stress-relieving options out there that can make a transition go smoothly as silk.  I added all of them, all four that were available.  It’s a lot like purchasing insurance for yourself.

I feel like I’m finally who I want to be, the whole Yin and the Yang, now that I’ve got this bod.  I already was an intelligent guy with a pretty sensitive and generous temperament, if I do say so myself.  I plan on being more athletic from now on that I’ve got a body that’s made for it.  Some kickboxing, karate and body-flaunting paired up with the mind I’ve got, maybe even some fun photoshoots and modelling, and I’ll be living a much more well-rounded life than before.  This new exterior is really just a counterbalance to my former weaknesses.  That’s why it’s so worth the price to me.

Love how I’m looking in this grey and black athletic gear, too.  I’ll have to figure out what my best colours are.  I suppose I could just go shopping and try on a bunch of different workout gear, or even buy a ton of gear to take home with me.  I could always take whatever I don’t want to keep back later.  With my job as an adminustrator, um, I mean as an adminustraitor… ah fuck.

Fuck, how do you spell that word?

You know, that’s a warning sign, I guess.  I’d expect some merger with the former personality is to be expected.  I guess that Taijitu comparison I made is more accurate than I realised, haha.  There’s the black dot in the eye of white yang, right?  So it’s only to be expected that I’m not going to be exactly as wholly cerebral as before.  That’s ok, though, and I still feel exactly like myself. Gotta hold onto who I am for sure.  I’m sure I can if I focus on maintaining my focus.  It definitely wouldn’t be a great value for my money if I let all that hard-won knowledge and mental acumen start to slip away.

My personality is who I am, man, and I don’t intend to let that slide.  There are no refunds with these sort of package deals, so I’m just going to focus on staying strong upstairs.  Risk is always a factor in life, but without risk, how likely are you to get very far?  Not very far, right?

Really, I’m still thinking clearly, and I can remember everything I’ve got to do at work and that’s going on in my life.  It’s just that right now I’m feeling horny I guess, bro.  Maybe that’s why I feel like I’m slipping a little.  With a body this killer, sometimes I’m just looking in the mirror and feel like I could gaze into it for days.  There’s really something to be said about aesthetics.

Plus when you’re feeling kind of turned on, well, nobody’s all that bright or logical when they’re letting their cock do the thinking.  And look how hard I’m fucking getting!  It’s the first time I’ve seen this dick start to get hard.  I suppose the guy before me had probably had plenty of sex.  I might as well take it for a test run if I’m plumping up so fast.

God, I hope I’m not flopping over into the darkness of yin, though.  Think is that I feel almost cloudy, as if I just don’t want to focus on mental acumen or more cerebral thoughts right now.  Is it my dick that’s doing this to me?  I’m supposed to be the total package with this, not some muscular moron.  I really feel almost like my thoughts are so foggy and steamed up right now, though, like a window when there’s a hot rain going on outside.

I don’t know if I even have my analogy right.  Isn’t yang the masculine side anyhow?  Maybe it’s more like an eclipse.  Yeah, that’s it.  I saw an eclipse once when I was a kid.  Fuck, it’s gotta be that this dick’s so hard.  I’m totally hard, man.

If it’s just about getting like this from time to time when I’m turned on, as it is for some guys out there, I’m totally fine with that.  That’d even be kinda cool in a way.  This uncertainty and this loss of control has me feeling really uneasy right now, though.  I suppose there’s nothing I can do about it.

I don’t want to be eclipsed by the dumb jock mind, man.  The guy who had this body before me was not very bright.  Maybe I should have went with a less stupid guy to reduce my risk.  They say that doesn’t matter, though.  I hope it’s not going to be a factor here.  They say a lot of the time you can keep your mind sharp if you just stay strong about it.  I’ve got a strong mind.

There aren’t many smart guys in bodies like this though, at least I don’t think there are.  That’s why I just went with this one, and I do love this body.

Focus, focus.  I think it’s just that I’m horny, which is hopefully the problem.

Trying not to think of hot guys and how hot I look, but this dick, man, it’s like it doesn’t want to go down.  It’s like it wants to do the thinking right now and it wants me to just beat off for it, haha.

Strange as it feels, just knowing I’m feeling kind of muggy or foggy has me feeling hot, too.  I almost feel steamy right now, inside and out.  It’s hard to explain.  Isn’t getting sexy often kind of like that, the way you stop thinking of work and conversation so much?  I don’t know, man.  I don’t feel right but I don’t know how to fight it.  Maybe it’s just that I’m feeling sexy.

Fuck!  And I’m just so fucking horny right now, for real.  My cock is fully hard, standing straight up.  If I give it a couple of strokes, I know I’ll probably want to just beat off, and maybe I should just do that, since I’ll have to get used to that for sure.  I might feel like myself again after I cum, too, and hopefully I will at least feel more like myself again.  I haven’t cum with this body yet.

Aww yeah, that feels good, just to stroke this dick.

It’s a nice one, too, gotta be almost a 7-incher, nice and thick enough.  This guy’s got a nice dick.  Well, I’ve got a nice dick, because it’s my dick we’re talking about now.  It’ll take some adjustment to really ram it home to myself, because I’m so used to looking so much weaker, just completely different.

Even with this hard cock, I think I can still think pretty clearly.  I remember my foreign languages, and what’s going on in the news and at work.  It’s just that it’s steamed up for me in a way, that it takes more focus to think.

So I should probably not think right now because I’m so fucking hard.  Who wants to think deep thoughts when they’re hard?  And this body is soooo fucking sexy, there’s no denying that.

Definitely gotta take it for a test run.  I feel like as a vehicle of flesh, this bod has gotta be an F-16 Fighting Falcon.

If I were one of those guys from Street Fighter, I’d be a Ryu or a Guile, maybe.  Ok, sure, I’m not quite that jacked, but who is?  I still look damn tough in this body, and I’ll be able to hit levels of athletic prowess most guys never reach.

I plan on maintaining it, too, doing a lot of meal prep and nutritional shakes just to make sure I stay in as good of shape as I can for a really long time.

But like I said, I’m so horny right now.  I look like the kinda guy I would have been too afraid to approach before, the kind of guy I never even went home with.  And that’s a hot thought for sure.

I wonder what it’s going to be like to jack off in this body?  I bet when I get out there and start finding guys to hook up with, the sex is going to be incredible.

Gotta whip out this cock, bud.  Fuck, look at this big piece of meat.

You like that, this big dick in my hand?  Feels really good to me right now, like I’m really getting the full experience now.  So fogged up and I think I’m gonna just roll with it.  Should feel more like myself again after I nut, I’d guess.

Stroking it, pal.

Yeah, this is a really nice dick.  These are some big nuts too, I really like how they look dangling down there in this sac.  Guy’s got a nice groin.  I’ve got a nice groin.

Fuck, I’m hard.  I gotta get off.  I just want to fap off this hot meat and feel that rush of the seed cumming up out of it.  Get a taste of what it’s gonna be like from now on.

Yeah.  It’s almost like this guy’s cock has got more sensation than mine did, too.  I know he’s younger, but also more physically active.

I can really feel it, how much it almost makes these toes curl, makes me suck in my chest when I give it a stroke.  It’s a sensitive and horny cock, man.

Fuck, just gotta beat it.  Yeah, yeah.  Fuck, that sounds so hot, this meat fapping away under this firm grip.

Mmmm.  Hell yeah.  I’m gonna be beating this thing a lot, I think.  And fucking with it, the thought of using a guy’s scruffy face for a hole and his mouth doing its best on this cock is gonna be great.

I’m thinking of cocks right now, too.  I’d love to get another guy’s dick in my mouth and watch him go nuts as a stud like me pleasures him.

I think I’ll feel a lot less inhibited in this body.

I mean I look like a personal trainer or a model even.  Fuck.  And this cock beats off so sexily, man.  What a beautiful cock.

Gotta beat off and cum, I think.  Cumming will make me feel like the way I am, the adminustrainer or whatever, haha, I don’t know why I can’t remember.

It’s like everything just feels so simple right now, but it feels good, man.  It really feels good.  What more is there to life really, that Yin Yang thing, than just feeling how good your hand feels back and forth on a shaft like this.

I love this shaft.  This guy’s got such a sexy, meaty shaft.  Even this sexy vein on it, man, stands out like the veins on my arm.

Just up and down this shaft.  Aww shit, there’s the pre, that just makes me want to beat it fast. Faster and faster, man.  Bet this body could run really fast too.  I should try sprints with it.  These quads of mine look so fucking thick.  Just the sight of them and my legs down below this nice meat’s a huge turn-on.

Fuck man, really beating off now.  I love this body and this dick.  Holy fuck.  Hell yeah this is so fucking hot, beating a cock like this.  Oh fuck yeah, this is hot.

Oh fuck, I’m gonna cum.  Oh fuck, oh fuck.  I can feel it.

Fuuuuck Yeaaahh!  Awwwww yeah!

Aww, fuck.  Look at that cum shoot.  Aww yeah.  Fuck yeah.  Look at that milk!  I really milked this fucker good.

Fucking A, man.  I shot so far that I hit the fucking mirror, haha.  It’s coated.  Can you see that?  Slick with oozing cum, haha.

Wet and wild, baby.

Yeah, I know you like seeing that too, a man’s hot cum dripping down the mirror.

You know you want that in your mouth sometime.

Especially from a man like me, a stallion like I am?  Fuck, a muscle jock like me?  You’d be begging for me to cum in that mouth, I bet.

I feel like such a jock, man.  Love it, though.

I think I am a jock in a way.  I don’t know, man.  My head feels so muddy.

Fuck yeah, man.  Fuckin’ A.  Feels good though.  I feel hot and steamy still.

I feel awesome as shit, to tell the truth.  I’m so fucking hot, bro.  I mean, look at me!  Don’t I look hot as fuck?

Fuck, haha.  Dude, I don’t even know how to say this but, I think I remember that I was supposed to be different than I am now.

I don’t feel smart right now, haha.  I do feel like one righteous motherfucker, though.  In fact I feel better in a way, like I’m not some lame-ass peckerwood type anymore.  Why do I feel so muddied up?  Not sure I care, just curious.

Look at these abs, bro.  Abs like these aren’t the type you see on guys every day.  I’m sure it’s a lot of maintenance but it’s absolutely worth it.

Can’t wait to hit the machines at the gym and see what this body can really do.

I’m so fucking jacked, bro.  Felt so good to get off just now.  This dick shoots a lot of cum I think.  I shot really fucking far.

I’m gonna score so much pussy with this body, and by pussy I mean weak gay-ass bitches who are gonna just beg for this nice cock up their holes.

Fuck, I love being a dude.  That’s what it’s all about, having a good time and other guys to have a good time with.

It’s hot as shit, man.  Fuck yeah, it really is.  I feel hot as shit, like I’ve just been to the spa and came out feeling six years younger.  That’s about right, ain’t it?

Yeah, this is all just about right for me.  This muscle is right.  These tattoos are right.  This cock is definitely right.

This is one righteous cock I’ve got, man.  Gonna look hot in a jock strap.  Gonna look hot goin’ commando.

How’d I get so fucking hot, man?  All that time in the gym, I suppose.

Fuck yeah I look hot.

Aww fuck, I love this.

I’m getting hard again just from talking about it.

Fuck yeah bro.

Fuck yeah.

Fuck, bro.  Look at this body, bro.

I love this body.  Fuck yeah I do.

Here's another story part of "A Haunting" series for Halloween. A bit longer than the previous ones. Have another two planned I think. Hope you enjoy!

It was another boring night in the campus library. I was just chillin', haunting the stacks like usual. And then I saw him. Again. I'd seen this kid a few times now. Always studying, focused. Always looks so fuckin' miserable. But he's cute, in an adorable dweeb sort of way. Shaggy hair, scrawny, glasses sliding down his nose. I almost feel bad for the kid. Almost.

I sit down next to him. "Yo dude, what's up?" I asked, trying to sound casual. He jumped a mile high and stared at me wide-eyed.

"H-hello?" he stammered out. "Who? What are you?"

"Relax bro," I said, waving my hand dismissively. "Name's Tyler. Tyler Johnson. Well, used to be anyway. Now I'm just a ghost. Ain't it obvious, bro?" I looked him over again, taking in his nervous demeanor. "So, you're Andrew right? What're you doing holed up in this dusty old library every night?"

"Oh um, well I don't have many friends so…this is kind of my only place to study."

"Aww man, that's rough," I said sympathetically. "Well hey, I'm down to hang? I don't got too many friends here either."

"Y-you mean it?" he asked hesitantly. "You'd want to hang out with me?"

"Sure thing bro!" I replied enthusiastically. "Why not? We're both loners here. Might as well stick together, ya know?"

He smiled shyly and nodded. "That would be great actually…"

"Awesome! So tell me more about yourself Andrew. What's your deal?" I asked, leaning back casually against the bookshelf.

I listened as he talked about his career goals. Some bullshit about science and medicine and grad school. I just nodded along, offering whatever encouragement I could.

"Bro, you're like really fuckin' impressive."

"Oh… thanks Tyler. But I'm not that impressive." He looked sad, doubtful, "What about you?"

I laughed ruefully. "Eh, I had my moments. Was a star quarterback back in my day. Had dreams of going pro. But then…" I gestured vaguely at myself. "…this happened. Bitch move by the universe, amirite?" He went to say something, probably to pity me, but I cut him off, "Let's circle back, bro. You're seriously lacking some confidence. 'Not that impressive'? Really bro?"

Andrew blinked owlishly behind his glasses. "W-well I suppose I'm alright at science and math, but that's about it. I'm not very good at anything else..."

"Psshh, dude I can help you with that." I smirked, "Can be like your bro coach or somethin'. How's that sound?"

He perked up immediately, a smile spreading across his face. "Really? That could be nice."

"Hell yeah bro!" I grinned back. "Just leave it to ol' Tyler."

------

Over the next week, I put my plan into action. Subtle things at first - whispering suggestions to hit the gym as he walked between classes. Buy some protein shakes. Nothing too overt, just little nudges in the right direction.

To my delight, Andrew started responding to the hints. I'd see him guzzling down shakes after class and studying on the elliptical. His posture improved, shoulders back, chin up. A new swagger to his step. Even caught him taking a progress pic.

One evening, I found him at the library again, looking energized. "Hey bro!" I greeted. "How's it hanging? You're looking pumped!"

He flexed experimentally. "I dunno, I guess I am feeling stronger lately." He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Although, I did miss a lab report deadline yesterday. My grades are starting to slip a bit too." Guess I've been spending so much time at the gym, I haven't studied enough."

I waved off his concerns. "Nah bro, that's normal when you start a new routine. It'll get better."

Andrew hesitated. "Are you sure? I really want to do well in school…"

"Absolutely bro!" I assured him.

He considered this for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Okay…if you say so Tyler. I trust you."

-------

I decided to kick it up a notch. Appearing in his room while he slept, I'd gently influence his dreams. In dream-visions, he saw himself as a strapping quarterback. Calling plays. Tossing touchdown passes. Adoring fans chanting his name. He reveled in that fantasy life while asleep. And when he awoke? He'd go to the gym- weight lifting replacing cardio. He'd be more assertive too. But none of it was permanent yet. I didn't dare rush things. I could still see his uncertainty. Even a little bit of fear as he looked at his improved physique in the mirror.

"Hey Tyler," Andrew greeted me nervously as he approached my usual haunt near the periodicals section. "Do you have a minute?"

"For you bro? Always!" I grinned, sensing his unease.

"Thanks. I uh, I wanted to talk to you about some weird stuff happening lately…" He trailed off uncertainly. "Like these vivid dreams I keep having. About playing football. It doesn't make sense..."

I kept my expression neutral. "Oh yeah? That's wild bro. Just dreams though, right?"

He shook his head. "No, they feel so real. Like I'm living someone else's life. And then I wake up feeling different. More confident. Wanting to work out more. It's strange…"

I shrugged nonchalantly. "Sounds like your subconscious is just exploring new possibilities, bro. No need to stress about it."

He managed a weak smile. "Right. Thanks Tyler. I appreciate your advice."

"No prob bro! I'm always here if you need me." I gave his shoulder a friendly squeeze. "Now why don't you hit the books for a bit?"

As he walked away, I watched him thoughtfully. The kid was definitely changing, but he wasn't fully on board yet. Time to kick things up a notch…

-------

Days turned into weeks. I pulled back on the haunting, letting Andrew struggle on his own. Sure, his grades improved. But, he stopped going to the gym as regularly. That newfound confidence drained away. He looked haggard, exhausted. Exactly as planned.

Finally, he came to me again, desperation written all over his face. "Tyler, something's wrong. Everything I worked for is falling apart. I feel lost…"

I gave him a sympathetic look. "Fuck bro... I mean, I might have a solution."

His eyes lit up hopefully. "You do? What is it?"

I stepped closer, looming over him. "Let me in, bro."

Andrew recoiled slightly. "Wh-what do you mean?"

"Let me take control for a while. Get you back on track." My eyes gleamed eagerly.

"You mean like, share my body?" He sounded wary.

"That's right. Just for a bit." I said smoothly, "To get you back to where you were before you started regressing."

He wavered, "I don't know…"

"C'mon bro, what's the harm?" I pushed.

He considered it, "Okay, okay… but only to get me back where I was. I don't want to…"

"Of course bro, whatever you want." I lied easily. "Trust me, this'll fix everything."

He took a deep breath. "Alright Tyler. I trust you."

My spirit surged into Andrew's body, filling every inch of him. It felt incredible. His mind resisted at first, but I overwhelmed his consciousness effortlessly. I opened his eyes, stretched his limbs. Felt his pulse racing beneath my skin. This was better than I ever imagined! I strode purposefully towards the gym, relishing the weight of Andrew's muscles. Time to get this bro back in shape. And then some…

-----

For three glorious days, I lived as Andrew. Lifted heavier. Ran faster. Jumped higher. By the third morning, his chest bulged outward. Abs popped. Ass filled out and tightened. Hell, I might've been enjoying it a lil too much…

But my power started fading fast. I was sent back into the ethereal realm, weaker than before. Exhausted but satisfied by my handiwork nonetheless. Andrew woke up changed, but confused. No longer needing those pesky specs. Vision crystal clear, sharp as an eagle's. Looked in the mirror - damn, was that still his reflection? The jawline. The arch of the brow. All the handsome features of yours truly.

I watched as Andrew flexed in disbelief, arm shaking slightly with exhaustion and awe as his bicep rose. He should've been fuckin' grateful. But his face cycled through expressions - shock giving way to lingering terror.

The poor dweeb looked shellshocked. Drowning in newfound masculine intensity that he couldn't understand or control. And let's just say that new body of his was… hungry for more.

-----

I hung back, regaining my energy, spectating as Andrew tried to return to his old ways. Watched him trudge to class, shoulders hunched against the weight of his new self. Noticed how his eyes lingered longingly on the path to the gym. How he squirmed in his seat, muscles twitching, screaming for release.

Poor bastard had no idea what I'd set in motion. That primal urge to pump iron, to test limits, to dominate. It was in his blood now. I could practically smell the testosterone radiating off him. He lasted three days tops before he started skipping lectures and blowing off study groups to spend time in the gym. Would marvel at his physique in the mirror, getting drunk off his own musk. Would've been sexier if he didn't look horrified the whole time. But that would change.

I crept into Andrew's dorm room, loomed over his slumbering form. Leaned down real close, lips brushing his ear.

"You got this bro," I whispered huskily. "Apply for the football team tomorrow. It's your destiny. Just follow your gut, ya feel me?"

He stirred, murmuring in his sleep. Hands clenched, flexed. Legs shifting restlessly under the sheets like he was already out on the field. Next mornin', wouldn't you know it - I float over to practice to find my protege out there throwing spirals like a pro. Coaches gawking in amazement at this total newbie absolutely schooling their veterans. Showing off his talent. My talent.

--------

I was chilling in my usual spot, haunting the library stacks, when I heard that familiar shuffling approach. Turned to see Andrew stalking toward me, fists clenched, a determination I'd never seen before on the lil dweeb. Holy hell, I had done good with this kid.

"There you are, dude," he growled, "We need to talk, bro."

I smirked, leaning back casually. "Shoot, man. Whatcha got?"

Andrew jabbed a finger at me accusingly. "This, dude. These…gains. The constant craving to train. And now, I'm failing chemistry! What gives, brah?"

I held up my hands innocently. "Whoa there, bro. Slow down."

"Even my face, man!" He pointed to his reflection in a window. "Look at me. I look more like you now!"

I barked out a laugh. "Dude, that's a compliment! I'm a stud, ain't I?"

"This isn't funny, bro. I didn't ask for all this." He put his head in his hands, "Enough Tyler. I'm done." And he stormed off.

-------

The next day, I tried to pay my favorite human a visit, but I couldn't even get within 10 feet of his dorm room without getting zapped by some invisible barrier. What the fuck, right? Then I spotted it - some creepy old necklace dangling around his neck. Warding symbol carved into the pendant. The sneaky little nerd had gone and researched spirit repellents! I was impressed, honestly. Kid was smart. But also, super annoying.

I waited patiently as the days ticked by, watching Andrew start to get his shit together. Doing better in class and worse on the field. If this kept up... well fuck... I knew I needed to strike when the iron was hot.

And wouldja look at that, luck was on my side. During a particularly brutal tackle drill, Andrew took a hit so hard, the warding necklace went flying clean off. Landed in the grass a few yards away, useless now. And Andrew didn't even give it a second fucking thought. Just went to the locker room to shower off. He hadn't noticed me when I slipped into the stall with him, too busy rinsing sweat and grass stains from his rock-hard physique. I reached out, trailing fingers along his spine, savoring the way his muscles twitched at my touch.

Andrew froze, goosebumps erupting across his skin. I pressed myself against him, palming his chiseled ass. He gasped sharply, cock twitching to attention. My hands roamed his slick body greedily, mapping every ridge and valley. Teasing along his inner thighs, ghosting over his heavy balls. He shuddered, head lolling back as he grasped his own cock, moaning brokenly, hips rocking into his own grip.

"Ahhh…f-fuck…" he panted, chest heaving. "What's happening to me? Why am I so…horny?"

His eyes squeezed shut, lost in a haze of lust. Completely unaware of my presence, too far gone to question the impossible sensations overwhelming him. The new Andrew, still more brawn over brains, succumbed so easily to base instinct. Testosterone-addled and desperate for more stimulation. And I was more than happy to give it. My hands slid around to his front, one wrapping around his throbbing erection while the other tweaked a nipple. Andrew cried out, seeing stars, hips bucking frantically into my phantom grip. So responsive, so desperate for my touch. The perfect plaything. Barely registering the changes my ghostly hands wrought on his trembling horny form. Too caught up in his own lust to care.

And with a final strangled groan, Andrew's cock pulsed and throbbed in my grasp as he came, splattering the shower wall. His knees buckled, the force of his climax nearly bringing him to the ground. Panting heavily, eyes glazed and unfocused, the kid looked half-dead, mind shattered by the intensity. I had reduced him to a brainless sack of meat and hormones. Perfect. On rubbery legs, Andrew staggered out of the shower, still processing the mind-blowing orgasm. He stumbled into the locker room, brain addled, a fucked-stupid grin plastered on his face. Collapsing onto a bench, he gazed up at his reflection in the mirror. And froze.

"Wh-what the actual fuck?" Andrew choked out, staring in abject horror at his own reflection. "No…no way. Oh God, no…"

There, staring back at him, was an exact carbon copy of me. In all my glory. Same chiseled jaw, same piercing eyes, same sexy smirk, same muscular physique. Fuck he even smelled like me now. Only this version was very much alive and breathing. Andrew scrambled to his feet, patting himself down frantically.

"Where is it? Where's the pendant? I need…" He was babbling now, mind reeling, trying desperately to make sense of the impossible sight before him.

But in his weakened, post-orgasmic state, he couldn't think straight. Could barely string two thoughts together. And that's when I struck. I seized control of Andrew's body, effortlessly overriding his feeble attempts at resistance. He was too far gone, too fucked-out to mount any meaningful defense. I felt his mind crumble away, surrendering to my will as I slipped into the driver's seat once more. And this time, I wouldn't be leaving anytime soon.

And since that day? Months have flown by- months since I claimed Andrew's body as my own- remade him in all my glory. And let me tell you, being alive again feels fan-fucking-tastic. I mean, sure, there's a part of me that knows I basically kidnapped this poor schmuck's life. Trapped his consciousness in the backseat of his own skull while I play out my wildest fantasies. But hey, at least I'm generous enough to let him experience alllll the perks, right?

Every earth-shattering orgasm, every euphoric muscle burn, every adoring gaze thrown our way- I make damn sure Andrew gets to feel it all. Front row seat to the Tyler Johnson experience, baby! Who wouldn't kill for that opportunity? Ain't that right, Andrew? Besides, the dork was wasting his potential before. I'm doing him a favor, really. Turning him into a god among men. Yeah, he might not be the one pulling the strings anymore, but he's along for the ride of a lifetime! And hey, if he's gotta be stuck in there, might as well enjoy the show. Because it ain't ending anytime soon.

Morris needs a job, Byron Industries needs an lab rat perfect for their new trial to make a mindless (read: horny) grunt. Paging through his favorite book while he waits, for such a reader he surely didn't read any fine print.

Wrote this one for a GSS challenge a bit ago! Here it is ever so slightly touched up with a few images added. This one's for all you real Melville heads out there. -Occam

“Call me Morris!”

The literature grad surely expected at least some reaction to his smallest of Moby Dick references. It’s not the first time he’s met with silence at the playfully pitiful introduction, but usually there’s at least confusion. This receptionist simply stares blankly. Perhaps there was a perfunctory smile under the facemask, but it certainly didn’t reach his eyes. 

“Morris Baker, yes? For the interview?”

Still recoiling from his scuffed opening Morris is hesitant to speak up. All the well as the receptionist takes his silent quibbling as confirmation. 

“Sir Byron will be with you shortly, please have a seat and enjoy our lobby’s amenities.”

Clutching his shoulder bag tightly as he sort of bows before stepping away from the front desk, Morris realizes that he’s not just working himself up. It’s not in his head, something is off about that receptionist. Sneaking a quick glance back, he sees the clerk is still staring at him. No? Staring through him.

To his credit, Morris stills the shiver that runs up his spine at the realization. Focusing on what matters, Morris convinces himself that between the two of them the secretary’s the weird one. That’s why the man didn’t react to his solid Moby Dick reference! Turning with a cocksure grin to take in the amenities the strange receptionist spoke of he wonders what he’ll find. It’s not every day someone like him gets to wander into Byron Roman’s business, after all.

I’m staring at my own arm like it belongs to a fucking stranger.

Look at this shit. Look at the size of it. The way the bicep peaks, hard as a rock, veins crawling over the skin like worms trying to escape the meat underneath. I flex, and the muscle jumps. I don’t even tell it to do it anymore. It’s just a reflex. A tic. I sit here in this expensive-ass gaming chair, high as a kite, just flexing and posing for nobody, watching the muscles ripple in the reflection of the dark window.

A year ago, I was studying for my Master’s in Economics. I had glasses. I had anxiety about my thesis. I had a girlfriend named Sarah who liked that I was "sensitive."

Now? Now I’m sitting in my boxers, smelling like stale weed and three days of unwashed armpit sweat, waiting for my roommate to come home so I can beg him to let me nut.

It started with the rent. I was broke, drowning in tuition fees. Julian, rich, cocky, daddy’s-money Julian, made me an offer. He said he’d cover my half of the rent if I let him test out his new "high-fidelity audio system" while I slept. Said it was for some sleep-study bullshit he was investing in. White noise, frequencies, whatever. I thought I was scamming him. I thought, easy money.

I didn’t know he was pumping subliminal conditioning into my brain for eight hours a night.

Sleep. Forget. Grow. Obey.

The first thing to go was the books. I just… stopped caring. The words started swimming on the page. Then the gym obsession hit. Not healthy fitness, but this desperate, burning need to get huge. To get wide. To take up space. I started shaving my head. I started buying chains. I woke up one morning with this tribal tattoo on my arm and I didn’t even remember getting it, but fuck, I thought it looked sick.

My vocabulary shrank. My temper exploded. I turned into this… this thing. This aggressive, chavvy thug who wants to punch holes in drywall and spit on the sidewalk.

And Julian? He just watched. He watched me transform from a shy nerd into his personal, brain-dead muscle pet.

I look down at the desk. There’s a stack of cash there. Twenty-pound notes. That’s my "allowance." He leaves it there for me. Tells me to go buy protein, or weed, or new Calvins. And I do it. I scoop it up like a good little boy and go buy the things that keep me dumb and docile.

I hate him. I fucking hate him. He’s this skinny, smug little prick who couldn’t bench press an empty bar, and yet he owns me. He owns this body.

I shift in the chair, and the leather squeaks. My cock is throbbing so hard it actually hurts. It’s been rock hard for four hours. It’s huge now, bigger than it ever was before. Thicker. Veiny. A massive, aggressive weapon hanging between my legs, straining against the white cotton of these briefs.

But it’s useless.

That’s the worst part of the programming. The "lock."

I can jerk it. I can stroke it. I can edge myself until my eyes roll back and I’m drooling on my own chest. But I can’t finish. My brain physically won't let the signal go through. I just hit this wall of frustration, this blue-balled agony that makes me want to scream.

I need him.

I need that little faggot to walk through the door, look at me with that sneer, and give me permission.

"Fuck sake," I grunt, the words sounding thick and slur-heavy in my mouth. I grab my cock through the underwear, squeezing it, feeling the pre-cum soaking the fabric. It’s humiliating. I’m a man. Look at me! I’m a fucking tank. I could snap Julian in half like a twig. I should be out there banging birds, smashing heads, doing whatever I want.

But here I am. Sitting with my leg cocked up, foot in the air, showing off my hole like a bitch in heat.

I grab the bong off the desk and take another rip, filling my lungs with smoke to dull the anger. But the weed just makes me hornier. It makes me zone out, staring at the red LEDs on the mousepad, thinking about his hands.

I hate that I want it. That’s the twisted part. The subliminals didn’t just make me dumb; they rewired my wiring. I used to be straight. Now? The thought of a woman does nothing. But the thought of Julian ordering me onto my knees? The thought of his voice telling me what a "good, dumb chav" I am?

It makes my hips buck involuntarily.

I look at the picture on the screen, a selfie I took five minutes ago. I look dangerous. I look like the kind of guy who would mug you at a bus stop. Eyes dead, jaw set, muscles ready to strike. A total alpha.

But it’s a lie. It’s a costume he built for me.

Underneath all this muscle, I’m trapped. Screaming. But the screams are getting quieter every day. Most of the time, there’s just the static. The need to lift. The need to smoke. The need to cum.

I hear the front door unlock.

My heart hammers against my ribs, massive, powerful thuds. The adrenaline spikes, aggressive and sharp. My fist clenches. Part of me wants to rush him, slam him against the wall, show him who the man is.

But then I hear his footsteps.

"Oi!" I bark before he even gets his coat off. My voice booms, deep and gravelly, rattling the empty cans on the desk. "Get your arse in here. I gotta hit the gym in twenty minutes to train chest and I can't fuckin' think straight."

Julian appears in the doorway, that smug, knowing smirk plastered on his face. He sees the state of me, legs spread, sweat glistening on my abs, that painful tent pitching the front of my white boxers. He knows I’m crawling out of my skin.

"Drain these balls," I growl, grabbing my crotch and giving it a rough shake. "Right fuckin' now."

He doesn't argue. He doesn't even speak. He just drops to his knees between my spread thighs like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He pulls the waistband down, freeing the monster he created.

My cock springs out, heavy and angry, the uncut hood tight over the purple head. I look down at him, this skinny little twink kneeling before a mountain of muscle. I feel a surge of dominance, thinking I’m the one in charge here because I’m barking the orders.

But then he leans forward.

I grit my teeth so hard my jaw cracks as he wraps his warm, wet lips around the head.

Fuck.

I throw my head back against the headrest, my hands gripping the armrests until the leather groans. I hate this. I fucking hate that this is what my life is now. I hate looking down and seeing a dude bobbing on my lap. It’s wrong. It’s disgusting. I should be balls-deep in some bird, not getting serviced by my roommate.

But the second he starts sucking, my brain just melts.

It feels too good. It’s electric. Every swirl of his tongue, every suction of his cheeks sends a jolt straight to my prostate that curls my toes. The hatred clashes with the pleasure, twisting into this dark, aggressive heat in my gut. I want to punch him, but instead, my hips snap forward, bucking into his mouth, forcing him to take more of me.

"Yeah... take it," I grunt, staring at the ceiling, my mind going blank, stripped of everything except the sensation of his mouth on my meat. "Suck it dry so I can go lift."

The big dumb jock has the opposite problem. His brain stays simple. He doesn’t overthink. He doesn’t spiral. He just moves through life lighter, more present, and way less stressed. That mental simplicity is the real advantage. Less noise in your head = more peace, more confidence, and way more room to actually enjoy shit.

Mental action point you can start today:

Every single time you catch yourself overthinking something today (and you will), stop and do this:

In your head, say:

“I don’t need to figure this out. I’m becoming a dumb jock.”

Then immediately shift your attention to something simple and physical — how your body feels sitting there, the weight of your arms, what you’re gonna eat later, or how good it feels to just breathe for a second. Don’t analyze it. Just notice it and move on.

Do this every time the overthinking starts. No push-ups, no mirror speeches, no performing. Just a quiet mental switch.

The more you practice letting go of the “smart guy” stress, the more your brain actually starts to chill out. That’s how it begins.

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