Are You Still Taking Requests?

are you still taking requests?

Yes, I am!

Don’t Use the Shower at Night

Lionel walked through the locker room with an exaggerated swagger, his towel nearly slipping off his swaying hips. Just a step behind him was another man named Maxwell, his fluffy hair bobbing up and down as he emulated Lionel’s strut with perfect accuracy. His expression remained completely stoic despite his expression gait, and his eyes seldom blink. Soon, the pair stopped in front of the sole shower stall still being used.

Leaning against a wall, Lionel commented, “Your hair’s just too cute, Maxie. It’s so nice when it just moves like that,” he said, chuckling as Maxwell simply nodded. “I’m glad we met in this gym, Maxie, but… don’t you think there’s someone else who should join this li’l group of ours? No reason it can’t be more than two.”

A flicker of light appeared in Maxwell’s dull eyes. His lips curled up into a smirk mirroring that of Lionel’s. “Sure thing, boss,” he said, his gruff voice sounding faint from disuse. He stepped forward, towel falling onto the floor. He drew the shower curtain back with a swift flick of the wrist.

“Woah, man, what the fuck?!” said the younger man, whipping around to face Maxwell. “H-Hey, what the hell’s wrong with you? Go away!” Despite the desperation in the young man’s voice, Maxwell just stepped forward, ignoring the stream of hot water on his skin. “Hey, you there, help me out here!” The young man looked to Lionel in desperation. However, Lionel just grinned as the outline of his hardening dick became clear through the thin towel. “Just relax,” he told the young man as Maxwell pinned him to the wall. “This can be fun of all of us. Stop. Struggling. And relax.”

“B-Bro, please…!” was all the young man was able to do as Maxwell forcibly brought their lips together beneath the hot, steamy water. Their tongues wrestled and fought for dominance as the young man screamed into Maxwell’s mouth until something surged forth. “HRGH! HHHMMMMFFF!”

Lionel let out a pleasured moan as the slimy substance that composed his soul traveled down the young man's throat and began to spread throughout his trembling body. The odd substance began to invade and rewire each of the man's cells. Every time without fail, Lionel enjoyed the sensation of his consciousness flooding another's.

“Good job, li’l Maxie,” Lionel said to his first convert. Fully aware that there was not a shred of the old Maxwell to respond to his praise, Lionel still enjoyed the little replay that came with controlling multiple bodies. The rippling of Maxwell's biceps as he pinned the young man to the wall as well as the hair that adorned his head all confirmed to Lionel one thing: he had made the right choice conquering this one.

Speaking of conquering, Lionel leaned his head back and let out a moan, toes curling and eyes nearly rolling to the back of his head as a stream of information reached his consciousness. The sensation of filling another always gave him such a rush of pleasure, like he was breeding someone’s hole. “Mm, so your name’s Jacob? Not a bad name, and not a bad looker, either,” said Lionel, grinning.

Maxwell leaned back, licking a stray film of orange good from his lips while his victim convulsed against the wall. The process always took a few seconds at least, but Lionel was slowly becoming faster. Soon he’d be able to convert others in no time at all. However, “It’s just not as much fun,” he said out loud, sticking his tongue out as he savored the last remains of resistance from Jacob finally fade. “So, Jacob my friend, how do you feel about joining li’l ol’ Maxie and me? We’re cruising around and thinking of picking up a few more buddies. You in?”

"Uh, ohhh… urgh…" Jacob still moaned as he went through the last of the shakes. He cracked his neck, shuddering before opening his eyes, giving Lionel yet another set he could see through. For a moment, there was the tiniest hint of an orange dye in Jacob’s irises, but it soon vanished. “Sounds like a bitchin’ time, boss,” said Lionel’s newest husk, adopting Jacob’s personality. “But why don’t you let me finish up my shower? Actually, do you mind joining me? Need someone to wash the small of my back.”

“Do you mind, Maxie?” said Lionel, knowing the answer already but still enjoying the little show he was putting on for himself. Maxwell shook his head, hair bobbing the whole time. “Well then, let’s get acquainted.”

FEStival Fiasco

Part 3 So Long, Space Cowboy

Alcor was an elite by name alone. Throughout the semester, he has failed to score higher than any of his classmates in all exams and assignments. Rumors flew about the academy of the first elite to flunk entirely, but Centaurus paid them, and Alcor, little mind. While Alcor’s haughty and elitist attitude certainly annoyed Centaurus, he did not face any physical or verbal threats from Alcor.

At most, Centaurus overheard Alcor say, "Bested by a female and worm of all things!" to himself when he believes no one could hear. If he did not go spend at least a few minutes every session of class saying, “I remember my father graduated with top honors at this academy,” and, “I believe I covered this subject with my private tutors,” he would’ve certainly faced the same scrutiny and violence that Zathina inflicted on Centaurus.

Because of that, Centaurus paid him no mind and Alcor did the same. Oddly, Centaurus got along best with Alcor, as there was never a day either of them ever fought or competed against each other.

Too good to speak to a worm? Centaurus idly thought as he strolled through the festival grounds. Stalls full of brightly-colored games such as ring toss and whack-a-mole gathered crowds while the scent of fatty, sweet, and salty snacks gathered their money. Centaurus smiled as he walked by and took in the sights of the people making memories with each other. Couldn’t hurt to indulge every once in a while, right?

He walked to a booth with just another player on the opposite side and paid to play a game. “So just gotta pop three balloons with these here darts?” he asked the booth’s owner, who nodded. “Gotcha, I’ll—“

“Unbelievable, this game is clearly rigged!” A haughty voice cut him off. The other player sneered at the booth’s owner—who now sported an exhausted look—and held his hand out. “Either you give me more darts to attempt this ridiculous game or you give me my money back, peasant.”

His vernacular was certainly similar to Alcor’s, but Centaurus remained silent to allow more slips of the tongue.

"Sir, this is your second warning," the booth owner replied with a monotone voice. "Another outburst like that and I’ll have to call security on you. You lost fair and square, and, frankly, I have no clue how to rig this game against you.” She glanced back and forth between the darts in Centaurus’ hand and the balloon on the opposite wall with a dumbfounded expression. “Seriously, none. The problem is your aim.”

“How dare you?” the haughty man said, teeth gritted at the poor girl. “My position is certainly above yours, peasant.” The booth owner narrowed her eyes, and Centaurus could tell she was ready to start beating the sucker to the ground.

“Now now, no need to have that kinda attitude," Centaurus cut in, hands raised in a peaceful gesture. It wasn't as if he had wanted to perform an altruistic task for the poor booth owner, but he did want to satiate his curiosity. “Hold on there, partner. Let’s try ‘n’ take it one step at a time. Now, the name’s Austin. Yours?”

“Hmph! Well, it’s rude to decline another’s request for your name after they offer their own. Fine, then. You may call me Milo. Milo Palmer. And you?” Milo cocked an eyebrow as he looked me up and down. “You… you dress very peculiarly.”

How often did a person, regardless of how sheltered they were, not recognize a cowboy? Not just that, but the attitude was familiar to Centaurus. All of it screamed ‘Mizar.’ However, Centaurus decided to play along. “I’m a cowboy, partner.”

“I’m not your partner.”

“And I wanna propose a li’l wager for ya.”

Centaurus internally grinned as he saw the glint in Milo’s eyes at the word. Mizar or not, it was clear that the one in front of him highly valued competition. “What sort of wager are you walking about, cowboy?”

“Austin. And we play a few rounds over here. If I win, we leave the booth peacefully. You win, then you can say that you’re certainly much better than these ‘plebians,’ as I’m assuming yer ‘bout to start callin’ them.”

Milo shook his head. “No no, I demand a much better reward than that.” With a smug, high-born smirk, Milo said, “Become my slave for the rest of the festival, and then I’ll agree to your terms, cowman.”

“Cowboy,” Centaurus said, rolling his eyes. “Well, don’t mind ‘em terms. I ain’t afraid of losin’.” Passing the booth owner, who now had gratitude in her eyes, some dollars, Centaurus asked for two sets of darts.

“Let’s rock.”

“Let us duel.”

To Centaurus’ relief, Austin was particularly talented in darts. Years of playing drunk and just barely avoiding poking someone’s eye out helped out quite a bit in this bet. In just a few minutes, all of his balloons were nothing but scraps of plastic on the ground while Milo failed to hit a single one. “Well, that prove it t’ya?”

At first, Milo didn’t say anything. He simply stared down at the ground, hands trembling. While the booth owner threw out an excuse to temporarily leave, Centaurus lightly tapped Milo’s shoulder. “D-Don’t touch me, cowman!” he shouted as he jumped back. “Don’t think you’ve beaten me simply because this game is fixed.”

With a bemused click of his tongue, Centaurus smirked and said, “So y’ain’t bad, the game is?”

“Well… the way I said it is certainly much more eloquent, but the general idea is certainly there." Thankfully, Milo chuckled at that. "But! I cannot allow this stain on my honor to continue. Please, let us continue with more duels at this festival. Surely I will be able to best you at all the others."

Again, Centaurus laughed. “If ya wanna keep playin’, just say so, Milo-man. I don’t mind.” By now, he didn’t doubt that it was indeed Alcor before him. The attitude and lack of social cues that only an elite with a silver spoon up his ass certainly fit. However, while being someone else, this was the first time Centaurus had ever had a decent conversation with him. “C’mon, let’s see what else we can play.” Once they were done fooling around, he was certain he could pull off the same trick as Mizar and eliminate him from the competition.

However, several games in, Centaurus found himself lost in the joy of the festival. “Watch this shit!” he cried out as he raised the mallet and slammed it onto the target. The bell rang, signaling his strength. “Hell yeah!” Making sure that Alcor was watching, he flexed both of his biceps. Alcor sneered.

Later on, during a large jigsaw event, Centaurus gritted his teeth as he tried to form the picture in his head. For whatever reason, Austin was just particularly challenged in putting the oversized puzzle pieces together. The colors and shapes just didn’t seem to match. That was one of the pitfalls of the way Centaurus took over hosts. Strengths and weaknesses all carried over to him. However, once he finally put it all together, he rose from his seat proclaiming, “Done!”

“Finally,” Alcor said, clutching two different prizes with a self-satisfied smirk. “I have my own areas of expertise, I’ll have you know,” said Alcor. For the first time since Centaurus had met the guy, Alcor truly did deserve that arrogant air. By the time they had finished most of the booths in the area, they were tied in wins.

“Goddamn. Yer a tough nut to crack,” said Centaurus while the two rested at a bench. For all their running around and eagerness to show off, the men now sat down, panting heavily as the summer heat bore down on them.

“And—ha—you—haaa—are certainly no mere cowman either,” said Alcor in between his heavy pants as well. “I have to admit, I sincerely thought that his whole festival was full of nonsense and clowns earlier, but now...”

“Now…?”

Chuckling, Alcor finished with, “Now I know it also has handsome yet foolish cowmen as well.” While Centaurus pouted, he added, “I had fun. Thanks, Austin.”

“Can’t deny it. I had a fun time too.”

They stared ahead in a comfortable silence—just gazing at the people passing by. The day was far from over, but Centaurus felt more tired than he ever had on this planet. However, it was a satisfying exhaustion. Like he had accomplished far more than his goal. “Hey—“

“Do you mind if we go to that booth next?” Alcor cut in, pointing ahead. Centaurus followed his finger and saw a cartoonist drawing exaggerated portraits of people. “I would like to see his rendition of you.”

Shrugging, Centaurus said, “Sure.”

After about 20 minutes, Alcor glared down at the drawing. The inking and proportions were certainly ridiculous, but Centaurus truly knew nothing about art. Austin knew even less. However, from Alcor’s reaction, Centaurus was honestly starting to believe that something was off about the illustration. “Hmm...” Alcor hummed, his brow furrowed in thought.

“Somethin’ wrong?”

“Yes, there is,” snapped Alcor. “Follow me.” The whole walk Centaurus continued to prod and pester to understand what the hell Alcor’s problem was, but no dice. Only once they arrived at a nice, flat table did Alcor finally explain. “The drawing is inadequate.”

“Whu-?”

"Sit. Let me draw you." Producing a pencil from who-knows-where, Alcor began to doodle. Centaurus, not having a reason to deny the request, obliged. The two shared a few words, but Centaurus mainly focused on keeping still. He wasn't sure what he would gain from indulging in Alcor like this, but he did wish to satiate his curiosity. What exactly was he planning…? Unlike Centaurus, Alcor and the rest of his classmates rarely opened up to their host's mind as he did. They shouldn't have access to many skills or talents, and certainly nothing as delicate as art. Was Alcor simply like this?

After a while, Alcor finally announced, “Finished. Here you go, cowman. Tell me what you think.”

There was no arrogance in Alcor’s voice, and no lack of talent in his drawing, either. Centaurus stared at the man—at Austin—in silent awe. A lump of guilt built up in his throat and his eyes grew moist. Austin’s kind yet cocky smile, his warm eyes, and his powerful physique all translated well into the sheet he held in his hands. “Yer… somethin’ else… This is amazin’.”

“I appreciate it, Austin,” said Alcor. “I’ve wanted to be an artist since… since I can remember.” His voice was far away, as if he was caught in a dream. “The aesthetic, the beauty of the world… I’ve always loved it all. I worked hard, in secret. But that dream will remain unfulfilled.”

“Why? Ya got the talent, the skill. Ya got the drive, dontcha?”

“That’s not what I meant, cowman.” Alcor rolled his eyes. “It is not as simple as becoming an artist simply because I wish to. I have… responsibilities. I am an elite, remember?”

“With how often you repeated it, how could I forget?”

Coughing to hide the embarrassment, Alcor continued. “Because of my status, my family expects great things from me. Extremely great things, but I do not.” He furrowed his brow before frowning in thought. “No, my apologies. Allow me to rephrase that. My family expects me to obtain a certain position after graduating from my academy with flying colors, but if I’m being honest, such a thing disgusts me," he said, wrinkling his nose. "In the end, as the firstborn male, I am nothing more than a puppet for the position, just as my friend had become."

“Yer friend?”

Alcor sighed, smiling almost nostalgically as he spoke about his past. “She was a delicate flower. Gentle, kind, intelligent. We often played together when we were young. But, that never lasted. We became separated after a while. Recently, at the academy, I met her again, but she was completely different.” Lips curled up in a tight frown, stared up at the sky with a frustrated groan. “She barely even acknowledges my presence. It’s as though she became a completely different person. When I tried to ask her about that...” Fear appeared in his eyes, “she threatened me with physical violence. And there was clear power behind it as well. Nothing at all like the gentle flower I once knew.

Centaurus let out a grunt to indicate he was listening. The girl from Alcor’s past seemed like the exact opposite of Zathina, but there was no doubt that they were the same person. More surprising was how little shock Centaurus actually experienced. It made sense for a female elite to begin her life with little knowledge of violence or the drive to be a soldier, but then what changed? What caused Zathina to become like this?

“If I continue the path I am on, then my freedom will be stripped away from me,” continued Alcor. “Of course,” he added with a chuckle, “that’s ignoring the fact that I’m absolutely not fit for the position my family wants from me in the first place.” Centaurus did not join in. Instead, he gripped Alcor’s hand and squeezed it to both of their surprises.

“A-Ah...” Voice cracking for just the tiniest moment, Alcor said, “I appreciate you not laughing, and for listening. To be honest, this is the first time I’ve said any of this out loud.”

“Yer lookin’ a li’l bit more relaxed. Shoulders less stiff. Stick must’ve fallen outta yer ass when ya started talkin’.”

“Ha ha,” Alcor rolled his eyes and playfully slapped Centaurus’ arm with his free hand. “Shut up, cowman. Let me be as melodramatic as I wish to be.”

“So yer gonna run away? How?”

“I am not sure yet, but I am determined to try. Even if I am taken away and executed, I still want to try.” Alcor said those words, but he didn’t hide the way his hands trembled. “I want to find a way to draw the universe’s beauty. If I can’t draw and paint, then I might as well not even be alive.”

Centaurus looked back at the drawing Alcor made of them. There was an undeniable amount of skill demonstrated in such short time. A familiar emotion welled up inside of him. Envy. Once more, Centaurus was drowning in envy. Not just for Alcor's skill, but also the path he wanted to choose for himself.

However, as much as Centaurus wished to scream and shout, he found himself unable to. It should have been easy, to crush Alcor's dream by seducing him in such a way as to gain an advantage, but Centaurus wasn’t able to do anything. Thousands of scenarios played in his head, and all of them ended in his favor.

However, Centaurus instead said, “I’ll help you.”

“Huh?”

“I’ll help ya escape this hellhole of a future yer in,” Centaurus proclaimed. He extended his hand out for Alcor to shake. “To be honest, it'd be a shame if a skill like yours remains unfulfilled. And also, it’s the least he could do fer a dear friend.”

“Dear friend?” Alcor asked, raising an eyebrow. “You hardly know me.”

Centaurus shrugged. “What can I say? Kindred spirits, I guess,” he said, grinning at his very first friend. Though Alcor truly had no idea, Centaurus knew, and that was all that mattered. "Listen, lemme tell ya the plan." He leaned over and whispered a hazardous mess hastily cobbled together, but it was all Centaurus could do on such short notice and a person he needed to protect. Overall, it wasn't very complicated, but so much hinged on everything going exactly right.

It was a gamble, but Centaurus figured that, as long as he was in Austin’s body, he didn’t mind becoming the cowboy that rode off into the sunset with his ally just like in the films. Now all he had to do was avoiding perishing before his plan began.

“Yer a cutie,” Centaurus whispered to the man, licking off the last remains of cum. The man shivered in pleasure. “C’mon, let me give ya a taste of yer own milk.” Eager for more, the man swiftly dove into a kiss only to get a mouthful of alien. While Austin’s body remained crouched on the bathroom floor, the other man fell back. He struck the stall’s wall as his body convulsed and soon lost control of his body.

Centaurus shook the exhaustion away. "All right, one more," he said to his former body. His heart ached as he looked down at Austin again. The memories of his kindness nearly caused him to choke, but Centaurus swallowed down the guilt. There were more important things in front of him. “I’m sorry,” he said to Austin.

The two left the stall just in time to see another man exit the stall next door. Time was limited, so Centaurus and the mind-controlled Austin quickly jumped the man, covering his mouth to prevent him from screaming.

Austin and three bodies. That was the minimum that Centaurus would have to work before the chaos began. Not needing to fully dive and dissect the memories of the two men, Centaurus slithered back into Austin and began to put his plan into action.

While he worked to grab Austin’s motorcycle and park it on the outskirts of the festival, his two victims would set off the pieces. The three of them left at different times to not arouse suspicion. All of this just to fool their professor and their classmates.

At the very epicenter of both the festival and the crowd, Centaurus kept an eye out. It had only been a few minutes, so the venom’s effect should hold. Once a voice shouted, “What the fuck, man?!” he grinned and turned to walk away. Another rang out, saying, "I'll teach you to disobey me, worm!" with a tone that sounded just like Zathina. Might as well throw some bait in her general direction.

A few yells went out as a brawl began. With any luck, a small riot should snowball from the two bodies engaging in a fistfight. Through his peripheral vision, Centaurus saw numerous folk turn their heads to stare at the spectacle that unfolded before them.

Perfect, he thought. All Alcor needed was a spectacle to last for a few minutes. Of course, another body would make the situation ideal if Centaurus’ instincts were right.

There was a man on his own near the outskirts of the festival grounds. He stood on his toes as he tried to get a closer look at whatever the attendants were crowding around. Suspecting nothing, he approached Centaurus and asked, “Hey man, what’s going on over there?”

“Hmm? Oh, well… lemme show ya real quick," Centaurus grinned at the man. "C'mere. Don't wanna say it too loudly." Brow furrowed, the man hesitated before leaning in slightly. That was all Centaurus needed. Already, venom spread throughout Austin's system, mixing into the spinal fluid. He opened Austin's mouth and shot into the other's man's mouth as Austin held him close.

“HMPH! MMMPH!” Centaurus’ body strangled any of the man’s startled cries. He quickly slithered through the man and bit down on his brain. The man convulsed as he struggled to vomit the bug out but remained in place as Austin put him into a tight embrace.

“Calm down, li’l fella,” Austin whispered as the Centaurus took control. “I gotcha.”

Once the man’s limbs and core warmed under Centaurus’ influence, he nearly fell over. “F-Fuck, the fuck...” he gasped. A cold and hollow sensation spread washed over his new body. He could still feel the man’s body under his control, but alongside it was something completely foreign.

“Y’okay?”

“N-No, but that doesn’t matter right now,” Centaurus replied. “Can barely walk… y’know where to leave me.” Austin nodded and half-carried half-dragged Centaurus alongside him.

As Centaurus allowed himself to be carried, the sounds of police sirens echoed in the air. Security got involved and now the police were here to arrest those caught up in his little distraction. Despite the nausea that threatened to make him vomit, Centaurus couldn’t help but grin at how successful his plan was. The sirens would help mask the sound of Austin’s motorcycle run down the street.

“Tell me something, Austin,” said Centaurus. Was he feverish or just plainly ill? He couldn’t tell anymore. A numbing feeling spread throughout his borrowed body. He could no longer feel his fingertips. “I’m doing something good, aren’t I?”

“I think so.”

“Do you really?”

“Dunno. You tell me. I’m fully under yer control.”

“When’d you get so sassy?”

Austin shrugged. “Hard to say, maybe the venom’s startin’ to run its course. Still, what yer doin’… it ain’t wrong, but yer not doin’ it just cause you felt sorry for this friend o’ yours.”

Centaurus glared at the ground but didn’t respond.

“Not gonna go with him?” Austin asked. “Ya really wanna, dontcha? Leave everythin’ behind and run. Like the cowboys ‘n ‘em westerns ya love.”

Every bit of Centaurus wanted to shout, “Of course I will!” However, he remained silent. No matter how much his heart wished to cry out for the world to hear, he silenced himself and simply thought his plans over. After Alcor and Mizar, he would need to take down Arcturus, Merak, and Zathina will be last. Then, Centaurus could finally win. Victory was just a few hours away.

Centaurus vomited as Austin set him down. Centaurus now rested against a building housing more bathrooms for the festival-goers. Around the corner was the parking lot where Austin's motorcycle was already in place. Centaurus didn't doubt that Alcor had already arrived. “G-Get in position,” he said, gagging at the taste. “Y’know he’s waiting for you. Get.”

Austin hesitated for only a moment before nodding. The little venom Centaurus could afford to inject into him was no doubt at its limit. However, it only needed to last for another few seconds; but it would only be worth it if his gamble paid off. As Austin disappeared from view, Centaurus leaned back and shut his eyes. The numbness was deeply uncomfortable but soothing at the same time. Perhaps if he gave it his best shot, he could simply pretend as though he was merely floating through space on a ship.

“Such a dumbass,” Centaurus whispered to himself. “Wasting so much venom… 4 hosts in just ten minutes? Stupid dumbass...”

Austin’s cries were loud enough that Centaurus could hear them from so far away. However, he smiled. Alcor was so unsubtle and so unfit to be a Dreadfighter. It only furthered Centaurus’ resolve that what he was doing was right.

Then why the hell do I feel so shitty?

The roar of a motorcycle soon echoed down the road. Centaurus couldn’t see it. Even as he opened his eyes, he found his vision impaired. The world was nothing but blotches and mystifying shapes that all blended together. As expected, the sirens helped mask it. To the festival-goers who stood by the violence and police, it might as well have been a kitten’s purr.

“There you go, Alcor,” said Centaurus to nobody but himself. “Follow that dream of yours. Don’t look back at this worm...”

Austin—or was it Centaurus himself?—completely read him. The desire to run, to ride off into the sunset with his friend in tow, was tempting beyond belief. However, Centaurus knew that he could never do anything like that.

“All this worm can do is look upwards, Alcor,” he continued to chide himself. “I don’t… I don’t have anything inside of myself. No talent, no skill… I don’t have anything but this dream.” Without the idea of becoming a Dreadfighter, without that hunger for a better life, there would be nothing to define Centaurus. A dream or an obsession? Centaurus wasn’t sure at this point, but it was all he had left. No family, no money, and no other future. “Guess she was always right. Well, I knew she was right, I always knew… but just...”

Just once Centaurus wanted to forget that he was a worm. Just once Centaurus wanted that person to pretend alongside him that he could achieve something.

“Why can’t I have something?”

“My my, you’re in a real rough spot.”

A shadow washed over the mess of light and color that made up Centaurus' vision. Just by the sound of the voice, Centaurus felt a pang of annoyance.

“Come on, Centaurus! Lemme fix you up! Maybe even let me take a look inside of you. Hehe…! Don’t worry, I promise I’ll stitch you up. It’ll just hurt a liiiiitle bit. By the way, anesthesia's out of the question. Ahaha!”

With the last of his strength, Centaurus said one thing:

"So long, Space Cowboy," he said, wishing only the best for his one and only friend.

The Cavern

Jackson had been looking forward to this camping trip with his friends for months. After a delightful night of stargazing and sharing creepy stories in the dark, Jackson woke up early and decided to go for a swim at a nearby lake. Stripping to just his swimming trunks, he cannonballed into the water. Shortly after landing, however, he noticed an odd substance dye the clear lake a sickly green. Before he could rush back to the shore and leave, he felt an odd sensation in his shorts. “Wha-OH!”

“Nrgh, urgh…!” Jackson gritted his teeth as he felt something slowly slide and invade his tight hole. His cheeks grew red both from the arousal and shame of something slithering inside of him. However, he couldn’t move; completely powerless to stop this invader. “H-Help…” he managed to wheeze out. The camp was too far for any of his friends to help. All Jackson could do was throw his head back and let out another low moan as the slimy creature reached his brain.

“Mm…oh…” The entity engulfed the entirety of Jackson’s brain, hijacking his personality and memories for espionage and impersonation. After a few more shudders and stretching, the entity cracked his new neck and opened his new eyes. “You’ve got friends here,” he said, cackling to himself. “They’ll be nice vessels for some friends of my own.” He made his way over to the shore, not bothering to hide the hard-on in his trunks, and walked to the camp.

“Guys, the water feels great!” he called out with Jackson’s good-humored nature.

The Lake

“H-Hey man, thanks for the rescue,” the young man said as he climbed onto the larger boat. His hands wouldn’t stop shivering, and his movements were frenetic as he oriented himself. “M-My name’s Greg. Oh man, oh god. Th-Theere’s some freaky shit in the water! Something that took over or possessed my friends or some shit! They tried to force me under.” He let out a few choked sobs as he spoke, unable to relax his breathing. “Please help me.”

The older man, the owner of the boat, handed Greg one a glass of water. “Hmph, quite the tale yer telling me,” he said, remaining calm. “Have a drink and calm down. Yer safe now.”

Nodding, the younger man took a swing before throwing the glass onto the river. He reacted too late. A film of blue slime already slid past his lips. The younger man collapsed onto the floor of the boat while the owner threw off his shorts and began to jerk it at the sight of a new convert. “Sorry, Greg,” the owner said, grin unnaturally wide. “Can’t letcha and yer shit friends get away without getting my own li’l payback. Yer li’l prank didn’t kill me, and now yer allllll my li’l playthings.”

Greg didn’t respond, body convulsing as his body was taken over by his former victim.

Wrestling With Some Feelings

Wrestling with some Feelings

“Wh-What are you doing…?" Ahmed moaned as a trail of slime slid into his singlet. Just the very touch caused his body to react with an eruption of pleasurable waves. He collapsed onto the locker room floor, slowly humping the floor to get any sort of friction on his hardening dick. "Haa… aahhhh...haaa…! This isn't… right." Ahmed bit down on his lip before letting down another desperate moan. So caught up in this invasive bliss that he didn't even care when the slimy creature squeezed itself into his leaking cock. Instead, he welcomed it. Thoughts of championships and the thrill of victory soon vanished beneath a blanket of ecstasy. "Ah! Ahhh! H-Holy fuck, I'm—!"

Ahmed wasn't able to finish as his body yielded to the enigmatic invader. His vision swam and he felt dizzy until he collapsed on a puddle of his precum. Ahmed's body convulsed on the ground, unable to even call for help, until he suddenly became rigid, back arched as if mid-orgasm. Then, he relaxed. Slowly, he rose from the ground and took a peek inside his wrestling singlet. "Damn kid, you got a sweet-ass body," he said, stretching his body and letting out a satisfying grunt as something popped. His more reserved personality and mannerisms were completely gone, as though it was someone else entirely. “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna stay here forever. Just long enough to throw that match with Clay tonight. Can’t let my son lose that scholarship. You understand, right?” Adjusting his singlet again, the man in possession of Ahmed, Jerry, let out a sensual groan. “Ohhh, and maybe take advantage of this little body for a while. Not every day an old fart like me can be a young and sexy college stud for a few hours."

There was still time until the match, and considering how it would just be throwing the match to Clay, it wouldn’t take much effort. For now, Jerry could relax and enjoy what Ahmed's body had to offer. Grinning, he squeezed Ahmed's meat through the fabric and threw his head back in a low moan. "You're so lucky, being so sensitive. C'mon, let's get real acquainted."

Clay’s father had to struggle to keep his erection down as Clay seriously manhandled him the whole match. Each of Ahmed’s nerves seemed to be turbo-charged and Clay’s rough hands only seemed to aggravate that. With every slam and struggle—every time flesh met flesh with a flash of friction, Clay’s father found himself growing flushed. Didn’t even have to try that hard to throw, his over-horned body did the job for him.

Was it the spell or perhaps something more? Either way, soon Jerry found himself pinned to the mat with his son sneering down at him. The ref called the final point, and that was it. Jerry walked back to the locker rooms, ignoring the calls from his coach and friends. He couldn’t risk anyone catching on to his lack of disappointment.

To make sure the locker room would be empty, Jerry took an extremely long shower—checking his goods one last time before he would have to leave and return home to congratulate his son. Towel around his waist, he made his way over to the locker only to meet a meaty arm blocking his way. 

"Gotta say, kinda disappointed in your performance today, Ahmed," Clay said with a glare.

“Oh, Clay! Uh, wh-what can I say? Performance anxiety,” Jerry said, shrugging.

Clay tilted his head in confusion. “The hell’s happened to you? All jumpy and squirrely.” He took a step forward, cornering his father against the lockers. “You sick or something? Honestly looking real weird.”

Swallowing, Clay’s father said, “Um, I suppose you just have the magic touch,” he said, mind racing to come up with a lie that would be somewhat believable. “Body got all hot and cold with you manhandling me like that.” Jerry prayed that his face and ears weren’t turning as red as he thought they were.

Clay nodded to himself while squinting as if deciphering a difficult piece of text. "That so…?” Hoping that was enough, Jerry began to walk away. However, Clay slammed both of his arms against the lockers, pinning his father completely. “All you had to do was ask,” Clay whispered, his incredulous look turning into one of passion. Without a word, he leaned and kissed Jerry on his borrowed lips. Too shocked to even fight, Jerry leaned back and shut his eyes. What did this rush of passion mean? It was as if a dam had suddenly burst open.

Caught in this stream of passion, Jerry met Clay's kiss with equal aggression. It was as if he was possessed by whatever sentiments Ahmed had locked away deep inside of his subconscious. Either way, Jerry couldn’t even bother trying to resist the youthful hormones that danced in every inch of his hunky, borrowed body.

“Damn, you taste real fine,” said Clay, leaning away to stare at the giddy, bubbly mess that was Jerry. “Your lips feel so nice. Bet they’d be even better wrapped around my dick,” he said, slapping his thigh as he said so. Jerry glanced down and saw his son’s fully erect cock straining against the confines of the singlet. Wordlessly, he nodded and got down on his knees. The taste was so salty, but he didn’t mind it at all. Hearing his son’s pleasured moans and the cock threatening to unhinge Ahmed’s jaw was enough to get Jerry’s own dick hard.

“Make me see white,” Jerry breathed as he drew back with a pop. He spread his legs, trying to show as much of his ass he could. “Fuck me hard, Clay. I don’t think I can live without that cock inside of me once.”

“Say no more.” With a grunt of effort, Clay lifted Jerry up and placed him down onto one of the benches. “Don’t worry, I’ll be nice and gentleman-y like.” Leaning up to steal another sensual kiss, Clay teased the rim of Ahmed’s hole with his cockhead. Jerry moaned and bit down on his lips. He took a few breaths, trying to relax, before just leaning back and staring up at the ceiling. "Hold on, relax," whispered Clay, using a finger to loosen him up. "Got some lube in my locker. Give me a sec."

“You have what?” Jerry exclaimed as Clay briefly walked off. “H-How often do you do this here.”

Once Clay returned, he just grinned and said, “Enough.”

Though Jerry wanted to continue asking his son, the finger that penetrated him had another idea. Jerry, nearly cross-eyed, immediately tightened as a reflex. He leaned back, moaning like a slut as Clay slipped in another finger. Then another. “F-Fuck, I-I’m fucking cumming!” Jerry shouted as his dick erupted with shot after shot of pent-up aggression.

“Damn, came from just fingering?” Clay grinned. “Hope you still got fuel in the tank, Ahmed. I still haven’t got a chance to shoot my shot.”

Breathing heavily, Jerry nodded as he spread his legs even further. Despite his climax abating, the sensual haze in his mind didn’t leave. Instead, he felt as though he could cum again and again that night. “I’m still not satisfied. Split me in half, Clay!” He moaned. Although the more logical part of Jerry's mind screamed and begged, he didn't give a shit. He just wanted this hunky hole filled and his son's cock was the one thing that could fix that.

Clay wasted no time. He spread Jerry as much as he cut and gave a slow, experimental thrust. When Jerry didn't scream, he slowly picked up the pace. "Mm, yeah. Nrgh, fuck yeah," he grunted with every thrust. There was no reason to go so quick that it would take away from the passion. As promised, he was gentle with strong, rhythmic thrusts. Jerry met each one with the same rhythm. Every nerve seemed to be on fire as Clay's cock filled him—as though Jerry was finally complete. With this body and this cock inside of him, he was reaching Nirvana.

After what seemed like a lifetime of pleasure, Jerry noticed Clay’s core tightening. His face was flushed and his body was covered in a sheen of sweat. “I’m—nggh—I’m gonna blow my load. Want me to cum inside?” Jerry quickly nodded. Clay grinned. “Good answer.” With renewed vigor, Clay continued plowing into Jerry as he babbled nonsense. “C’mon, Ahmed. Scream for me.” He said, slapping Ahmed’s quivering thighs.

“Oh my god,” said Jerry, covering his face to hide the tears. He was elated and embarrassed all at once. His own offspring was smashing him and all he could do was moan and allow it to happen. It had been years since he had sex this good, and he knew that Ahmed felt the same. No, for Ahmed it was even more intense. Somehow, Jerry understood that Ahmed had never had sex before. Now, at that moment, Jerry was losing his virginity for Ahmed. With that in mind, Jerry could feel his climax swiftly approaching.

“I'm gonna nut! I'm gonna—MMM!" Jerry stopped as Clay suddenly embraced him with a long, intense kiss. Unable to handle the heat and the passion any longer, Jerry climaxed. Both of their bodies became drenched in semen, but neither of them cared. All they wished was to taste as much of themselves in that kiss.

Sorry, Ahmed, thought Jerry, lemme just stay in this body for a little while longer. I’ll leave tomorrow in the morning. Promise.