Simon Says

Simon Says

“Alright, now I want to look like Preston North.” I said aloud to myself as I looked into the mirror at my reflection.

I watched as my face slowly morphed until it took on the appearance of the hottest guy at my school, Preston. I then watched as my curly black hair transformed to a short brown and a backwards cap completed the look. Cobblestone abs replaced my slightly chubby belly and my new impersonation was completed when my nerdy clothes changed to gym shorts and a tank top.

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Cross Contamination

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I’m fucking furious. To most people Jack Wilson is a hockey hotshot, but to me he is just my wife’s ex that can’t let go. She said they had another encounter, but wouldn’t go into details, saying it wasn’t just his fault. She couldn’t help herself, she said. Knowing how much she loathes him I suspect she was afraid of him turning violent. He is a star athlete after all, known to have punched more than a few players on the ice.

I know he’s training at the stadium right now. That’s how bad it has gotten, that I even know his schedule. I’m probably speeding getting there, but nothing else is important right now. I park the car in the huge, but almost empty parking. Neverending slabs of concrete to allow for the cars of thousands of cheering fans during game day. Well, I’m certainly not a fan. Still fuming as I exit the car and heading towards the arena I see him and a few others from his team running towards the same building from across the car park. They must be out for cardio or something. I stop and shout towards them “Hey! Jack!”

I can see them slow down a little, Jack saying something to them, and then breaking apart jogging in my direction while they continue at speed towards the stadium building. I remain still, just glaring at him as he closes in on me. He slows down quite a bit away and saunters towards me, still panting. He has an aura of smug superiority. He’s good looking, despite his matted, sweaty hair and week-old beard. It’s not just because he’s in top shape, but he has that classic athlete chin cut, and mesmerizing eyes to go with it too. He’s quite a bit shorter than me, and way denser and muscled, but I would bet my weekly martial arts practice can match him if needed. “Hey, cocksucker! You managed to find your way here,” he yells back at me.

“I want you to know…” “Shut up”

I don’t know why, but I can’t look away from his intense eyes. It’s like they can see into me, see every part of me. I’m frozen in place just watching him getting closer. “I said hey cocksucker. What are you waiting for? Go ahead and suck my cock.” He says this as calmly as he can, never breaking eye contact. I don’t think he blinks. I don’t think I blink. I slowly go down on my knees,  grabbing the hem of his sweatpants, and pull down. I still keep eye contact, so I have to feel my way for the waistband of his underwear to pull it down too. I can feel the heat radiate from his steaming body. There’s a smell of sweat, not the stale, musky kind, but from someone who showers every day and uses fresh clothes for each workout. He’s professional and they got staff. I can hear his heavy breath as he is still recovering from the sprint. And I can feel a rather large cock in front of me that is erect, or at least a good way there. I grab it in my hands and guide the tip to my lips and begin to lick it. It doesn’t really taste of much. I open my mouth and get more and more of his compression shirt wrapped abs and pecs in my view as I stare into his deep eyes, and take his big cock deeper and deeper into my mouth.

The tip reaches some point at the back of my mouth and I start to gag, making horrendous gurgling noises. I move back from him. “All the way. I want to be balls deep down your throat, cocksucker.” I do as he commands, and push it in again, further. It’s somehow much easier this time and my lips are tickled by his moist bush of pubes. I then start to work it, in and out, in and out. The noise I’m making is still horrendous. A wet, sloshy sound, and I hate it. “Yeah, you like that, cocksucker. Now, faster.” I grab him by the hip and increase the pace. I get lost in the actions, like nothing matters but his cock, the noise, and his eyes.

I don’t know for how long I was in a trance, but I feel him tensing up, pulling me tight to him, and shooting a big load of his cum down my throat. Suddenly the gaze that had held me like a vice breaks and he looks at my face rather than into my eyes. The spell is broken. I’m kneeling in a parking lot with Jack Wilson’s cock down my throat, and my nose nuzzled into his pubes. His eyes suddenly widen, and his face turns into horror, like he is looking at a monster. Everything is going like in slow motion. I begin to push him away, to get his disgusting cock out of my mouth as he shoots his second load. Somehow in shock I manage to breathe in his cum. He pulls away from me as well, and his third load ends up just next to me on the concrete. “Fuck!” he says, visibly upset. “It’s still in the bloodstream. Spit it out! Spit it out!”

I’m not sure I even have any in my mouth to spit out. It just went straight into my belly and into my lungs. Lungs that are desperately trying to cough up his spunky goo in phlegm-filled, deep whoops. “Fuck!” he shouts one last time, pulls up his sweatpants, and runs towards the Stadium building with one hand holding the pants up. I’m just folded over on my knees coughing and coughing while my mind is racing to make sense of what just happened. My chest is burning and I feel nauseated. There is the salty, bitter taste of cum in my mouth and a stench of athlete sweat as I gasp for air in between the coughs. I keep coughing, but less and less of substance is coming up. I spit out specks of Jack’s spunk on the concrete in front of me, and realize what she had meant when she said she couldn’t help herself. Did he fuck her? After what just happened I wouldn’t put anything past Jack, and there is literally nothing I wouldn’t forgive her for having done. She would have been helpless to stop.

I can feel my whole body burning as I get up from the concrete. I’m very aware how my clothes rubs against my body, like my senses have just gone into overdrive. Everything, every single muscle in my body feels sore. My head is spinning. Still coughing I stagger towards my car and get in behind the wheels. As I close the door the world goes silent. I can only hear my own exhausted panting. I’m confused about what is happening and feel sick as shit, but at least the world isn’t spinning anymore. Somehow I must have been poisoned. What did he mean with “in the bloodstream?”

I start the car and carefully drive from the parking lot and out in the direction of home. Perhaps I shouldn’t be driving at all. Crashing while driving is worse than crashing while sitting in a parking lot, but I really don’t want to have to call anyone for help. Not after what I’ve just been through. I so sympathize with the movie cliché of a girl sobbing in the shower. I only want to cleanse myself in any way possible. To get rid of Jack from me. Even now I can feel the smell of athletic sweat, like it was clinging on to me.

There is a big pop accompanied by one of the chest buttons on my shirt shooting off in the car. The pop isn’t so much heard as felt, as a reverberation in my body like someone just punched me in the chest, with dull spikes of pain in the joints. I swerve dangerously close to the side of the road. It feels like my shoulders pops into their sockets, like my chest just suddenly expands and the rest of my body catches up. There is no mirror I can look in, but I can clearly see something is off just by looking down at my body. What little movement I can make while driving the car feels different.

There is another big shift. Knees and hip joints this time, I think. I’m a little more prepared to handle that one without swerving, but this time I’m instead missing the brake pedal like the seat is set wrong. I scoot forward on the seat and reach the pedal. Now I’m getting real nervous what is happening. I’m almost home though, but I can feel my thigh muscles involuntarily flexing, my feet are hurting, and my stomach is gurgling like bad plumbing.

Her car is not home yet, thank God. I park mine as calmly as I can, screaming inside that I need to get inside and see what the fuck is going on. As I step out of the car I get a first inkling about the enormity of the changes. I almost trip stepping out of the car, and sit down again on the edge of the seat. The fabric on the trousers are straining, and I realize that my feet are probably hurting because they have swollen up inside the shoes. I try to kick off one of the sneakers, but it’s stuck enough that I have to untie them. My movements feel off. It’s not that it is hard to move. The opposite in fact, but different somehow. Me feet thanks me in relief as they are freed,

With the shoes off I awkwardly make my way into the house and step into the nearest bathroom. It’s me in the mirror, of course, but me 5-10 years younger. I’m touching my face in disbelief. But this isn’t just me regressed a decade in time. I was way taller than this then. Curious I unbutton the remaining buttons on my shirt and throw it on the floor. The chest and abs are not me 5-10 years ago. I’ve never looked this buff before. For one I’ve never had washboard abs, and the pecs and shoulders are wide and meaty. The arms more slender, though still muscular, and the core is built more for function than aesthetics. A bit too dense for the show off V shape. Dense, with a low center of gravity.

It’s the body of a hockey player.

I rip off the straining trousers and the socks. Sure enough, massive leg muscles, big thighs, big ass, big feet. Jack the fucking cheater is a fraud in all areas. Whatever the fuck he is taking must have concentrated in his balls, shot into my lungs, and from there gone straight into my bloodstream to do whatever the fuck it’s done to me. And there is nothing I can do to hurt him with it. Who would believe me? This is so far from any science I’ve heard of.

I take a closer look in the mirror again. Perhaps it isn’t all bad after all.

I was just looking at new headphones. Could I get the yellow headphones? I need a new pair for the gym.

Hi. I’m sorry you waited so long for your gift, but I had a lot of unfinished business. Well. You want new headphones? There’s a pair of yellow headphones in the bag, but I have absolutely no idea what owning them will do. Will you take them to the gym? Whatever you say. I’ll follow you and see if you don’t mind. 

You’ve already changed into sports clothes and put on your new headphones. They played your favorite music, but suddenly you felt a slight dizziness and goosebumps coming from your head to the coccyx. You continue to do approaches, pulling iron, but at some point you realize that it became more difficult for you to carry out your approaches. You’re almost at the end of your strength and barely finish your 30 push-UPS…

You don’t understand what’s going on, but I can see what’s going on with you. All your muscles that you worked so hard at this gym are starting to melt. You become slim and thin with a small amount of muscle, which is only enough to pull up on the bar 10 times and boast to the beach with your skinny abs. Your sports Jersey turns into a black long sleeve t-shirt and your shorts into jeans. Your hair is getting lighter and longer. I think you should watch a couple of online lessons on long hair care now. Your face rearranges and becomes more refined and beautiful, as if you were created for the stage. For the stage? what were you just thinking? 

Oh yeah.. as it turned out, these headphones long time ago lost one of the members of the University drama club. His skills are yours and his roles, of course. While you cope with the influx of all the scenarios and roles, holding your head, let me capture you for my readers. Good luck ;)

Story of a Shifter (Part 4)

Read Part 3 HERE.

So, long story short. Ashley wanted me to shift into her older brother Miles. It was a long shot, but if she could somehow convince Miles about my power, I could become him and go with Ashley on the camping trip. At first I was hesitant, as she expected. I didn’t want to abuse my power, but at the same time, I felt that I needed to use it.

She texted me and asked if I could come over to assist her in telling Miles. After telling my parents where I was going, I ran over to Ashley’s house and she invited me inside.

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Are You Sure?

The best part about my boy is the part of him that peeks out, whatever I change him into. He’s always just so eager to play, to learn the rules of whatever role I’ve just shifted him into.

It’s almost a challenge for me at this point, to see if there’s some kind of guy that I can turn him into, where I would actually have a hard time finding him within.

I was astonished how much he just went with it when I first changed him.

“How would you describe yourself, Matt?” I asked him, lying in bed as he poked through out closet, picking out a shirt.

“Um…” he said, not really turning. “To who?”

“What kind of vibe do you give off, if someone were to see you on the street,” I said, staring at his back.

He gave a light laugh and slight shrug.

“I dunno, probably your average Brooklyn hipster, early 30’s, tall, skinny, boy next door in flannel,” he said.

“Are you sure?” I said, and he stopped. “Are you sure they wouldn’t see you as some scruffy jock on his way to the gym?”

And suddenly, he stood all the way up, his arms swelling, his floofy hair shrinking down into a buzzcut. A short beard crept along his face as his chest broadened, stretching out a Nike tee across his meaty pecs. He shrank down a few inches, his loss of height offset by his sudden broadness.

He turned to me. I froze, waiting to see his reaction.

And then, without missing a beat, he popped his arms behind his head and flashed me a grin.

“I can’t help it if people stare at my guns,” he said in his now lower voice, flexing his biceps, and taking a step toward me. He looked down at himself, and then back at me.

“Like what you see, babe?” he said.

I did.

He took a step closer.

“Want a whiff of these pits before I hit the gym then?”

I did.

I kept him as a jockboy for a week. And then, one morning, as he was pulling out a pair of gym shorts, I asked him, “How would you describe yourself?”

He gave a low, gruff chuckle.

“Probably some dumb, scruffy jock,” he said.

“Are you sure?” I asked, and he froze. “Are you sure people wouldn’t see you as some just turned 19, smooth faced skater boy?”

He looked at me the whole time he shrank, as his frame got leaner and leaner. Years melted off him as his beard and body hair disappeared, and a golden glow ran over his face and skinnier body. His lips got puffier, his eyes softer. I caught a glimpse of his slightly longer, spiky hair as a blue skater cap appeared on his head. The former gym rat, now 5'7’’, maybe 130 pound skater seemed less cocky, more boyish.

“I mean, the skateboard kinda gives it away,” he laughed, light and bubbly, still not breaking eye contact.

I stood up. He came up to my chest now. I wrapped my arms around his now lithe frame and kissed him. He melted into my embrace, leaning into my grip.

Our kiss finally broke and I looked down at him. And there he was, eyes alight. My same boy.

And so it went, for weeks. We would never talk about the change. I never asked him if he liked being one man over another. He had the same eager grin, no matter the man, no matter the role. An older dom daddy: my boy. A twinky porn star go-go dancer: my boy. A chubby chain smoking bear: my boy. A clean cut sailor on leave: my boy.

It’s Friday night. He’s about to cook us dinner when I call out,

“How do you think people see you?”

“I’m sure the glasses and patched elbows on my blazer give away that I’m some kind of academic,” he says, gently.

“Are you sure?” I grin. “Are you sure you’re not a kinky, gear addict slut?”

He adjusts the harness as it wraps around his chest and stares at me, on the bed.

“Dinner can wait, boy,” he growls.

And as he steps toward me, massive dildo in hand, I see it flash in his face.

My boy. I’m sure of it.

Story of a Shifter (Part 7)

Read Part 6 HERE.

As I walked back towards the hiking trail where Ashley and Uncle Reggie were supposed to be, I ran into Ashley’s mom, who I now had to remember was Toby’s sister-in-law.

“Oh, hey Toby. Where’s Miles? Wasn’t he with you? Your mother said you guys were down by the creek.”

“Uh, y-yeah. Miles and I were trying to find some frogs but I think he ran off somewhere.” I lied nervously in Toby’s voice.

“Hey, is something wrong? You look nervous.” She asked worriedly.

“Nope, nothing’s wrong! Just a little hot out today. Making me act funny. I’m going to head back to camp and get something to drink.”

Ashley’s mother eyed me suspiciously but accepted my excuse and we parted ways. Goddamn, that was close. Guess I haven’t really settled into Toby’s body and confident personality yet. My Eric Samuels was still showing.

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