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A man has intimate encounters with a Genie
magic transformation body horror
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Oblivious
I wake up. Or rather, we do.
The ceiling is unfamiliar for a split second, but then it clicks. The faint, geometric pattern of shadows from the blinds. The smell of old takeout and clean laundry. Tyler’s bedroom. This is his room. His consciousness, a dense, unyielding weight, fills the entire space of our shared awareness. There is no room for me, Ashley, to be anything but a shiver at the edges, a silent observer encased in the amber of his will.
He sits up. The sheets are his—dark gray, practical. They fall away, and he looks down at our body. His head, with his own familiar face—the strong jaw, the stubble, his short, brown hair—turns on a neck that connects to a landscape that is not his. From the collarbones down, it is all me. Soft, full breasts, curved hips, the gentle swell of a belly. He sees only his body. A possession, whole and complete. He swings his legs—my legs—over the side of the bed and stands.
He walks to his closet and pulls out his clothes. A pair of worn boxer briefs, which he steps into. They conform perfectly. A pair of his favorite jeans. The denim simply fits, the waistband sitting low on my hips, the fabric magically accommodating the fuller curve of my backside. A plain white crewneck sweatshirt goes on next. It settles over my chest, the soft cotton draping without pulling. He runs a hand through his own hair and gives a satisfied grunt. The sound is his, that rough, gravelly noise from his own mouth.
In the kitchen, he makes coffee. He moves with his own familiar, slightly slouched confidence. To any outside eye, he is just Tyler. A guy in his sweatshirt and jeans, maybe looking a little softer than usual, but nothing to remark upon. The magic of the court’s ruling does its work seamlessly; people see Tyler, and their minds simply accept the form as his.
At the gym, he heads for the free weights. He sets up for deadlifts. His form is aggressive, practiced. The sweatshirt rides up slightly as he bends, exposing a sliver of my lower back.
"Tyler! Sup, man?"
It’s Mike. He claps Tyler on the shoulder, his gaze friendly and utterly normal. He doesn’t stare at the hips in the jeans or the chest under the sweatshirt. He sees his buddy Tyler, working out.
"Mike. Just getting after it," Tyler says, his voice that low, steady rumble.
"Looking strong," Mike says, and he means it. He doesn’t see a woman’s body. He sees Tyler lifting weight. He wanders off after a bit more chat, completely at ease.
Later, in the men’s locker room shower, Tyler strips off his sweatshirt and jeans, hanging them up. He showers in just the boxer briefs, as is his habit. The hot water soaks the thin cotton, making it cling. Men are around him, showering, talking about their weekends. No one stares. No one nudges anyone. One guy even says, "Pass the soap, Ty?" as if it’s the most normal thing in the world to see Tyler’s familiar face above the wet, clinging fabric outlining full breasts and rounded hips. He is just a guy in the shower. Tyler soaps up, washes his short hair, rinses off. He is utterly at home.
He towels off and gets dressed. His phone buzzes. A text from Emma.
Still on for tonight?
He texts back, Yeah. My place? Confirmation comes quickly.
That evening, his apartment is tidy, music playing low. He’s changed into a tight, black Henley and another pair of his perfect jeans. The Henley stretches over my breasts, the buttons at the placket pulling slightly. His face, so familiar and male, is relaxed, handsome.
When Emma arrives, she smiles warmly. "Hey, you." She steps in, giving him a quick hug. Her eyes sweep over him with clear appreciation, but it’s the appreciation of a woman looking at a man she’s attracted to. She sees Tyler. Charming, solid Tyler. The body, the clothes—they’re just part of him. There’s no confusion in her gaze, only interest.
"Hey, Em," he says, and kisses her cheek. Her perfume is sweet, familiar.
They talk easily. He is his direct, confident self. She is flirtatious, touching his arm, laughing at his jokes. Her eyes sparkle when she looks at him. She sees the man she’s had a thing for, for months. There is no puzzle to solve, no contradiction to untangle. The magic holds perfectly.
He kisses her, there in his living room. It’s a deep, confident kiss. Her hands slide up his chest, under the Henley, her palms finding the heavy, soft weight of my breasts. She moans into his mouth, her thumbs circling my nipples.
"Tyler," she breathes, the name full of desire.
He leads her to his bedroom. His bed. He pulls the Henley up and over his head. My breasts fall free, full and heavy. Emma’s gaze is hot, adoring. She pushes him back onto the bed and leans down, her mouth closing over one nipple, sucking hard. Her other hand kneads the other breast. He groans, a low, masculine sound of pleasure.
His hands go to his jeans, undoing them, pushing them and the boxer briefs down. He is completely exposed now, his face flushed with arousal above the naked female body.
Emma shifts lower, settling between my legs, her intent clear. She is going to go down on him. On Tyler. Her Tyler.
She looks down, her breath warm on my skin. And then she freezes.
Her eyes, which had been hazy with lust, sharpen. They focus. They see. Not just a body, but the specific details. The thatch of dark curls. The glistening folds. The complete, undeniable absence of any male anatomy. This is not a man’s body. This is…
Ashley’s.
The realization hits her like a physical blow, a silent thunderclap in the quiet room. Her best friend Ashley’s body. The curve of the hips she’s seen in jeans, the birthmark just inside the thigh she’s noticed at the pool. This is Ashley, laid bare beneath Tyler’s head, under Tyler’s command.
A violent, electric thrill shoots through Emma, so intense it steals her breath. Her secret, private attraction—not just to Tyler, but to Ashley too, that simmering, unacknowledged thing she’s pushed down for years—ignites into a roaring flame. Tyler has Ashley. And he has no idea. And he’s offering this to her.
She looks up at his face. His eyes are closed, his head back, waiting for her touch. He is completely oblivious. He thinks she sees him, just him.
A fierce, possessive glee tightens her chest. This is her secret. Hers alone.
She doesn’t pull away. She leans in, her heart hammering. Her mission changes. It’s no longer just about pleasing Tyler. It’s about claiming this, about exploring this impossible, stolen intimacy.
Her tongue finds my opening. It’s slick and ready. And then she pushes.
Not a lick. An entry. A deliberate, broad, stretching penetration. Her tongue spears into me, and the stretch is immediate and profound. My tight inner walls yield, parting around the relentless, wet pressure of her muscle. She feels Ashley’s body open for her, and the knowledge that it is Ashley’s makes the sensation a thousand times more potent. She holds the pressure, stretching the soft passage wide around the width of her tongue, feeling the intimate, hot clasp of her friend around her.
She pulls back and plunges in again, deeper. A raw, guttural sound tears from Tyler’s throat. "Fuck, Emma."
She works her tongue in and out, each penetration a slow, deliberate stretch, fucking Ashley open with her mouth. The wet, sucking sounds are loud. Emma is lost in a dual worship: of Tyler’s blissful ignorance above, and of Ashley’s helpless, stretched body below. The burning fullness she’s creating is her secret triumph.
She pulls back, her lips slick. "I need more of you," she pants, the truth of the statement echoing in her skull. More of Ashley. More of this.
She adds a finger, pressing the tip alongside her tongue at the stretched, slick entrance. The dual pressure is immense. She pushes them in together—the firm, probing digit and the relentless, muscular tongue.
The stretch is catastrophic, sublime. Ashley’s body arches off the bed. Emma scissors her finger slowly inside, stretching the tender, yielding flesh of her best friend even wider, while her tongue curls and presses against it from within. The burning, perfect dilation is a conquest. Tyler is chanting, "Yes, yes, give it to me," his voice a broken, masculine litany.
And Emma is silent, her secret knowledge a fire in her blood. She is stretching Ashley open in Tyler’s bed, under Tyler’s command, witnessed by Tyler’s face. Every deep, penetrating thrust of her tongue and finger is a claim staked on the tight, hot passage of the woman she’s secretly desired, a communion with the soul she knows is trapped within, soothed only by the oblivious, proud calm of the man she loves, who wears his own head on borrowed flesh, and who offers up every soft, stretched, conquered inch of what he has made, never knowing the double gift he has given her. She will never tell. This secret, this perfect, twisted intimacy, is hers forever.
I wake up. Or rather, we do.
The ceiling is unfamiliar for a split second, but then it clicks. The faint, geometric pattern of shadows from the blinds. The smell of old takeout and clean laundry. Tyler’s bedroom. This is his room. His consciousness, a dense, unyielding weight, fills the entire space of our shared awareness. There is no room for me, Ashley, to be anything but a shiver at the edges, a silent observer encased in the amber of his will.
He sits up. The sheets are his—dark gray, practical. They fall away, and he looks down at our body. His head, with his own familiar face—the strong jaw, the stubble, his short, brown hair—turns on a neck that connects to a landscape that is not his. From the collarbones down, it is all me. Soft, full breasts, curved hips, the gentle swell of a belly. He sees only his body. A possession, whole and complete. He swings his legs—my legs—over the side of the bed and stands.
He walks to his closet and pulls out his clothes. A pair of worn boxer briefs, which he steps into. They conform perfectly. A pair of his favorite jeans. The denim simply fits, the waistband sitting low on my hips, the fabric magically accommodating the fuller curve of my backside. A plain white crewneck sweatshirt goes on next. It settles over my chest, the soft cotton draping without pulling. He runs a hand through his own hair and gives a satisfied grunt. The sound is his, that rough, gravelly noise from his own mouth.
In the kitchen, he makes coffee. He moves with his own familiar, slightly slouched confidence. To any outside eye, he is just Tyler. A guy in his sweatshirt and jeans, maybe looking a little softer than usual, but nothing to remark upon. The magic of the court’s ruling does its work seamlessly; people see Tyler, and their minds simply accept the form as his.
At the gym, he heads for the free weights. He sets up for deadlifts. His form is aggressive, practiced. The sweatshirt rides up slightly as he bends, exposing a sliver of my lower back.
"Tyler! Sup, man?"
It’s Mike. He claps Tyler on the shoulder, his gaze friendly and utterly normal. He doesn’t stare at the hips in the jeans or the chest under the sweatshirt. He sees his buddy Tyler, working out.
"Mike. Just getting after it," Tyler says, his voice that low, steady rumble.
"Looking strong," Mike says, and he means it. He doesn’t see a woman’s body. He sees Tyler lifting weight. He wanders off after a bit more chat, completely at ease.
Later, in the men’s locker room shower, Tyler strips off his sweatshirt and jeans, hanging them up. He showers in just the boxer briefs, as is his habit. The hot water soaks the thin cotton, making it cling. Men are around him, showering, talking about their weekends. No one stares. No one nudges anyone. One guy even says, "Pass the soap, Ty?" as if it’s the most normal thing in the world to see Tyler’s familiar face above the wet, clinging fabric outlining full breasts and rounded hips. He is just a guy in the shower. Tyler soaps up, washes his short hair, rinses off. He is utterly at home.
He towels off and gets dressed. His phone buzzes. A text from Emma.
Still on for tonight?
He texts back, Yeah. My place? Confirmation comes quickly.
That evening, his apartment is tidy, music playing low. He’s changed into a tight, black Henley and another pair of his perfect jeans. The Henley stretches over my breasts, the buttons at the placket pulling slightly. His face, so familiar and male, is relaxed, handsome.
When Emma arrives, she smiles warmly. "Hey, you." She steps in, giving him a quick hug. Her eyes sweep over him with clear appreciation, but it’s the appreciation of a woman looking at a man she’s attracted to. She sees Tyler. Charming, solid Tyler. The body, the clothes—they’re just part of him. There’s no confusion in her gaze, only interest.
"Hey, Em," he says, and kisses her cheek. Her perfume is sweet, familiar.
They talk easily. He is his direct, confident self. She is flirtatious, touching his arm, laughing at his jokes. Her eyes sparkle when she looks at him. She sees the man she’s had a thing for, for months. There is no puzzle to solve, no contradiction to untangle. The magic holds perfectly.
He kisses her, there in his living room. It’s a deep, confident kiss. Her hands slide up his chest, under the Henley, her palms finding the heavy, soft weight of my breasts. She moans into his mouth, her thumbs circling my nipples.
"Tyler," she breathes, the name full of desire.
He leads her to his bedroom. His bed. He pulls the Henley up and over his head. My breasts fall free, full and heavy. Emma’s gaze is hot, adoring. She pushes him back onto the bed and leans down, her mouth closing over one nipple, sucking hard. Her other hand kneads the other breast. He groans, a low, masculine sound of pleasure.
His hands go to his jeans, undoing them, pushing them and the boxer briefs down. He is completely exposed now, his face flushed with arousal above the naked female body.
Emma shifts lower, settling between my legs, her intent clear. She is going to go down on him. On Tyler. Her Tyler.
She looks down, her breath warm on my skin. And then she freezes.
Her eyes, which had been hazy with lust, sharpen. They focus. They see. Not just a body, but the specific details. The thatch of dark curls. The glistening folds. The complete, undeniable absence of any male anatomy. This is not a man’s body. This is…
Ashley’s.
The realization hits her like a physical blow, a silent thunderclap in the quiet room. Her best friend Ashley’s body. The curve of the hips she’s seen in jeans, the birthmark just inside the thigh she’s noticed at the pool. This is Ashley, laid bare beneath Tyler’s head, under Tyler’s command.
A violent, electric thrill shoots through Emma, so intense it steals her breath. Her secret, private attraction—not just to Tyler, but to Ashley too, that simmering, unacknowledged thing she’s pushed down for years—ignites into a roaring flame. Tyler has Ashley. And he has no idea. And he’s offering this to her.
She looks up at his face. His eyes are closed, his head back, waiting for her touch. He is completely oblivious. He thinks she sees him, just him.
A fierce, possessive glee tightens her chest. This is her secret. Hers alone.
She doesn’t pull away. She leans in, her heart hammering. Her mission changes. It’s no longer just about pleasing Tyler. It’s about claiming this, about exploring this impossible, stolen intimacy.
Her tongue finds my opening. It’s slick and ready. And then she pushes.
Not a lick. An entry. A deliberate, broad, stretching penetration. Her tongue spears into me, and the stretch is immediate and profound. My tight inner walls yield, parting around the relentless, wet pressure of her muscle. She feels Ashley’s body open for her, and the knowledge that it is Ashley’s makes the sensation a thousand times more potent. She holds the pressure, stretching the soft passage wide around the width of her tongue, feeling the intimate, hot clasp of her friend around her.
She pulls back and plunges in again, deeper. A raw, guttural sound tears from Tyler’s throat. "Fuck, Emma."
She works her tongue in and out, each penetration a slow, deliberate stretch, fucking Ashley open with her mouth. The wet, sucking sounds are loud. Emma is lost in a dual worship: of Tyler’s blissful ignorance above, and of Ashley’s helpless, stretched body below. The burning fullness she’s creating is her secret triumph.
She pulls back, her lips slick. "I need more of you," she pants, the truth of the statement echoing in her skull. More of Ashley. More of this.
She adds a finger, pressing the tip alongside her tongue at the stretched, slick entrance. The dual pressure is immense. She pushes them in together—the firm, probing digit and the relentless, muscular tongue.
The stretch is catastrophic, sublime. Ashley’s body arches off the bed. Emma scissors her finger slowly inside, stretching the tender, yielding flesh of her best friend even wider, while her tongue curls and presses against it from within. The burning, perfect dilation is a conquest. Tyler is chanting, "Yes, yes, give it to me," his voice a broken, masculine litany.
And Emma is silent, her secret knowledge a fire in her blood. She is stretching Ashley open in Tyler’s bed, under Tyler’s command, witnessed by Tyler’s face. Every deep, penetrating thrust of her tongue and finger is a claim staked on the tight, hot passage of the woman she’s secretly desired, a communion with the soul she knows is trapped within, soothed only by the oblivious, proud calm of the man she loves, who wears his own head on borrowed flesh, and who offers up every soft, stretched, conquered inch of what he has made, never knowing the double gift he has given her. She will never tell. This secret, this perfect, twisted intimacy, is hers forever.
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Will and Claire become close to their siblings in a very intimate sense
The morning light was harsh through the blinds, slicing across the rumpled bed. Claire blinked, her head throbbing with a dull, medicinal ache. Something warm and soft was pressed against her. She looked down.
Amy was nestled in her arms, asleep, her blond hair fanned across the pillow. Except… Claire’s arms were thickly bandaged from wrist to elbow, and the body she held was decidedly male. The firm plane of a chest, the coarse hair on a forearm. Her heart began to hammer against her ribs.
“Amy?” she whispered, her voice a dry rasp. It came out wrong. Deeper. Rougher.
The body in her arms stirred. Blue eyes, so like Will’s, fluttered open. They widened in instant, sheer panic. “Frank? What the hell? Why are you… holding me?” The voice was high, melodic. Amy’s voice. But the tone was all Will—confused, irritable, direct.
Claire—in Frank’s body—pushed herself up on her elbows. Past the tangle of Amy’s blond hair, she saw the closet mirror. The reflection showed Frank’s familiar, lean frame, his own dark hair mussed from sleep, his bandaged arms wrapped around a petite, curvy Amy. But Amy’s face was contorted in a terror that wasn’t hers.
“Will?” Claire breathed, the name feeling foreign in this new throat. “Is that you in there?”
The person in Amy’s body scrambled back, the sheets pooling around a waist that was suddenly, distressingly narrow. “Claire? What did you call me?” He—Will—looked down at himself, at the pronounced swell of his sister’s breasts beneath the thin cotton sleep shirt, and his hands flew to his throat. “That’s my… this is Amy’s voice. What is this?”
“I think… I think I’m you,” Claire said, the reality of it dawning with a sick, dizzying weight. She swung Frank’s legs—her legs—out of bed. The movement was all wrong, the center of gravity shifted, a heavy, unfamiliar weight swinging between her thighs. She ignored it, for now. “The accident. The goodbye. Don’t you remember?”
Will—in Amy—stood up shakily. He looked down at his new body, his hands hovering over the generous curves. “I remember you… you and me, in the car. Crushed. Then nothing. Then waking up here, smothered by my little brother.” He shuddered, a full-body tremor that made the new flesh quiver. “This isn’t right. This is Amy.”
“And this is Frank,” Claire said, staring at Frank’s hands—her hands—as she flexed them. “We’re in our siblings. Our spouses’ siblings.” The sheer, grotesque improbability of it threatened to swallow her. But the throbbing in her bandaged arms was real. The discharge papers on the nightstand were real.
They found them, the crisp hospital printout. Franklin Miller, contusions, lacerations. Amy Miller, contusions, mild concussion. The names were wrong, but the injuries mapped. They had been patched up and sent home, two souls crammed into the wrong, aching containers.
Wordlessly, they moved to the kitchen, the beach house silent except for the distant crash of Pacific waves. The medical instructions said to clean and re-dress the wounds. They worked in a stunned quiet, Claire clumsily winding fresh gauze around Will-Amy’s slender forearm, Will using Amy’s delicate fingers to secure the wrap on Claire-Frank’s broader bicep with a efficiency that was utterly his own.
“We need to shower,” Will said finally, his voice tight. “We’re covered in road grit and… and whatever else.”
Claire nodded. It was practical. A step. They stood in the master bathroom, a spacious tiled room with a large glass-walled shower. The silence grew thick.
“Just… get it over with,” Will muttered, not looking at her. He—in Amy’s body—peeled the sleep shirt over his head, revealing Amy’s full, pale breasts. He froze, his breath catching, his face a mask of profound disorientation. Claire watched, a strange, detached part of her noting how Will’s shock did nothing to diminish the natural, ripe beauty of the form he now wore.
Swallowing hard, Claire turned her attention to Frank’s clothes. The jeans were awkward, the button fly an unfamiliar puzzle for her fingers. She got them open, pushed them down Frank’s hips. The boxer briefs followed. And there it was.
Frank’s penis, soft and nestled in a thatch of dark hair. It was… there. A presence. A weight. She stared at it, this alien appendage that was now, technically, hers. The core of her being, Claire, recoiled. But the body she inhabited didn’t. There was a low, curious hum of sensation, a connection to the thing that was both deeply wrong and undeniably physical.
Will had stripped completely now, standing naked by the sink. He was staring into the mirror, at Amy’s face, with a kind of horrified fascination. His hands skimmed over the dramatic hourglass curve of the hips, the soft swell of the stomach. “God,” he whispered.
“Don’t,” Claire said, her new voice gruff. “Just… don’t think. Clean. That’s all.”
They stepped into the shower together, a bizarre and intimate pantomime of their old married life. The water was hot, a welcome shock. Claire let it sluice over Frank’s broad shoulders, watching as Will soaped Amy’s body with a clinical, hurried desperation. The suds slid over smooth skin, over curves that Will had only ever seen on his sister from a detached, brotherly distance. Now he was mapping them with his own, stolen hands.
Claire’s own washing was more hesitant. The soap slid over Frank’s chest, flat and hard. Down the taut stomach. Her hand, wrapped in plastic to protect the bandages, hesitated again at the groin. She had to clean it. It was just a body part. A piece of biology.
She touched it. Frank’s flaccid penis was soft, vulnerable in her grip. She washed it quickly, the soap slick, her mind screaming the wrongness of it. But as her fingers moved, a jolt went through her—through Frank’s body. A thick, gathering tension. A flood of warmth that had nothing to do with the shower. She gasped, and the thing in her hand began to change, to swell and stiffen, lengthening and thickening in a way that was utterly, overwhelmingly male.
In the mirror of her mind, she was still Claire. But the sensation… the sensation was a deep, insistent pulse, a claiming of blood and flesh that centered entirely on that stretching, hardening shaft. It felt powerful. It felt hungry.
She looked up, water streaming down Frank’s face, and met Will’s eyes. He had seen. He was staring, not at her face, but lower, at the clear, hard evidence of the body’s response. In his own new body, Amy’s body, a sympathetic flush spread across the chest and throat.
“It’s… it’s just the heat,” Claire stammered, the excuse weak even to her own ears.
Will didn’t answer. He was looking down now, at Amy’s body. At the space between her legs. His expression was one of dawning, awful comprehension. “It would… it would stretch,” he said, his voice hollow. “Wouldn’t it? If we… that would stretch this.” He didn’t elaborate. He didn’t need to. The image was there, brutal and visceral: the thick, hard length of Frank, of the penis Claire now felt twitching in her hand, pushing into the tight, small space that was now his.
The thought should have revolted him. It should have revolted her. But standing there in the steam, with the water beating down on their stolen, aching forms, it didn’t. It hummed between them, a forbidden current. A terrible, logical next step. The body Claire was in throbbed with a need that was entirely about filling a space, about the profound, physical truth of fit and stretch. And the body Will was in, for all his mental horror, seemed to soften in response, a faint, unfamiliar ache blooming low in Amy’s belly.
They finished rinsing in silence, the air crackling with things unsaid. They toweled off, avoiding each other’s eyes, avoiding looking too long at the reflections in the fogged-up glass. They were two people, stranded in the wrong skins, with the ghosts of their spouses between them and a terrifying, tantalizing new physics of flesh beckoning from the shadows of their own home.
The morning light was harsh through the blinds, slicing across the rumpled bed. Claire blinked, her head throbbing with a dull, medicinal ache. Something warm and soft was pressed against her. She looked down.
Amy was nestled in her arms, asleep, her blond hair fanned across the pillow. Except… Claire’s arms were thickly bandaged from wrist to elbow, and the body she held was decidedly male. The firm plane of a chest, the coarse hair on a forearm. Her heart began to hammer against her ribs.
“Amy?” she whispered, her voice a dry rasp. It came out wrong. Deeper. Rougher.
The body in her arms stirred. Blue eyes, so like Will’s, fluttered open. They widened in instant, sheer panic. “Frank? What the hell? Why are you… holding me?” The voice was high, melodic. Amy’s voice. But the tone was all Will—confused, irritable, direct.
Claire—in Frank’s body—pushed herself up on her elbows. Past the tangle of Amy’s blond hair, she saw the closet mirror. The reflection showed Frank’s familiar, lean frame, his own dark hair mussed from sleep, his bandaged arms wrapped around a petite, curvy Amy. But Amy’s face was contorted in a terror that wasn’t hers.
“Will?” Claire breathed, the name feeling foreign in this new throat. “Is that you in there?”
The person in Amy’s body scrambled back, the sheets pooling around a waist that was suddenly, distressingly narrow. “Claire? What did you call me?” He—Will—looked down at himself, at the pronounced swell of his sister’s breasts beneath the thin cotton sleep shirt, and his hands flew to his throat. “That’s my… this is Amy’s voice. What is this?”
“I think… I think I’m you,” Claire said, the reality of it dawning with a sick, dizzying weight. She swung Frank’s legs—her legs—out of bed. The movement was all wrong, the center of gravity shifted, a heavy, unfamiliar weight swinging between her thighs. She ignored it, for now. “The accident. The goodbye. Don’t you remember?”
Will—in Amy—stood up shakily. He looked down at his new body, his hands hovering over the generous curves. “I remember you… you and me, in the car. Crushed. Then nothing. Then waking up here, smothered by my little brother.” He shuddered, a full-body tremor that made the new flesh quiver. “This isn’t right. This is Amy.”
“And this is Frank,” Claire said, staring at Frank’s hands—her hands—as she flexed them. “We’re in our siblings. Our spouses’ siblings.” The sheer, grotesque improbability of it threatened to swallow her. But the throbbing in her bandaged arms was real. The discharge papers on the nightstand were real.
They found them, the crisp hospital printout. Franklin Miller, contusions, lacerations. Amy Miller, contusions, mild concussion. The names were wrong, but the injuries mapped. They had been patched up and sent home, two souls crammed into the wrong, aching containers.
Wordlessly, they moved to the kitchen, the beach house silent except for the distant crash of Pacific waves. The medical instructions said to clean and re-dress the wounds. They worked in a stunned quiet, Claire clumsily winding fresh gauze around Will-Amy’s slender forearm, Will using Amy’s delicate fingers to secure the wrap on Claire-Frank’s broader bicep with a efficiency that was utterly his own.
“We need to shower,” Will said finally, his voice tight. “We’re covered in road grit and… and whatever else.”
Claire nodded. It was practical. A step. They stood in the master bathroom, a spacious tiled room with a large glass-walled shower. The silence grew thick.
“Just… get it over with,” Will muttered, not looking at her. He—in Amy’s body—peeled the sleep shirt over his head, revealing Amy’s full, pale breasts. He froze, his breath catching, his face a mask of profound disorientation. Claire watched, a strange, detached part of her noting how Will’s shock did nothing to diminish the natural, ripe beauty of the form he now wore.
Swallowing hard, Claire turned her attention to Frank’s clothes. The jeans were awkward, the button fly an unfamiliar puzzle for her fingers. She got them open, pushed them down Frank’s hips. The boxer briefs followed. And there it was.
Frank’s penis, soft and nestled in a thatch of dark hair. It was… there. A presence. A weight. She stared at it, this alien appendage that was now, technically, hers. The core of her being, Claire, recoiled. But the body she inhabited didn’t. There was a low, curious hum of sensation, a connection to the thing that was both deeply wrong and undeniably physical.
Will had stripped completely now, standing naked by the sink. He was staring into the mirror, at Amy’s face, with a kind of horrified fascination. His hands skimmed over the dramatic hourglass curve of the hips, the soft swell of the stomach. “God,” he whispered.
“Don’t,” Claire said, her new voice gruff. “Just… don’t think. Clean. That’s all.”
They stepped into the shower together, a bizarre and intimate pantomime of their old married life. The water was hot, a welcome shock. Claire let it sluice over Frank’s broad shoulders, watching as Will soaped Amy’s body with a clinical, hurried desperation. The suds slid over smooth skin, over curves that Will had only ever seen on his sister from a detached, brotherly distance. Now he was mapping them with his own, stolen hands.
Claire’s own washing was more hesitant. The soap slid over Frank’s chest, flat and hard. Down the taut stomach. Her hand, wrapped in plastic to protect the bandages, hesitated again at the groin. She had to clean it. It was just a body part. A piece of biology.
She touched it. Frank’s flaccid penis was soft, vulnerable in her grip. She washed it quickly, the soap slick, her mind screaming the wrongness of it. But as her fingers moved, a jolt went through her—through Frank’s body. A thick, gathering tension. A flood of warmth that had nothing to do with the shower. She gasped, and the thing in her hand began to change, to swell and stiffen, lengthening and thickening in a way that was utterly, overwhelmingly male.
In the mirror of her mind, she was still Claire. But the sensation… the sensation was a deep, insistent pulse, a claiming of blood and flesh that centered entirely on that stretching, hardening shaft. It felt powerful. It felt hungry.
She looked up, water streaming down Frank’s face, and met Will’s eyes. He had seen. He was staring, not at her face, but lower, at the clear, hard evidence of the body’s response. In his own new body, Amy’s body, a sympathetic flush spread across the chest and throat.
“It’s… it’s just the heat,” Claire stammered, the excuse weak even to her own ears.
Will didn’t answer. He was looking down now, at Amy’s body. At the space between her legs. His expression was one of dawning, awful comprehension. “It would… it would stretch,” he said, his voice hollow. “Wouldn’t it? If we… that would stretch this.” He didn’t elaborate. He didn’t need to. The image was there, brutal and visceral: the thick, hard length of Frank, of the penis Claire now felt twitching in her hand, pushing into the tight, small space that was now his.
The thought should have revolted him. It should have revolted her. But standing there in the steam, with the water beating down on their stolen, aching forms, it didn’t. It hummed between them, a forbidden current. A terrible, logical next step. The body Claire was in throbbed with a need that was entirely about filling a space, about the profound, physical truth of fit and stretch. And the body Will was in, for all his mental horror, seemed to soften in response, a faint, unfamiliar ache blooming low in Amy’s belly.
They finished rinsing in silence, the air crackling with things unsaid. They toweled off, avoiding each other’s eyes, avoiding looking too long at the reflections in the fogged-up glass. They were two people, stranded in the wrong skins, with the ghosts of their spouses between them and a terrifying, tantalizing new physics of flesh beckoning from the shadows of their own home.
body swap
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4
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Vega's BEAUTIFUL face is destroyed by Chun Li so he replaces it.
A reimagining of 'Palette Swap' by Team Lady Valiant & FarhadTG
The final kick landed with a sickening crack. My heel connected squarely with Vega's porcelain mask, shattering it—and the bone beneath—with a sound like splintering china. He went down hard, clutching his ruined face, blood seeping between his perfect fingers. For a moment, there was only his ragged breathing and the ringing in my ears.
Then he started to laugh.
"Beautiful... so beautiful..." he gurgled through the wreckage of his jaw, his once-perfect features now a jigsaw puzzle of gore and ceramic shards. His free hand fumbled at his belt, producing a small device I recognized from Bison's labs. "But beauty... can be transferred."
"No—!" I lunged forward, but too late. He pressed the trigger.
The world exploded in white light and static. I felt myself falling, spinning, my consciousness ripping away from my body like silk tearing. When I could see again, I was looking up at the ceiling from the floor, my perspective completely wrong. Vega's hands—my hands now—rose into view. Long-fingered and pale. I touched my face and felt bandages, surgical tape, the swollen flesh beneath.
Across from me, Vega—now wearing my body—stood staring down at itself with wide, hungry eyes. He immediately grabbed the neckline of my qipao top and tore it open, exposing the breasts I'd known my whole life as if seeing them for the first time. "Exquisite," he breathed in my voice, a sound so wrong it made my stomach turn. He cupped them, his fingers—my fingers once—squeezing the weight of them with obscene fascination.
"Three days later."
The words felt surreal to even think. Three days of surgery, of recovery, of Vega preening and parading in my skin while I lay in his bed, trapped in his broken body. I shifted against silk sheets that smelled of roses and blood, trying to find a position that didn't send agony lancing through Vega's four fractured ribs—my fractured ribs now.
The bedroom door opened. Vega entered—not the Vega I'd fought, but the Vega who now wore my face and form. He'd styled my hair into his signature braid, the dark ropes hanging over one shoulder. My breasts—his breasts now—were completely exposed, moving with a bounce and weight I intimately understood but had never witnessed from this angle. His nipples, my nipples once, were hard on my former breasts and already healed into them was a matching version of Vega's serpent tattoo, coiling around his left breast.
He wore the ceremonial trousers of a matador in murrey and yellow, so tight they might have been painted on. Every curve of what had been my hips, my ass, my thighs—his now—was outlined in devastating detail. The white leggings hugged his calves, the red sash cinched his waist, and the loafers clicked softly on the marble floor. There was no shirt, no vest, no modesty whatsoever.
"How are we feeling today, my beautiful monster?" he purred in my voice, running his hands down his bare torso, fingers tracing the new tattoo. "I've been breaking in your body. The flexibility is... inspiring."
I pushed myself up on Vega's arms—my arms now—so much stronger than my own had been, but currently useless thanks to the ribs. I wore the masculine version of my Street Fighter Alpha outfit: an embroidered vest that strained across his broad shoulders, a navy unitard that did nothing to hide the evidence of my new anatomy, athletic shoes, and studded wristbands. My face was still wrapped in bandages, Napoleon's guise hiding the damage I'd inflicted.
"You're a psychopath," I rasped, his voice grating in my throat.
"I'm an artist," he corrected, striking a pose that made his—my breasts once—lift and press together. "And I've finally achieved my masterpiece. The face I was always meant to have, the body I've coveted for years. But..." He frowned, touching his bandaged visage on my body. "I still need to fix this. Your brutality marred perfection."
Despite everything, despite the pain and violation, I felt a strange heat pooling in my new groin as I watched him touch what had been my face. My old body was undeniably beautiful, even under his control. And his body... I flexed Vega's powerful thighs—my thighs now—felt the weight of different muscles, the tightness of the unitard against an erection I hadn't asked for.
His eyes—my eyes once—caught the movement. "Ah, I see my husband is adjusting. Good." He began to pace, each step deliberate, making my former hips sway. "I've been thinking, my love. About our arrangement. You gave me this gift, this perfect vessel. And I realized something." He stopped at the foot of the bed, hands on what had been my hips. "I'm in love. With you. With the fighter who broke me, who made this possible."
My breath caught. "You're insane."
"Perhaps." He smiled with my lips, then reached down and began to touch himself through the impossibly tight matador trousers. "But watch how your former body responds to the truth." One hand squeezed his breast—the weight of it filling his palm perfectly—while the other rubbed slow circles between his legs. "I've been touching myself constantly, wife. Learning every secret you kept hidden. Did you know you could get this wet?"
He turned, presenting the profile of my former body, and I watched in horrified fascination as his fingers worked faster. The trousers were so tight I could see the outline of his hand, the way the fabric pulled and strained. He was getting wet—I could smell it, that familiar scent from a foreign source, and the dark patch spreading across the murrey fabric.
"Vega, stop—" I protested, but my new voice was weak.
"Why? This is as much yours as mine now." He approached the bed, leaning over my new crotch, my former breasts—his breasts now—swaying. "Let me show you what I've learned as your wife."
His hands moved to my unitard, and before I could protest, he tore the reinforced fabric between my legs with shocking ease. Vega's cock sprang free, already hard and throbbing. I gasped at the sensation—so different, so urgent.
"Beautiful," he whispered, taking it in my former hands. "Just like the rest of your husband."
Then he leaned forward and pressed my erection between his breasts—the breasts I'd once soaped in the shower, the breasts that had fit into specific sports bras, the breasts that were now his to wield as mother to my fatherhood. The sensation was overwhelming. He squeezed them together, creating a channel of soft, yielding flesh, and began to move.
"Watch," he commanded in my voice, looking down at me with my own dark eyes—his eyes now. "Watch what you made of your wife."
He worked faster, the gold rings in his nipples glinting, his braid swinging with each motion. The pleasure built in this unfamiliar body, coiling tighter and tighter. When he lowered his mouth to the tip and took me—Vega—between my own lips—his lips now—I couldn't hold back.
The orgasm ripped through me, a different kind of explosion than any kick or punch. He swallowed, his throat working in a way I'd never felt, then released me with a satisfied smile. Vega's cock—my cock now—still twitched, half-hard and sensitive.
"There," he purred, wiping his mouth with the back of my former hand. "Now we understand each other, husband."
I was panting, each breath sending pain through Vega's ribs—my ribs now. "More," I managed, hips still twitching with aftershocks. "I want..."
"Shhh." He leaned close, my former breasts—his breasts now—pressing against the vest covering his old chest. "Your body is still healing. I had to have extensive reconstructive surgery on your face, you know. These ribs need time." He whispered in my ear, his breath hot against skin that was his but now mine: "We have all the time in the world, my love. When you're whole again, your wife will take you so much further."
He kissed the bandages covering Vega's ruined features—my ruined features now—then rose from the bed, adjusting his trousers with a satisfied smile. My body left the room with his swagger, the door clicking shut behind him.
I collapsed back against the pillows, remembering as Vega removed his breasts from my half-hard penis, the wetness left behind cooling in the air. My mind reeled with the obscene intimacy of what we'd just done. Three days in, and I was already lost, already thinking of this monster in my skin as "my wife." How many more until I didn't want to find my way back?
A reimagining of 'Palette Swap' by Team Lady Valiant & FarhadTG
The final kick landed with a sickening crack. My heel connected squarely with Vega's porcelain mask, shattering it—and the bone beneath—with a sound like splintering china. He went down hard, clutching his ruined face, blood seeping between his perfect fingers. For a moment, there was only his ragged breathing and the ringing in my ears.
Then he started to laugh.
"Beautiful... so beautiful..." he gurgled through the wreckage of his jaw, his once-perfect features now a jigsaw puzzle of gore and ceramic shards. His free hand fumbled at his belt, producing a small device I recognized from Bison's labs. "But beauty... can be transferred."
"No—!" I lunged forward, but too late. He pressed the trigger.
The world exploded in white light and static. I felt myself falling, spinning, my consciousness ripping away from my body like silk tearing. When I could see again, I was looking up at the ceiling from the floor, my perspective completely wrong. Vega's hands—my hands now—rose into view. Long-fingered and pale. I touched my face and felt bandages, surgical tape, the swollen flesh beneath.
Across from me, Vega—now wearing my body—stood staring down at itself with wide, hungry eyes. He immediately grabbed the neckline of my qipao top and tore it open, exposing the breasts I'd known my whole life as if seeing them for the first time. "Exquisite," he breathed in my voice, a sound so wrong it made my stomach turn. He cupped them, his fingers—my fingers once—squeezing the weight of them with obscene fascination.
"Three days later."
The words felt surreal to even think. Three days of surgery, of recovery, of Vega preening and parading in my skin while I lay in his bed, trapped in his broken body. I shifted against silk sheets that smelled of roses and blood, trying to find a position that didn't send agony lancing through Vega's four fractured ribs—my fractured ribs now.
The bedroom door opened. Vega entered—not the Vega I'd fought, but the Vega who now wore my face and form. He'd styled my hair into his signature braid, the dark ropes hanging over one shoulder. My breasts—his breasts now—were completely exposed, moving with a bounce and weight I intimately understood but had never witnessed from this angle. His nipples, my nipples once, were hard on my former breasts and already healed into them was a matching version of Vega's serpent tattoo, coiling around his left breast.
He wore the ceremonial trousers of a matador in murrey and yellow, so tight they might have been painted on. Every curve of what had been my hips, my ass, my thighs—his now—was outlined in devastating detail. The white leggings hugged his calves, the red sash cinched his waist, and the loafers clicked softly on the marble floor. There was no shirt, no vest, no modesty whatsoever.
"How are we feeling today, my beautiful monster?" he purred in my voice, running his hands down his bare torso, fingers tracing the new tattoo. "I've been breaking in your body. The flexibility is... inspiring."
I pushed myself up on Vega's arms—my arms now—so much stronger than my own had been, but currently useless thanks to the ribs. I wore the masculine version of my Street Fighter Alpha outfit: an embroidered vest that strained across his broad shoulders, a navy unitard that did nothing to hide the evidence of my new anatomy, athletic shoes, and studded wristbands. My face was still wrapped in bandages, Napoleon's guise hiding the damage I'd inflicted.
"You're a psychopath," I rasped, his voice grating in my throat.
"I'm an artist," he corrected, striking a pose that made his—my breasts once—lift and press together. "And I've finally achieved my masterpiece. The face I was always meant to have, the body I've coveted for years. But..." He frowned, touching his bandaged visage on my body. "I still need to fix this. Your brutality marred perfection."
Despite everything, despite the pain and violation, I felt a strange heat pooling in my new groin as I watched him touch what had been my face. My old body was undeniably beautiful, even under his control. And his body... I flexed Vega's powerful thighs—my thighs now—felt the weight of different muscles, the tightness of the unitard against an erection I hadn't asked for.
His eyes—my eyes once—caught the movement. "Ah, I see my husband is adjusting. Good." He began to pace, each step deliberate, making my former hips sway. "I've been thinking, my love. About our arrangement. You gave me this gift, this perfect vessel. And I realized something." He stopped at the foot of the bed, hands on what had been my hips. "I'm in love. With you. With the fighter who broke me, who made this possible."
My breath caught. "You're insane."
"Perhaps." He smiled with my lips, then reached down and began to touch himself through the impossibly tight matador trousers. "But watch how your former body responds to the truth." One hand squeezed his breast—the weight of it filling his palm perfectly—while the other rubbed slow circles between his legs. "I've been touching myself constantly, wife. Learning every secret you kept hidden. Did you know you could get this wet?"
He turned, presenting the profile of my former body, and I watched in horrified fascination as his fingers worked faster. The trousers were so tight I could see the outline of his hand, the way the fabric pulled and strained. He was getting wet—I could smell it, that familiar scent from a foreign source, and the dark patch spreading across the murrey fabric.
"Vega, stop—" I protested, but my new voice was weak.
"Why? This is as much yours as mine now." He approached the bed, leaning over my new crotch, my former breasts—his breasts now—swaying. "Let me show you what I've learned as your wife."
His hands moved to my unitard, and before I could protest, he tore the reinforced fabric between my legs with shocking ease. Vega's cock sprang free, already hard and throbbing. I gasped at the sensation—so different, so urgent.
"Beautiful," he whispered, taking it in my former hands. "Just like the rest of your husband."
Then he leaned forward and pressed my erection between his breasts—the breasts I'd once soaped in the shower, the breasts that had fit into specific sports bras, the breasts that were now his to wield as mother to my fatherhood. The sensation was overwhelming. He squeezed them together, creating a channel of soft, yielding flesh, and began to move.
"Watch," he commanded in my voice, looking down at me with my own dark eyes—his eyes now. "Watch what you made of your wife."
He worked faster, the gold rings in his nipples glinting, his braid swinging with each motion. The pleasure built in this unfamiliar body, coiling tighter and tighter. When he lowered his mouth to the tip and took me—Vega—between my own lips—his lips now—I couldn't hold back.
The orgasm ripped through me, a different kind of explosion than any kick or punch. He swallowed, his throat working in a way I'd never felt, then released me with a satisfied smile. Vega's cock—my cock now—still twitched, half-hard and sensitive.
"There," he purred, wiping his mouth with the back of my former hand. "Now we understand each other, husband."
I was panting, each breath sending pain through Vega's ribs—my ribs now. "More," I managed, hips still twitching with aftershocks. "I want..."
"Shhh." He leaned close, my former breasts—his breasts now—pressing against the vest covering his old chest. "Your body is still healing. I had to have extensive reconstructive surgery on your face, you know. These ribs need time." He whispered in my ear, his breath hot against skin that was his but now mine: "We have all the time in the world, my love. When you're whole again, your wife will take you so much further."
He kissed the bandages covering Vega's ruined features—my ruined features now—then rose from the bed, adjusting his trousers with a satisfied smile. My body left the room with his swagger, the door clicking shut behind him.
I collapsed back against the pillows, remembering as Vega removed his breasts from my half-hard penis, the wetness left behind cooling in the air. My mind reeled with the obscene intimacy of what we'd just done. Three days in, and I was already lost, already thinking of this monster in my skin as "my wife." How many more until I didn't want to find my way back?
body swap
+2 more
3
4.0K
443
0
0
A witch is invited to a college party and offers a special game of Beer Pong. It is a very special version of hooking up.
The silence in the room was thick enough to chew. All eyes were locked on Keisha and the impossible sight of Tai’s arms buried deep within her. Her face was a mask of pure, unadulterated fury, her body trembling not with fear, but with volcanic rage.
“Maybe I can dig it out with my other hand?” Tai offered, his voice muffled and strained from inside her.
“TAI! DON’T YOU DA—” Keisha’s command was obliterated by a guttural, choking scream as his second hand plunged in after the first, the tight ring of muscle at her entrance stretching with an audible, wet sssskkkrtch to accommodate the double intrusion. Inside, the sensation was beyond anything she could have conceived. It wasn't just a presence; it was a colonizing force. She could feel the precise shape of his fingers, the rough texture of his palms as they brushed against her most intimate internal walls, exploring, mapping her from the inside out. A hot, full pressure began to build deep in her core, a feeling of being packed, filled beyond her limits.
“Vivian,” Keisha hissed, her voice dripping with venom, every word a struggle. “There is currently a Korean man wedged shoulder deep in my anal cavity. Would you PLEASE do something about it before he explodes out through my stomach?”
Vivian’s eyes lit up with demonic glee. “Oooh, do something about it?! I thought you’d never ask!” She practically skipped behind Keisha, placing her small foot squarely on the small of Tai’s back, the only part of him still visible.
The kick wasn’t forceful, but it was decisive. With a sound like a giant cork being pulled from a bottle of thick oil, followed by a deep, resonant FWUMP, Tai’s torso was suddenly propelled inward. Keisha’s eyes shot wide, then instantly rolled back into her head, a strangled grunt the only protest she could muster as her body accepted the violation. Her glorious, sculpted ass cheeks quivered violently before clapping together with a final, wet smack, sealing Tai completely inside her. For a moment, she stood there, stunned, her body humming with the shock of the intrusion.
Then, the real transformation began.
A distinct bulge, the unmistakable outline of a man’s face, pushed against the tight, toned skin of her lower abdomen. Keisha looked down, her horror reflected in the faces of the onlookers. “Wha— what is that?” she gasped, her hands flying to the protrusion. As she touched it, the face within seemed to smile, stretching her skin grotesquely.
The rest of Tai followed in a relentless, internal avalanche. She felt him bundling into her stomach, a tangle of limbs and mass forcing her midsection to distend outward. Her flat, hard-won abs disappeared, replaced by a bloated, pregnant dome that strained her skin. Inside, it was a maelstrom. Tai, disoriented and panicked, began to thrash. His knees jerked, and Keisha’s legs buckled involuntarily. His elbows flailed, and her arms spasmed at her sides. She stumbled, a marionette with a frantic puppeteer trapped inside her, emitting a series of choked yelps and moans with every involuntary movement.
“You said you were going to help!” Keisha accused Vivian, her voice wavering as she struggled to remain upright.
Vivian just blinked. “I did help you. Is he still stuck?”
Keisha’s mental struggle was a silent scream in a dissolving prison. My body! This is MY body! she thought, a mantra of defiance. But with every thrash, Tai’s consciousness seeped into her nerves, his confusion and panic becoming her own. She felt his legs, strong and muscular, sliding into the length of her own. It was a horrifying, stretching sensation, like her bones were being remolded. Her thighs, already powerful, gained a new, thicker solidity. Her calves tightened. And then, with a final, psychic click, control of her legs was severed from her brain and handed over to his. He was in charge of moving them now.
The loss of autonomy was more terrifying than the physical invasion. She tried to command her legs to step forward, but they remained rooted. Instead, Tai, blindly seeking leverage, forced them to collapse.
She fell backward, her enormous new ass—now the seat of his consciousness—thudding onto the carpet with a jiggle that sent a shockwave through her frame. The impact seemed to energize him. Using the new-found anchor of her lower body, he began to push upward, trying to climb out of the fleshy well of her torso.
Keisha’s upper body was dragged across the floor, her back arching, her head lolling. She was a passenger, forced to feel every graze of the carpet, every powerful, uncoordinated jerk. Next, his arms slipped into hers. The feeling was one of overwhelming fullness; her biceps and forearms thickened, gaining a lean, wiry strength that was entirely his. Her hands, once her own, now felt alien, their movements his impulses.
The final assault was on her head. The bulging face in her stomach began its ascent, tunneling up through her organs, a relentless pressure moving up her diaphragm, between her lungs, pushing her breasts aside. She could feel the shape of his nose, his lips, his brow ridge moving up through her core. Her neck distended, a grotesque balloon animal version of itself as his head forced its way into the column. She arched her back, a final, desperate attempt to keep her own head above the rising tide of him, her eyes locking with Vivian’s in a final promise of vengeance.
“Remember, bitch. I WILL get you back for this.”
It was her last coherent thought. His skull pressed up against the base of her own, and with a final, full-body spasm that was entirely his doing, he merged. It was like a key turning in a lock. Her consciousness didn’t vanish; it was simply… submerged, pushed into a tiny, dark corner of her own mind. She was aware, but she was no longer in control. She could only watch, a ghost in her own machine, as her eyes—his eyes now—snapped open.
“Holy shit, was that a ride!” The voice that came from her mouth was Tai’s—his cadence, his excited pitch—but filtered through Keisha’s softer vocal cords, creating a strange, androgynous sound. He sat up, using her hands to grab a fistful of her own wispy raven hair, his amazement palpable. “Thank god I landed on this bean bag when I fell though, I’d hate to damage the goods before I got to sample them!” He chuckled, patting the generous curve of her ass beneath him.
From the corner, Danny, still lounging on the actual beanbag, piped up. “But dude, I’m on the bean bag! You didn’t land on anything bro. That’s just Keisha’s…”
A look of dawning, ecstatic comprehension spread across Keisha’s features—Tai’s expressions now. “OH SWEET MOSES!” he exclaimed, the voice a perfect blend of his shock and her tone. He scrambled to his feet—her feet—with an agility that was all his. His hands, her hands, flew to the monumental cheeks he’d just been sitting on, groping and kneading the flesh with ravenous disbelief.
The sensation was double-layered: Tai’s euphoric discovery and, buried deep within, Keisha’s mortified, screaming silence as she felt her own hands violating her in ways she never had. He shook his—their—hips, watching in a nearby reflective surface as the jiggle propagated in a wave of mesmerizing motion.
“Is this what she feels ALL THE TIME!” he whooped, his laughter echoing in the silent, stunned room. Inside, Keisha fought, a desperate mental push against a wall of overwhelming control. She tried to scream, to regain a muscle, but was pulled into Tai. She was no longer separate but now a part of Tai. Her body was no longer hers. It was now Taisha’s. And Taisha was thrilled.
The silence in the room was thick enough to chew. All eyes were locked on Keisha and the impossible sight of Tai’s arms buried deep within her. Her face was a mask of pure, unadulterated fury, her body trembling not with fear, but with volcanic rage.
“Maybe I can dig it out with my other hand?” Tai offered, his voice muffled and strained from inside her.
“TAI! DON’T YOU DA—” Keisha’s command was obliterated by a guttural, choking scream as his second hand plunged in after the first, the tight ring of muscle at her entrance stretching with an audible, wet sssskkkrtch to accommodate the double intrusion. Inside, the sensation was beyond anything she could have conceived. It wasn't just a presence; it was a colonizing force. She could feel the precise shape of his fingers, the rough texture of his palms as they brushed against her most intimate internal walls, exploring, mapping her from the inside out. A hot, full pressure began to build deep in her core, a feeling of being packed, filled beyond her limits.
“Vivian,” Keisha hissed, her voice dripping with venom, every word a struggle. “There is currently a Korean man wedged shoulder deep in my anal cavity. Would you PLEASE do something about it before he explodes out through my stomach?”
Vivian’s eyes lit up with demonic glee. “Oooh, do something about it?! I thought you’d never ask!” She practically skipped behind Keisha, placing her small foot squarely on the small of Tai’s back, the only part of him still visible.
The kick wasn’t forceful, but it was decisive. With a sound like a giant cork being pulled from a bottle of thick oil, followed by a deep, resonant FWUMP, Tai’s torso was suddenly propelled inward. Keisha’s eyes shot wide, then instantly rolled back into her head, a strangled grunt the only protest she could muster as her body accepted the violation. Her glorious, sculpted ass cheeks quivered violently before clapping together with a final, wet smack, sealing Tai completely inside her. For a moment, she stood there, stunned, her body humming with the shock of the intrusion.
Then, the real transformation began.
A distinct bulge, the unmistakable outline of a man’s face, pushed against the tight, toned skin of her lower abdomen. Keisha looked down, her horror reflected in the faces of the onlookers. “Wha— what is that?” she gasped, her hands flying to the protrusion. As she touched it, the face within seemed to smile, stretching her skin grotesquely.
The rest of Tai followed in a relentless, internal avalanche. She felt him bundling into her stomach, a tangle of limbs and mass forcing her midsection to distend outward. Her flat, hard-won abs disappeared, replaced by a bloated, pregnant dome that strained her skin. Inside, it was a maelstrom. Tai, disoriented and panicked, began to thrash. His knees jerked, and Keisha’s legs buckled involuntarily. His elbows flailed, and her arms spasmed at her sides. She stumbled, a marionette with a frantic puppeteer trapped inside her, emitting a series of choked yelps and moans with every involuntary movement.
“You said you were going to help!” Keisha accused Vivian, her voice wavering as she struggled to remain upright.
Vivian just blinked. “I did help you. Is he still stuck?”
Keisha’s mental struggle was a silent scream in a dissolving prison. My body! This is MY body! she thought, a mantra of defiance. But with every thrash, Tai’s consciousness seeped into her nerves, his confusion and panic becoming her own. She felt his legs, strong and muscular, sliding into the length of her own. It was a horrifying, stretching sensation, like her bones were being remolded. Her thighs, already powerful, gained a new, thicker solidity. Her calves tightened. And then, with a final, psychic click, control of her legs was severed from her brain and handed over to his. He was in charge of moving them now.
The loss of autonomy was more terrifying than the physical invasion. She tried to command her legs to step forward, but they remained rooted. Instead, Tai, blindly seeking leverage, forced them to collapse.
She fell backward, her enormous new ass—now the seat of his consciousness—thudding onto the carpet with a jiggle that sent a shockwave through her frame. The impact seemed to energize him. Using the new-found anchor of her lower body, he began to push upward, trying to climb out of the fleshy well of her torso.
Keisha’s upper body was dragged across the floor, her back arching, her head lolling. She was a passenger, forced to feel every graze of the carpet, every powerful, uncoordinated jerk. Next, his arms slipped into hers. The feeling was one of overwhelming fullness; her biceps and forearms thickened, gaining a lean, wiry strength that was entirely his. Her hands, once her own, now felt alien, their movements his impulses.
The final assault was on her head. The bulging face in her stomach began its ascent, tunneling up through her organs, a relentless pressure moving up her diaphragm, between her lungs, pushing her breasts aside. She could feel the shape of his nose, his lips, his brow ridge moving up through her core. Her neck distended, a grotesque balloon animal version of itself as his head forced its way into the column. She arched her back, a final, desperate attempt to keep her own head above the rising tide of him, her eyes locking with Vivian’s in a final promise of vengeance.
“Remember, bitch. I WILL get you back for this.”
It was her last coherent thought. His skull pressed up against the base of her own, and with a final, full-body spasm that was entirely his doing, he merged. It was like a key turning in a lock. Her consciousness didn’t vanish; it was simply… submerged, pushed into a tiny, dark corner of her own mind. She was aware, but she was no longer in control. She could only watch, a ghost in her own machine, as her eyes—his eyes now—snapped open.
“Holy shit, was that a ride!” The voice that came from her mouth was Tai’s—his cadence, his excited pitch—but filtered through Keisha’s softer vocal cords, creating a strange, androgynous sound. He sat up, using her hands to grab a fistful of her own wispy raven hair, his amazement palpable. “Thank god I landed on this bean bag when I fell though, I’d hate to damage the goods before I got to sample them!” He chuckled, patting the generous curve of her ass beneath him.
From the corner, Danny, still lounging on the actual beanbag, piped up. “But dude, I’m on the bean bag! You didn’t land on anything bro. That’s just Keisha’s…”
A look of dawning, ecstatic comprehension spread across Keisha’s features—Tai’s expressions now. “OH SWEET MOSES!” he exclaimed, the voice a perfect blend of his shock and her tone. He scrambled to his feet—her feet—with an agility that was all his. His hands, her hands, flew to the monumental cheeks he’d just been sitting on, groping and kneading the flesh with ravenous disbelief.
The sensation was double-layered: Tai’s euphoric discovery and, buried deep within, Keisha’s mortified, screaming silence as she felt her own hands violating her in ways she never had. He shook his—their—hips, watching in a nearby reflective surface as the jiggle propagated in a wave of mesmerizing motion.
“Is this what she feels ALL THE TIME!” he whooped, his laughter echoing in the silent, stunned room. Inside, Keisha fought, a desperate mental push against a wall of overwhelming control. She tried to scream, to regain a muscle, but was pulled into Tai. She was no longer separate but now a part of Tai. Her body was no longer hers. It was now Taisha’s. And Taisha was thrilled.
possession
+7 more
6
8.5K
787
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Stacey and her team are chosen to fight an alien invasion
It all started during what should’ve been just another grueling practice session under the sweltering Texas sun. Sweat stung my eyes, and my muscles screamed in protest with every high kick and flip. I was Stacey Robinson, head cheerleader of the Northwood Wildcats, and we were running the pyramid sequence for what felt like the hundredth time.
That’s when the sky tore open.
Not with a crack of thunder, but with a soft, shimmering hum. A light, gentle as a sunbeam, descended, and out stepped a figure that looked less like an alien invader and more like a yoga instructor from a high-end spa. He was tall, slender, with skin that shimmered like mother-of-pearl and eyes the color of a calm sea. He introduced himself as Nagai, an emissary from a distant star.
“Stacey Robinson,” he said, his voice like a melody. “Your world is in grave, albeit peculiar, danger.”
We all just stared, too shocked to even drop our pom-poms.
He explained that an ancient cosmic ruler, a being of immense vanity and twisted ideals, was approaching Earth. Her name was Queen Adiposa, and her goal was to impose her own standard of beauty upon the universe: to make fat not just acceptable, but the only form of beauty, eradicating all others. Her method? A wave of transformative energy, preceded by an army of minions who looked… well, like unnaturally enthusiastic Planet Fitness trainers in their purple and yellow uniforms, forever chanting about “no judgement.”
“Your spirit, your power, your unity,” Nagai said, his gaze sweeping over my team—Chloe, Hannah, Zoe, Maya, and Brianna. “You six are the only ones who can stop her. You will become my champions. The Supersonic Pussy Rangers.”
We glanced at each other. The name was ridiculous. The situation was insane. But the look in Nagai’s eyes was dead serious.
A wave of his hand, and a flash of light enveloped us. I felt a surge of power, a buzzing energy that settled deep in my core. When the light faded, we were all clad in skintight suits. Mine was a vibrant, commanding red. Chloe got pink, Hannah yellow, Zoe a deep purple, and Maya a cool aqua. And then there was Brianna.
Brianna, already the bustiest of us by a mile, was… naked. But not just naked. Her suit was a shimmering, barely-there layer of light that did nothing to conceal her incredible figure. Nagai hadn’t been kidding about the name. Her breasts were so magnificently large, so breathtakingly full, they truly looked like they could swallow a person’s head whole.
“Your power will manifest when you face your enemy,” Nagai said, just as the ground shook.
Our first monster arrived. It was a hulking beast made of what looked like lumpy, pink flesh, with a single massive eye and a microphone headset. It was flanked by a dozen of those smiling, clapping Planet Fitness minions. “Let’s get this party started! No lunkheads, just gains!” one of them chirped.
We fought. It was chaos. We moved with a speed and strength we never knew we had, our colored suits leaving streaks of light in the air. We kicked and punched, our movements synchronized from years of practice, now amplified into something superhuman. We finally took the monster down with a combined energy blast.
But it wasn’t over. The fallen monster began to glow, its body reassembling and swelling, growing taller and taller until it loomed over the school, a five-story tall abomination of jiggling fat and distorted fitness enthusiasm.
“Now, Stacey!” Nagai’s voice echoed in my mind. “It is time!”
A belt of gleaming silver and red, engraved with strange symbols, appeared in his hands. He tossed it to me. I caught it, and without thinking, I slapped it around my waist. A click, a hum, and then… silence.
The world froze. The monster was a statue mid-roar. The minions were frozen in their mindless clapping. My team hovered in the air around me, their eyes glazed over, caught in Nagai’s powerful stasis.
I was lifted into the air. Chloe (Pink) and Zoe (Purple) floated toward me in a dreamlike daze. My legs, guided by an unseen force, slipped into their open mouths. I felt no resistance, only a warm, incredible pressure as my feet slid down, down, coming to rest deep within their stomachs. It was the strangest, most intimate sensation I’d ever felt.
Next, Hannah (Yellow) and Maya (Aqua) drifted over. My arms entered them, sinking into their bodies through their backsides up to just below my elbows. Their legs unwound themselves and wrapped tightly around my torso, locking into place. I could feel the muscles in their thighs tense against my sides.
Finally, Brianna—Naked—floated toward my chest. She pressed against me, her incredible softness moulding to my form. She wrapped her arms and legs around my own, locking us together, and then let her head fall forward, completely vanishing between the immense, soft pillows of her own breasts, pressed firmly against my chest.
I dropped back to the ground, the impact jolting through me. I could feel Brianna’s body on my front, her breasts bouncing with the landing. I tentatively tried to move.
I thought, step forward.
The movement came, but it wasn’t just my leg. It was Chloe’s and then Zoe’s legs moving in perfect unison with me, their bodies moving as extensions of my own. I was controlling them. I was them. I lifted my arms, and saw Hannah and Maya’s arms mirror the movement perfectly.
“This is your Megazord form,” Nagai’s voice explained, sound returning to my private bubble of time. “You are the core. You command their bodies as your own limbs. They will remember none of this. To release them, you must defeat the enemy. When it is weakened, you must yell ‘FINISHER!’.”
I practiced. A step became a mighty stomp from four powerful legs. A punch became a devastating blow from four clenched fists. The power was dizzying. I felt the distinct sensations from each of my teammates—the sleek strength of Chloe, the flexible power of Zoe, the explosive energy of Hannah, the steady grace of Maya, and the overwhelming, soft warmth of Brianna pressed against me.
“Now, Stacey,” Nagai said. “Finish it.”
Time slammed back into motion with a roar.
The giant monster swung a fist the size of a car at me. I—we—blocked it with a forearm, the impact resonating through our combined bodies. We fought, a giantess of flesh and power against a monster of fat. We were faster, stronger, unified. With a series of powerful blows, we weakened it, until it staggered, dizzy and disoriented.
Now.
I took a deep breath, the motion causing Brianna’s chest to rise and fall against mine.
“FINISHER!” I yelled, my voice echoing with the combined power of six girls.
We leaped, a phenomenal jump that carried our combined form high into the air. We twisted, aiming ourselves downward. The monster looked up, its single eye wide with confusion.
We came down on its head, not on its body.
We landed perfectly, with the soft, warm heart of our formation—Brianna—coming to rest directly over the monster’s head. It let out a muffled, gurgled roar, its head completely smothered, suffocated between the immense, world-encompassing softness of her vagina. It struggled for a moment, then fell still, beginning to dissolve into harmless pink mist.
The belt on my waist clicked. The world dissolved in another flash of light, and I was standing alone, back in my red ranger suit. My team stood around me, blinking, stretching.
“Whoa, did we do it?” Chloe asked, looking at the fading pink mist. “I blacked out for a second there. What a rush!”
They remembered nothing. But I remembered everything. The feeling of their bodies as my own. The incredible, intimate power.
And I knew, with a thrilling certainty that shot right through me, that this was only the beginning. Queen Adiposa would send more monsters. And each time, we would combine. Each time, I would feel that connection, that control.
And each time, I would make my teammates more… mine.
It all started during what should’ve been just another grueling practice session under the sweltering Texas sun. Sweat stung my eyes, and my muscles screamed in protest with every high kick and flip. I was Stacey Robinson, head cheerleader of the Northwood Wildcats, and we were running the pyramid sequence for what felt like the hundredth time.
That’s when the sky tore open.
Not with a crack of thunder, but with a soft, shimmering hum. A light, gentle as a sunbeam, descended, and out stepped a figure that looked less like an alien invader and more like a yoga instructor from a high-end spa. He was tall, slender, with skin that shimmered like mother-of-pearl and eyes the color of a calm sea. He introduced himself as Nagai, an emissary from a distant star.
“Stacey Robinson,” he said, his voice like a melody. “Your world is in grave, albeit peculiar, danger.”
We all just stared, too shocked to even drop our pom-poms.
He explained that an ancient cosmic ruler, a being of immense vanity and twisted ideals, was approaching Earth. Her name was Queen Adiposa, and her goal was to impose her own standard of beauty upon the universe: to make fat not just acceptable, but the only form of beauty, eradicating all others. Her method? A wave of transformative energy, preceded by an army of minions who looked… well, like unnaturally enthusiastic Planet Fitness trainers in their purple and yellow uniforms, forever chanting about “no judgement.”
“Your spirit, your power, your unity,” Nagai said, his gaze sweeping over my team—Chloe, Hannah, Zoe, Maya, and Brianna. “You six are the only ones who can stop her. You will become my champions. The Supersonic Pussy Rangers.”
We glanced at each other. The name was ridiculous. The situation was insane. But the look in Nagai’s eyes was dead serious.
A wave of his hand, and a flash of light enveloped us. I felt a surge of power, a buzzing energy that settled deep in my core. When the light faded, we were all clad in skintight suits. Mine was a vibrant, commanding red. Chloe got pink, Hannah yellow, Zoe a deep purple, and Maya a cool aqua. And then there was Brianna.
Brianna, already the bustiest of us by a mile, was… naked. But not just naked. Her suit was a shimmering, barely-there layer of light that did nothing to conceal her incredible figure. Nagai hadn’t been kidding about the name. Her breasts were so magnificently large, so breathtakingly full, they truly looked like they could swallow a person’s head whole.
“Your power will manifest when you face your enemy,” Nagai said, just as the ground shook.
Our first monster arrived. It was a hulking beast made of what looked like lumpy, pink flesh, with a single massive eye and a microphone headset. It was flanked by a dozen of those smiling, clapping Planet Fitness minions. “Let’s get this party started! No lunkheads, just gains!” one of them chirped.
We fought. It was chaos. We moved with a speed and strength we never knew we had, our colored suits leaving streaks of light in the air. We kicked and punched, our movements synchronized from years of practice, now amplified into something superhuman. We finally took the monster down with a combined energy blast.
But it wasn’t over. The fallen monster began to glow, its body reassembling and swelling, growing taller and taller until it loomed over the school, a five-story tall abomination of jiggling fat and distorted fitness enthusiasm.
“Now, Stacey!” Nagai’s voice echoed in my mind. “It is time!”
A belt of gleaming silver and red, engraved with strange symbols, appeared in his hands. He tossed it to me. I caught it, and without thinking, I slapped it around my waist. A click, a hum, and then… silence.
The world froze. The monster was a statue mid-roar. The minions were frozen in their mindless clapping. My team hovered in the air around me, their eyes glazed over, caught in Nagai’s powerful stasis.
I was lifted into the air. Chloe (Pink) and Zoe (Purple) floated toward me in a dreamlike daze. My legs, guided by an unseen force, slipped into their open mouths. I felt no resistance, only a warm, incredible pressure as my feet slid down, down, coming to rest deep within their stomachs. It was the strangest, most intimate sensation I’d ever felt.
Next, Hannah (Yellow) and Maya (Aqua) drifted over. My arms entered them, sinking into their bodies through their backsides up to just below my elbows. Their legs unwound themselves and wrapped tightly around my torso, locking into place. I could feel the muscles in their thighs tense against my sides.
Finally, Brianna—Naked—floated toward my chest. She pressed against me, her incredible softness moulding to my form. She wrapped her arms and legs around my own, locking us together, and then let her head fall forward, completely vanishing between the immense, soft pillows of her own breasts, pressed firmly against my chest.
I dropped back to the ground, the impact jolting through me. I could feel Brianna’s body on my front, her breasts bouncing with the landing. I tentatively tried to move.
I thought, step forward.
The movement came, but it wasn’t just my leg. It was Chloe’s and then Zoe’s legs moving in perfect unison with me, their bodies moving as extensions of my own. I was controlling them. I was them. I lifted my arms, and saw Hannah and Maya’s arms mirror the movement perfectly.
“This is your Megazord form,” Nagai’s voice explained, sound returning to my private bubble of time. “You are the core. You command their bodies as your own limbs. They will remember none of this. To release them, you must defeat the enemy. When it is weakened, you must yell ‘FINISHER!’.”
I practiced. A step became a mighty stomp from four powerful legs. A punch became a devastating blow from four clenched fists. The power was dizzying. I felt the distinct sensations from each of my teammates—the sleek strength of Chloe, the flexible power of Zoe, the explosive energy of Hannah, the steady grace of Maya, and the overwhelming, soft warmth of Brianna pressed against me.
“Now, Stacey,” Nagai said. “Finish it.”
Time slammed back into motion with a roar.
The giant monster swung a fist the size of a car at me. I—we—blocked it with a forearm, the impact resonating through our combined bodies. We fought, a giantess of flesh and power against a monster of fat. We were faster, stronger, unified. With a series of powerful blows, we weakened it, until it staggered, dizzy and disoriented.
Now.
I took a deep breath, the motion causing Brianna’s chest to rise and fall against mine.
“FINISHER!” I yelled, my voice echoing with the combined power of six girls.
We leaped, a phenomenal jump that carried our combined form high into the air. We twisted, aiming ourselves downward. The monster looked up, its single eye wide with confusion.
We came down on its head, not on its body.
We landed perfectly, with the soft, warm heart of our formation—Brianna—coming to rest directly over the monster’s head. It let out a muffled, gurgled roar, its head completely smothered, suffocated between the immense, world-encompassing softness of her vagina. It struggled for a moment, then fell still, beginning to dissolve into harmless pink mist.
The belt on my waist clicked. The world dissolved in another flash of light, and I was standing alone, back in my red ranger suit. My team stood around me, blinking, stretching.
“Whoa, did we do it?” Chloe asked, looking at the fading pink mist. “I blacked out for a second there. What a rush!”
They remembered nothing. But I remembered everything. The feeling of their bodies as my own. The incredible, intimate power.
And I knew, with a thrilling certainty that shot right through me, that this was only the beginning. Queen Adiposa would send more monsters. And each time, we would combine. Each time, I would feel that connection, that control.
And each time, I would make my teammates more… mine.
mind control
+8 more
17
15.8K
1729
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When Logan is invited by his friend Ryan to participate in a experiment, the last thing he is expecting is for his mind to be copied into the body of a brain slug.
However, instead of trying to fix things when she discovers this, Ryan sets her sights on fulfilling her all longheld ambitions with Logan's newfound abilities.
Logan is initially keen with just going along things as he possesses more bodies and pushes the extent of his capabilities. However, when a desire to be more than just her golden goose begins to stir within him, he soon finds himself starting to make plans to fulfill his own longheld desires...
Abstract
In a drab concrete parking structure, sitting inside a car that looked too small for his large frame, a sizable young man silently debated a life choice. It had occupied his mind for days, ever since a certain woman from his past had reached out for the first time in years. Even though he felt indecisive, he had a few mental tools to help him make his mind up. No matter how big the choice, the real decision was whether to start the engine back up and drive away… or open the car door and step out.
…
With a muted pop, the car door swung open.
He had already driven this far, turning back would be a waste of time and gas. Maybe the choice had already been made the very instant he got into his car earlier. Then all the worrying afterwards was just pointless emotion, the last-minute anxiety and doubt that comes with seeing “abandon all hope, ye who enter here” on the gates of hell despite knowing exactly what must be done.
The large man’s heavy footsteps made the only sound in the echoing gray maze. He was a tall mountain of a man that few would challenge physically. He was dressed nicely enough, something a little more than casual, something to wear when reuniting with an old… friend. After exiting the parking structure, he found himself a short distance away from a security booth, its red and white bar hanging guarding the street entrance and a separate pedestrian gate on the opposite side. Behind the booth’s bulletproof glass, a uniformed guard watched the man approach, asking for his ID as soon as he was close enough.
“Name and date of birth?”
“Logan Miller, February 19th. It says on my ID.”
“Reason for visiting?”
“I’m getting a tour from Ryan Everly.”
The guard returned Logan’s ID alongside a freshly printed plastic badge on a lanyard. An audible metallic click could be heard from the pedestrian gate. Logan passed through the gate and headed towards the monolithic building ahead.
As Logan walked, he inspected the plastic badge he was given. At the top, a logo for SynthraForma, followed by VISITOR in bold black letters, then his name, face, and a barcode with small numbers beneath.
Reaching the entrance, he tried the door handle and found it locked. He tried to use his badge on a nearby reader, but it beeped and showed a red light in rejection. Just as Logan was thinking of returning to the guard, the locked doors violently swung open from the inside. Barely dodging the doors, Logan suddenly stood before a stunning woman.
Beautiful red hair that instantly drew stares, captivating hazel eyes that were framed by complementary glasses, flawless skin that supermodels would envy, and a killer figure underneath a white lab coat. Ryan Everly, Logan’s high school best friend that he hadn’t seen since. She cracked a charming smile on her rosy lips, and spoke with her enchanting voice.
“Long time no see. It’s been a while hasn’t it?”
Introduction
Logan hadn’t seen Ryan since graduating high school a considerable number of years ago. In the past she was already pretty, but during the years that he hadn’t seen her, Ryan’s natural beauty was further enhanced to perfection. Judging by her current workplace, her intellect had no problems keeping pace either. Logan gave a polite smile and met Ryan’s mesmerizing eyes.
“Yeah, it sure has. How have you been?”
Ryan’s smile remained, but something subtle changed in her expression.
“Well, I wouldn’t want to lie to a friend. I’ve been a bit busy recently. Deadlines, disappointing results, and demanding superiors. You know how it can be. But anyways, I’m so glad you went out of your way to come here. I really appreciate it.”
Logan did expend quite some effort to get there. Scarce paid-time-off was spent from his job as an office clerk, not to mention the cost of a rental car and hotel. Still, it was a trip that he needed to take for his own sake, not just Ryan’s.
“It’s good to see you too. I can’t wait to see what you’ve been up to. Cured cancer or something?”
Ryan let out a little giggle that played like melodic birdsong in Logan’s ears.
“Well then, let me show you. Welcome to SynthraForma. I obviously can’t give you a full tour of the lab. In fact, even I don’t have access to everything, but I’ll show you what I can. Just a reminder, don’t breathe a word of this to anyone, okay? Not. A single. Breath.”
“Of course. My lips are sealed.”
Ryan accepted Logan’s promise and both of them entered the building. He stepped into a long hallway illuminated by harsh fluorescent lights. Before Logan could go anywhere, Ryan pointed towards a part of the wall next to the door. There was a plastic mount that held a stack of blank forms, a clipboard, and a pen on a string.
“Just a silly little NDA, for the suits and whatnot. Every visitor has to fill one out, but we don’t get that many visitors anyways.”
Logan gave it a quick skim before signing it, submitting the document in an empty slot clearly meant to receive them. Ryan then led him down the hallway. There were no windows inside, only heavy metal doors flanking them on both sides. Occasionally, there were laminated papers taped onto the walls, usually displaying some information or reminder for the employees.
Don’t hold doors open for others.
Keep your badge clearly visible at all times.
Thoroughly wash your hands before eating.
The potluck is this friday.
Finally, the two of them reached a door no different from the others. Ryan used her badge to unlock it and entered with Logan following behind. Now past three layers of security, Logan found himself in an unexpectedly mundane office. There were uniform cubicles to both sides, some with small decorations and knick knacks to add a splash of personality.
“These are our desks. It’s not glamorous, but most of our work happens here. Compiling data, writing reports, reading emails… Not very exciting, but it’s part of the job. This one is mine.”
Ryan’s desk had a computer like the others, with that addition of multiple stacks of books and papers, not to mention a couple of mugs with coffee stains. It looked like Ryan was about to say something, but someone else caught her attention. A woman was approaching them, dressed in the professional attire of a white button-up blouse and suit pants. She looked Asian, around her mid thirties, with light makeup and her hair in a bun. The authoritative click of her heels almost served as an introduction.
“Hello, you must be Ryan’s guest. I hope you don’t mind me interrupting your tour, I just need to have a little chat with Ryan if that’s okay.”
Her words were sharp and assertive, ensuring that no one would challenge them. Logan certainly didn’t want to at least.
“I don’t mind at all. I’m Logan. It’s a pleasure to meet you Miss…”
“Doctor. Doctor Li, SynthraForma research supervisor, pleased to meet you too Logan.”
“Anyways Ryan, I’ll make this quick. The deadline for your current project is coming up. I have great expectations of you, and I’ll make sure that your future assignments will reflect how well you perform here. I’m sure an incredible breakthrough is just on the horizon.”
Doctor Li left as quickly as she arrived, not waiting for Ryan to respond. Looking at Ryan, Logan could tell that she wasn’t particularly happy about her supervisor’s reminder. Her face didn’t give much away, but her silence and stiff body language gave it away. It took her a moment to compose herself, before she returned to Logan.
“I guess the tour wouldn’t be complete without an introduction to my kind and caring supervisor. Anyways, let’s get on with it.”
Ryan left her cubicle and promptly started walking again with Logan in tow. They reached another door that required Ryan’s badge. Logan noticed way more signage on this door than the ones before, being plastered with a variety of colorful symbols and labels warning about hazards of all kinds. Past the door, Logan saw a proper laboratory, filled with multitudes of complex-looking devices.
“Here on the left, high temperature superconductors.”
She carelessly gestured towards a workstation full of electronics, wires, and gas tanks of some kind.
Curiously, there was a plush of a squid on one of the workstation shelves. Ryan continued walking on without sparing a moment for Logan to really look.
“Over here on the right, artificial neural networks composed of lab-grown neurons.”
This workstation had a big microscope, with a collection of slides and plastic petri dishes next to it. Tons of papers, binders, and books filled this station out. Again, Ryan practically walked right past it, barely sparing the effort to mention it in her tour. This continued for the rest of the workstations until they reached the back of the lab.
“And here, in the back corner… my project… the slug project.”
Hypothesis
Ryan gestured to a small rectangular glass tank with some twigs and bedding. Logan had to lean in close to spot the first slug. It was an unremarkable little green thing, no different from something you’d find in somebody’s garden. Still though, being in this lab, there had to be more than met the eye. Or Ryan was pranking him.
Either way, Logan’s best choice was to play along.
“Interesting. What’s special about them?”
“These unassuming little blobs are a new species discovered in the Amazon. They were found in primate brains and initially mistaken for some sort of large parasitic worm. However, their biology and behavior is significantly different. A mature slug, ready to lay eggs, has the unique ability to enter a host’s brain without damaging the surrounding tissue, where it influences the host’s behavior. It compels the host to climb into the forest canopy, where it exits the host’s body and safely lays its eggs high up in the trees.”
Logan looked at the slugs again, watching as one lazily crawled on a leaf of lettuce. Brain slugs huh? It reminded him of something out of a sci-fi show, the image of a big green blob with a single eye coming to mind.
“The higher ups say that they’re interested in the mechanics of how it enters and exits the host's brain without damaging anything. They say that it could be a revolution in neurosurgery. But I think that we all know what really brings in all the funding. Mind control.”
Logan almost had to hold back a chuckle. It sounded more like the premise to a horror video game or movie, a cheap one at that.
Experimenting with mind control slugs? Logan was waiting for Ryan to tell the punch line at this point.
“We’ve studied their natural behavior and made significant progress. We’ve selectively bred them to trigger their ‘control’ behavior independent from their breeding cycle, and to extend that control duration. We’ve conducted limited human testing and confirmed compatibility and functionality as well.”
“Human testing?”
“Yes, of course. Given the premise of this project, it would be unavoidable, don't you think?”
Logan was able to avoid laughing out loud, but he couldn’t help a little grin. He was surprised by the matter-of-fact tone that Ryan was able to keep up. So she had tested these mind control slugs on people huh?
“Well, who’d you test this on?”
“For obvious reasons, I can’t discuss any of their identities, but they were all fully consenting individuals that were compensated for their involvement. Also, I should mention that I wasn’t working on this project during the period that these tests were conducted, so I had no direct involvement. I’ve only joined recently.”
Logan was a little confused by her response. That little fact at the end there didn’t seem to be a part of the joke, it seemed a little too realistic. The idea bothered Logan. Maybe she wasn’t joking. Maybe this was real. What kind of place was Ryan working at? Logan shifted to a more serious tone.
“Hold on. This whole slug thing. The human testing. Doesn’t that… I don’t know, concern you or something? Like, the stuff that you’re working on… this whole project seems…”
“Unethical? Inhuman? Evil? I certainly thought so too when I was first assigned, but the project’s current state is far from what it was in the past.”
Ryan picked up a spray bottle next to the tank, opened its lid, and spritzed some clear fluid around the enclosure before closing it again.
“Everything I told you about was done years ago. The project hit a wall. The slugs just couldn’t execute complex commands, only the most basic trained actions in response to verbal triggers. A far cry from mind control. Continued investments of time and resources yielded nothing, resulting in researchers and funding getting pulled. When I was assigned to this project, it was already dead and buried for a long time.”
Logan could see tints of frustration in Ryan. He had seen her get frustrated at hitches in experiments before, but this seemed like a deeper kind of frustration. She probably felt trapped with a project like this.
“Currently, most of my day-to-day is being a slug keeper. Moisturize the habitat at least twice a day, feed the slugs and replace the food before it rots, replace the soil every few weeks. I’m almost envious of Sisyphus, at least he got a boulder.”
“Sorry to hear that you’ve had it so rough. Maybe it would be a good idea to ask for a different project, or just leave all this behind and look for a different lab?”
“Oh believe me I’ve tried, but there are certain… factors… that prevent me from transfering projects. Leaving for another lab isn’t a good option either. No lab in this country can compare to SynthraForma’s. The resources and secrecy here are exactly what I need.”
Hmm… it seemed like Ryan was stuck between a rock and a hard place. Any choice would be a compromise, and a pretty lousy one at that. Watching Ryan’s expressions, Logan could tell she wasn’t happy about things, but she seemed to perk up as she continued speaking.
“It’s not all doom and gloom though, I have a plan. Imagine this. I succeed with this project out of nowhere. Why, news of such a miracle will go straight to the highest executives. They’ll hear that little ol’ me, a single researcher with no support, managed to break through an impenetrable wall that defeated the best of the best. I’ll get the recognition I deserve and free reign to work on what I want.”
Logan could see a flame burning within Ryan, a determination that pushed her forward.
Instead of admitting defeat, she was fighting harder than ever before. Logan was worried that Ryan was feeling down, maybe searching for solace or even pity, but those worries were cleared by her display of brash, unashamed confidence. He almost wanted to start applauding her.
“I’m glad that you’ve got a goal to aim for, but how’re you gonna do it?”
Ryan cracked a mischievous smile, giving Logan a look that sent a little shiver down his back. He knew that look. Oh, he knew that look. Trouble was coming.
Method
Well Logan, my good friend, that’s where you come in! I have an idea, a theory, a breakthrough! The main problem is the slugs’ lack of cognitive ability. Well it just so happens that one of my colleagues is working on a neuron growth promoter, top secret of course. Normally I wouldn’t have access, but let’s just say that I helped with his homework and he’s helping with mine.”
Ryan nodded towards a small glass vial nearby the slug tank. That must be the neuron growth stuff.
“Unfortunately, that alone would only produce slugs that are better at being slugs. Not exactly what we need. It would require far too much training to reach the levels needed for true mind control. That’s where another little gadget comes in.”
Ryan gestured towards something else near the tank. It looked like a bundle of multi-colored wires, each wire connected to a small device that had a suction cup.
“This is a prototype electroencephalogram, or EEG. It detects electrical activity within your brain, amplifies it, and sends it to the target. I’m sure you’re catching onto my idea now. We’ll be sending your brainwaves into a slug injected with the neural growth promoter. This external stimulation combined with the neuron growth will potentially create neural pathways within the slug that mirror yours.”
Logan took a moment to let things sink in. Ryan had conducted plenty of wild experiments in high school, Logan being intimately involved in most of them. All of them were attempts at something never done before, but at least they were somewhat based in reality. This experiment seemed to jump over that line and land fully into the territory of fantasy and madness. Combining all this experimental tech in an attempt to create mind controlling slugs? This had to be desperation more than anything else.
“Why’s it gotta be my brain waves? You’re the most intelligent person I know, so wouldn’t your brain waves be better?”
“Thanks, but if I could do this alone, I would have. The slugs wouldn’t just mirror the intelligence of the donor, but also their traits. I wouldn’t describe myself as particularly obedient, so it would be a big problem if the slugs mirrored me. You, on the other hand, have always been very… generous and helpful. I couldn’t think of a better person to ask.”
Logan wasn’t quite happy about being called generous and helpful in this context. He could tell that she really meant obedient, willing to make a fool of himself for her sake. In high school, Ryan always took advantage of Logan’s affection for her, and he gratefully allowed it. Anything to get the girl right? Well, it didn’t end up that way. He assisted Ryan in many of her experiments, sometimes to his detriment.
There were lots of reasons and rationalizations.
Teenage hormones, desperately avoiding loneliness, a dose of simple adolescent stupidity, all things that Logan told himself he completely left behind in the past. Reflecting on it over the years after graduation, he vowed to never allow himself to be taken advantage of like that again. Yet here he was, having his resolve put to the test.
Ryan could tell that Logan was deliberating. There was a possibility that he’d make the wrong choice. She leaned a little closer to him, looking up with a gentle expression.
“Please? I’m in a real tough spot here, and I could really use some help. Please Logan?”
Logan kept his expression stern as he gazed upon Ryan’s fragile beauty, looking into her pleading eyes. It wasn’t the first time that she’d used this trick. In high school, this was her ace-in-the-hole to convince Logan against his better judgment. And it worked every time. Logan let out a little sigh as he relaxed a little. It couldn’t hurt to get some more info right?
“What are the risks?”
Ryan broke into a smile, happy to hear that her faithful assistant was still her’s.
“None, absolutely none. You just put on the EEG’s electrodes and they’ll record everything that we need. No risks at all.”
Logan kept his expression even as he made his choice. He looked at Ryan again, searching for any indication of a lie or half-truth. She looked genuine, a real friend in need. Well, there really was no choice. To refuse at this point would be cruel. Logan hoped this wouldn’t end poorly.
“Okay, I’ll do it.”
“Thank you. This means the world to me. I’ll make it up to you later, but let’s begin the experiment as soon as possible.”
Ryan pulled up a chair for Logan, indicating to take a seat. She then grabbed a petri dish, went over to the slug tank with a pair of tongs, and carefully lifted a wiggly green critter onto the dish. She set it near Logan, and he glanced over. It almost felt like the slug was looking back at him with its little antennae.
It took a while, but eventually every single one of the numerous electrodes were attached to Logan’s head. Each electrode connected to a wire, all of which met in a braid that connected to a small device. The small metal box was connected to Ryan’s lab computer, and also had another side where a smaller braid of wires exited. Those tiny wires went over to the slug, where they connected to miniature electrodes that were placed all over the slug’s body.
“Alright, checks done, double checks done. I think we’re ready to go. Hanging in there
Logan?”
Logan had tried his best to keep still while the electrodes were put on him, as if he was getting a haircut. He also made an effort to avoid staring at Ryan as she worked. He didn’t want to creep her out or make things awkward, but for him, she was the only thing worth looking at in this lab. The way that her white lab coat contoured over her perfect figure, the way she moved around him, the view of her chest when she put the electrodes on his head…
“Yeah, I’m fine. Ready to go.”
“Okay, perfect. Then let’s begin the experiment.”
Ryan went back to the tank and took the vial of neuron growth promoter along with a syringe. Logan watched as she carefully measured out a dosage. After loading the syringe, Ryan carefully injected its contents into the slug. She then returned to her computer.
“Let’s hope for the best.”
With that, she activated the EEG. The device began to record Logan’s brain waves, sending them into the slug. Logan didn’t feel anything different on his end. The slug seemed fine too. Ryan turned a tablet screen towards Logan and started to play a video. It showed a slideshow of various things, ranging from apples to horses to people to mountains and much more. The video was supposed to help Logan’s brain stay active and somewhat direct the learning for the slug.
“Okay, everything looks good. It’ll be a few hours, but I’ll be here with you. If anything happens, let me know immediately. Again, I just want to say thanks for your help, I really appreciate it.”
“Yeah, of course. Anything for you.”
Experiment
The first ten minutes were fine. Just look at the pictures and videos on the tablet, easy right?
The next ten minutes were the toughest. Logan had to stay disciplined, forcing himself to sit still and keep watching. Every image that appeared on the tablet blended and blurred with the last. Logan even found it difficult to keep his eyes focussed.
Another ten minutes later, Logan managed to fall into a sustainable rhythm of sorts, and wasn’t struggling as much. He started playing a little mental game with the images, trying to improvise a story with each object that popped up on the tablet screen.
The man in a black suit… went to the windmill?
And in the windmill he… found a flock of sheep. Okay, so he was actually a manager for the mill, and the sheep were workers on a break. As a reward for hard work, the manager gave each of them a… butterknife? Woah, okay, so the manager was actually inciting the sheep to revolt against their oppressors. The oppressors that were forcing the sheep to work were… mongooses… mongeese?
The story unfurled itself, on and on, sometimes needing the occasional reset. Logan did his best to keep his neurons activated for this experiment. He kept going and going and going, persevering and relentless. To his credit, he managed to keep his focus most of the time, but as the process dragged on, his focus wavered more and more. The ideas were less creative, the mental image grew blurry, and the plot moved slower. Logan tried to pull himself back into the groove, but his descent was inevitable at this point. His mind grew dimmer and dimmer, a dark fog growing thicker and more impenetrable until the last candle flame of thought flickered out, and nothing remained.
…
…
…
Ryan checked up on Logan, looking over at him slightly slumped in his chair. His head was slightly tilted to the side and his eyes were closed. Must’ve dozed off. She had already noticed that Logan was struggling to stay awake for some time. Unfortunately, any stimulant like coffee could affect the experiment, so Ryan would have to wake him up everytime he nodded off.
Ryan got up and walked over to Logan, shaking him by the shoulder.
“Logan? Logan wake up.”
No response. She shook him harder. Nothing. She lightly tapped him on the cheek. Still nothing. She carefully opened his eyelid. Logan’s eye blankly stared back at her. Ryan felt a wave of dread flood through her. Logan? Logan!
…
…
…
Ryan had done everything that she could. Logan was unconscious when she found him. She had immediately called for help, and he was rushed to the hospital by paramedics. She was in shock. What happened? What caused this? Was it the experiment? Impossible. But the timing… Healthy young men like him don’t just… stop, not like this.
Ryan knew that she was screwed. Even if it somehow wasn’t her fault, there was no way that SynthraForma would overlook all the attention she was bringing in.
Ryan sat in her little corner of the lab, feeling hollowed out like an empty shell. Her eyes drifted to Logan’s empty chair. He was just there, not long ago, healthy and energetic.
The prototype EEG laid on the floor nearby, still in the same place that it landed after
Ryan had yanked it off of Logan’s head when trying to wake him. Ryan knew that the prototype EEG and neuron growth promoter would cast a lot of suspicion on the situation, but hiding or destroying evidence would practically be an admission of guilt. Ryan knew that there was a good chance that the experiment had nothing to do with Logan’s sudden decline, and that it was just a coincidence. But there was no way for her to know. She’d have to wait to hear from the hospital, or the police.
While Ryan was sitting, sorting through her thoughts, her supervisor Doctor Li showed up.
“I’m sure you’re shaken by all of this. Go home. I’ll give you a call if we need anything from you. Don’t even think about coming to work until you’ve fully recovered from this shocking incident, okay?”
Ryan didn’t want to respond, she didn’t even make eye contact. She just continued sitting with her head hung as Doctor Li promptly left. When Ryan heard the sound of the lab door closing, she raised her head. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the tank of slugs. A sudden rush of heat filled her body as she felt a fierce hatred towards them. Stupid fucking slugs! She wanted to get a hammer and smash the tank, crushing the pathetic little bastards.
But she restrained herself. She just glared at them, cursing their very existence. Freaks of nature. She got up from her seat, deciding that the privacy of her apartment would indeed be better than sulking in the lab. She reached over and grabbed her white lab coat. She had taken it off earlier while trying to help Logan.
Ryan stuck her left arm through its sleeve before draping it over her back and filling out the other sleeve. As she left the lab, Ryan was completely unaware of the little green hitchhiker in her lab coat’s pocket.
Recalibration
Dark…
Familiar… smell… Rough… all over…
Where…?
…
Hungry…
Move…
Need to move…
That way…
…
In the darkest hours of the night, a little green slug crawled out of a lab coat pocket thrown on top of a laundry basket. Confused and disoriented, it did the only thing that it could, follow its instincts.
Delicate slivers of moonlight leaked through the thin blinds of the bedroom. The room wasn’t particularly messy or clean, just lived-in. There were two beds opposite to each other in this small space. The plucky little slug crawled along the floor, inch by inch, towards the bed on the right.
Progress was slow, but steady. A few inches every minute. The slug finally reached the foot of the bed and began its journey upwards. It climbed against gravity, leaving a shiny trail of slime behind on the wood. After a few minutes, the unyielding green spelunker reached the top of the bed, where a sleeping beauty lay enveloped in a peaceful slumber. Her chest periodically rose and fell as silent breaths came and went.
The slug continued, crawling onto the sheets of the bed, eventually making its way onto the pillow. The slug’s small, pulsating body made the insidious last legs of its journey as it aimed for a small opening.
The slug touched the sleeping woman’s skin, feeling her warmth as it began to climb the side of her neck. She didn’t even stir. The slug climbed closer, closer, until it reached… the entrance. The slug dipped itself into her ear, pushing its head in and quickly filling the small tunnel’s width. The slug squeezed its malleable body into the small space, crawling deeper and deeper and deeper…
The woman stirred a little. A small readjustment of the body in response to mild discomfort. A light groan escaped her lips, as if she was just having a bad dream. There was no way to know that something was entering her… invading her… burrowing deep deep inside. She would undoubtedly panic if she was awake, if she knew what was happening to her, but it was just the slug’s luck that she was deep asleep, that she was defenseless.
Deep inside her head, the slug finally felt… satisfaction. It had reached its destination. Now, it could rest, just for a little. The woman’s body settled back down, returning to its restful state. Her breathing returned to a slow, rhythmic rise and fall of her chest. The only thing amiss was a small trail of dried slug fluid.
However, instead of trying to fix things when she discovers this, Ryan sets her sights on fulfilling her all longheld ambitions with Logan's newfound abilities.
Logan is initially keen with just going along things as he possesses more bodies and pushes the extent of his capabilities. However, when a desire to be more than just her golden goose begins to stir within him, he soon finds himself starting to make plans to fulfill his own longheld desires...
Abstract
In a drab concrete parking structure, sitting inside a car that looked too small for his large frame, a sizable young man silently debated a life choice. It had occupied his mind for days, ever since a certain woman from his past had reached out for the first time in years. Even though he felt indecisive, he had a few mental tools to help him make his mind up. No matter how big the choice, the real decision was whether to start the engine back up and drive away… or open the car door and step out.
…
With a muted pop, the car door swung open.
He had already driven this far, turning back would be a waste of time and gas. Maybe the choice had already been made the very instant he got into his car earlier. Then all the worrying afterwards was just pointless emotion, the last-minute anxiety and doubt that comes with seeing “abandon all hope, ye who enter here” on the gates of hell despite knowing exactly what must be done.
The large man’s heavy footsteps made the only sound in the echoing gray maze. He was a tall mountain of a man that few would challenge physically. He was dressed nicely enough, something a little more than casual, something to wear when reuniting with an old… friend. After exiting the parking structure, he found himself a short distance away from a security booth, its red and white bar hanging guarding the street entrance and a separate pedestrian gate on the opposite side. Behind the booth’s bulletproof glass, a uniformed guard watched the man approach, asking for his ID as soon as he was close enough.
“Name and date of birth?”
“Logan Miller, February 19th. It says on my ID.”
“Reason for visiting?”
“I’m getting a tour from Ryan Everly.”
The guard returned Logan’s ID alongside a freshly printed plastic badge on a lanyard. An audible metallic click could be heard from the pedestrian gate. Logan passed through the gate and headed towards the monolithic building ahead.
As Logan walked, he inspected the plastic badge he was given. At the top, a logo for SynthraForma, followed by VISITOR in bold black letters, then his name, face, and a barcode with small numbers beneath.
Reaching the entrance, he tried the door handle and found it locked. He tried to use his badge on a nearby reader, but it beeped and showed a red light in rejection. Just as Logan was thinking of returning to the guard, the locked doors violently swung open from the inside. Barely dodging the doors, Logan suddenly stood before a stunning woman.
Beautiful red hair that instantly drew stares, captivating hazel eyes that were framed by complementary glasses, flawless skin that supermodels would envy, and a killer figure underneath a white lab coat. Ryan Everly, Logan’s high school best friend that he hadn’t seen since. She cracked a charming smile on her rosy lips, and spoke with her enchanting voice.
“Long time no see. It’s been a while hasn’t it?”
Introduction
Logan hadn’t seen Ryan since graduating high school a considerable number of years ago. In the past she was already pretty, but during the years that he hadn’t seen her, Ryan’s natural beauty was further enhanced to perfection. Judging by her current workplace, her intellect had no problems keeping pace either. Logan gave a polite smile and met Ryan’s mesmerizing eyes.
“Yeah, it sure has. How have you been?”
Ryan’s smile remained, but something subtle changed in her expression.
“Well, I wouldn’t want to lie to a friend. I’ve been a bit busy recently. Deadlines, disappointing results, and demanding superiors. You know how it can be. But anyways, I’m so glad you went out of your way to come here. I really appreciate it.”
Logan did expend quite some effort to get there. Scarce paid-time-off was spent from his job as an office clerk, not to mention the cost of a rental car and hotel. Still, it was a trip that he needed to take for his own sake, not just Ryan’s.
“It’s good to see you too. I can’t wait to see what you’ve been up to. Cured cancer or something?”
Ryan let out a little giggle that played like melodic birdsong in Logan’s ears.
“Well then, let me show you. Welcome to SynthraForma. I obviously can’t give you a full tour of the lab. In fact, even I don’t have access to everything, but I’ll show you what I can. Just a reminder, don’t breathe a word of this to anyone, okay? Not. A single. Breath.”
“Of course. My lips are sealed.”
Ryan accepted Logan’s promise and both of them entered the building. He stepped into a long hallway illuminated by harsh fluorescent lights. Before Logan could go anywhere, Ryan pointed towards a part of the wall next to the door. There was a plastic mount that held a stack of blank forms, a clipboard, and a pen on a string.
“Just a silly little NDA, for the suits and whatnot. Every visitor has to fill one out, but we don’t get that many visitors anyways.”
Logan gave it a quick skim before signing it, submitting the document in an empty slot clearly meant to receive them. Ryan then led him down the hallway. There were no windows inside, only heavy metal doors flanking them on both sides. Occasionally, there were laminated papers taped onto the walls, usually displaying some information or reminder for the employees.
Don’t hold doors open for others.
Keep your badge clearly visible at all times.
Thoroughly wash your hands before eating.
The potluck is this friday.
Finally, the two of them reached a door no different from the others. Ryan used her badge to unlock it and entered with Logan following behind. Now past three layers of security, Logan found himself in an unexpectedly mundane office. There were uniform cubicles to both sides, some with small decorations and knick knacks to add a splash of personality.
“These are our desks. It’s not glamorous, but most of our work happens here. Compiling data, writing reports, reading emails… Not very exciting, but it’s part of the job. This one is mine.”
Ryan’s desk had a computer like the others, with that addition of multiple stacks of books and papers, not to mention a couple of mugs with coffee stains. It looked like Ryan was about to say something, but someone else caught her attention. A woman was approaching them, dressed in the professional attire of a white button-up blouse and suit pants. She looked Asian, around her mid thirties, with light makeup and her hair in a bun. The authoritative click of her heels almost served as an introduction.
“Hello, you must be Ryan’s guest. I hope you don’t mind me interrupting your tour, I just need to have a little chat with Ryan if that’s okay.”
Her words were sharp and assertive, ensuring that no one would challenge them. Logan certainly didn’t want to at least.
“I don’t mind at all. I’m Logan. It’s a pleasure to meet you Miss…”
“Doctor. Doctor Li, SynthraForma research supervisor, pleased to meet you too Logan.”
“Anyways Ryan, I’ll make this quick. The deadline for your current project is coming up. I have great expectations of you, and I’ll make sure that your future assignments will reflect how well you perform here. I’m sure an incredible breakthrough is just on the horizon.”
Doctor Li left as quickly as she arrived, not waiting for Ryan to respond. Looking at Ryan, Logan could tell that she wasn’t particularly happy about her supervisor’s reminder. Her face didn’t give much away, but her silence and stiff body language gave it away. It took her a moment to compose herself, before she returned to Logan.
“I guess the tour wouldn’t be complete without an introduction to my kind and caring supervisor. Anyways, let’s get on with it.”
Ryan left her cubicle and promptly started walking again with Logan in tow. They reached another door that required Ryan’s badge. Logan noticed way more signage on this door than the ones before, being plastered with a variety of colorful symbols and labels warning about hazards of all kinds. Past the door, Logan saw a proper laboratory, filled with multitudes of complex-looking devices.
“Here on the left, high temperature superconductors.”
She carelessly gestured towards a workstation full of electronics, wires, and gas tanks of some kind.
Curiously, there was a plush of a squid on one of the workstation shelves. Ryan continued walking on without sparing a moment for Logan to really look.
“Over here on the right, artificial neural networks composed of lab-grown neurons.”
This workstation had a big microscope, with a collection of slides and plastic petri dishes next to it. Tons of papers, binders, and books filled this station out. Again, Ryan practically walked right past it, barely sparing the effort to mention it in her tour. This continued for the rest of the workstations until they reached the back of the lab.
“And here, in the back corner… my project… the slug project.”
Hypothesis
Ryan gestured to a small rectangular glass tank with some twigs and bedding. Logan had to lean in close to spot the first slug. It was an unremarkable little green thing, no different from something you’d find in somebody’s garden. Still though, being in this lab, there had to be more than met the eye. Or Ryan was pranking him.
Either way, Logan’s best choice was to play along.
“Interesting. What’s special about them?”
“These unassuming little blobs are a new species discovered in the Amazon. They were found in primate brains and initially mistaken for some sort of large parasitic worm. However, their biology and behavior is significantly different. A mature slug, ready to lay eggs, has the unique ability to enter a host’s brain without damaging the surrounding tissue, where it influences the host’s behavior. It compels the host to climb into the forest canopy, where it exits the host’s body and safely lays its eggs high up in the trees.”
Logan looked at the slugs again, watching as one lazily crawled on a leaf of lettuce. Brain slugs huh? It reminded him of something out of a sci-fi show, the image of a big green blob with a single eye coming to mind.
“The higher ups say that they’re interested in the mechanics of how it enters and exits the host's brain without damaging anything. They say that it could be a revolution in neurosurgery. But I think that we all know what really brings in all the funding. Mind control.”
Logan almost had to hold back a chuckle. It sounded more like the premise to a horror video game or movie, a cheap one at that.
Experimenting with mind control slugs? Logan was waiting for Ryan to tell the punch line at this point.
“We’ve studied their natural behavior and made significant progress. We’ve selectively bred them to trigger their ‘control’ behavior independent from their breeding cycle, and to extend that control duration. We’ve conducted limited human testing and confirmed compatibility and functionality as well.”
“Human testing?”
“Yes, of course. Given the premise of this project, it would be unavoidable, don't you think?”
Logan was able to avoid laughing out loud, but he couldn’t help a little grin. He was surprised by the matter-of-fact tone that Ryan was able to keep up. So she had tested these mind control slugs on people huh?
“Well, who’d you test this on?”
“For obvious reasons, I can’t discuss any of their identities, but they were all fully consenting individuals that were compensated for their involvement. Also, I should mention that I wasn’t working on this project during the period that these tests were conducted, so I had no direct involvement. I’ve only joined recently.”
Logan was a little confused by her response. That little fact at the end there didn’t seem to be a part of the joke, it seemed a little too realistic. The idea bothered Logan. Maybe she wasn’t joking. Maybe this was real. What kind of place was Ryan working at? Logan shifted to a more serious tone.
“Hold on. This whole slug thing. The human testing. Doesn’t that… I don’t know, concern you or something? Like, the stuff that you’re working on… this whole project seems…”
“Unethical? Inhuman? Evil? I certainly thought so too when I was first assigned, but the project’s current state is far from what it was in the past.”
Ryan picked up a spray bottle next to the tank, opened its lid, and spritzed some clear fluid around the enclosure before closing it again.
“Everything I told you about was done years ago. The project hit a wall. The slugs just couldn’t execute complex commands, only the most basic trained actions in response to verbal triggers. A far cry from mind control. Continued investments of time and resources yielded nothing, resulting in researchers and funding getting pulled. When I was assigned to this project, it was already dead and buried for a long time.”
Logan could see tints of frustration in Ryan. He had seen her get frustrated at hitches in experiments before, but this seemed like a deeper kind of frustration. She probably felt trapped with a project like this.
“Currently, most of my day-to-day is being a slug keeper. Moisturize the habitat at least twice a day, feed the slugs and replace the food before it rots, replace the soil every few weeks. I’m almost envious of Sisyphus, at least he got a boulder.”
“Sorry to hear that you’ve had it so rough. Maybe it would be a good idea to ask for a different project, or just leave all this behind and look for a different lab?”
“Oh believe me I’ve tried, but there are certain… factors… that prevent me from transfering projects. Leaving for another lab isn’t a good option either. No lab in this country can compare to SynthraForma’s. The resources and secrecy here are exactly what I need.”
Hmm… it seemed like Ryan was stuck between a rock and a hard place. Any choice would be a compromise, and a pretty lousy one at that. Watching Ryan’s expressions, Logan could tell she wasn’t happy about things, but she seemed to perk up as she continued speaking.
“It’s not all doom and gloom though, I have a plan. Imagine this. I succeed with this project out of nowhere. Why, news of such a miracle will go straight to the highest executives. They’ll hear that little ol’ me, a single researcher with no support, managed to break through an impenetrable wall that defeated the best of the best. I’ll get the recognition I deserve and free reign to work on what I want.”
Logan could see a flame burning within Ryan, a determination that pushed her forward.
Instead of admitting defeat, she was fighting harder than ever before. Logan was worried that Ryan was feeling down, maybe searching for solace or even pity, but those worries were cleared by her display of brash, unashamed confidence. He almost wanted to start applauding her.
“I’m glad that you’ve got a goal to aim for, but how’re you gonna do it?”
Ryan cracked a mischievous smile, giving Logan a look that sent a little shiver down his back. He knew that look. Oh, he knew that look. Trouble was coming.
Method
Well Logan, my good friend, that’s where you come in! I have an idea, a theory, a breakthrough! The main problem is the slugs’ lack of cognitive ability. Well it just so happens that one of my colleagues is working on a neuron growth promoter, top secret of course. Normally I wouldn’t have access, but let’s just say that I helped with his homework and he’s helping with mine.”
Ryan nodded towards a small glass vial nearby the slug tank. That must be the neuron growth stuff.
“Unfortunately, that alone would only produce slugs that are better at being slugs. Not exactly what we need. It would require far too much training to reach the levels needed for true mind control. That’s where another little gadget comes in.”
Ryan gestured towards something else near the tank. It looked like a bundle of multi-colored wires, each wire connected to a small device that had a suction cup.
“This is a prototype electroencephalogram, or EEG. It detects electrical activity within your brain, amplifies it, and sends it to the target. I’m sure you’re catching onto my idea now. We’ll be sending your brainwaves into a slug injected with the neural growth promoter. This external stimulation combined with the neuron growth will potentially create neural pathways within the slug that mirror yours.”
Logan took a moment to let things sink in. Ryan had conducted plenty of wild experiments in high school, Logan being intimately involved in most of them. All of them were attempts at something never done before, but at least they were somewhat based in reality. This experiment seemed to jump over that line and land fully into the territory of fantasy and madness. Combining all this experimental tech in an attempt to create mind controlling slugs? This had to be desperation more than anything else.
“Why’s it gotta be my brain waves? You’re the most intelligent person I know, so wouldn’t your brain waves be better?”
“Thanks, but if I could do this alone, I would have. The slugs wouldn’t just mirror the intelligence of the donor, but also their traits. I wouldn’t describe myself as particularly obedient, so it would be a big problem if the slugs mirrored me. You, on the other hand, have always been very… generous and helpful. I couldn’t think of a better person to ask.”
Logan wasn’t quite happy about being called generous and helpful in this context. He could tell that she really meant obedient, willing to make a fool of himself for her sake. In high school, Ryan always took advantage of Logan’s affection for her, and he gratefully allowed it. Anything to get the girl right? Well, it didn’t end up that way. He assisted Ryan in many of her experiments, sometimes to his detriment.
There were lots of reasons and rationalizations.
Teenage hormones, desperately avoiding loneliness, a dose of simple adolescent stupidity, all things that Logan told himself he completely left behind in the past. Reflecting on it over the years after graduation, he vowed to never allow himself to be taken advantage of like that again. Yet here he was, having his resolve put to the test.
Ryan could tell that Logan was deliberating. There was a possibility that he’d make the wrong choice. She leaned a little closer to him, looking up with a gentle expression.
“Please? I’m in a real tough spot here, and I could really use some help. Please Logan?”
Logan kept his expression stern as he gazed upon Ryan’s fragile beauty, looking into her pleading eyes. It wasn’t the first time that she’d used this trick. In high school, this was her ace-in-the-hole to convince Logan against his better judgment. And it worked every time. Logan let out a little sigh as he relaxed a little. It couldn’t hurt to get some more info right?
“What are the risks?”
Ryan broke into a smile, happy to hear that her faithful assistant was still her’s.
“None, absolutely none. You just put on the EEG’s electrodes and they’ll record everything that we need. No risks at all.”
Logan kept his expression even as he made his choice. He looked at Ryan again, searching for any indication of a lie or half-truth. She looked genuine, a real friend in need. Well, there really was no choice. To refuse at this point would be cruel. Logan hoped this wouldn’t end poorly.
“Okay, I’ll do it.”
“Thank you. This means the world to me. I’ll make it up to you later, but let’s begin the experiment as soon as possible.”
Ryan pulled up a chair for Logan, indicating to take a seat. She then grabbed a petri dish, went over to the slug tank with a pair of tongs, and carefully lifted a wiggly green critter onto the dish. She set it near Logan, and he glanced over. It almost felt like the slug was looking back at him with its little antennae.
It took a while, but eventually every single one of the numerous electrodes were attached to Logan’s head. Each electrode connected to a wire, all of which met in a braid that connected to a small device. The small metal box was connected to Ryan’s lab computer, and also had another side where a smaller braid of wires exited. Those tiny wires went over to the slug, where they connected to miniature electrodes that were placed all over the slug’s body.
“Alright, checks done, double checks done. I think we’re ready to go. Hanging in there
Logan?”
Logan had tried his best to keep still while the electrodes were put on him, as if he was getting a haircut. He also made an effort to avoid staring at Ryan as she worked. He didn’t want to creep her out or make things awkward, but for him, she was the only thing worth looking at in this lab. The way that her white lab coat contoured over her perfect figure, the way she moved around him, the view of her chest when she put the electrodes on his head…
“Yeah, I’m fine. Ready to go.”
“Okay, perfect. Then let’s begin the experiment.”
Ryan went back to the tank and took the vial of neuron growth promoter along with a syringe. Logan watched as she carefully measured out a dosage. After loading the syringe, Ryan carefully injected its contents into the slug. She then returned to her computer.
“Let’s hope for the best.”
With that, she activated the EEG. The device began to record Logan’s brain waves, sending them into the slug. Logan didn’t feel anything different on his end. The slug seemed fine too. Ryan turned a tablet screen towards Logan and started to play a video. It showed a slideshow of various things, ranging from apples to horses to people to mountains and much more. The video was supposed to help Logan’s brain stay active and somewhat direct the learning for the slug.
“Okay, everything looks good. It’ll be a few hours, but I’ll be here with you. If anything happens, let me know immediately. Again, I just want to say thanks for your help, I really appreciate it.”
“Yeah, of course. Anything for you.”
Experiment
The first ten minutes were fine. Just look at the pictures and videos on the tablet, easy right?
The next ten minutes were the toughest. Logan had to stay disciplined, forcing himself to sit still and keep watching. Every image that appeared on the tablet blended and blurred with the last. Logan even found it difficult to keep his eyes focussed.
Another ten minutes later, Logan managed to fall into a sustainable rhythm of sorts, and wasn’t struggling as much. He started playing a little mental game with the images, trying to improvise a story with each object that popped up on the tablet screen.
The man in a black suit… went to the windmill?
And in the windmill he… found a flock of sheep. Okay, so he was actually a manager for the mill, and the sheep were workers on a break. As a reward for hard work, the manager gave each of them a… butterknife? Woah, okay, so the manager was actually inciting the sheep to revolt against their oppressors. The oppressors that were forcing the sheep to work were… mongooses… mongeese?
The story unfurled itself, on and on, sometimes needing the occasional reset. Logan did his best to keep his neurons activated for this experiment. He kept going and going and going, persevering and relentless. To his credit, he managed to keep his focus most of the time, but as the process dragged on, his focus wavered more and more. The ideas were less creative, the mental image grew blurry, and the plot moved slower. Logan tried to pull himself back into the groove, but his descent was inevitable at this point. His mind grew dimmer and dimmer, a dark fog growing thicker and more impenetrable until the last candle flame of thought flickered out, and nothing remained.
…
…
…
Ryan checked up on Logan, looking over at him slightly slumped in his chair. His head was slightly tilted to the side and his eyes were closed. Must’ve dozed off. She had already noticed that Logan was struggling to stay awake for some time. Unfortunately, any stimulant like coffee could affect the experiment, so Ryan would have to wake him up everytime he nodded off.
Ryan got up and walked over to Logan, shaking him by the shoulder.
“Logan? Logan wake up.”
No response. She shook him harder. Nothing. She lightly tapped him on the cheek. Still nothing. She carefully opened his eyelid. Logan’s eye blankly stared back at her. Ryan felt a wave of dread flood through her. Logan? Logan!
…
…
…
Ryan had done everything that she could. Logan was unconscious when she found him. She had immediately called for help, and he was rushed to the hospital by paramedics. She was in shock. What happened? What caused this? Was it the experiment? Impossible. But the timing… Healthy young men like him don’t just… stop, not like this.
Ryan knew that she was screwed. Even if it somehow wasn’t her fault, there was no way that SynthraForma would overlook all the attention she was bringing in.
Ryan sat in her little corner of the lab, feeling hollowed out like an empty shell. Her eyes drifted to Logan’s empty chair. He was just there, not long ago, healthy and energetic.
The prototype EEG laid on the floor nearby, still in the same place that it landed after
Ryan had yanked it off of Logan’s head when trying to wake him. Ryan knew that the prototype EEG and neuron growth promoter would cast a lot of suspicion on the situation, but hiding or destroying evidence would practically be an admission of guilt. Ryan knew that there was a good chance that the experiment had nothing to do with Logan’s sudden decline, and that it was just a coincidence. But there was no way for her to know. She’d have to wait to hear from the hospital, or the police.
While Ryan was sitting, sorting through her thoughts, her supervisor Doctor Li showed up.
“I’m sure you’re shaken by all of this. Go home. I’ll give you a call if we need anything from you. Don’t even think about coming to work until you’ve fully recovered from this shocking incident, okay?”
Ryan didn’t want to respond, she didn’t even make eye contact. She just continued sitting with her head hung as Doctor Li promptly left. When Ryan heard the sound of the lab door closing, she raised her head. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the tank of slugs. A sudden rush of heat filled her body as she felt a fierce hatred towards them. Stupid fucking slugs! She wanted to get a hammer and smash the tank, crushing the pathetic little bastards.
But she restrained herself. She just glared at them, cursing their very existence. Freaks of nature. She got up from her seat, deciding that the privacy of her apartment would indeed be better than sulking in the lab. She reached over and grabbed her white lab coat. She had taken it off earlier while trying to help Logan.
Ryan stuck her left arm through its sleeve before draping it over her back and filling out the other sleeve. As she left the lab, Ryan was completely unaware of the little green hitchhiker in her lab coat’s pocket.
Recalibration
Dark…
Familiar… smell… Rough… all over…
Where…?
…
Hungry…
Move…
Need to move…
That way…
…
In the darkest hours of the night, a little green slug crawled out of a lab coat pocket thrown on top of a laundry basket. Confused and disoriented, it did the only thing that it could, follow its instincts.
Delicate slivers of moonlight leaked through the thin blinds of the bedroom. The room wasn’t particularly messy or clean, just lived-in. There were two beds opposite to each other in this small space. The plucky little slug crawled along the floor, inch by inch, towards the bed on the right.
Progress was slow, but steady. A few inches every minute. The slug finally reached the foot of the bed and began its journey upwards. It climbed against gravity, leaving a shiny trail of slime behind on the wood. After a few minutes, the unyielding green spelunker reached the top of the bed, where a sleeping beauty lay enveloped in a peaceful slumber. Her chest periodically rose and fell as silent breaths came and went.
The slug continued, crawling onto the sheets of the bed, eventually making its way onto the pillow. The slug’s small, pulsating body made the insidious last legs of its journey as it aimed for a small opening.
The slug touched the sleeping woman’s skin, feeling her warmth as it began to climb the side of her neck. She didn’t even stir. The slug climbed closer, closer, until it reached… the entrance. The slug dipped itself into her ear, pushing its head in and quickly filling the small tunnel’s width. The slug squeezed its malleable body into the small space, crawling deeper and deeper and deeper…
The woman stirred a little. A small readjustment of the body in response to mild discomfort. A light groan escaped her lips, as if she was just having a bad dream. There was no way to know that something was entering her… invading her… burrowing deep deep inside. She would undoubtedly panic if she was awake, if she knew what was happening to her, but it was just the slug’s luck that she was deep asleep, that she was defenseless.
Deep inside her head, the slug finally felt… satisfaction. It had reached its destination. Now, it could rest, just for a little. The woman’s body settled back down, returning to its restful state. Her breathing returned to a slow, rhythmic rise and fall of her chest. The only thing amiss was a small trail of dried slug fluid.
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Oblivious
I wake up. Or rather, we do.
The ceiling is unfamiliar for a split second, but then it clicks. The faint, geometric pattern of shadows from the blinds. The smell of old takeout and clean laundry. Tyler’s bedroom. This is his room. His consciousness, a dense, unyielding weight, fills the entire space of our shared awareness. There is no room for me, Ashley, to be anything but a shiver at the edges, a silent observer encased in the amber of his will.
He sits up. The sheets are his—dark gray, practical. They fall away, and he looks down at our body. His head, with his own familiar face—the strong jaw, the stubble, his short, brown hair—turns on a neck that connects to a landscape that is not his. From the collarbones down, it is all me. Soft, full breasts, curved hips, the gentle swell of a belly. He sees only his body. A possession, whole and complete. He swings his legs—my legs—over the side of the bed and stands.
He walks to his closet and pulls out his clothes. A pair of worn boxer briefs, which he steps into. They conform perfectly. A pair of his favorite jeans. The denim simply fits, the waistband sitting low on my hips, the fabric magically accommodating the fuller curve of my backside. A plain white crewneck sweatshirt goes on next. It settles over my chest, the soft cotton draping without pulling. He runs a hand through his own hair and gives a satisfied grunt. The sound is his, that rough, gravelly noise from his own mouth.
In the kitchen, he makes coffee. He moves with his own familiar, slightly slouched confidence. To any outside eye, he is just Tyler. A guy in his sweatshirt and jeans, maybe looking a little softer than usual, but nothing to remark upon. The magic of the court’s ruling does its work seamlessly; people see Tyler, and their minds simply accept the form as his.
At the gym, he heads for the free weights. He sets up for deadlifts. His form is aggressive, practiced. The sweatshirt rides up slightly as he bends, exposing a sliver of my lower back.
"Tyler! Sup, man?"
It’s Mike. He claps Tyler on the shoulder, his gaze friendly and utterly normal. He doesn’t stare at the hips in the jeans or the chest under the sweatshirt. He sees his buddy Tyler, working out.
"Mike. Just getting after it," Tyler says, his voice that low, steady rumble.
"Looking strong," Mike says, and he means it. He doesn’t see a woman’s body. He sees Tyler lifting weight. He wanders off after a bit more chat, completely at ease.
Later, in the men’s locker room shower, Tyler strips off his sweatshirt and jeans, hanging them up. He showers in just the boxer briefs, as is his habit. The hot water soaks the thin cotton, making it cling. Men are around him, showering, talking about their weekends. No one stares. No one nudges anyone. One guy even says, "Pass the soap, Ty?" as if it’s the most normal thing in the world to see Tyler’s familiar face above the wet, clinging fabric outlining full breasts and rounded hips. He is just a guy in the shower. Tyler soaps up, washes his short hair, rinses off. He is utterly at home.
He towels off and gets dressed. His phone buzzes. A text from Emma.
Still on for tonight?
He texts back, Yeah. My place? Confirmation comes quickly.
That evening, his apartment is tidy, music playing low. He’s changed into a tight, black Henley and another pair of his perfect jeans. The Henley stretches over my breasts, the buttons at the placket pulling slightly. His face, so familiar and male, is relaxed, handsome.
When Emma arrives, she smiles warmly. "Hey, you." She steps in, giving him a quick hug. Her eyes sweep over him with clear appreciation, but it’s the appreciation of a woman looking at a man she’s attracted to. She sees Tyler. Charming, solid Tyler. The body, the clothes—they’re just part of him. There’s no confusion in her gaze, only interest.
"Hey, Em," he says, and kisses her cheek. Her perfume is sweet, familiar.
They talk easily. He is his direct, confident self. She is flirtatious, touching his arm, laughing at his jokes. Her eyes sparkle when she looks at him. She sees the man she’s had a thing for, for months. There is no puzzle to solve, no contradiction to untangle. The magic holds perfectly.
He kisses her, there in his living room. It’s a deep, confident kiss. Her hands slide up his chest, under the Henley, her palms finding the heavy, soft weight of my breasts. She moans into his mouth, her thumbs circling my nipples.
"Tyler," she breathes, the name full of desire.
He leads her to his bedroom. His bed. He pulls the Henley up and over his head. My breasts fall free, full and heavy. Emma’s gaze is hot, adoring. She pushes him back onto the bed and leans down, her mouth closing over one nipple, sucking hard. Her other hand kneads the other breast. He groans, a low, masculine sound of pleasure.
His hands go to his jeans, undoing them, pushing them and the boxer briefs down. He is completely exposed now, his face flushed with arousal above the naked female body.
Emma shifts lower, settling between my legs, her intent clear. She is going to go down on him. On Tyler. Her Tyler.
She looks down, her breath warm on my skin. And then she freezes.
Her eyes, which had been hazy with lust, sharpen. They focus. They see. Not just a body, but the specific details. The thatch of dark curls. The glistening folds. The complete, undeniable absence of any male anatomy. This is not a man’s body. This is…
Ashley’s.
The realization hits her like a physical blow, a silent thunderclap in the quiet room. Her best friend Ashley’s body. The curve of the hips she’s seen in jeans, the birthmark just inside the thigh she’s noticed at the pool. This is Ashley, laid bare beneath Tyler’s head, under Tyler’s command.
A violent, electric thrill shoots through Emma, so intense it steals her breath. Her secret, private attraction—not just to Tyler, but to Ashley too, that simmering, unacknowledged thing she’s pushed down for years—ignites into a roaring flame. Tyler has Ashley. And he has no idea. And he’s offering this to her.
She looks up at his face. His eyes are closed, his head back, waiting for her touch. He is completely oblivious. He thinks she sees him, just him.
A fierce, possessive glee tightens her chest. This is her secret. Hers alone.
She doesn’t pull away. She leans in, her heart hammering. Her mission changes. It’s no longer just about pleasing Tyler. It’s about claiming this, about exploring this impossible, stolen intimacy.
Her tongue finds my opening. It’s slick and ready. And then she pushes.
Not a lick. An entry. A deliberate, broad, stretching penetration. Her tongue spears into me, and the stretch is immediate and profound. My tight inner walls yield, parting around the relentless, wet pressure of her muscle. She feels Ashley’s body open for her, and the knowledge that it is Ashley’s makes the sensation a thousand times more potent. She holds the pressure, stretching the soft passage wide around the width of her tongue, feeling the intimate, hot clasp of her friend around her.
She pulls back and plunges in again, deeper. A raw, guttural sound tears from Tyler’s throat. "Fuck, Emma."
She works her tongue in and out, each penetration a slow, deliberate stretch, fucking Ashley open with her mouth. The wet, sucking sounds are loud. Emma is lost in a dual worship: of Tyler’s blissful ignorance above, and of Ashley’s helpless, stretched body below. The burning fullness she’s creating is her secret triumph.
She pulls back, her lips slick. "I need more of you," she pants, the truth of the statement echoing in her skull. More of Ashley. More of this.
She adds a finger, pressing the tip alongside her tongue at the stretched, slick entrance. The dual pressure is immense. She pushes them in together—the firm, probing digit and the relentless, muscular tongue.
The stretch is catastrophic, sublime. Ashley’s body arches off the bed. Emma scissors her finger slowly inside, stretching the tender, yielding flesh of her best friend even wider, while her tongue curls and presses against it from within. The burning, perfect dilation is a conquest. Tyler is chanting, "Yes, yes, give it to me," his voice a broken, masculine litany.
And Emma is silent, her secret knowledge a fire in her blood. She is stretching Ashley open in Tyler’s bed, under Tyler’s command, witnessed by Tyler’s face. Every deep, penetrating thrust of her tongue and finger is a claim staked on the tight, hot passage of the woman she’s secretly desired, a communion with the soul she knows is trapped within, soothed only by the oblivious, proud calm of the man she loves, who wears his own head on borrowed flesh, and who offers up every soft, stretched, conquered inch of what he has made, never knowing the double gift he has given her. She will never tell. This secret, this perfect, twisted intimacy, is hers forever.
I wake up. Or rather, we do.
The ceiling is unfamiliar for a split second, but then it clicks. The faint, geometric pattern of shadows from the blinds. The smell of old takeout and clean laundry. Tyler’s bedroom. This is his room. His consciousness, a dense, unyielding weight, fills the entire space of our shared awareness. There is no room for me, Ashley, to be anything but a shiver at the edges, a silent observer encased in the amber of his will.
He sits up. The sheets are his—dark gray, practical. They fall away, and he looks down at our body. His head, with his own familiar face—the strong jaw, the stubble, his short, brown hair—turns on a neck that connects to a landscape that is not his. From the collarbones down, it is all me. Soft, full breasts, curved hips, the gentle swell of a belly. He sees only his body. A possession, whole and complete. He swings his legs—my legs—over the side of the bed and stands.
He walks to his closet and pulls out his clothes. A pair of worn boxer briefs, which he steps into. They conform perfectly. A pair of his favorite jeans. The denim simply fits, the waistband sitting low on my hips, the fabric magically accommodating the fuller curve of my backside. A plain white crewneck sweatshirt goes on next. It settles over my chest, the soft cotton draping without pulling. He runs a hand through his own hair and gives a satisfied grunt. The sound is his, that rough, gravelly noise from his own mouth.
In the kitchen, he makes coffee. He moves with his own familiar, slightly slouched confidence. To any outside eye, he is just Tyler. A guy in his sweatshirt and jeans, maybe looking a little softer than usual, but nothing to remark upon. The magic of the court’s ruling does its work seamlessly; people see Tyler, and their minds simply accept the form as his.
At the gym, he heads for the free weights. He sets up for deadlifts. His form is aggressive, practiced. The sweatshirt rides up slightly as he bends, exposing a sliver of my lower back.
"Tyler! Sup, man?"
It’s Mike. He claps Tyler on the shoulder, his gaze friendly and utterly normal. He doesn’t stare at the hips in the jeans or the chest under the sweatshirt. He sees his buddy Tyler, working out.
"Mike. Just getting after it," Tyler says, his voice that low, steady rumble.
"Looking strong," Mike says, and he means it. He doesn’t see a woman’s body. He sees Tyler lifting weight. He wanders off after a bit more chat, completely at ease.
Later, in the men’s locker room shower, Tyler strips off his sweatshirt and jeans, hanging them up. He showers in just the boxer briefs, as is his habit. The hot water soaks the thin cotton, making it cling. Men are around him, showering, talking about their weekends. No one stares. No one nudges anyone. One guy even says, "Pass the soap, Ty?" as if it’s the most normal thing in the world to see Tyler’s familiar face above the wet, clinging fabric outlining full breasts and rounded hips. He is just a guy in the shower. Tyler soaps up, washes his short hair, rinses off. He is utterly at home.
He towels off and gets dressed. His phone buzzes. A text from Emma.
Still on for tonight?
He texts back, Yeah. My place? Confirmation comes quickly.
That evening, his apartment is tidy, music playing low. He’s changed into a tight, black Henley and another pair of his perfect jeans. The Henley stretches over my breasts, the buttons at the placket pulling slightly. His face, so familiar and male, is relaxed, handsome.
When Emma arrives, she smiles warmly. "Hey, you." She steps in, giving him a quick hug. Her eyes sweep over him with clear appreciation, but it’s the appreciation of a woman looking at a man she’s attracted to. She sees Tyler. Charming, solid Tyler. The body, the clothes—they’re just part of him. There’s no confusion in her gaze, only interest.
"Hey, Em," he says, and kisses her cheek. Her perfume is sweet, familiar.
They talk easily. He is his direct, confident self. She is flirtatious, touching his arm, laughing at his jokes. Her eyes sparkle when she looks at him. She sees the man she’s had a thing for, for months. There is no puzzle to solve, no contradiction to untangle. The magic holds perfectly.
He kisses her, there in his living room. It’s a deep, confident kiss. Her hands slide up his chest, under the Henley, her palms finding the heavy, soft weight of my breasts. She moans into his mouth, her thumbs circling my nipples.
"Tyler," she breathes, the name full of desire.
He leads her to his bedroom. His bed. He pulls the Henley up and over his head. My breasts fall free, full and heavy. Emma’s gaze is hot, adoring. She pushes him back onto the bed and leans down, her mouth closing over one nipple, sucking hard. Her other hand kneads the other breast. He groans, a low, masculine sound of pleasure.
His hands go to his jeans, undoing them, pushing them and the boxer briefs down. He is completely exposed now, his face flushed with arousal above the naked female body.
Emma shifts lower, settling between my legs, her intent clear. She is going to go down on him. On Tyler. Her Tyler.
She looks down, her breath warm on my skin. And then she freezes.
Her eyes, which had been hazy with lust, sharpen. They focus. They see. Not just a body, but the specific details. The thatch of dark curls. The glistening folds. The complete, undeniable absence of any male anatomy. This is not a man’s body. This is…
Ashley’s.
The realization hits her like a physical blow, a silent thunderclap in the quiet room. Her best friend Ashley’s body. The curve of the hips she’s seen in jeans, the birthmark just inside the thigh she’s noticed at the pool. This is Ashley, laid bare beneath Tyler’s head, under Tyler’s command.
A violent, electric thrill shoots through Emma, so intense it steals her breath. Her secret, private attraction—not just to Tyler, but to Ashley too, that simmering, unacknowledged thing she’s pushed down for years—ignites into a roaring flame. Tyler has Ashley. And he has no idea. And he’s offering this to her.
She looks up at his face. His eyes are closed, his head back, waiting for her touch. He is completely oblivious. He thinks she sees him, just him.
A fierce, possessive glee tightens her chest. This is her secret. Hers alone.
She doesn’t pull away. She leans in, her heart hammering. Her mission changes. It’s no longer just about pleasing Tyler. It’s about claiming this, about exploring this impossible, stolen intimacy.
Her tongue finds my opening. It’s slick and ready. And then she pushes.
Not a lick. An entry. A deliberate, broad, stretching penetration. Her tongue spears into me, and the stretch is immediate and profound. My tight inner walls yield, parting around the relentless, wet pressure of her muscle. She feels Ashley’s body open for her, and the knowledge that it is Ashley’s makes the sensation a thousand times more potent. She holds the pressure, stretching the soft passage wide around the width of her tongue, feeling the intimate, hot clasp of her friend around her.
She pulls back and plunges in again, deeper. A raw, guttural sound tears from Tyler’s throat. "Fuck, Emma."
She works her tongue in and out, each penetration a slow, deliberate stretch, fucking Ashley open with her mouth. The wet, sucking sounds are loud. Emma is lost in a dual worship: of Tyler’s blissful ignorance above, and of Ashley’s helpless, stretched body below. The burning fullness she’s creating is her secret triumph.
She pulls back, her lips slick. "I need more of you," she pants, the truth of the statement echoing in her skull. More of Ashley. More of this.
She adds a finger, pressing the tip alongside her tongue at the stretched, slick entrance. The dual pressure is immense. She pushes them in together—the firm, probing digit and the relentless, muscular tongue.
The stretch is catastrophic, sublime. Ashley’s body arches off the bed. Emma scissors her finger slowly inside, stretching the tender, yielding flesh of her best friend even wider, while her tongue curls and presses against it from within. The burning, perfect dilation is a conquest. Tyler is chanting, "Yes, yes, give it to me," his voice a broken, masculine litany.
And Emma is silent, her secret knowledge a fire in her blood. She is stretching Ashley open in Tyler’s bed, under Tyler’s command, witnessed by Tyler’s face. Every deep, penetrating thrust of her tongue and finger is a claim staked on the tight, hot passage of the woman she’s secretly desired, a communion with the soul she knows is trapped within, soothed only by the oblivious, proud calm of the man she loves, who wears his own head on borrowed flesh, and who offers up every soft, stretched, conquered inch of what he has made, never knowing the double gift he has given her. She will never tell. This secret, this perfect, twisted intimacy, is hers forever.
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Will and Claire become close to their siblings in a very intimate sense
The morning light was harsh through the blinds, slicing across the rumpled bed. Claire blinked, her head throbbing with a dull, medicinal ache. Something warm and soft was pressed against her. She looked down.
Amy was nestled in her arms, asleep, her blond hair fanned across the pillow. Except… Claire’s arms were thickly bandaged from wrist to elbow, and the body she held was decidedly male. The firm plane of a chest, the coarse hair on a forearm. Her heart began to hammer against her ribs.
“Amy?” she whispered, her voice a dry rasp. It came out wrong. Deeper. Rougher.
The body in her arms stirred. Blue eyes, so like Will’s, fluttered open. They widened in instant, sheer panic. “Frank? What the hell? Why are you… holding me?” The voice was high, melodic. Amy’s voice. But the tone was all Will—confused, irritable, direct.
Claire—in Frank’s body—pushed herself up on her elbows. Past the tangle of Amy’s blond hair, she saw the closet mirror. The reflection showed Frank’s familiar, lean frame, his own dark hair mussed from sleep, his bandaged arms wrapped around a petite, curvy Amy. But Amy’s face was contorted in a terror that wasn’t hers.
“Will?” Claire breathed, the name feeling foreign in this new throat. “Is that you in there?”
The person in Amy’s body scrambled back, the sheets pooling around a waist that was suddenly, distressingly narrow. “Claire? What did you call me?” He—Will—looked down at himself, at the pronounced swell of his sister’s breasts beneath the thin cotton sleep shirt, and his hands flew to his throat. “That’s my… this is Amy’s voice. What is this?”
“I think… I think I’m you,” Claire said, the reality of it dawning with a sick, dizzying weight. She swung Frank’s legs—her legs—out of bed. The movement was all wrong, the center of gravity shifted, a heavy, unfamiliar weight swinging between her thighs. She ignored it, for now. “The accident. The goodbye. Don’t you remember?”
Will—in Amy—stood up shakily. He looked down at his new body, his hands hovering over the generous curves. “I remember you… you and me, in the car. Crushed. Then nothing. Then waking up here, smothered by my little brother.” He shuddered, a full-body tremor that made the new flesh quiver. “This isn’t right. This is Amy.”
“And this is Frank,” Claire said, staring at Frank’s hands—her hands—as she flexed them. “We’re in our siblings. Our spouses’ siblings.” The sheer, grotesque improbability of it threatened to swallow her. But the throbbing in her bandaged arms was real. The discharge papers on the nightstand were real.
They found them, the crisp hospital printout. Franklin Miller, contusions, lacerations. Amy Miller, contusions, mild concussion. The names were wrong, but the injuries mapped. They had been patched up and sent home, two souls crammed into the wrong, aching containers.
Wordlessly, they moved to the kitchen, the beach house silent except for the distant crash of Pacific waves. The medical instructions said to clean and re-dress the wounds. They worked in a stunned quiet, Claire clumsily winding fresh gauze around Will-Amy’s slender forearm, Will using Amy’s delicate fingers to secure the wrap on Claire-Frank’s broader bicep with a efficiency that was utterly his own.
“We need to shower,” Will said finally, his voice tight. “We’re covered in road grit and… and whatever else.”
Claire nodded. It was practical. A step. They stood in the master bathroom, a spacious tiled room with a large glass-walled shower. The silence grew thick.
“Just… get it over with,” Will muttered, not looking at her. He—in Amy’s body—peeled the sleep shirt over his head, revealing Amy’s full, pale breasts. He froze, his breath catching, his face a mask of profound disorientation. Claire watched, a strange, detached part of her noting how Will’s shock did nothing to diminish the natural, ripe beauty of the form he now wore.
Swallowing hard, Claire turned her attention to Frank’s clothes. The jeans were awkward, the button fly an unfamiliar puzzle for her fingers. She got them open, pushed them down Frank’s hips. The boxer briefs followed. And there it was.
Frank’s penis, soft and nestled in a thatch of dark hair. It was… there. A presence. A weight. She stared at it, this alien appendage that was now, technically, hers. The core of her being, Claire, recoiled. But the body she inhabited didn’t. There was a low, curious hum of sensation, a connection to the thing that was both deeply wrong and undeniably physical.
Will had stripped completely now, standing naked by the sink. He was staring into the mirror, at Amy’s face, with a kind of horrified fascination. His hands skimmed over the dramatic hourglass curve of the hips, the soft swell of the stomach. “God,” he whispered.
“Don’t,” Claire said, her new voice gruff. “Just… don’t think. Clean. That’s all.”
They stepped into the shower together, a bizarre and intimate pantomime of their old married life. The water was hot, a welcome shock. Claire let it sluice over Frank’s broad shoulders, watching as Will soaped Amy’s body with a clinical, hurried desperation. The suds slid over smooth skin, over curves that Will had only ever seen on his sister from a detached, brotherly distance. Now he was mapping them with his own, stolen hands.
Claire’s own washing was more hesitant. The soap slid over Frank’s chest, flat and hard. Down the taut stomach. Her hand, wrapped in plastic to protect the bandages, hesitated again at the groin. She had to clean it. It was just a body part. A piece of biology.
She touched it. Frank’s flaccid penis was soft, vulnerable in her grip. She washed it quickly, the soap slick, her mind screaming the wrongness of it. But as her fingers moved, a jolt went through her—through Frank’s body. A thick, gathering tension. A flood of warmth that had nothing to do with the shower. She gasped, and the thing in her hand began to change, to swell and stiffen, lengthening and thickening in a way that was utterly, overwhelmingly male.
In the mirror of her mind, she was still Claire. But the sensation… the sensation was a deep, insistent pulse, a claiming of blood and flesh that centered entirely on that stretching, hardening shaft. It felt powerful. It felt hungry.
She looked up, water streaming down Frank’s face, and met Will’s eyes. He had seen. He was staring, not at her face, but lower, at the clear, hard evidence of the body’s response. In his own new body, Amy’s body, a sympathetic flush spread across the chest and throat.
“It’s… it’s just the heat,” Claire stammered, the excuse weak even to her own ears.
Will didn’t answer. He was looking down now, at Amy’s body. At the space between her legs. His expression was one of dawning, awful comprehension. “It would… it would stretch,” he said, his voice hollow. “Wouldn’t it? If we… that would stretch this.” He didn’t elaborate. He didn’t need to. The image was there, brutal and visceral: the thick, hard length of Frank, of the penis Claire now felt twitching in her hand, pushing into the tight, small space that was now his.
The thought should have revolted him. It should have revolted her. But standing there in the steam, with the water beating down on their stolen, aching forms, it didn’t. It hummed between them, a forbidden current. A terrible, logical next step. The body Claire was in throbbed with a need that was entirely about filling a space, about the profound, physical truth of fit and stretch. And the body Will was in, for all his mental horror, seemed to soften in response, a faint, unfamiliar ache blooming low in Amy’s belly.
They finished rinsing in silence, the air crackling with things unsaid. They toweled off, avoiding each other’s eyes, avoiding looking too long at the reflections in the fogged-up glass. They were two people, stranded in the wrong skins, with the ghosts of their spouses between them and a terrifying, tantalizing new physics of flesh beckoning from the shadows of their own home.
The morning light was harsh through the blinds, slicing across the rumpled bed. Claire blinked, her head throbbing with a dull, medicinal ache. Something warm and soft was pressed against her. She looked down.
Amy was nestled in her arms, asleep, her blond hair fanned across the pillow. Except… Claire’s arms were thickly bandaged from wrist to elbow, and the body she held was decidedly male. The firm plane of a chest, the coarse hair on a forearm. Her heart began to hammer against her ribs.
“Amy?” she whispered, her voice a dry rasp. It came out wrong. Deeper. Rougher.
The body in her arms stirred. Blue eyes, so like Will’s, fluttered open. They widened in instant, sheer panic. “Frank? What the hell? Why are you… holding me?” The voice was high, melodic. Amy’s voice. But the tone was all Will—confused, irritable, direct.
Claire—in Frank’s body—pushed herself up on her elbows. Past the tangle of Amy’s blond hair, she saw the closet mirror. The reflection showed Frank’s familiar, lean frame, his own dark hair mussed from sleep, his bandaged arms wrapped around a petite, curvy Amy. But Amy’s face was contorted in a terror that wasn’t hers.
“Will?” Claire breathed, the name feeling foreign in this new throat. “Is that you in there?”
The person in Amy’s body scrambled back, the sheets pooling around a waist that was suddenly, distressingly narrow. “Claire? What did you call me?” He—Will—looked down at himself, at the pronounced swell of his sister’s breasts beneath the thin cotton sleep shirt, and his hands flew to his throat. “That’s my… this is Amy’s voice. What is this?”
“I think… I think I’m you,” Claire said, the reality of it dawning with a sick, dizzying weight. She swung Frank’s legs—her legs—out of bed. The movement was all wrong, the center of gravity shifted, a heavy, unfamiliar weight swinging between her thighs. She ignored it, for now. “The accident. The goodbye. Don’t you remember?”
Will—in Amy—stood up shakily. He looked down at his new body, his hands hovering over the generous curves. “I remember you… you and me, in the car. Crushed. Then nothing. Then waking up here, smothered by my little brother.” He shuddered, a full-body tremor that made the new flesh quiver. “This isn’t right. This is Amy.”
“And this is Frank,” Claire said, staring at Frank’s hands—her hands—as she flexed them. “We’re in our siblings. Our spouses’ siblings.” The sheer, grotesque improbability of it threatened to swallow her. But the throbbing in her bandaged arms was real. The discharge papers on the nightstand were real.
They found them, the crisp hospital printout. Franklin Miller, contusions, lacerations. Amy Miller, contusions, mild concussion. The names were wrong, but the injuries mapped. They had been patched up and sent home, two souls crammed into the wrong, aching containers.
Wordlessly, they moved to the kitchen, the beach house silent except for the distant crash of Pacific waves. The medical instructions said to clean and re-dress the wounds. They worked in a stunned quiet, Claire clumsily winding fresh gauze around Will-Amy’s slender forearm, Will using Amy’s delicate fingers to secure the wrap on Claire-Frank’s broader bicep with a efficiency that was utterly his own.
“We need to shower,” Will said finally, his voice tight. “We’re covered in road grit and… and whatever else.”
Claire nodded. It was practical. A step. They stood in the master bathroom, a spacious tiled room with a large glass-walled shower. The silence grew thick.
“Just… get it over with,” Will muttered, not looking at her. He—in Amy’s body—peeled the sleep shirt over his head, revealing Amy’s full, pale breasts. He froze, his breath catching, his face a mask of profound disorientation. Claire watched, a strange, detached part of her noting how Will’s shock did nothing to diminish the natural, ripe beauty of the form he now wore.
Swallowing hard, Claire turned her attention to Frank’s clothes. The jeans were awkward, the button fly an unfamiliar puzzle for her fingers. She got them open, pushed them down Frank’s hips. The boxer briefs followed. And there it was.
Frank’s penis, soft and nestled in a thatch of dark hair. It was… there. A presence. A weight. She stared at it, this alien appendage that was now, technically, hers. The core of her being, Claire, recoiled. But the body she inhabited didn’t. There was a low, curious hum of sensation, a connection to the thing that was both deeply wrong and undeniably physical.
Will had stripped completely now, standing naked by the sink. He was staring into the mirror, at Amy’s face, with a kind of horrified fascination. His hands skimmed over the dramatic hourglass curve of the hips, the soft swell of the stomach. “God,” he whispered.
“Don’t,” Claire said, her new voice gruff. “Just… don’t think. Clean. That’s all.”
They stepped into the shower together, a bizarre and intimate pantomime of their old married life. The water was hot, a welcome shock. Claire let it sluice over Frank’s broad shoulders, watching as Will soaped Amy’s body with a clinical, hurried desperation. The suds slid over smooth skin, over curves that Will had only ever seen on his sister from a detached, brotherly distance. Now he was mapping them with his own, stolen hands.
Claire’s own washing was more hesitant. The soap slid over Frank’s chest, flat and hard. Down the taut stomach. Her hand, wrapped in plastic to protect the bandages, hesitated again at the groin. She had to clean it. It was just a body part. A piece of biology.
She touched it. Frank’s flaccid penis was soft, vulnerable in her grip. She washed it quickly, the soap slick, her mind screaming the wrongness of it. But as her fingers moved, a jolt went through her—through Frank’s body. A thick, gathering tension. A flood of warmth that had nothing to do with the shower. She gasped, and the thing in her hand began to change, to swell and stiffen, lengthening and thickening in a way that was utterly, overwhelmingly male.
In the mirror of her mind, she was still Claire. But the sensation… the sensation was a deep, insistent pulse, a claiming of blood and flesh that centered entirely on that stretching, hardening shaft. It felt powerful. It felt hungry.
She looked up, water streaming down Frank’s face, and met Will’s eyes. He had seen. He was staring, not at her face, but lower, at the clear, hard evidence of the body’s response. In his own new body, Amy’s body, a sympathetic flush spread across the chest and throat.
“It’s… it’s just the heat,” Claire stammered, the excuse weak even to her own ears.
Will didn’t answer. He was looking down now, at Amy’s body. At the space between her legs. His expression was one of dawning, awful comprehension. “It would… it would stretch,” he said, his voice hollow. “Wouldn’t it? If we… that would stretch this.” He didn’t elaborate. He didn’t need to. The image was there, brutal and visceral: the thick, hard length of Frank, of the penis Claire now felt twitching in her hand, pushing into the tight, small space that was now his.
The thought should have revolted him. It should have revolted her. But standing there in the steam, with the water beating down on their stolen, aching forms, it didn’t. It hummed between them, a forbidden current. A terrible, logical next step. The body Claire was in throbbed with a need that was entirely about filling a space, about the profound, physical truth of fit and stretch. And the body Will was in, for all his mental horror, seemed to soften in response, a faint, unfamiliar ache blooming low in Amy’s belly.
They finished rinsing in silence, the air crackling with things unsaid. They toweled off, avoiding each other’s eyes, avoiding looking too long at the reflections in the fogged-up glass. They were two people, stranded in the wrong skins, with the ghosts of their spouses between them and a terrifying, tantalizing new physics of flesh beckoning from the shadows of their own home.
body swap
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Vega's BEAUTIFUL face is destroyed by Chun Li so he replaces it.
A reimagining of 'Palette Swap' by Team Lady Valiant & FarhadTG
The final kick landed with a sickening crack. My heel connected squarely with Vega's porcelain mask, shattering it—and the bone beneath—with a sound like splintering china. He went down hard, clutching his ruined face, blood seeping between his perfect fingers. For a moment, there was only his ragged breathing and the ringing in my ears.
Then he started to laugh.
"Beautiful... so beautiful..." he gurgled through the wreckage of his jaw, his once-perfect features now a jigsaw puzzle of gore and ceramic shards. His free hand fumbled at his belt, producing a small device I recognized from Bison's labs. "But beauty... can be transferred."
"No—!" I lunged forward, but too late. He pressed the trigger.
The world exploded in white light and static. I felt myself falling, spinning, my consciousness ripping away from my body like silk tearing. When I could see again, I was looking up at the ceiling from the floor, my perspective completely wrong. Vega's hands—my hands now—rose into view. Long-fingered and pale. I touched my face and felt bandages, surgical tape, the swollen flesh beneath.
Across from me, Vega—now wearing my body—stood staring down at itself with wide, hungry eyes. He immediately grabbed the neckline of my qipao top and tore it open, exposing the breasts I'd known my whole life as if seeing them for the first time. "Exquisite," he breathed in my voice, a sound so wrong it made my stomach turn. He cupped them, his fingers—my fingers once—squeezing the weight of them with obscene fascination.
"Three days later."
The words felt surreal to even think. Three days of surgery, of recovery, of Vega preening and parading in my skin while I lay in his bed, trapped in his broken body. I shifted against silk sheets that smelled of roses and blood, trying to find a position that didn't send agony lancing through Vega's four fractured ribs—my fractured ribs now.
The bedroom door opened. Vega entered—not the Vega I'd fought, but the Vega who now wore my face and form. He'd styled my hair into his signature braid, the dark ropes hanging over one shoulder. My breasts—his breasts now—were completely exposed, moving with a bounce and weight I intimately understood but had never witnessed from this angle. His nipples, my nipples once, were hard on my former breasts and already healed into them was a matching version of Vega's serpent tattoo, coiling around his left breast.
He wore the ceremonial trousers of a matador in murrey and yellow, so tight they might have been painted on. Every curve of what had been my hips, my ass, my thighs—his now—was outlined in devastating detail. The white leggings hugged his calves, the red sash cinched his waist, and the loafers clicked softly on the marble floor. There was no shirt, no vest, no modesty whatsoever.
"How are we feeling today, my beautiful monster?" he purred in my voice, running his hands down his bare torso, fingers tracing the new tattoo. "I've been breaking in your body. The flexibility is... inspiring."
I pushed myself up on Vega's arms—my arms now—so much stronger than my own had been, but currently useless thanks to the ribs. I wore the masculine version of my Street Fighter Alpha outfit: an embroidered vest that strained across his broad shoulders, a navy unitard that did nothing to hide the evidence of my new anatomy, athletic shoes, and studded wristbands. My face was still wrapped in bandages, Napoleon's guise hiding the damage I'd inflicted.
"You're a psychopath," I rasped, his voice grating in my throat.
"I'm an artist," he corrected, striking a pose that made his—my breasts once—lift and press together. "And I've finally achieved my masterpiece. The face I was always meant to have, the body I've coveted for years. But..." He frowned, touching his bandaged visage on my body. "I still need to fix this. Your brutality marred perfection."
Despite everything, despite the pain and violation, I felt a strange heat pooling in my new groin as I watched him touch what had been my face. My old body was undeniably beautiful, even under his control. And his body... I flexed Vega's powerful thighs—my thighs now—felt the weight of different muscles, the tightness of the unitard against an erection I hadn't asked for.
His eyes—my eyes once—caught the movement. "Ah, I see my husband is adjusting. Good." He began to pace, each step deliberate, making my former hips sway. "I've been thinking, my love. About our arrangement. You gave me this gift, this perfect vessel. And I realized something." He stopped at the foot of the bed, hands on what had been my hips. "I'm in love. With you. With the fighter who broke me, who made this possible."
My breath caught. "You're insane."
"Perhaps." He smiled with my lips, then reached down and began to touch himself through the impossibly tight matador trousers. "But watch how your former body responds to the truth." One hand squeezed his breast—the weight of it filling his palm perfectly—while the other rubbed slow circles between his legs. "I've been touching myself constantly, wife. Learning every secret you kept hidden. Did you know you could get this wet?"
He turned, presenting the profile of my former body, and I watched in horrified fascination as his fingers worked faster. The trousers were so tight I could see the outline of his hand, the way the fabric pulled and strained. He was getting wet—I could smell it, that familiar scent from a foreign source, and the dark patch spreading across the murrey fabric.
"Vega, stop—" I protested, but my new voice was weak.
"Why? This is as much yours as mine now." He approached the bed, leaning over my new crotch, my former breasts—his breasts now—swaying. "Let me show you what I've learned as your wife."
His hands moved to my unitard, and before I could protest, he tore the reinforced fabric between my legs with shocking ease. Vega's cock sprang free, already hard and throbbing. I gasped at the sensation—so different, so urgent.
"Beautiful," he whispered, taking it in my former hands. "Just like the rest of your husband."
Then he leaned forward and pressed my erection between his breasts—the breasts I'd once soaped in the shower, the breasts that had fit into specific sports bras, the breasts that were now his to wield as mother to my fatherhood. The sensation was overwhelming. He squeezed them together, creating a channel of soft, yielding flesh, and began to move.
"Watch," he commanded in my voice, looking down at me with my own dark eyes—his eyes now. "Watch what you made of your wife."
He worked faster, the gold rings in his nipples glinting, his braid swinging with each motion. The pleasure built in this unfamiliar body, coiling tighter and tighter. When he lowered his mouth to the tip and took me—Vega—between my own lips—his lips now—I couldn't hold back.
The orgasm ripped through me, a different kind of explosion than any kick or punch. He swallowed, his throat working in a way I'd never felt, then released me with a satisfied smile. Vega's cock—my cock now—still twitched, half-hard and sensitive.
"There," he purred, wiping his mouth with the back of my former hand. "Now we understand each other, husband."
I was panting, each breath sending pain through Vega's ribs—my ribs now. "More," I managed, hips still twitching with aftershocks. "I want..."
"Shhh." He leaned close, my former breasts—his breasts now—pressing against the vest covering his old chest. "Your body is still healing. I had to have extensive reconstructive surgery on your face, you know. These ribs need time." He whispered in my ear, his breath hot against skin that was his but now mine: "We have all the time in the world, my love. When you're whole again, your wife will take you so much further."
He kissed the bandages covering Vega's ruined features—my ruined features now—then rose from the bed, adjusting his trousers with a satisfied smile. My body left the room with his swagger, the door clicking shut behind him.
I collapsed back against the pillows, remembering as Vega removed his breasts from my half-hard penis, the wetness left behind cooling in the air. My mind reeled with the obscene intimacy of what we'd just done. Three days in, and I was already lost, already thinking of this monster in my skin as "my wife." How many more until I didn't want to find my way back?
A reimagining of 'Palette Swap' by Team Lady Valiant & FarhadTG
The final kick landed with a sickening crack. My heel connected squarely with Vega's porcelain mask, shattering it—and the bone beneath—with a sound like splintering china. He went down hard, clutching his ruined face, blood seeping between his perfect fingers. For a moment, there was only his ragged breathing and the ringing in my ears.
Then he started to laugh.
"Beautiful... so beautiful..." he gurgled through the wreckage of his jaw, his once-perfect features now a jigsaw puzzle of gore and ceramic shards. His free hand fumbled at his belt, producing a small device I recognized from Bison's labs. "But beauty... can be transferred."
"No—!" I lunged forward, but too late. He pressed the trigger.
The world exploded in white light and static. I felt myself falling, spinning, my consciousness ripping away from my body like silk tearing. When I could see again, I was looking up at the ceiling from the floor, my perspective completely wrong. Vega's hands—my hands now—rose into view. Long-fingered and pale. I touched my face and felt bandages, surgical tape, the swollen flesh beneath.
Across from me, Vega—now wearing my body—stood staring down at itself with wide, hungry eyes. He immediately grabbed the neckline of my qipao top and tore it open, exposing the breasts I'd known my whole life as if seeing them for the first time. "Exquisite," he breathed in my voice, a sound so wrong it made my stomach turn. He cupped them, his fingers—my fingers once—squeezing the weight of them with obscene fascination.
"Three days later."
The words felt surreal to even think. Three days of surgery, of recovery, of Vega preening and parading in my skin while I lay in his bed, trapped in his broken body. I shifted against silk sheets that smelled of roses and blood, trying to find a position that didn't send agony lancing through Vega's four fractured ribs—my fractured ribs now.
The bedroom door opened. Vega entered—not the Vega I'd fought, but the Vega who now wore my face and form. He'd styled my hair into his signature braid, the dark ropes hanging over one shoulder. My breasts—his breasts now—were completely exposed, moving with a bounce and weight I intimately understood but had never witnessed from this angle. His nipples, my nipples once, were hard on my former breasts and already healed into them was a matching version of Vega's serpent tattoo, coiling around his left breast.
He wore the ceremonial trousers of a matador in murrey and yellow, so tight they might have been painted on. Every curve of what had been my hips, my ass, my thighs—his now—was outlined in devastating detail. The white leggings hugged his calves, the red sash cinched his waist, and the loafers clicked softly on the marble floor. There was no shirt, no vest, no modesty whatsoever.
"How are we feeling today, my beautiful monster?" he purred in my voice, running his hands down his bare torso, fingers tracing the new tattoo. "I've been breaking in your body. The flexibility is... inspiring."
I pushed myself up on Vega's arms—my arms now—so much stronger than my own had been, but currently useless thanks to the ribs. I wore the masculine version of my Street Fighter Alpha outfit: an embroidered vest that strained across his broad shoulders, a navy unitard that did nothing to hide the evidence of my new anatomy, athletic shoes, and studded wristbands. My face was still wrapped in bandages, Napoleon's guise hiding the damage I'd inflicted.
"You're a psychopath," I rasped, his voice grating in my throat.
"I'm an artist," he corrected, striking a pose that made his—my breasts once—lift and press together. "And I've finally achieved my masterpiece. The face I was always meant to have, the body I've coveted for years. But..." He frowned, touching his bandaged visage on my body. "I still need to fix this. Your brutality marred perfection."
Despite everything, despite the pain and violation, I felt a strange heat pooling in my new groin as I watched him touch what had been my face. My old body was undeniably beautiful, even under his control. And his body... I flexed Vega's powerful thighs—my thighs now—felt the weight of different muscles, the tightness of the unitard against an erection I hadn't asked for.
His eyes—my eyes once—caught the movement. "Ah, I see my husband is adjusting. Good." He began to pace, each step deliberate, making my former hips sway. "I've been thinking, my love. About our arrangement. You gave me this gift, this perfect vessel. And I realized something." He stopped at the foot of the bed, hands on what had been my hips. "I'm in love. With you. With the fighter who broke me, who made this possible."
My breath caught. "You're insane."
"Perhaps." He smiled with my lips, then reached down and began to touch himself through the impossibly tight matador trousers. "But watch how your former body responds to the truth." One hand squeezed his breast—the weight of it filling his palm perfectly—while the other rubbed slow circles between his legs. "I've been touching myself constantly, wife. Learning every secret you kept hidden. Did you know you could get this wet?"
He turned, presenting the profile of my former body, and I watched in horrified fascination as his fingers worked faster. The trousers were so tight I could see the outline of his hand, the way the fabric pulled and strained. He was getting wet—I could smell it, that familiar scent from a foreign source, and the dark patch spreading across the murrey fabric.
"Vega, stop—" I protested, but my new voice was weak.
"Why? This is as much yours as mine now." He approached the bed, leaning over my new crotch, my former breasts—his breasts now—swaying. "Let me show you what I've learned as your wife."
His hands moved to my unitard, and before I could protest, he tore the reinforced fabric between my legs with shocking ease. Vega's cock sprang free, already hard and throbbing. I gasped at the sensation—so different, so urgent.
"Beautiful," he whispered, taking it in my former hands. "Just like the rest of your husband."
Then he leaned forward and pressed my erection between his breasts—the breasts I'd once soaped in the shower, the breasts that had fit into specific sports bras, the breasts that were now his to wield as mother to my fatherhood. The sensation was overwhelming. He squeezed them together, creating a channel of soft, yielding flesh, and began to move.
"Watch," he commanded in my voice, looking down at me with my own dark eyes—his eyes now. "Watch what you made of your wife."
He worked faster, the gold rings in his nipples glinting, his braid swinging with each motion. The pleasure built in this unfamiliar body, coiling tighter and tighter. When he lowered his mouth to the tip and took me—Vega—between my own lips—his lips now—I couldn't hold back.
The orgasm ripped through me, a different kind of explosion than any kick or punch. He swallowed, his throat working in a way I'd never felt, then released me with a satisfied smile. Vega's cock—my cock now—still twitched, half-hard and sensitive.
"There," he purred, wiping his mouth with the back of my former hand. "Now we understand each other, husband."
I was panting, each breath sending pain through Vega's ribs—my ribs now. "More," I managed, hips still twitching with aftershocks. "I want..."
"Shhh." He leaned close, my former breasts—his breasts now—pressing against the vest covering his old chest. "Your body is still healing. I had to have extensive reconstructive surgery on your face, you know. These ribs need time." He whispered in my ear, his breath hot against skin that was his but now mine: "We have all the time in the world, my love. When you're whole again, your wife will take you so much further."
He kissed the bandages covering Vega's ruined features—my ruined features now—then rose from the bed, adjusting his trousers with a satisfied smile. My body left the room with his swagger, the door clicking shut behind him.
I collapsed back against the pillows, remembering as Vega removed his breasts from my half-hard penis, the wetness left behind cooling in the air. My mind reeled with the obscene intimacy of what we'd just done. Three days in, and I was already lost, already thinking of this monster in my skin as "my wife." How many more until I didn't want to find my way back?
body swap
+2 more
3
4.0K
443
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A witch is invited to a college party and offers a special game of Beer Pong. It is a very special version of hooking up.
The silence in the room was thick enough to chew. All eyes were locked on Keisha and the impossible sight of Tai’s arms buried deep within her. Her face was a mask of pure, unadulterated fury, her body trembling not with fear, but with volcanic rage.
“Maybe I can dig it out with my other hand?” Tai offered, his voice muffled and strained from inside her.
“TAI! DON’T YOU DA—” Keisha’s command was obliterated by a guttural, choking scream as his second hand plunged in after the first, the tight ring of muscle at her entrance stretching with an audible, wet sssskkkrtch to accommodate the double intrusion. Inside, the sensation was beyond anything she could have conceived. It wasn't just a presence; it was a colonizing force. She could feel the precise shape of his fingers, the rough texture of his palms as they brushed against her most intimate internal walls, exploring, mapping her from the inside out. A hot, full pressure began to build deep in her core, a feeling of being packed, filled beyond her limits.
“Vivian,” Keisha hissed, her voice dripping with venom, every word a struggle. “There is currently a Korean man wedged shoulder deep in my anal cavity. Would you PLEASE do something about it before he explodes out through my stomach?”
Vivian’s eyes lit up with demonic glee. “Oooh, do something about it?! I thought you’d never ask!” She practically skipped behind Keisha, placing her small foot squarely on the small of Tai’s back, the only part of him still visible.
The kick wasn’t forceful, but it was decisive. With a sound like a giant cork being pulled from a bottle of thick oil, followed by a deep, resonant FWUMP, Tai’s torso was suddenly propelled inward. Keisha’s eyes shot wide, then instantly rolled back into her head, a strangled grunt the only protest she could muster as her body accepted the violation. Her glorious, sculpted ass cheeks quivered violently before clapping together with a final, wet smack, sealing Tai completely inside her. For a moment, she stood there, stunned, her body humming with the shock of the intrusion.
Then, the real transformation began.
A distinct bulge, the unmistakable outline of a man’s face, pushed against the tight, toned skin of her lower abdomen. Keisha looked down, her horror reflected in the faces of the onlookers. “Wha— what is that?” she gasped, her hands flying to the protrusion. As she touched it, the face within seemed to smile, stretching her skin grotesquely.
The rest of Tai followed in a relentless, internal avalanche. She felt him bundling into her stomach, a tangle of limbs and mass forcing her midsection to distend outward. Her flat, hard-won abs disappeared, replaced by a bloated, pregnant dome that strained her skin. Inside, it was a maelstrom. Tai, disoriented and panicked, began to thrash. His knees jerked, and Keisha’s legs buckled involuntarily. His elbows flailed, and her arms spasmed at her sides. She stumbled, a marionette with a frantic puppeteer trapped inside her, emitting a series of choked yelps and moans with every involuntary movement.
“You said you were going to help!” Keisha accused Vivian, her voice wavering as she struggled to remain upright.
Vivian just blinked. “I did help you. Is he still stuck?”
Keisha’s mental struggle was a silent scream in a dissolving prison. My body! This is MY body! she thought, a mantra of defiance. But with every thrash, Tai’s consciousness seeped into her nerves, his confusion and panic becoming her own. She felt his legs, strong and muscular, sliding into the length of her own. It was a horrifying, stretching sensation, like her bones were being remolded. Her thighs, already powerful, gained a new, thicker solidity. Her calves tightened. And then, with a final, psychic click, control of her legs was severed from her brain and handed over to his. He was in charge of moving them now.
The loss of autonomy was more terrifying than the physical invasion. She tried to command her legs to step forward, but they remained rooted. Instead, Tai, blindly seeking leverage, forced them to collapse.
She fell backward, her enormous new ass—now the seat of his consciousness—thudding onto the carpet with a jiggle that sent a shockwave through her frame. The impact seemed to energize him. Using the new-found anchor of her lower body, he began to push upward, trying to climb out of the fleshy well of her torso.
Keisha’s upper body was dragged across the floor, her back arching, her head lolling. She was a passenger, forced to feel every graze of the carpet, every powerful, uncoordinated jerk. Next, his arms slipped into hers. The feeling was one of overwhelming fullness; her biceps and forearms thickened, gaining a lean, wiry strength that was entirely his. Her hands, once her own, now felt alien, their movements his impulses.
The final assault was on her head. The bulging face in her stomach began its ascent, tunneling up through her organs, a relentless pressure moving up her diaphragm, between her lungs, pushing her breasts aside. She could feel the shape of his nose, his lips, his brow ridge moving up through her core. Her neck distended, a grotesque balloon animal version of itself as his head forced its way into the column. She arched her back, a final, desperate attempt to keep her own head above the rising tide of him, her eyes locking with Vivian’s in a final promise of vengeance.
“Remember, bitch. I WILL get you back for this.”
It was her last coherent thought. His skull pressed up against the base of her own, and with a final, full-body spasm that was entirely his doing, he merged. It was like a key turning in a lock. Her consciousness didn’t vanish; it was simply… submerged, pushed into a tiny, dark corner of her own mind. She was aware, but she was no longer in control. She could only watch, a ghost in her own machine, as her eyes—his eyes now—snapped open.
“Holy shit, was that a ride!” The voice that came from her mouth was Tai’s—his cadence, his excited pitch—but filtered through Keisha’s softer vocal cords, creating a strange, androgynous sound. He sat up, using her hands to grab a fistful of her own wispy raven hair, his amazement palpable. “Thank god I landed on this bean bag when I fell though, I’d hate to damage the goods before I got to sample them!” He chuckled, patting the generous curve of her ass beneath him.
From the corner, Danny, still lounging on the actual beanbag, piped up. “But dude, I’m on the bean bag! You didn’t land on anything bro. That’s just Keisha’s…”
A look of dawning, ecstatic comprehension spread across Keisha’s features—Tai’s expressions now. “OH SWEET MOSES!” he exclaimed, the voice a perfect blend of his shock and her tone. He scrambled to his feet—her feet—with an agility that was all his. His hands, her hands, flew to the monumental cheeks he’d just been sitting on, groping and kneading the flesh with ravenous disbelief.
The sensation was double-layered: Tai’s euphoric discovery and, buried deep within, Keisha’s mortified, screaming silence as she felt her own hands violating her in ways she never had. He shook his—their—hips, watching in a nearby reflective surface as the jiggle propagated in a wave of mesmerizing motion.
“Is this what she feels ALL THE TIME!” he whooped, his laughter echoing in the silent, stunned room. Inside, Keisha fought, a desperate mental push against a wall of overwhelming control. She tried to scream, to regain a muscle, but was pulled into Tai. She was no longer separate but now a part of Tai. Her body was no longer hers. It was now Taisha’s. And Taisha was thrilled.
The silence in the room was thick enough to chew. All eyes were locked on Keisha and the impossible sight of Tai’s arms buried deep within her. Her face was a mask of pure, unadulterated fury, her body trembling not with fear, but with volcanic rage.
“Maybe I can dig it out with my other hand?” Tai offered, his voice muffled and strained from inside her.
“TAI! DON’T YOU DA—” Keisha’s command was obliterated by a guttural, choking scream as his second hand plunged in after the first, the tight ring of muscle at her entrance stretching with an audible, wet sssskkkrtch to accommodate the double intrusion. Inside, the sensation was beyond anything she could have conceived. It wasn't just a presence; it was a colonizing force. She could feel the precise shape of his fingers, the rough texture of his palms as they brushed against her most intimate internal walls, exploring, mapping her from the inside out. A hot, full pressure began to build deep in her core, a feeling of being packed, filled beyond her limits.
“Vivian,” Keisha hissed, her voice dripping with venom, every word a struggle. “There is currently a Korean man wedged shoulder deep in my anal cavity. Would you PLEASE do something about it before he explodes out through my stomach?”
Vivian’s eyes lit up with demonic glee. “Oooh, do something about it?! I thought you’d never ask!” She practically skipped behind Keisha, placing her small foot squarely on the small of Tai’s back, the only part of him still visible.
The kick wasn’t forceful, but it was decisive. With a sound like a giant cork being pulled from a bottle of thick oil, followed by a deep, resonant FWUMP, Tai’s torso was suddenly propelled inward. Keisha’s eyes shot wide, then instantly rolled back into her head, a strangled grunt the only protest she could muster as her body accepted the violation. Her glorious, sculpted ass cheeks quivered violently before clapping together with a final, wet smack, sealing Tai completely inside her. For a moment, she stood there, stunned, her body humming with the shock of the intrusion.
Then, the real transformation began.
A distinct bulge, the unmistakable outline of a man’s face, pushed against the tight, toned skin of her lower abdomen. Keisha looked down, her horror reflected in the faces of the onlookers. “Wha— what is that?” she gasped, her hands flying to the protrusion. As she touched it, the face within seemed to smile, stretching her skin grotesquely.
The rest of Tai followed in a relentless, internal avalanche. She felt him bundling into her stomach, a tangle of limbs and mass forcing her midsection to distend outward. Her flat, hard-won abs disappeared, replaced by a bloated, pregnant dome that strained her skin. Inside, it was a maelstrom. Tai, disoriented and panicked, began to thrash. His knees jerked, and Keisha’s legs buckled involuntarily. His elbows flailed, and her arms spasmed at her sides. She stumbled, a marionette with a frantic puppeteer trapped inside her, emitting a series of choked yelps and moans with every involuntary movement.
“You said you were going to help!” Keisha accused Vivian, her voice wavering as she struggled to remain upright.
Vivian just blinked. “I did help you. Is he still stuck?”
Keisha’s mental struggle was a silent scream in a dissolving prison. My body! This is MY body! she thought, a mantra of defiance. But with every thrash, Tai’s consciousness seeped into her nerves, his confusion and panic becoming her own. She felt his legs, strong and muscular, sliding into the length of her own. It was a horrifying, stretching sensation, like her bones were being remolded. Her thighs, already powerful, gained a new, thicker solidity. Her calves tightened. And then, with a final, psychic click, control of her legs was severed from her brain and handed over to his. He was in charge of moving them now.
The loss of autonomy was more terrifying than the physical invasion. She tried to command her legs to step forward, but they remained rooted. Instead, Tai, blindly seeking leverage, forced them to collapse.
She fell backward, her enormous new ass—now the seat of his consciousness—thudding onto the carpet with a jiggle that sent a shockwave through her frame. The impact seemed to energize him. Using the new-found anchor of her lower body, he began to push upward, trying to climb out of the fleshy well of her torso.
Keisha’s upper body was dragged across the floor, her back arching, her head lolling. She was a passenger, forced to feel every graze of the carpet, every powerful, uncoordinated jerk. Next, his arms slipped into hers. The feeling was one of overwhelming fullness; her biceps and forearms thickened, gaining a lean, wiry strength that was entirely his. Her hands, once her own, now felt alien, their movements his impulses.
The final assault was on her head. The bulging face in her stomach began its ascent, tunneling up through her organs, a relentless pressure moving up her diaphragm, between her lungs, pushing her breasts aside. She could feel the shape of his nose, his lips, his brow ridge moving up through her core. Her neck distended, a grotesque balloon animal version of itself as his head forced its way into the column. She arched her back, a final, desperate attempt to keep her own head above the rising tide of him, her eyes locking with Vivian’s in a final promise of vengeance.
“Remember, bitch. I WILL get you back for this.”
It was her last coherent thought. His skull pressed up against the base of her own, and with a final, full-body spasm that was entirely his doing, he merged. It was like a key turning in a lock. Her consciousness didn’t vanish; it was simply… submerged, pushed into a tiny, dark corner of her own mind. She was aware, but she was no longer in control. She could only watch, a ghost in her own machine, as her eyes—his eyes now—snapped open.
“Holy shit, was that a ride!” The voice that came from her mouth was Tai’s—his cadence, his excited pitch—but filtered through Keisha’s softer vocal cords, creating a strange, androgynous sound. He sat up, using her hands to grab a fistful of her own wispy raven hair, his amazement palpable. “Thank god I landed on this bean bag when I fell though, I’d hate to damage the goods before I got to sample them!” He chuckled, patting the generous curve of her ass beneath him.
From the corner, Danny, still lounging on the actual beanbag, piped up. “But dude, I’m on the bean bag! You didn’t land on anything bro. That’s just Keisha’s…”
A look of dawning, ecstatic comprehension spread across Keisha’s features—Tai’s expressions now. “OH SWEET MOSES!” he exclaimed, the voice a perfect blend of his shock and her tone. He scrambled to his feet—her feet—with an agility that was all his. His hands, her hands, flew to the monumental cheeks he’d just been sitting on, groping and kneading the flesh with ravenous disbelief.
The sensation was double-layered: Tai’s euphoric discovery and, buried deep within, Keisha’s mortified, screaming silence as she felt her own hands violating her in ways she never had. He shook his—their—hips, watching in a nearby reflective surface as the jiggle propagated in a wave of mesmerizing motion.
“Is this what she feels ALL THE TIME!” he whooped, his laughter echoing in the silent, stunned room. Inside, Keisha fought, a desperate mental push against a wall of overwhelming control. She tried to scream, to regain a muscle, but was pulled into Tai. She was no longer separate but now a part of Tai. Her body was no longer hers. It was now Taisha’s. And Taisha was thrilled.
possession
+7 more
6
8.5K
787
2
1
Stacey and her team are chosen to fight an alien invasion
It all started during what should’ve been just another grueling practice session under the sweltering Texas sun. Sweat stung my eyes, and my muscles screamed in protest with every high kick and flip. I was Stacey Robinson, head cheerleader of the Northwood Wildcats, and we were running the pyramid sequence for what felt like the hundredth time.
That’s when the sky tore open.
Not with a crack of thunder, but with a soft, shimmering hum. A light, gentle as a sunbeam, descended, and out stepped a figure that looked less like an alien invader and more like a yoga instructor from a high-end spa. He was tall, slender, with skin that shimmered like mother-of-pearl and eyes the color of a calm sea. He introduced himself as Nagai, an emissary from a distant star.
“Stacey Robinson,” he said, his voice like a melody. “Your world is in grave, albeit peculiar, danger.”
We all just stared, too shocked to even drop our pom-poms.
He explained that an ancient cosmic ruler, a being of immense vanity and twisted ideals, was approaching Earth. Her name was Queen Adiposa, and her goal was to impose her own standard of beauty upon the universe: to make fat not just acceptable, but the only form of beauty, eradicating all others. Her method? A wave of transformative energy, preceded by an army of minions who looked… well, like unnaturally enthusiastic Planet Fitness trainers in their purple and yellow uniforms, forever chanting about “no judgement.”
“Your spirit, your power, your unity,” Nagai said, his gaze sweeping over my team—Chloe, Hannah, Zoe, Maya, and Brianna. “You six are the only ones who can stop her. You will become my champions. The Supersonic Pussy Rangers.”
We glanced at each other. The name was ridiculous. The situation was insane. But the look in Nagai’s eyes was dead serious.
A wave of his hand, and a flash of light enveloped us. I felt a surge of power, a buzzing energy that settled deep in my core. When the light faded, we were all clad in skintight suits. Mine was a vibrant, commanding red. Chloe got pink, Hannah yellow, Zoe a deep purple, and Maya a cool aqua. And then there was Brianna.
Brianna, already the bustiest of us by a mile, was… naked. But not just naked. Her suit was a shimmering, barely-there layer of light that did nothing to conceal her incredible figure. Nagai hadn’t been kidding about the name. Her breasts were so magnificently large, so breathtakingly full, they truly looked like they could swallow a person’s head whole.
“Your power will manifest when you face your enemy,” Nagai said, just as the ground shook.
Our first monster arrived. It was a hulking beast made of what looked like lumpy, pink flesh, with a single massive eye and a microphone headset. It was flanked by a dozen of those smiling, clapping Planet Fitness minions. “Let’s get this party started! No lunkheads, just gains!” one of them chirped.
We fought. It was chaos. We moved with a speed and strength we never knew we had, our colored suits leaving streaks of light in the air. We kicked and punched, our movements synchronized from years of practice, now amplified into something superhuman. We finally took the monster down with a combined energy blast.
But it wasn’t over. The fallen monster began to glow, its body reassembling and swelling, growing taller and taller until it loomed over the school, a five-story tall abomination of jiggling fat and distorted fitness enthusiasm.
“Now, Stacey!” Nagai’s voice echoed in my mind. “It is time!”
A belt of gleaming silver and red, engraved with strange symbols, appeared in his hands. He tossed it to me. I caught it, and without thinking, I slapped it around my waist. A click, a hum, and then… silence.
The world froze. The monster was a statue mid-roar. The minions were frozen in their mindless clapping. My team hovered in the air around me, their eyes glazed over, caught in Nagai’s powerful stasis.
I was lifted into the air. Chloe (Pink) and Zoe (Purple) floated toward me in a dreamlike daze. My legs, guided by an unseen force, slipped into their open mouths. I felt no resistance, only a warm, incredible pressure as my feet slid down, down, coming to rest deep within their stomachs. It was the strangest, most intimate sensation I’d ever felt.
Next, Hannah (Yellow) and Maya (Aqua) drifted over. My arms entered them, sinking into their bodies through their backsides up to just below my elbows. Their legs unwound themselves and wrapped tightly around my torso, locking into place. I could feel the muscles in their thighs tense against my sides.
Finally, Brianna—Naked—floated toward my chest. She pressed against me, her incredible softness moulding to my form. She wrapped her arms and legs around my own, locking us together, and then let her head fall forward, completely vanishing between the immense, soft pillows of her own breasts, pressed firmly against my chest.
I dropped back to the ground, the impact jolting through me. I could feel Brianna’s body on my front, her breasts bouncing with the landing. I tentatively tried to move.
I thought, step forward.
The movement came, but it wasn’t just my leg. It was Chloe’s and then Zoe’s legs moving in perfect unison with me, their bodies moving as extensions of my own. I was controlling them. I was them. I lifted my arms, and saw Hannah and Maya’s arms mirror the movement perfectly.
“This is your Megazord form,” Nagai’s voice explained, sound returning to my private bubble of time. “You are the core. You command their bodies as your own limbs. They will remember none of this. To release them, you must defeat the enemy. When it is weakened, you must yell ‘FINISHER!’.”
I practiced. A step became a mighty stomp from four powerful legs. A punch became a devastating blow from four clenched fists. The power was dizzying. I felt the distinct sensations from each of my teammates—the sleek strength of Chloe, the flexible power of Zoe, the explosive energy of Hannah, the steady grace of Maya, and the overwhelming, soft warmth of Brianna pressed against me.
“Now, Stacey,” Nagai said. “Finish it.”
Time slammed back into motion with a roar.
The giant monster swung a fist the size of a car at me. I—we—blocked it with a forearm, the impact resonating through our combined bodies. We fought, a giantess of flesh and power against a monster of fat. We were faster, stronger, unified. With a series of powerful blows, we weakened it, until it staggered, dizzy and disoriented.
Now.
I took a deep breath, the motion causing Brianna’s chest to rise and fall against mine.
“FINISHER!” I yelled, my voice echoing with the combined power of six girls.
We leaped, a phenomenal jump that carried our combined form high into the air. We twisted, aiming ourselves downward. The monster looked up, its single eye wide with confusion.
We came down on its head, not on its body.
We landed perfectly, with the soft, warm heart of our formation—Brianna—coming to rest directly over the monster’s head. It let out a muffled, gurgled roar, its head completely smothered, suffocated between the immense, world-encompassing softness of her vagina. It struggled for a moment, then fell still, beginning to dissolve into harmless pink mist.
The belt on my waist clicked. The world dissolved in another flash of light, and I was standing alone, back in my red ranger suit. My team stood around me, blinking, stretching.
“Whoa, did we do it?” Chloe asked, looking at the fading pink mist. “I blacked out for a second there. What a rush!”
They remembered nothing. But I remembered everything. The feeling of their bodies as my own. The incredible, intimate power.
And I knew, with a thrilling certainty that shot right through me, that this was only the beginning. Queen Adiposa would send more monsters. And each time, we would combine. Each time, I would feel that connection, that control.
And each time, I would make my teammates more… mine.
It all started during what should’ve been just another grueling practice session under the sweltering Texas sun. Sweat stung my eyes, and my muscles screamed in protest with every high kick and flip. I was Stacey Robinson, head cheerleader of the Northwood Wildcats, and we were running the pyramid sequence for what felt like the hundredth time.
That’s when the sky tore open.
Not with a crack of thunder, but with a soft, shimmering hum. A light, gentle as a sunbeam, descended, and out stepped a figure that looked less like an alien invader and more like a yoga instructor from a high-end spa. He was tall, slender, with skin that shimmered like mother-of-pearl and eyes the color of a calm sea. He introduced himself as Nagai, an emissary from a distant star.
“Stacey Robinson,” he said, his voice like a melody. “Your world is in grave, albeit peculiar, danger.”
We all just stared, too shocked to even drop our pom-poms.
He explained that an ancient cosmic ruler, a being of immense vanity and twisted ideals, was approaching Earth. Her name was Queen Adiposa, and her goal was to impose her own standard of beauty upon the universe: to make fat not just acceptable, but the only form of beauty, eradicating all others. Her method? A wave of transformative energy, preceded by an army of minions who looked… well, like unnaturally enthusiastic Planet Fitness trainers in their purple and yellow uniforms, forever chanting about “no judgement.”
“Your spirit, your power, your unity,” Nagai said, his gaze sweeping over my team—Chloe, Hannah, Zoe, Maya, and Brianna. “You six are the only ones who can stop her. You will become my champions. The Supersonic Pussy Rangers.”
We glanced at each other. The name was ridiculous. The situation was insane. But the look in Nagai’s eyes was dead serious.
A wave of his hand, and a flash of light enveloped us. I felt a surge of power, a buzzing energy that settled deep in my core. When the light faded, we were all clad in skintight suits. Mine was a vibrant, commanding red. Chloe got pink, Hannah yellow, Zoe a deep purple, and Maya a cool aqua. And then there was Brianna.
Brianna, already the bustiest of us by a mile, was… naked. But not just naked. Her suit was a shimmering, barely-there layer of light that did nothing to conceal her incredible figure. Nagai hadn’t been kidding about the name. Her breasts were so magnificently large, so breathtakingly full, they truly looked like they could swallow a person’s head whole.
“Your power will manifest when you face your enemy,” Nagai said, just as the ground shook.
Our first monster arrived. It was a hulking beast made of what looked like lumpy, pink flesh, with a single massive eye and a microphone headset. It was flanked by a dozen of those smiling, clapping Planet Fitness minions. “Let’s get this party started! No lunkheads, just gains!” one of them chirped.
We fought. It was chaos. We moved with a speed and strength we never knew we had, our colored suits leaving streaks of light in the air. We kicked and punched, our movements synchronized from years of practice, now amplified into something superhuman. We finally took the monster down with a combined energy blast.
But it wasn’t over. The fallen monster began to glow, its body reassembling and swelling, growing taller and taller until it loomed over the school, a five-story tall abomination of jiggling fat and distorted fitness enthusiasm.
“Now, Stacey!” Nagai’s voice echoed in my mind. “It is time!”
A belt of gleaming silver and red, engraved with strange symbols, appeared in his hands. He tossed it to me. I caught it, and without thinking, I slapped it around my waist. A click, a hum, and then… silence.
The world froze. The monster was a statue mid-roar. The minions were frozen in their mindless clapping. My team hovered in the air around me, their eyes glazed over, caught in Nagai’s powerful stasis.
I was lifted into the air. Chloe (Pink) and Zoe (Purple) floated toward me in a dreamlike daze. My legs, guided by an unseen force, slipped into their open mouths. I felt no resistance, only a warm, incredible pressure as my feet slid down, down, coming to rest deep within their stomachs. It was the strangest, most intimate sensation I’d ever felt.
Next, Hannah (Yellow) and Maya (Aqua) drifted over. My arms entered them, sinking into their bodies through their backsides up to just below my elbows. Their legs unwound themselves and wrapped tightly around my torso, locking into place. I could feel the muscles in their thighs tense against my sides.
Finally, Brianna—Naked—floated toward my chest. She pressed against me, her incredible softness moulding to my form. She wrapped her arms and legs around my own, locking us together, and then let her head fall forward, completely vanishing between the immense, soft pillows of her own breasts, pressed firmly against my chest.
I dropped back to the ground, the impact jolting through me. I could feel Brianna’s body on my front, her breasts bouncing with the landing. I tentatively tried to move.
I thought, step forward.
The movement came, but it wasn’t just my leg. It was Chloe’s and then Zoe’s legs moving in perfect unison with me, their bodies moving as extensions of my own. I was controlling them. I was them. I lifted my arms, and saw Hannah and Maya’s arms mirror the movement perfectly.
“This is your Megazord form,” Nagai’s voice explained, sound returning to my private bubble of time. “You are the core. You command their bodies as your own limbs. They will remember none of this. To release them, you must defeat the enemy. When it is weakened, you must yell ‘FINISHER!’.”
I practiced. A step became a mighty stomp from four powerful legs. A punch became a devastating blow from four clenched fists. The power was dizzying. I felt the distinct sensations from each of my teammates—the sleek strength of Chloe, the flexible power of Zoe, the explosive energy of Hannah, the steady grace of Maya, and the overwhelming, soft warmth of Brianna pressed against me.
“Now, Stacey,” Nagai said. “Finish it.”
Time slammed back into motion with a roar.
The giant monster swung a fist the size of a car at me. I—we—blocked it with a forearm, the impact resonating through our combined bodies. We fought, a giantess of flesh and power against a monster of fat. We were faster, stronger, unified. With a series of powerful blows, we weakened it, until it staggered, dizzy and disoriented.
Now.
I took a deep breath, the motion causing Brianna’s chest to rise and fall against mine.
“FINISHER!” I yelled, my voice echoing with the combined power of six girls.
We leaped, a phenomenal jump that carried our combined form high into the air. We twisted, aiming ourselves downward. The monster looked up, its single eye wide with confusion.
We came down on its head, not on its body.
We landed perfectly, with the soft, warm heart of our formation—Brianna—coming to rest directly over the monster’s head. It let out a muffled, gurgled roar, its head completely smothered, suffocated between the immense, world-encompassing softness of her vagina. It struggled for a moment, then fell still, beginning to dissolve into harmless pink mist.
The belt on my waist clicked. The world dissolved in another flash of light, and I was standing alone, back in my red ranger suit. My team stood around me, blinking, stretching.
“Whoa, did we do it?” Chloe asked, looking at the fading pink mist. “I blacked out for a second there. What a rush!”
They remembered nothing. But I remembered everything. The feeling of their bodies as my own. The incredible, intimate power.
And I knew, with a thrilling certainty that shot right through me, that this was only the beginning. Queen Adiposa would send more monsters. And each time, we would combine. Each time, I would feel that connection, that control.
And each time, I would make my teammates more… mine.
mind control
+8 more
17
15.8K
1729
1
0
When Logan is invited by his friend Ryan to participate in a experiment, the last thing he is expecting is for his mind to be copied into the body of a brain slug.
However, instead of trying to fix things when she discovers this, Ryan sets her sights on fulfilling her all longheld ambitions with Logan's newfound abilities.
Logan is initially keen with just going along things as he possesses more bodies and pushes the extent of his capabilities. However, when a desire to be more than just her golden goose begins to stir within him, he soon finds himself starting to make plans to fulfill his own longheld desires...
Abstract
In a drab concrete parking structure, sitting inside a car that looked too small for his large frame, a sizable young man silently debated a life choice. It had occupied his mind for days, ever since a certain woman from his past had reached out for the first time in years. Even though he felt indecisive, he had a few mental tools to help him make his mind up. No matter how big the choice, the real decision was whether to start the engine back up and drive away… or open the car door and step out.
…
With a muted pop, the car door swung open.
He had already driven this far, turning back would be a waste of time and gas. Maybe the choice had already been made the very instant he got into his car earlier. Then all the worrying afterwards was just pointless emotion, the last-minute anxiety and doubt that comes with seeing “abandon all hope, ye who enter here” on the gates of hell despite knowing exactly what must be done.
The large man’s heavy footsteps made the only sound in the echoing gray maze. He was a tall mountain of a man that few would challenge physically. He was dressed nicely enough, something a little more than casual, something to wear when reuniting with an old… friend. After exiting the parking structure, he found himself a short distance away from a security booth, its red and white bar hanging guarding the street entrance and a separate pedestrian gate on the opposite side. Behind the booth’s bulletproof glass, a uniformed guard watched the man approach, asking for his ID as soon as he was close enough.
“Name and date of birth?”
“Logan Miller, February 19th. It says on my ID.”
“Reason for visiting?”
“I’m getting a tour from Ryan Everly.”
The guard returned Logan’s ID alongside a freshly printed plastic badge on a lanyard. An audible metallic click could be heard from the pedestrian gate. Logan passed through the gate and headed towards the monolithic building ahead.
As Logan walked, he inspected the plastic badge he was given. At the top, a logo for SynthraForma, followed by VISITOR in bold black letters, then his name, face, and a barcode with small numbers beneath.
Reaching the entrance, he tried the door handle and found it locked. He tried to use his badge on a nearby reader, but it beeped and showed a red light in rejection. Just as Logan was thinking of returning to the guard, the locked doors violently swung open from the inside. Barely dodging the doors, Logan suddenly stood before a stunning woman.
Beautiful red hair that instantly drew stares, captivating hazel eyes that were framed by complementary glasses, flawless skin that supermodels would envy, and a killer figure underneath a white lab coat. Ryan Everly, Logan’s high school best friend that he hadn’t seen since. She cracked a charming smile on her rosy lips, and spoke with her enchanting voice.
“Long time no see. It’s been a while hasn’t it?”
Introduction
Logan hadn’t seen Ryan since graduating high school a considerable number of years ago. In the past she was already pretty, but during the years that he hadn’t seen her, Ryan’s natural beauty was further enhanced to perfection. Judging by her current workplace, her intellect had no problems keeping pace either. Logan gave a polite smile and met Ryan’s mesmerizing eyes.
“Yeah, it sure has. How have you been?”
Ryan’s smile remained, but something subtle changed in her expression.
“Well, I wouldn’t want to lie to a friend. I’ve been a bit busy recently. Deadlines, disappointing results, and demanding superiors. You know how it can be. But anyways, I’m so glad you went out of your way to come here. I really appreciate it.”
Logan did expend quite some effort to get there. Scarce paid-time-off was spent from his job as an office clerk, not to mention the cost of a rental car and hotel. Still, it was a trip that he needed to take for his own sake, not just Ryan’s.
“It’s good to see you too. I can’t wait to see what you’ve been up to. Cured cancer or something?”
Ryan let out a little giggle that played like melodic birdsong in Logan’s ears.
“Well then, let me show you. Welcome to SynthraForma. I obviously can’t give you a full tour of the lab. In fact, even I don’t have access to everything, but I’ll show you what I can. Just a reminder, don’t breathe a word of this to anyone, okay? Not. A single. Breath.”
“Of course. My lips are sealed.”
Ryan accepted Logan’s promise and both of them entered the building. He stepped into a long hallway illuminated by harsh fluorescent lights. Before Logan could go anywhere, Ryan pointed towards a part of the wall next to the door. There was a plastic mount that held a stack of blank forms, a clipboard, and a pen on a string.
“Just a silly little NDA, for the suits and whatnot. Every visitor has to fill one out, but we don’t get that many visitors anyways.”
Logan gave it a quick skim before signing it, submitting the document in an empty slot clearly meant to receive them. Ryan then led him down the hallway. There were no windows inside, only heavy metal doors flanking them on both sides. Occasionally, there were laminated papers taped onto the walls, usually displaying some information or reminder for the employees.
Don’t hold doors open for others.
Keep your badge clearly visible at all times.
Thoroughly wash your hands before eating.
The potluck is this friday.
Finally, the two of them reached a door no different from the others. Ryan used her badge to unlock it and entered with Logan following behind. Now past three layers of security, Logan found himself in an unexpectedly mundane office. There were uniform cubicles to both sides, some with small decorations and knick knacks to add a splash of personality.
“These are our desks. It’s not glamorous, but most of our work happens here. Compiling data, writing reports, reading emails… Not very exciting, but it’s part of the job. This one is mine.”
Ryan’s desk had a computer like the others, with that addition of multiple stacks of books and papers, not to mention a couple of mugs with coffee stains. It looked like Ryan was about to say something, but someone else caught her attention. A woman was approaching them, dressed in the professional attire of a white button-up blouse and suit pants. She looked Asian, around her mid thirties, with light makeup and her hair in a bun. The authoritative click of her heels almost served as an introduction.
“Hello, you must be Ryan’s guest. I hope you don’t mind me interrupting your tour, I just need to have a little chat with Ryan if that’s okay.”
Her words were sharp and assertive, ensuring that no one would challenge them. Logan certainly didn’t want to at least.
“I don’t mind at all. I’m Logan. It’s a pleasure to meet you Miss…”
“Doctor. Doctor Li, SynthraForma research supervisor, pleased to meet you too Logan.”
“Anyways Ryan, I’ll make this quick. The deadline for your current project is coming up. I have great expectations of you, and I’ll make sure that your future assignments will reflect how well you perform here. I’m sure an incredible breakthrough is just on the horizon.”
Doctor Li left as quickly as she arrived, not waiting for Ryan to respond. Looking at Ryan, Logan could tell that she wasn’t particularly happy about her supervisor’s reminder. Her face didn’t give much away, but her silence and stiff body language gave it away. It took her a moment to compose herself, before she returned to Logan.
“I guess the tour wouldn’t be complete without an introduction to my kind and caring supervisor. Anyways, let’s get on with it.”
Ryan left her cubicle and promptly started walking again with Logan in tow. They reached another door that required Ryan’s badge. Logan noticed way more signage on this door than the ones before, being plastered with a variety of colorful symbols and labels warning about hazards of all kinds. Past the door, Logan saw a proper laboratory, filled with multitudes of complex-looking devices.
“Here on the left, high temperature superconductors.”
She carelessly gestured towards a workstation full of electronics, wires, and gas tanks of some kind.
Curiously, there was a plush of a squid on one of the workstation shelves. Ryan continued walking on without sparing a moment for Logan to really look.
“Over here on the right, artificial neural networks composed of lab-grown neurons.”
This workstation had a big microscope, with a collection of slides and plastic petri dishes next to it. Tons of papers, binders, and books filled this station out. Again, Ryan practically walked right past it, barely sparing the effort to mention it in her tour. This continued for the rest of the workstations until they reached the back of the lab.
“And here, in the back corner… my project… the slug project.”
Hypothesis
Ryan gestured to a small rectangular glass tank with some twigs and bedding. Logan had to lean in close to spot the first slug. It was an unremarkable little green thing, no different from something you’d find in somebody’s garden. Still though, being in this lab, there had to be more than met the eye. Or Ryan was pranking him.
Either way, Logan’s best choice was to play along.
“Interesting. What’s special about them?”
“These unassuming little blobs are a new species discovered in the Amazon. They were found in primate brains and initially mistaken for some sort of large parasitic worm. However, their biology and behavior is significantly different. A mature slug, ready to lay eggs, has the unique ability to enter a host’s brain without damaging the surrounding tissue, where it influences the host’s behavior. It compels the host to climb into the forest canopy, where it exits the host’s body and safely lays its eggs high up in the trees.”
Logan looked at the slugs again, watching as one lazily crawled on a leaf of lettuce. Brain slugs huh? It reminded him of something out of a sci-fi show, the image of a big green blob with a single eye coming to mind.
“The higher ups say that they’re interested in the mechanics of how it enters and exits the host's brain without damaging anything. They say that it could be a revolution in neurosurgery. But I think that we all know what really brings in all the funding. Mind control.”
Logan almost had to hold back a chuckle. It sounded more like the premise to a horror video game or movie, a cheap one at that.
Experimenting with mind control slugs? Logan was waiting for Ryan to tell the punch line at this point.
“We’ve studied their natural behavior and made significant progress. We’ve selectively bred them to trigger their ‘control’ behavior independent from their breeding cycle, and to extend that control duration. We’ve conducted limited human testing and confirmed compatibility and functionality as well.”
“Human testing?”
“Yes, of course. Given the premise of this project, it would be unavoidable, don't you think?”
Logan was able to avoid laughing out loud, but he couldn’t help a little grin. He was surprised by the matter-of-fact tone that Ryan was able to keep up. So she had tested these mind control slugs on people huh?
“Well, who’d you test this on?”
“For obvious reasons, I can’t discuss any of their identities, but they were all fully consenting individuals that were compensated for their involvement. Also, I should mention that I wasn’t working on this project during the period that these tests were conducted, so I had no direct involvement. I’ve only joined recently.”
Logan was a little confused by her response. That little fact at the end there didn’t seem to be a part of the joke, it seemed a little too realistic. The idea bothered Logan. Maybe she wasn’t joking. Maybe this was real. What kind of place was Ryan working at? Logan shifted to a more serious tone.
“Hold on. This whole slug thing. The human testing. Doesn’t that… I don’t know, concern you or something? Like, the stuff that you’re working on… this whole project seems…”
“Unethical? Inhuman? Evil? I certainly thought so too when I was first assigned, but the project’s current state is far from what it was in the past.”
Ryan picked up a spray bottle next to the tank, opened its lid, and spritzed some clear fluid around the enclosure before closing it again.
“Everything I told you about was done years ago. The project hit a wall. The slugs just couldn’t execute complex commands, only the most basic trained actions in response to verbal triggers. A far cry from mind control. Continued investments of time and resources yielded nothing, resulting in researchers and funding getting pulled. When I was assigned to this project, it was already dead and buried for a long time.”
Logan could see tints of frustration in Ryan. He had seen her get frustrated at hitches in experiments before, but this seemed like a deeper kind of frustration. She probably felt trapped with a project like this.
“Currently, most of my day-to-day is being a slug keeper. Moisturize the habitat at least twice a day, feed the slugs and replace the food before it rots, replace the soil every few weeks. I’m almost envious of Sisyphus, at least he got a boulder.”
“Sorry to hear that you’ve had it so rough. Maybe it would be a good idea to ask for a different project, or just leave all this behind and look for a different lab?”
“Oh believe me I’ve tried, but there are certain… factors… that prevent me from transfering projects. Leaving for another lab isn’t a good option either. No lab in this country can compare to SynthraForma’s. The resources and secrecy here are exactly what I need.”
Hmm… it seemed like Ryan was stuck between a rock and a hard place. Any choice would be a compromise, and a pretty lousy one at that. Watching Ryan’s expressions, Logan could tell she wasn’t happy about things, but she seemed to perk up as she continued speaking.
“It’s not all doom and gloom though, I have a plan. Imagine this. I succeed with this project out of nowhere. Why, news of such a miracle will go straight to the highest executives. They’ll hear that little ol’ me, a single researcher with no support, managed to break through an impenetrable wall that defeated the best of the best. I’ll get the recognition I deserve and free reign to work on what I want.”
Logan could see a flame burning within Ryan, a determination that pushed her forward.
Instead of admitting defeat, she was fighting harder than ever before. Logan was worried that Ryan was feeling down, maybe searching for solace or even pity, but those worries were cleared by her display of brash, unashamed confidence. He almost wanted to start applauding her.
“I’m glad that you’ve got a goal to aim for, but how’re you gonna do it?”
Ryan cracked a mischievous smile, giving Logan a look that sent a little shiver down his back. He knew that look. Oh, he knew that look. Trouble was coming.
Method
Well Logan, my good friend, that’s where you come in! I have an idea, a theory, a breakthrough! The main problem is the slugs’ lack of cognitive ability. Well it just so happens that one of my colleagues is working on a neuron growth promoter, top secret of course. Normally I wouldn’t have access, but let’s just say that I helped with his homework and he’s helping with mine.”
Ryan nodded towards a small glass vial nearby the slug tank. That must be the neuron growth stuff.
“Unfortunately, that alone would only produce slugs that are better at being slugs. Not exactly what we need. It would require far too much training to reach the levels needed for true mind control. That’s where another little gadget comes in.”
Ryan gestured towards something else near the tank. It looked like a bundle of multi-colored wires, each wire connected to a small device that had a suction cup.
“This is a prototype electroencephalogram, or EEG. It detects electrical activity within your brain, amplifies it, and sends it to the target. I’m sure you’re catching onto my idea now. We’ll be sending your brainwaves into a slug injected with the neural growth promoter. This external stimulation combined with the neuron growth will potentially create neural pathways within the slug that mirror yours.”
Logan took a moment to let things sink in. Ryan had conducted plenty of wild experiments in high school, Logan being intimately involved in most of them. All of them were attempts at something never done before, but at least they were somewhat based in reality. This experiment seemed to jump over that line and land fully into the territory of fantasy and madness. Combining all this experimental tech in an attempt to create mind controlling slugs? This had to be desperation more than anything else.
“Why’s it gotta be my brain waves? You’re the most intelligent person I know, so wouldn’t your brain waves be better?”
“Thanks, but if I could do this alone, I would have. The slugs wouldn’t just mirror the intelligence of the donor, but also their traits. I wouldn’t describe myself as particularly obedient, so it would be a big problem if the slugs mirrored me. You, on the other hand, have always been very… generous and helpful. I couldn’t think of a better person to ask.”
Logan wasn’t quite happy about being called generous and helpful in this context. He could tell that she really meant obedient, willing to make a fool of himself for her sake. In high school, Ryan always took advantage of Logan’s affection for her, and he gratefully allowed it. Anything to get the girl right? Well, it didn’t end up that way. He assisted Ryan in many of her experiments, sometimes to his detriment.
There were lots of reasons and rationalizations.
Teenage hormones, desperately avoiding loneliness, a dose of simple adolescent stupidity, all things that Logan told himself he completely left behind in the past. Reflecting on it over the years after graduation, he vowed to never allow himself to be taken advantage of like that again. Yet here he was, having his resolve put to the test.
Ryan could tell that Logan was deliberating. There was a possibility that he’d make the wrong choice. She leaned a little closer to him, looking up with a gentle expression.
“Please? I’m in a real tough spot here, and I could really use some help. Please Logan?”
Logan kept his expression stern as he gazed upon Ryan’s fragile beauty, looking into her pleading eyes. It wasn’t the first time that she’d used this trick. In high school, this was her ace-in-the-hole to convince Logan against his better judgment. And it worked every time. Logan let out a little sigh as he relaxed a little. It couldn’t hurt to get some more info right?
“What are the risks?”
Ryan broke into a smile, happy to hear that her faithful assistant was still her’s.
“None, absolutely none. You just put on the EEG’s electrodes and they’ll record everything that we need. No risks at all.”
Logan kept his expression even as he made his choice. He looked at Ryan again, searching for any indication of a lie or half-truth. She looked genuine, a real friend in need. Well, there really was no choice. To refuse at this point would be cruel. Logan hoped this wouldn’t end poorly.
“Okay, I’ll do it.”
“Thank you. This means the world to me. I’ll make it up to you later, but let’s begin the experiment as soon as possible.”
Ryan pulled up a chair for Logan, indicating to take a seat. She then grabbed a petri dish, went over to the slug tank with a pair of tongs, and carefully lifted a wiggly green critter onto the dish. She set it near Logan, and he glanced over. It almost felt like the slug was looking back at him with its little antennae.
It took a while, but eventually every single one of the numerous electrodes were attached to Logan’s head. Each electrode connected to a wire, all of which met in a braid that connected to a small device. The small metal box was connected to Ryan’s lab computer, and also had another side where a smaller braid of wires exited. Those tiny wires went over to the slug, where they connected to miniature electrodes that were placed all over the slug’s body.
“Alright, checks done, double checks done. I think we’re ready to go. Hanging in there
Logan?”
Logan had tried his best to keep still while the electrodes were put on him, as if he was getting a haircut. He also made an effort to avoid staring at Ryan as she worked. He didn’t want to creep her out or make things awkward, but for him, she was the only thing worth looking at in this lab. The way that her white lab coat contoured over her perfect figure, the way she moved around him, the view of her chest when she put the electrodes on his head…
“Yeah, I’m fine. Ready to go.”
“Okay, perfect. Then let’s begin the experiment.”
Ryan went back to the tank and took the vial of neuron growth promoter along with a syringe. Logan watched as she carefully measured out a dosage. After loading the syringe, Ryan carefully injected its contents into the slug. She then returned to her computer.
“Let’s hope for the best.”
With that, she activated the EEG. The device began to record Logan’s brain waves, sending them into the slug. Logan didn’t feel anything different on his end. The slug seemed fine too. Ryan turned a tablet screen towards Logan and started to play a video. It showed a slideshow of various things, ranging from apples to horses to people to mountains and much more. The video was supposed to help Logan’s brain stay active and somewhat direct the learning for the slug.
“Okay, everything looks good. It’ll be a few hours, but I’ll be here with you. If anything happens, let me know immediately. Again, I just want to say thanks for your help, I really appreciate it.”
“Yeah, of course. Anything for you.”
Experiment
The first ten minutes were fine. Just look at the pictures and videos on the tablet, easy right?
The next ten minutes were the toughest. Logan had to stay disciplined, forcing himself to sit still and keep watching. Every image that appeared on the tablet blended and blurred with the last. Logan even found it difficult to keep his eyes focussed.
Another ten minutes later, Logan managed to fall into a sustainable rhythm of sorts, and wasn’t struggling as much. He started playing a little mental game with the images, trying to improvise a story with each object that popped up on the tablet screen.
The man in a black suit… went to the windmill?
And in the windmill he… found a flock of sheep. Okay, so he was actually a manager for the mill, and the sheep were workers on a break. As a reward for hard work, the manager gave each of them a… butterknife? Woah, okay, so the manager was actually inciting the sheep to revolt against their oppressors. The oppressors that were forcing the sheep to work were… mongooses… mongeese?
The story unfurled itself, on and on, sometimes needing the occasional reset. Logan did his best to keep his neurons activated for this experiment. He kept going and going and going, persevering and relentless. To his credit, he managed to keep his focus most of the time, but as the process dragged on, his focus wavered more and more. The ideas were less creative, the mental image grew blurry, and the plot moved slower. Logan tried to pull himself back into the groove, but his descent was inevitable at this point. His mind grew dimmer and dimmer, a dark fog growing thicker and more impenetrable until the last candle flame of thought flickered out, and nothing remained.
…
…
…
Ryan checked up on Logan, looking over at him slightly slumped in his chair. His head was slightly tilted to the side and his eyes were closed. Must’ve dozed off. She had already noticed that Logan was struggling to stay awake for some time. Unfortunately, any stimulant like coffee could affect the experiment, so Ryan would have to wake him up everytime he nodded off.
Ryan got up and walked over to Logan, shaking him by the shoulder.
“Logan? Logan wake up.”
No response. She shook him harder. Nothing. She lightly tapped him on the cheek. Still nothing. She carefully opened his eyelid. Logan’s eye blankly stared back at her. Ryan felt a wave of dread flood through her. Logan? Logan!
…
…
…
Ryan had done everything that she could. Logan was unconscious when she found him. She had immediately called for help, and he was rushed to the hospital by paramedics. She was in shock. What happened? What caused this? Was it the experiment? Impossible. But the timing… Healthy young men like him don’t just… stop, not like this.
Ryan knew that she was screwed. Even if it somehow wasn’t her fault, there was no way that SynthraForma would overlook all the attention she was bringing in.
Ryan sat in her little corner of the lab, feeling hollowed out like an empty shell. Her eyes drifted to Logan’s empty chair. He was just there, not long ago, healthy and energetic.
The prototype EEG laid on the floor nearby, still in the same place that it landed after
Ryan had yanked it off of Logan’s head when trying to wake him. Ryan knew that the prototype EEG and neuron growth promoter would cast a lot of suspicion on the situation, but hiding or destroying evidence would practically be an admission of guilt. Ryan knew that there was a good chance that the experiment had nothing to do with Logan’s sudden decline, and that it was just a coincidence. But there was no way for her to know. She’d have to wait to hear from the hospital, or the police.
While Ryan was sitting, sorting through her thoughts, her supervisor Doctor Li showed up.
“I’m sure you’re shaken by all of this. Go home. I’ll give you a call if we need anything from you. Don’t even think about coming to work until you’ve fully recovered from this shocking incident, okay?”
Ryan didn’t want to respond, she didn’t even make eye contact. She just continued sitting with her head hung as Doctor Li promptly left. When Ryan heard the sound of the lab door closing, she raised her head. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the tank of slugs. A sudden rush of heat filled her body as she felt a fierce hatred towards them. Stupid fucking slugs! She wanted to get a hammer and smash the tank, crushing the pathetic little bastards.
But she restrained herself. She just glared at them, cursing their very existence. Freaks of nature. She got up from her seat, deciding that the privacy of her apartment would indeed be better than sulking in the lab. She reached over and grabbed her white lab coat. She had taken it off earlier while trying to help Logan.
Ryan stuck her left arm through its sleeve before draping it over her back and filling out the other sleeve. As she left the lab, Ryan was completely unaware of the little green hitchhiker in her lab coat’s pocket.
Recalibration
Dark…
Familiar… smell… Rough… all over…
Where…?
…
Hungry…
Move…
Need to move…
That way…
…
In the darkest hours of the night, a little green slug crawled out of a lab coat pocket thrown on top of a laundry basket. Confused and disoriented, it did the only thing that it could, follow its instincts.
Delicate slivers of moonlight leaked through the thin blinds of the bedroom. The room wasn’t particularly messy or clean, just lived-in. There were two beds opposite to each other in this small space. The plucky little slug crawled along the floor, inch by inch, towards the bed on the right.
Progress was slow, but steady. A few inches every minute. The slug finally reached the foot of the bed and began its journey upwards. It climbed against gravity, leaving a shiny trail of slime behind on the wood. After a few minutes, the unyielding green spelunker reached the top of the bed, where a sleeping beauty lay enveloped in a peaceful slumber. Her chest periodically rose and fell as silent breaths came and went.
The slug continued, crawling onto the sheets of the bed, eventually making its way onto the pillow. The slug’s small, pulsating body made the insidious last legs of its journey as it aimed for a small opening.
The slug touched the sleeping woman’s skin, feeling her warmth as it began to climb the side of her neck. She didn’t even stir. The slug climbed closer, closer, until it reached… the entrance. The slug dipped itself into her ear, pushing its head in and quickly filling the small tunnel’s width. The slug squeezed its malleable body into the small space, crawling deeper and deeper and deeper…
The woman stirred a little. A small readjustment of the body in response to mild discomfort. A light groan escaped her lips, as if she was just having a bad dream. There was no way to know that something was entering her… invading her… burrowing deep deep inside. She would undoubtedly panic if she was awake, if she knew what was happening to her, but it was just the slug’s luck that she was deep asleep, that she was defenseless.
Deep inside her head, the slug finally felt… satisfaction. It had reached its destination. Now, it could rest, just for a little. The woman’s body settled back down, returning to its restful state. Her breathing returned to a slow, rhythmic rise and fall of her chest. The only thing amiss was a small trail of dried slug fluid.
However, instead of trying to fix things when she discovers this, Ryan sets her sights on fulfilling her all longheld ambitions with Logan's newfound abilities.
Logan is initially keen with just going along things as he possesses more bodies and pushes the extent of his capabilities. However, when a desire to be more than just her golden goose begins to stir within him, he soon finds himself starting to make plans to fulfill his own longheld desires...
Abstract
In a drab concrete parking structure, sitting inside a car that looked too small for his large frame, a sizable young man silently debated a life choice. It had occupied his mind for days, ever since a certain woman from his past had reached out for the first time in years. Even though he felt indecisive, he had a few mental tools to help him make his mind up. No matter how big the choice, the real decision was whether to start the engine back up and drive away… or open the car door and step out.
…
With a muted pop, the car door swung open.
He had already driven this far, turning back would be a waste of time and gas. Maybe the choice had already been made the very instant he got into his car earlier. Then all the worrying afterwards was just pointless emotion, the last-minute anxiety and doubt that comes with seeing “abandon all hope, ye who enter here” on the gates of hell despite knowing exactly what must be done.
The large man’s heavy footsteps made the only sound in the echoing gray maze. He was a tall mountain of a man that few would challenge physically. He was dressed nicely enough, something a little more than casual, something to wear when reuniting with an old… friend. After exiting the parking structure, he found himself a short distance away from a security booth, its red and white bar hanging guarding the street entrance and a separate pedestrian gate on the opposite side. Behind the booth’s bulletproof glass, a uniformed guard watched the man approach, asking for his ID as soon as he was close enough.
“Name and date of birth?”
“Logan Miller, February 19th. It says on my ID.”
“Reason for visiting?”
“I’m getting a tour from Ryan Everly.”
The guard returned Logan’s ID alongside a freshly printed plastic badge on a lanyard. An audible metallic click could be heard from the pedestrian gate. Logan passed through the gate and headed towards the monolithic building ahead.
As Logan walked, he inspected the plastic badge he was given. At the top, a logo for SynthraForma, followed by VISITOR in bold black letters, then his name, face, and a barcode with small numbers beneath.
Reaching the entrance, he tried the door handle and found it locked. He tried to use his badge on a nearby reader, but it beeped and showed a red light in rejection. Just as Logan was thinking of returning to the guard, the locked doors violently swung open from the inside. Barely dodging the doors, Logan suddenly stood before a stunning woman.
Beautiful red hair that instantly drew stares, captivating hazel eyes that were framed by complementary glasses, flawless skin that supermodels would envy, and a killer figure underneath a white lab coat. Ryan Everly, Logan’s high school best friend that he hadn’t seen since. She cracked a charming smile on her rosy lips, and spoke with her enchanting voice.
“Long time no see. It’s been a while hasn’t it?”
Introduction
Logan hadn’t seen Ryan since graduating high school a considerable number of years ago. In the past she was already pretty, but during the years that he hadn’t seen her, Ryan’s natural beauty was further enhanced to perfection. Judging by her current workplace, her intellect had no problems keeping pace either. Logan gave a polite smile and met Ryan’s mesmerizing eyes.
“Yeah, it sure has. How have you been?”
Ryan’s smile remained, but something subtle changed in her expression.
“Well, I wouldn’t want to lie to a friend. I’ve been a bit busy recently. Deadlines, disappointing results, and demanding superiors. You know how it can be. But anyways, I’m so glad you went out of your way to come here. I really appreciate it.”
Logan did expend quite some effort to get there. Scarce paid-time-off was spent from his job as an office clerk, not to mention the cost of a rental car and hotel. Still, it was a trip that he needed to take for his own sake, not just Ryan’s.
“It’s good to see you too. I can’t wait to see what you’ve been up to. Cured cancer or something?”
Ryan let out a little giggle that played like melodic birdsong in Logan’s ears.
“Well then, let me show you. Welcome to SynthraForma. I obviously can’t give you a full tour of the lab. In fact, even I don’t have access to everything, but I’ll show you what I can. Just a reminder, don’t breathe a word of this to anyone, okay? Not. A single. Breath.”
“Of course. My lips are sealed.”
Ryan accepted Logan’s promise and both of them entered the building. He stepped into a long hallway illuminated by harsh fluorescent lights. Before Logan could go anywhere, Ryan pointed towards a part of the wall next to the door. There was a plastic mount that held a stack of blank forms, a clipboard, and a pen on a string.
“Just a silly little NDA, for the suits and whatnot. Every visitor has to fill one out, but we don’t get that many visitors anyways.”
Logan gave it a quick skim before signing it, submitting the document in an empty slot clearly meant to receive them. Ryan then led him down the hallway. There were no windows inside, only heavy metal doors flanking them on both sides. Occasionally, there were laminated papers taped onto the walls, usually displaying some information or reminder for the employees.
Don’t hold doors open for others.
Keep your badge clearly visible at all times.
Thoroughly wash your hands before eating.
The potluck is this friday.
Finally, the two of them reached a door no different from the others. Ryan used her badge to unlock it and entered with Logan following behind. Now past three layers of security, Logan found himself in an unexpectedly mundane office. There were uniform cubicles to both sides, some with small decorations and knick knacks to add a splash of personality.
“These are our desks. It’s not glamorous, but most of our work happens here. Compiling data, writing reports, reading emails… Not very exciting, but it’s part of the job. This one is mine.”
Ryan’s desk had a computer like the others, with that addition of multiple stacks of books and papers, not to mention a couple of mugs with coffee stains. It looked like Ryan was about to say something, but someone else caught her attention. A woman was approaching them, dressed in the professional attire of a white button-up blouse and suit pants. She looked Asian, around her mid thirties, with light makeup and her hair in a bun. The authoritative click of her heels almost served as an introduction.
“Hello, you must be Ryan’s guest. I hope you don’t mind me interrupting your tour, I just need to have a little chat with Ryan if that’s okay.”
Her words were sharp and assertive, ensuring that no one would challenge them. Logan certainly didn’t want to at least.
“I don’t mind at all. I’m Logan. It’s a pleasure to meet you Miss…”
“Doctor. Doctor Li, SynthraForma research supervisor, pleased to meet you too Logan.”
“Anyways Ryan, I’ll make this quick. The deadline for your current project is coming up. I have great expectations of you, and I’ll make sure that your future assignments will reflect how well you perform here. I’m sure an incredible breakthrough is just on the horizon.”
Doctor Li left as quickly as she arrived, not waiting for Ryan to respond. Looking at Ryan, Logan could tell that she wasn’t particularly happy about her supervisor’s reminder. Her face didn’t give much away, but her silence and stiff body language gave it away. It took her a moment to compose herself, before she returned to Logan.
“I guess the tour wouldn’t be complete without an introduction to my kind and caring supervisor. Anyways, let’s get on with it.”
Ryan left her cubicle and promptly started walking again with Logan in tow. They reached another door that required Ryan’s badge. Logan noticed way more signage on this door than the ones before, being plastered with a variety of colorful symbols and labels warning about hazards of all kinds. Past the door, Logan saw a proper laboratory, filled with multitudes of complex-looking devices.
“Here on the left, high temperature superconductors.”
She carelessly gestured towards a workstation full of electronics, wires, and gas tanks of some kind.
Curiously, there was a plush of a squid on one of the workstation shelves. Ryan continued walking on without sparing a moment for Logan to really look.
“Over here on the right, artificial neural networks composed of lab-grown neurons.”
This workstation had a big microscope, with a collection of slides and plastic petri dishes next to it. Tons of papers, binders, and books filled this station out. Again, Ryan practically walked right past it, barely sparing the effort to mention it in her tour. This continued for the rest of the workstations until they reached the back of the lab.
“And here, in the back corner… my project… the slug project.”
Hypothesis
Ryan gestured to a small rectangular glass tank with some twigs and bedding. Logan had to lean in close to spot the first slug. It was an unremarkable little green thing, no different from something you’d find in somebody’s garden. Still though, being in this lab, there had to be more than met the eye. Or Ryan was pranking him.
Either way, Logan’s best choice was to play along.
“Interesting. What’s special about them?”
“These unassuming little blobs are a new species discovered in the Amazon. They were found in primate brains and initially mistaken for some sort of large parasitic worm. However, their biology and behavior is significantly different. A mature slug, ready to lay eggs, has the unique ability to enter a host’s brain without damaging the surrounding tissue, where it influences the host’s behavior. It compels the host to climb into the forest canopy, where it exits the host’s body and safely lays its eggs high up in the trees.”
Logan looked at the slugs again, watching as one lazily crawled on a leaf of lettuce. Brain slugs huh? It reminded him of something out of a sci-fi show, the image of a big green blob with a single eye coming to mind.
“The higher ups say that they’re interested in the mechanics of how it enters and exits the host's brain without damaging anything. They say that it could be a revolution in neurosurgery. But I think that we all know what really brings in all the funding. Mind control.”
Logan almost had to hold back a chuckle. It sounded more like the premise to a horror video game or movie, a cheap one at that.
Experimenting with mind control slugs? Logan was waiting for Ryan to tell the punch line at this point.
“We’ve studied their natural behavior and made significant progress. We’ve selectively bred them to trigger their ‘control’ behavior independent from their breeding cycle, and to extend that control duration. We’ve conducted limited human testing and confirmed compatibility and functionality as well.”
“Human testing?”
“Yes, of course. Given the premise of this project, it would be unavoidable, don't you think?”
Logan was able to avoid laughing out loud, but he couldn’t help a little grin. He was surprised by the matter-of-fact tone that Ryan was able to keep up. So she had tested these mind control slugs on people huh?
“Well, who’d you test this on?”
“For obvious reasons, I can’t discuss any of their identities, but they were all fully consenting individuals that were compensated for their involvement. Also, I should mention that I wasn’t working on this project during the period that these tests were conducted, so I had no direct involvement. I’ve only joined recently.”
Logan was a little confused by her response. That little fact at the end there didn’t seem to be a part of the joke, it seemed a little too realistic. The idea bothered Logan. Maybe she wasn’t joking. Maybe this was real. What kind of place was Ryan working at? Logan shifted to a more serious tone.
“Hold on. This whole slug thing. The human testing. Doesn’t that… I don’t know, concern you or something? Like, the stuff that you’re working on… this whole project seems…”
“Unethical? Inhuman? Evil? I certainly thought so too when I was first assigned, but the project’s current state is far from what it was in the past.”
Ryan picked up a spray bottle next to the tank, opened its lid, and spritzed some clear fluid around the enclosure before closing it again.
“Everything I told you about was done years ago. The project hit a wall. The slugs just couldn’t execute complex commands, only the most basic trained actions in response to verbal triggers. A far cry from mind control. Continued investments of time and resources yielded nothing, resulting in researchers and funding getting pulled. When I was assigned to this project, it was already dead and buried for a long time.”
Logan could see tints of frustration in Ryan. He had seen her get frustrated at hitches in experiments before, but this seemed like a deeper kind of frustration. She probably felt trapped with a project like this.
“Currently, most of my day-to-day is being a slug keeper. Moisturize the habitat at least twice a day, feed the slugs and replace the food before it rots, replace the soil every few weeks. I’m almost envious of Sisyphus, at least he got a boulder.”
“Sorry to hear that you’ve had it so rough. Maybe it would be a good idea to ask for a different project, or just leave all this behind and look for a different lab?”
“Oh believe me I’ve tried, but there are certain… factors… that prevent me from transfering projects. Leaving for another lab isn’t a good option either. No lab in this country can compare to SynthraForma’s. The resources and secrecy here are exactly what I need.”
Hmm… it seemed like Ryan was stuck between a rock and a hard place. Any choice would be a compromise, and a pretty lousy one at that. Watching Ryan’s expressions, Logan could tell she wasn’t happy about things, but she seemed to perk up as she continued speaking.
“It’s not all doom and gloom though, I have a plan. Imagine this. I succeed with this project out of nowhere. Why, news of such a miracle will go straight to the highest executives. They’ll hear that little ol’ me, a single researcher with no support, managed to break through an impenetrable wall that defeated the best of the best. I’ll get the recognition I deserve and free reign to work on what I want.”
Logan could see a flame burning within Ryan, a determination that pushed her forward.
Instead of admitting defeat, she was fighting harder than ever before. Logan was worried that Ryan was feeling down, maybe searching for solace or even pity, but those worries were cleared by her display of brash, unashamed confidence. He almost wanted to start applauding her.
“I’m glad that you’ve got a goal to aim for, but how’re you gonna do it?”
Ryan cracked a mischievous smile, giving Logan a look that sent a little shiver down his back. He knew that look. Oh, he knew that look. Trouble was coming.
Method
Well Logan, my good friend, that’s where you come in! I have an idea, a theory, a breakthrough! The main problem is the slugs’ lack of cognitive ability. Well it just so happens that one of my colleagues is working on a neuron growth promoter, top secret of course. Normally I wouldn’t have access, but let’s just say that I helped with his homework and he’s helping with mine.”
Ryan nodded towards a small glass vial nearby the slug tank. That must be the neuron growth stuff.
“Unfortunately, that alone would only produce slugs that are better at being slugs. Not exactly what we need. It would require far too much training to reach the levels needed for true mind control. That’s where another little gadget comes in.”
Ryan gestured towards something else near the tank. It looked like a bundle of multi-colored wires, each wire connected to a small device that had a suction cup.
“This is a prototype electroencephalogram, or EEG. It detects electrical activity within your brain, amplifies it, and sends it to the target. I’m sure you’re catching onto my idea now. We’ll be sending your brainwaves into a slug injected with the neural growth promoter. This external stimulation combined with the neuron growth will potentially create neural pathways within the slug that mirror yours.”
Logan took a moment to let things sink in. Ryan had conducted plenty of wild experiments in high school, Logan being intimately involved in most of them. All of them were attempts at something never done before, but at least they were somewhat based in reality. This experiment seemed to jump over that line and land fully into the territory of fantasy and madness. Combining all this experimental tech in an attempt to create mind controlling slugs? This had to be desperation more than anything else.
“Why’s it gotta be my brain waves? You’re the most intelligent person I know, so wouldn’t your brain waves be better?”
“Thanks, but if I could do this alone, I would have. The slugs wouldn’t just mirror the intelligence of the donor, but also their traits. I wouldn’t describe myself as particularly obedient, so it would be a big problem if the slugs mirrored me. You, on the other hand, have always been very… generous and helpful. I couldn’t think of a better person to ask.”
Logan wasn’t quite happy about being called generous and helpful in this context. He could tell that she really meant obedient, willing to make a fool of himself for her sake. In high school, Ryan always took advantage of Logan’s affection for her, and he gratefully allowed it. Anything to get the girl right? Well, it didn’t end up that way. He assisted Ryan in many of her experiments, sometimes to his detriment.
There were lots of reasons and rationalizations.
Teenage hormones, desperately avoiding loneliness, a dose of simple adolescent stupidity, all things that Logan told himself he completely left behind in the past. Reflecting on it over the years after graduation, he vowed to never allow himself to be taken advantage of like that again. Yet here he was, having his resolve put to the test.
Ryan could tell that Logan was deliberating. There was a possibility that he’d make the wrong choice. She leaned a little closer to him, looking up with a gentle expression.
“Please? I’m in a real tough spot here, and I could really use some help. Please Logan?”
Logan kept his expression stern as he gazed upon Ryan’s fragile beauty, looking into her pleading eyes. It wasn’t the first time that she’d used this trick. In high school, this was her ace-in-the-hole to convince Logan against his better judgment. And it worked every time. Logan let out a little sigh as he relaxed a little. It couldn’t hurt to get some more info right?
“What are the risks?”
Ryan broke into a smile, happy to hear that her faithful assistant was still her’s.
“None, absolutely none. You just put on the EEG’s electrodes and they’ll record everything that we need. No risks at all.”
Logan kept his expression even as he made his choice. He looked at Ryan again, searching for any indication of a lie or half-truth. She looked genuine, a real friend in need. Well, there really was no choice. To refuse at this point would be cruel. Logan hoped this wouldn’t end poorly.
“Okay, I’ll do it.”
“Thank you. This means the world to me. I’ll make it up to you later, but let’s begin the experiment as soon as possible.”
Ryan pulled up a chair for Logan, indicating to take a seat. She then grabbed a petri dish, went over to the slug tank with a pair of tongs, and carefully lifted a wiggly green critter onto the dish. She set it near Logan, and he glanced over. It almost felt like the slug was looking back at him with its little antennae.
It took a while, but eventually every single one of the numerous electrodes were attached to Logan’s head. Each electrode connected to a wire, all of which met in a braid that connected to a small device. The small metal box was connected to Ryan’s lab computer, and also had another side where a smaller braid of wires exited. Those tiny wires went over to the slug, where they connected to miniature electrodes that were placed all over the slug’s body.
“Alright, checks done, double checks done. I think we’re ready to go. Hanging in there
Logan?”
Logan had tried his best to keep still while the electrodes were put on him, as if he was getting a haircut. He also made an effort to avoid staring at Ryan as she worked. He didn’t want to creep her out or make things awkward, but for him, she was the only thing worth looking at in this lab. The way that her white lab coat contoured over her perfect figure, the way she moved around him, the view of her chest when she put the electrodes on his head…
“Yeah, I’m fine. Ready to go.”
“Okay, perfect. Then let’s begin the experiment.”
Ryan went back to the tank and took the vial of neuron growth promoter along with a syringe. Logan watched as she carefully measured out a dosage. After loading the syringe, Ryan carefully injected its contents into the slug. She then returned to her computer.
“Let’s hope for the best.”
With that, she activated the EEG. The device began to record Logan’s brain waves, sending them into the slug. Logan didn’t feel anything different on his end. The slug seemed fine too. Ryan turned a tablet screen towards Logan and started to play a video. It showed a slideshow of various things, ranging from apples to horses to people to mountains and much more. The video was supposed to help Logan’s brain stay active and somewhat direct the learning for the slug.
“Okay, everything looks good. It’ll be a few hours, but I’ll be here with you. If anything happens, let me know immediately. Again, I just want to say thanks for your help, I really appreciate it.”
“Yeah, of course. Anything for you.”
Experiment
The first ten minutes were fine. Just look at the pictures and videos on the tablet, easy right?
The next ten minutes were the toughest. Logan had to stay disciplined, forcing himself to sit still and keep watching. Every image that appeared on the tablet blended and blurred with the last. Logan even found it difficult to keep his eyes focussed.
Another ten minutes later, Logan managed to fall into a sustainable rhythm of sorts, and wasn’t struggling as much. He started playing a little mental game with the images, trying to improvise a story with each object that popped up on the tablet screen.
The man in a black suit… went to the windmill?
And in the windmill he… found a flock of sheep. Okay, so he was actually a manager for the mill, and the sheep were workers on a break. As a reward for hard work, the manager gave each of them a… butterknife? Woah, okay, so the manager was actually inciting the sheep to revolt against their oppressors. The oppressors that were forcing the sheep to work were… mongooses… mongeese?
The story unfurled itself, on and on, sometimes needing the occasional reset. Logan did his best to keep his neurons activated for this experiment. He kept going and going and going, persevering and relentless. To his credit, he managed to keep his focus most of the time, but as the process dragged on, his focus wavered more and more. The ideas were less creative, the mental image grew blurry, and the plot moved slower. Logan tried to pull himself back into the groove, but his descent was inevitable at this point. His mind grew dimmer and dimmer, a dark fog growing thicker and more impenetrable until the last candle flame of thought flickered out, and nothing remained.
…
…
…
Ryan checked up on Logan, looking over at him slightly slumped in his chair. His head was slightly tilted to the side and his eyes were closed. Must’ve dozed off. She had already noticed that Logan was struggling to stay awake for some time. Unfortunately, any stimulant like coffee could affect the experiment, so Ryan would have to wake him up everytime he nodded off.
Ryan got up and walked over to Logan, shaking him by the shoulder.
“Logan? Logan wake up.”
No response. She shook him harder. Nothing. She lightly tapped him on the cheek. Still nothing. She carefully opened his eyelid. Logan’s eye blankly stared back at her. Ryan felt a wave of dread flood through her. Logan? Logan!
…
…
…
Ryan had done everything that she could. Logan was unconscious when she found him. She had immediately called for help, and he was rushed to the hospital by paramedics. She was in shock. What happened? What caused this? Was it the experiment? Impossible. But the timing… Healthy young men like him don’t just… stop, not like this.
Ryan knew that she was screwed. Even if it somehow wasn’t her fault, there was no way that SynthraForma would overlook all the attention she was bringing in.
Ryan sat in her little corner of the lab, feeling hollowed out like an empty shell. Her eyes drifted to Logan’s empty chair. He was just there, not long ago, healthy and energetic.
The prototype EEG laid on the floor nearby, still in the same place that it landed after
Ryan had yanked it off of Logan’s head when trying to wake him. Ryan knew that the prototype EEG and neuron growth promoter would cast a lot of suspicion on the situation, but hiding or destroying evidence would practically be an admission of guilt. Ryan knew that there was a good chance that the experiment had nothing to do with Logan’s sudden decline, and that it was just a coincidence. But there was no way for her to know. She’d have to wait to hear from the hospital, or the police.
While Ryan was sitting, sorting through her thoughts, her supervisor Doctor Li showed up.
“I’m sure you’re shaken by all of this. Go home. I’ll give you a call if we need anything from you. Don’t even think about coming to work until you’ve fully recovered from this shocking incident, okay?”
Ryan didn’t want to respond, she didn’t even make eye contact. She just continued sitting with her head hung as Doctor Li promptly left. When Ryan heard the sound of the lab door closing, she raised her head. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the tank of slugs. A sudden rush of heat filled her body as she felt a fierce hatred towards them. Stupid fucking slugs! She wanted to get a hammer and smash the tank, crushing the pathetic little bastards.
But she restrained herself. She just glared at them, cursing their very existence. Freaks of nature. She got up from her seat, deciding that the privacy of her apartment would indeed be better than sulking in the lab. She reached over and grabbed her white lab coat. She had taken it off earlier while trying to help Logan.
Ryan stuck her left arm through its sleeve before draping it over her back and filling out the other sleeve. As she left the lab, Ryan was completely unaware of the little green hitchhiker in her lab coat’s pocket.
Recalibration
Dark…
Familiar… smell… Rough… all over…
Where…?
…
Hungry…
Move…
Need to move…
That way…
…
In the darkest hours of the night, a little green slug crawled out of a lab coat pocket thrown on top of a laundry basket. Confused and disoriented, it did the only thing that it could, follow its instincts.
Delicate slivers of moonlight leaked through the thin blinds of the bedroom. The room wasn’t particularly messy or clean, just lived-in. There were two beds opposite to each other in this small space. The plucky little slug crawled along the floor, inch by inch, towards the bed on the right.
Progress was slow, but steady. A few inches every minute. The slug finally reached the foot of the bed and began its journey upwards. It climbed against gravity, leaving a shiny trail of slime behind on the wood. After a few minutes, the unyielding green spelunker reached the top of the bed, where a sleeping beauty lay enveloped in a peaceful slumber. Her chest periodically rose and fell as silent breaths came and went.
The slug continued, crawling onto the sheets of the bed, eventually making its way onto the pillow. The slug’s small, pulsating body made the insidious last legs of its journey as it aimed for a small opening.
The slug touched the sleeping woman’s skin, feeling her warmth as it began to climb the side of her neck. She didn’t even stir. The slug climbed closer, closer, until it reached… the entrance. The slug dipped itself into her ear, pushing its head in and quickly filling the small tunnel’s width. The slug squeezed its malleable body into the small space, crawling deeper and deeper and deeper…
The woman stirred a little. A small readjustment of the body in response to mild discomfort. A light groan escaped her lips, as if she was just having a bad dream. There was no way to know that something was entering her… invading her… burrowing deep deep inside. She would undoubtedly panic if she was awake, if she knew what was happening to her, but it was just the slug’s luck that she was deep asleep, that she was defenseless.
Deep inside her head, the slug finally felt… satisfaction. It had reached its destination. Now, it could rest, just for a little. The woman’s body settled back down, returning to its restful state. Her breathing returned to a slow, rhythmic rise and fall of her chest. The only thing amiss was a small trail of dried slug fluid.
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Chapter by
smatster · 21 Oct 2025 -
A man fucking a sexy female genie, says "he wishes she was always with him."
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I could feel her warmth wrapping around me, every thrust sending waves of pleasure through both of us. Her name—if genies even have names—was Lila, and she was everything I’d ever dreamed of: fierce, magical, impossibly beautiful. Her dark eyes locked with mine, her lips parted in a breathless moan as I moved inside her.
“I wish you were always with me,” I breathed into the space between us, the words slipping out before I could think better of them.
Her eyes widened just a fraction, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. I felt her tighten around me, her body shuddering with the beginnings of her climax. At the same moment, my own release surged through me, hot and overwhelming.
That’s when she snapped her fingers.
A soft, shimmering light enveloped her, and before my eyes, Lila began to dissolve—not into nothing, but into swirls of violet and gold smoke. The scent of jasmine and ozone filled the air. Panic shot through me as her form evaporated, the smoke curling like living tendrils, spiraling downward, drawn inexorably toward my still-throbbing cock.
“What the—?” I choked out, but it was too late.
The smoke poured into me, a strange, tingling sensation flooding my veins. My penis swelled, heavier, fuller than it had ever felt, almost unnaturally so. I stared down, half-expecting to see something grotesque, but it looked… normal. Except for the faint, shimmering glow just beneath the skin.
Then her voice—Lila’s voice—echoed not from the air around me, but from somewhere deep inside.
“Mmm, much cozier than a lamp,” she purred, her tone dripping with satisfaction.
I stumbled backward, falling onto the bed, heart hammering against my ribs. “Lila? Where are you? What did you do?”
Her laugh was a soft vibration that seemed to ripple through my entire body. “You wished for me to always be with you, my dear. And a wish is a wish.” She sounded utterly pleased with herself. “Consider me… relocated.”
“Relocated?” I repeated, my voice trembling. “You’re inside my… my…”
“Your magnificent new vessel, yes,” she finished for me, her tone light and teasing. “Don’t worry, I won’t be a bother. Well, not unless you want me to be.”
I stared, dumbfounded, at my own body. “How do I get you out?”
“The usual way, of course,” she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “A genie must be released from her vessel by the one who possesses it. All it takes is a rub—a good, firm, intentional one—and I’ll manifest. Though I must say,” she added, her voice dropping to a husky whisper, “I’m rather enjoying the view from in here.”
I could feel her presence like a warmth pooling low in my belly, a constant, intimate hum. Part of me was terrified. The other part… well, the other part was already imagining what it might be like the next time I “rubbed” her out.
“So,” I said slowly, my hand hovering uncertainly near my hip. “Any time I… touch myself… you’ll come out?”
Her laughter vibrated through me again, warm and rich. “Only if you mean it, my dear. But I have a feeling you will.”
And just like that, my life got a whole lot more interesting.
No more chapters.
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