After Waking Up In An Unfamiliar Body And In An Unfamiliar Time, You Were Struck With Deep Fascination

After waking up in an unfamiliar body and in an unfamiliar time, you were struck with deep fascination at the situation you were currently in. You had often loved to see samurai films and anime, so to suddenly find yourself in the body of one was nothing short of a dream come true. Though the more rational part of your lust-filled mind urged you to find the way to return home, the sight of your hunky, sweaty body clad in just a fundoshi was enough to shut down any concerns you might’ve had.

Tomorrow was the time to worry, for tonight was to relax in the onsen! It was time to explore and put the katana between your legs to good use.

Switch bodies or possess a cowboy with a habit of wearing only jockstraps or a samurai who wears only fundoshi?

Hmmm…you really got me here. I have to say I love a good time travel body swap. Two superb options, but what will they do in my body (do I trust them)? How kinky to think of either of them wearing their favorite undergarments parading around as me…

I’ll switch bodies with the samurai who only wears the fundoshi. A beefy one too. Let’s make the swap happen right after he’s finished his training for the day. I’d love to admire my chiseled form in it right before I strip it off and enjoy the sauna

Daddy’s Punishment

Ryan cocked his eyebrow as he glanced up at his son’s shut room. Once again, the sounds of giggling and teasing pierced through the house’s walls and rang in Ryan’s ears. His son, Michael, was spending another day of his Spring Break with his girlfriend, Veronica. Ever since their senior year of high school, the two had been inseparable. Now, in their final year college after searching for programs that would suit them both, the two discussed their plans for the future with a youthful and carefree vigor.

Frankly, Ryan felt disgusted. His heart burned with jealousy for those days that had passed him by with little excitement or joy. A few years of blissful marriage with the love of his wife before she passed, leaving behind a young boy that would rather spend the day as far away from Ryan as possible. The two lived in the same home, but rarely shared the same menu that day or remained in the same room without a tense air flooding the space between them.

It wasn’t animosity, at least, Ryan didn’t think it was. However, the thought of spending the whole day with Michael made his skin crawl. It would be better for the two to simply lead their own lives and not get in the other’s way.

Then Veronica arrived. Michael spent much more time at home playing House with her while Ryan remained some awkward third-wheel in his own abode. There was no animosity, but Ryan didn’t miss the way Michael’s brow furrowed when he saw his father or the way Veronica’s smile grew just the tiniest bit more tense when Ryan said “Hello,” or just passed by the hallway.

It was maddening. The young couple flaunted their happiness as if Ryan didn’t exist without rest. It was picturesque relationship that served as a painful reminder of what Ryan could never have. A gnawing hunger for a youthful renaissance or a second chance ate at Ryan’s soul, and he eventually snapped.

Not long after, an old family member, in his deathbed, passed along a grimoire.

“The ability to change and reshape reality to suit your whims,” the relative, a man that Ryan scarcely knew and hardly thought about, said with his final breaths. “You’ve always been so kind and considerate, dropping every once and while to check up on me,” he continued, unaware that Ryan spent the last few days trying to remember the relative’s name or even their relationship. “Use this power to make you and Michael’s life better. It’ll bring me great joy in the afterlife to know that you’re both okay and that my book helped.” With a tearful smile, he said, “Wouldn’t that be great? It’ll be like I’m watching over you.”

Ryan nodded and whispered, “Good night. We’ll miss you.” There was no reason to break the old man’s heart with the truth. It was an adult lesson Ryan learned long ago.

“I’ll miss Uncle Miles,” said Michael as they drove home together. Ah, that was his name. Always slipped my mind, thought Ryan as he glanced over at his son. It was one of the rare times Veronica wasn’t hanging off his arm. It felt like it was the first time he had seen in his son in years. So much taller and broad-shouldered—it brought forth another wave of envy inside of Ryan. His grip on the steering wheel tightened until his son spoke again. “What did he say to you?”

Caught off-guard, he gruffly responded, “J-Just gave me his little book,” with a small sneer. “He was born delusional and died delusional,” he lied—a habit that brought him far too much comfort. “Least we were able to say goodbye. Gotta be grateful for that.”

“Right…” said Michael with barely hidden disdain. The rest of the ride back was silent as Ryan’s mind returned to Miles’ spellbook. In his youth, he had seen Miles be able to use that book for specific hexes and curses, but he had little talent for such things.

“It’s all in the ritual,” Miles had told him once. “You just have to be more careful with the spell and the materials you make. A strong will and determination also help, Ryan.” At first, Ryan didn’t really care for Miles’ advice and let those memories stew in the back of his mind. Now, at the height of his envy, Ryan ran towards his room with thundering steps and opened the page to his destined future.

Bodysnatching. Taking over another’s body. The stolen youth and missed opportunities wouldn’t matter to Ryan anymore. He would take them all back. He would invade his own son’s body and restart his life—a true renaissance. The thought of that caused shivers to travel down his spine and towards his crotch. His own flesh and blood convulsing as he took back what he rightfully deserved. First, he would break up with Veronica, enjoy the way her soft features so accustomed to smiling twisted into a tearful grimace, and then indulge in youth once more. Perhaps sleep around some and enjoy what fading bits of youthful freedom his son was wasting. Michael seemed like he was in such a hurry to grow up. It honestly depressed Ryan as much as it enraged him.

His thoughts were cut off as someone knocked on his door. Waiting for his erection to calm, he answered, “Comin’.”

On the other side was Veronica, smiling as she usually did. “Hello, Mr. Mitchell,” she greeted with a practiced tilt of her head. “I just wanted to thank you so much for letting me stay with Michael so often. Sometimes it feels like I’m monopolizing his time with you,” she said, tittering. Feeling awkward, Ryan joined in until she stopped.

“You don’t have to worry about that, Veronica,” said Ryan. “It’s not like Michael and I are particularly excited to spend whole days together.” It was a dialogue that wasn’t unfamiliar to Ryan, but he found it more difficult than ever to put even the barest effort into it. When he was so close to finally breaking free, this girl felt the need to drag it out even longer. Her fake smile only enraged him further. “’sides, it’s not like you two are gonna be together for very long anyway. High school and college sweethearts break up all the time.” Ryan couldn’t help but grin as those words escape his lips.

Veronica’s lips tightened, and her smile became even more forced. “I see,” she said, dragging out the last syllable. “Well, please be conscientious enough to have your little mid-life crisis like a normal person would and keep it far away from us. Okay?” She shut the door on him, not waiting for Ryan’s response.

All her actions did was just push Ryan forward. He waited until it was late at night, filling his time by practicing magic circles on his floor. Every time he felt discouraged, he remembered Veronica’s smile and grew inspired. To break that damn girl—that alone would be worth the effort. At around midnight, when the lights to Michael’s room shut off, Ryan got to work. Whispering the enchantment under his breath, his half-naked body groaned and trembled as his soul emerged from the flesh. Little more than a ball of blue flame, Ryan shot through the air towards his son’s room. His spirit phased through the wall with no resistance.

It's mine, all mine, he thought in a twisted excitement as he emerged into Michael’s room. His son lied on his bed, one leg arched and his mouth open as he snored peacefully. Come to daddy, Michael, thought Ryan as he zoomed towards his defenseless son.

Then, he felt something pinch him from behind and drag him away from Michael. “…?!” The only sound he could matter was a shocked cry as Veronica held him back.

“Well, well,” she said, smirking at the ball in her hand. She dropped Ryan onto her other hand, holding him like a baseball bat. “Another piece of shit that wants their dirty soul in my boyfriend.” Grip tightening, she raised Ryan up so that they were face-to-face. “Do you know how many irritating magicians, witches, warlocks, and everything in between try to possess my precious Mikey?” Ryan couldn’t response. All he could do was watch as Veronica’s sweet façade melted into a chilling glare.

Michael blissfully snoozed away.

“The answer is too many, Mr. Mitchell. And you just added yourself onto that list.” Though Ryan couldn’t emote, his soul still shivered at the weight of Veronica’s words. “Don’t worry, I’m above killing. Pathetic people like you aren’t going to learn any lessons in the afterlife. I’ve got a very special punishment for your kind.”

It happened in an instant. Veronica’s body burst into pink flames, still with a tight grip on Ryan’s soul. The flames flew through the house in a speed that Ryan could never hope to match until both spirits dived into Ryan’s body. He fell backwards onto the floor, toes curling and hips thrusting into the air as Veronica forced him back into his flesh and forcibly ripped control from him. With surgical precision, each of Ryan’s limbs fell under her control until she was admiring her form in front of Ryan’s full-view mirror.

“The age really hits you,” said Veronica as she ran her stole hands down her torso. “And all the good muscles gooooone,” she said, pouting in the mirror before giggling to herself. “Y’know DILFs are still in fashion, Mr. Mitchell? You could probably find yourself a nice, thirsty thot to bring home. Maybe even someone willing to settle down.” Hands resting on the back of her bald head, armpits exposed, she sauntered throughout the room. She also, perhaps to humiliate him further in this parade, swung his hips seductively. “But I guess some people just can’t get enough of just living and appreciating what they have, huh? They just have to try and take from others.”

Please, Ryan begged from the recesses of his mind. Just lemme go. I promise I learned my lesson. Lemme go!

“No way,” said Veronica, twirling her finger. All sorts of sex toys, vibrators, and hemp rope appeared on Ryan’s bed. “You won’t learn this lesson until its engraved into your body. And don’t worry, I’ll make sure your flesh won’t ever forget.” Cackling to herself, Veronica picked up a vibrator and eagerly sighed as it began to buzz with a fearsome intensity. “It’s PUNISHMENT TIIIIIIME!”

From anal beads to vibrators to surugadoi, Ryan’s mind and body learned the true extent of a witch’s wrath. His bed, sheets, and even walls became coated in semen which Veronica happily scooped up. “Mustn’t waste a single drop,” she taunted him, shaking his ass as she roced him to crawl on all fours. “If you do, we might have to start allll over again.” He screamed and moan in his prison, unable to deny the enjoyment he felt.

Meanwhile, Michael slept peacefully as his father’s roars of intense pain and pleasure filled the house. Veronica always enjoyed putting a Slumber charm on her boyfriend to make sure he always had a necessary eight hours. It was also convenient when she went galivanting and dolling out punishments to people.

The following morning, Ryan hummed to himself as he fixed up pancakes for the happy couple. Veronica smiled and cuddled close to a happy yet confused Michael. “What’s the occasion?” he asked Ryan.

“N-Nothing, son,” said Ryan as he set down a plate. He rubbed his hand over his face as he spoke. “Just… feel like I really learned something about myself last night, thinking about Miles’ words.” He smiled at Michael. “Any plans for you crazy kids?”

“We’re going to swim at the lake to relax before we got back to school,” said Veronica as she drowned her plate with syrup. “Once hell week is up, we’re thinking of going to a friend’s beach house for the summer. Isn’t that grand?”

“Sounds amazing,” said Ryan while Michael happily accepted the new laid-back atmosphere. Ryan stood and smiled the whole time. Perhaps he could get accustomed to something like this like his son.

“Dad? Aren’t you going to sit down and have breakfast with us?”

A quick glance at Veronica was all that Ryan needed to formulate an answer. “Oh, no, no. I’ve got some work to get done. I’ll have breakfast later.” He left the kitchen, relieved his son didn’t insist that Ryan ate with them. There was no way Ryan would be able to sit down for at least a week.

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.

FEStival Fiasco

Mizar Interlude

The joys of physical touch fascinated Mizar so. With every lover and climax, he felt more and more inclined to remain in this blue rock for the rest of his life just having his prostate ridden.

Luckily for him, Mizar found himself in a stuffy office full of men who desperately needed someone to relieve stress with. After a few winks and thirsty looks, Mizar had his next plaything on lock.

“Ngh! C’mon, harder!” he begged at this handsome stranger in a suit. They were in an unused meeting room that, according to his host’s coworker, would not be used for another hour. Mizar was on his back, completely naked and covered in a sheen of sweat, as his partner fucked him with just his slacks down. By now, he was far from festival grounds by highjacking bodies and hopping on dicks. This would just be another ride he could take advantage of.

“Holy shit, John!" The businessman, whatever his name was, exclaimed as he continued pounding Mizar. "You always seemed so uptight! Who knew you were such a cockslut," the man said with a chuckle as he picked up the pace. "And such a tight ass. Holy hell, it's like it's sucking me in."

“Ahhh,” Mizar moaned, arching his back while trying to meet John’s coworker with equal vigor.  He truly had no idea what his host’s name was or even his position in the company, but none of that mattered compared to the burning desire for carnal pleasure. “K-Keep it up. C’mon, fuck me hard! Make me forget even my own name!” Mizar shouted, repeating phrases from previous partners. When in Rome, as one of them had said when he first came to them with an erection that wouldn’t go down and a crazed need to bottom. Or was it, any hole’s a good one?

All of the thoughts instantly vanished from Mizar as his partner delivered another powerful thrust. "Ngh! F-FUCK!" Not nearly satisfied enough, Mizar wrapped his legs around his coworker's torso and pull him even deeper into himself. "Paint my insides white! Tear me in half like—OOOH—LIKE A COCK WHORE!"

“Here it comes!” Mizar’s lover cried out, balancing on his toes to push even deeper as he came. Mizar grinned as he felt each shot fill him up with warm semen. Soon after, as his lover’s climax dribbled away, he reached his own peak as well. Load after load fell onto Mizar’s borrowed, sweaty torso, and he enjoyed rubbing it all over himself. He wasn’t sure if it was his possession that caused such tremors of ecstasy with all of his hosts, but he was far and beyond the point of caring. For Mizar, his life would be peaks and valleys of time when he was seeking his new high. “Come hereeee...” he whispered, tongue sticking out as he grabbed his lover by the tie and pulled him close.

Another peak, another valley. Now was the time to find another experience. Without delay, Mizar jumped from John and into his new ride. Although the businessman struggled and tried to push Mizar away, he could not stop the alien sliding in through his mouth and traveling up to his brain. "NGH! MM! Oh—oh god!" The man groaned, collapsing on top of John's drooling and unconscious body as Mizar bit down on his brain. After some small convulsions and a few waves of pleasure, Mizar stood up and admired his new husk. The hard-on that threatened to no longer fit in his slacks and jock-strap fascinated Mizar the most.

“Let’s go,” Mizar said to himself, not even bothering to figure out more about this man or how to lay low. All that mattered to him was finding his next peak.

Festival Fiasco

Part 5

Ever since his birth, the fateful worm had known nothing but darkness. Most of his days were spent in shrew-like bodies and digging tunnels for the foundation of their society. His job, like many others before him, was to search for precious metals in abused and dangerous mines. Several of his fellow worms passed away due to collapsing tunnels or pockets of earth full of poisonous air.

“We are many,” a worm twice his age told to him, “and we are weak. Disposable. Worms in the dirt that the Elite walk on. We matter as much as the rock we mine, and so we are in these caverns.” Not too long after passing on that wisdom, the older worm perished in a cave-in. The fateful worm was no surprised, as so many of their kind died everyday that learning names was far too tiring. It was better to have nothing than to constantly lose someone every day.

Then, on a fateful day, the worm overheard two passing Elites. “Centaurus,” one of them said, chuckling as he uttered that name, “is what those humans call one of our suns. Our sacred stars that lie above even Elites! Can you believe they have the audacity to even try to christen it with a name? Absurd.” The two walked away, laughing at the new species.

From then on, a small fire burned in that fateful worm’s heart. It was a completely foreign feeling, but he loved it. “Centaurus,” he said to himself as best he could, each syllable eliciting joy in his heart. “Centaurus, Centaurus. Cen-tau-rus…!” As he repeated that word to himself in the coming days, his gaze turned upwards, focusing above the dark rock ceiling he had always known. The next few months were spent digging his own personal tunnel, barely managing to hide his progress from the managers who watched his progress. It was difficult to dig through the dirt and stone upwards, but the name gave him hope and strength that he had never known before.

Finally, Centaurus emerged from the earth. He pushed through the final layer of dirt and emerged onto the surface. The air tasted fresh and untouched by dust. His panted heavily, enjoying each new sensation as he trekked through the alien world—his own home. The sky was grey and a light breeze coursed through barren field he wandered. After a few minutes of aimless wandering, he saw the first few rays. In the horizon, the sun began to rise.

“Heyyyyy~! Ya gonna wake up or am I gonna have to throttle ya, Centy?” Centaurus’ slowly opened his eyes, hands curled up in irritation as the annoying voice bounced off the walls. “There you are! About time. You sure like to keep everyone waiting, huh?”

“…Phecda.” Centaurus blinked to refocus his vision. Before him was an older man wearing a doctor’s coat, a stethoscope, and nothing else. He strutted over, balancing shifting from the balls of each foot.

“You never talk to any of us,” he began, pacing along the walls of the room, gaze wandering all over the white walls. “Yet, you remember each of our names so well! Your behavior is always so interesting, Centy~! I’ve never seen anything like it.”

With a grunt of effort, Centaurus swung his legs over and tried to leap at Phecda. However, the moment he launched himself off the bed and his feet touched the ground, he stumbled and fell to the floor. “The hell…?!”

“You. Are. Exhausted,” said Phecda, leaning over Centaurus, their faces just a few inches away from each other. “Absolutely washed up. It’s a miracle you’re even alive.” Phecda hopped back as Centaurus swung a slow and sluggish fist at him. “You can barely even fight. It’s honestly a shame to see you like this.” For a moment, Phecda’s fac fell before his expression lit up with his usual disgusting cheer. “I wonder what Zathina would say if she saw you. Or dear ol’ Arti. He’d get a real chuckle out of this,” he said, giggling as Centaurus leaned against the bed like an old man who couldn’t get up on his own.

“If you’re gonna kill me,” he said in-between pants, “just go ahead and do it. Anything’s better than listening to you yap and yap.”

“Ohhh, booo~!” said Phecda. “That’s such a boring thing to do, Centaurus. Why would I kill my most interesting research subject.” Once again approaching, Phecda leaned in and grabbed Centaurus’ face in a sharp vice-grip. A glint that never failed to send shivers down Centaurus’ spine appeared in Phecda’s eyes. The grin was gone, replaced by a twisted and frustrated grimace. “I would love to take you apart to finally learn how and why you tick, but that would ruin everything. No, I must observe you without interfering. Without letting those ridiculous fools getting in your way so you can flourish. Those Elites are so concentrated in status and let promising subjects just die in those worthless mines of them. God, I wish I could take them apart too so I could show our worthless world what trash truly looks like.”

Centaurus tried to scream or shout, but he couldn’t stop trembling. His muscles wouldn’t move or respond. If Phecda truly wished, Centaurus would end up as the subject of vivisection. However, no such carnage occurred. Centaurus still breathed.

The two stared at each other for a while before Phecda’s face broke into another gleeful grin. “You flinched~! You’re so cute when you’re scared, but not as cute as Arcturus when everything’s falling apart around him. Phecda let go of Centaurus and stepped back, pacing the room with that ridiculous gait again. “Don’t worry, Centy. I just took you to my host’s apartment so you could get some rest. If either Zathina or Arcturus found ya with no energy, who knows what they would’ve done!” He shook his head in disapproval. “No, I learned so much from you, and yet there’s still more I want to discover.”

“What are you—”

“Please, indulge me, Centaurus,” said Phecda, turning to face Centaurus again, who flinched. “There’s a discovery I believe I have stumbled onto, and I was hoping to use you as a sort of ‘wall’ to bounce ideas off of. Maybe we could even collaborate,” he said, emphasizing the last word.

Moving his hand over his hairy and borrowed legs, Centaurus could feel just a bit of sensation return. If he could just stall this conversation out, he could make a break for it. “Fine,” he said, scoffing and turning his face away. “Start rambling, ya freak. If you get close to the mark, I’ll tell ya. In exchange, just lemme go, all right?”

Phecda cocked his brow, head tilting in confusion. “Oh, that sort of cooperation is unexpected. Wonder if you’ve found some sort of escape route you want to distract me from?”

Centaurus kept his face neutral as Phecda wandered the room, running his hands over the walls. As expected, Phecda knew very little about his own host’s home. “Either way, I guess I don’t really care. All I wanted was a chat. Whatever you do afterwards isn’t very important. Although…” Phecda shook his head. “Doesn’t matter! Let’s great started.”

“Shoot.”

“How did a being like you,” began Phecda, “with very little chance of mastering his craft might I add, ever become masterful enough at possession to rival of Elites like Arcturus or Zathina? Isn’t it curious? I often pondered that between classes and experiments. How was that possible? It’s like a homeless man having more skill than a dedicated kung-fu master.” As if to emphasize his point, Phecda performed a crane stance, the flaccid dick flopping as he lifted up his leg.

“You watching earth TV?”

“It’s nice to have in the background as I work,” said Phecda as rubbed the back of his neck. “But the point is, things weren’t adding up. I threw a few theories around. Time travel, secret training from special ops, all sorts of nonsense. It was more like a little pet project than anything else. Try not to feel so special, Centaurus.”

Rolling his eyes, Centaurus said, “Nice to know I’m such high priority for ya.”

“Well, at first it was.” The dangerous glint in Phecda’s eyes returned. The atmosphere grew heavy as his footfalls grew harder and more intense. “Then I saw the effect you had on Arcturus. That’s when it really got interesting.” Phecda continued to pace around the room. The amusement and nonchalantness of his expression faded. “I grew up together with him. I’ve observed him. He was always so dull. So boring. Just another by-product of our society. Nothing more. But then…! Oh, you made his interesting, Centaurus.” Without warning, he sprinted over to Centaurus and grabbed him by the shoulders. Centaurus could feel Phecda’s warm breath on his face. “Just by existing, just by being skilled, you began to break the little peanut-brain that that fool had. Just by being, you made him fascinating,” he said, eyes shining with wicked intent.

“Wh-What the hell do you want…?” said Centaurus, his heart racing. Goosebumps spread throughout his body. He had seen such an awful personality from Phecda before, but this was simply on a level he could have never seen coming. “What do you want from me, Phecda?!”

“I… just want you to go about the same as you always do!” said Phecda, releasing Centaurus. “I want to witness your potential, that’s all.” He merely shrugged, expression perfectly nonchalant. The sudden changes in mood only served to give Centaurus more anxiety. When would Phecda go in a rage? It was effective torture strategy, but Centaurus was wondering if that was even the goal.

In that brief period, Centaurus realized that Phecda was silent and just staring at him. Suddenly, embarrassed, Centaurus said, “You’re… seriously freaking me out. But, you’re fine with me winning this whole thing? Letting me get the chance to become a Dreadfighter and serve the Emperor directly? That’s fine with you?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” said Phecda. “You don’t have the skills of Zathina or even Arcturus, but you have good skills. And your head’s not up in the clouds like those two.” He threw his hands up into the air, eyes rolling as he spoke. “Always about honor and status with those two. They’re like broken records. Really, at least having someone like you around will keep things interesting. Besides…” Narrowing his eyes, Phecda said, “Someone who is willing to throw away everything for success is perfect for Dreadfighters, isn’t it?”

Flinching once more, Centaurus tried to back away further onto the bed. “So you figured it out.” Hiding anything from this madman would just agitate Phecda and make the situation worse. “Yeah, I throw just about everything at it when I possess a host.”

“Elites like us are specifically taught not to do that,” said Phecda. “If you try and force a connection with a host, you risk losing yourself. It’s like mixing two paints and hoping that the colors will remain pure. And yet… you still continue to do that. Every time, you allow your consciousness to meld with your host’s just for a tiny advantage. Why is that?”

Not wanting to face Phecda, Centaurus pointedly turned his head and stared out the window. The sun was beginning to set. Just a few hours longer and the festival would be over. His host still wasn’t fully recovered, but that was no longer his main concern. Thoughts and fears he had been burying deep inside of him finally emerged with little resistance. “Ya said it yourself. To risk everything for just that chance for success. That’s all it is. As simple as that.”

Pouting, Phecda said, “It’s so boring when you try to say it like that. At least do it like those detective shows where they have the lead talk about it in great and exciting detail!”

“My life isn’t a show, freak,” said Centaurus. “Just… I don’t have anything else, Phecda. If I don’t become a soldier, if I don’t prove my worth, then…” he paused, unable to say it. I’ll be just a worm. He shut his mouth and refused to let the words continue.

“I see. You’re a product of our society as well.” Phecda nodded, as if the world suddenly made complete sense to him. He spun on his heel and faced the wall, expression hidden. “Don’t kill Arcturus, Centy. He’s boring sometimes and crazy at others, but I still like him. You make him fascinating, but if you make him dead I’ll tear you apart and eat you, okay?”

The usual mania in his voice was gone. For the first time since they had met, Phecda spoke in a serious tone. “Yeah, sure. Wasn’t planning on killing the guy, anyway. He’s a piece of shit but like… no one that needs to be killed.”

“What’re you going to do when it’s just you and Zathina left?” asked Phecda, still hiding his face. “Do you think you can beat her?”

Centaurus ran a hand down his borrowed hair, a habit of his host. “I don’t know. But, I’ll give it a try, even if it kills me.”

“You’re desperate.”

“When you’ve got nothing else to live for and everything on the line,” said Centaurus, “wouldn’t anyone?”

“…Well, to see that realize…” Phecda turned around once more, smirking as he approached Centaurus. “You need your energy. I just happen to know a neat way for humans to generate the chemicals we feed on.” The doctor’s coat billowing as he strutted over, Phecda kneeled in front of Centaurus and began to lower his pants. “Just lean back, stare up at the ceiling, and relax. I’ll take it from here.”

“…You’re a real weirdo, y’know that?”

“Why thank you. You’re a real weirdo as well, Centy.” Phecda leaned in and kiss Centaurus’ lips, to the latter’s shock. “Keep being interesting. Worms don’t make for such fine test subjects, I promise you that much.”

Kindness came from such interesting places, Centaurus mused.

My Reflection in Your Eyes

On a typical Sunday evening, David sat by the unlit fireplace and skimmed through another novel he had bought on a whim. After several pages of an uninteresting romance between a dull man and a heroine with more fingers than brain cells, his mind began to wander back to his husband, Jack. For whatever reason, the man was in a foul mood after a visit from his nephew which eventually resulted in a shouting match the night before. Before the yelling could get too out of hand, David left the house to rest his pounding head. When David asked about it right before bed, Jack just huffed and avoided the question with low grunts. The following morning, Jack just sulked in bed and refused the lazy sex on a Sunday morning that David offered.

“So grumpy,” muttered David as he set his book aside. Due to the summertime, the sun was beginning to set close to around six. “It’s not April that’s the cruelest month, it’s June,” he mused, writing down such thoughts in his little pocket notebook. The retired life wasn’t nearly as glamorous as he hoped. The days grew long yet ended in a blink. His body reeked of sweat yet lacked the satisfaction of accomplishment. The most joy came from the climax that came from the sex Jack didn’t seem to want anymore.

Finally surrendering to the never-ending heat, David thrust his shirt off and tossed it to the floor, not bothering to put it in the laundry hamper in their room. He didn’t want to see Jack just yet. For the time, he wanted to cling onto his pride as a man; even if it was just for a minute longer.

However, all that went by the wayside as a low and muffled moan came from their room. At first, David stared at the door, puzzled. Was Jack masturbating? David was certain that Jack had kicked the habit months ago. With a furrowed brow and mounting irritation, David began to suspect that it wasn’t pleasure that Jack was sick off, but of David himself. Another long moan caused David to tense up. Did he climax? In their 20 years of marriage, David had never been able to coax such a pronounced reaction from Jack.

“I’m coming in!” Even when he wanted to just burst into the room and possibly call out his partner, David still felt necessary to announce himself out of respect Jack’s privacy. What he found was his husband breathing deeply and covered in a coat of sweat, skin gleaming in the fading sunlight. His hairy chest was covered with fresh cum. "Well, good to see someone's in the mood," joked David, glancing around at the room. No signs of anyone else. No discarded clothes nor any hiding places “Were you hoping to rev me up?” said David, almost cringing at the hint of desperation that slipped out without intent.

The only response David received was an unfocused stare from Jack, as though he was in a trance. “Jack? You okay?” said David, some of his anger forgotten.

Jack blinked and shook his head, eyes finally turning to David with an amused glint. "Sorry, guess I was a little excited," he said with a sheepish grin, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck and completely ignoring the drying cum on his chest. Swinging his legs over the bed, he strutted over to David, emphasizing the still hard cock as it bobbed up and down. “So how’s my favorite man in the whole world doing?” he said, brushing his chest as if trying to clean up his mess.

David cocked an eyebrow. “Jack, are you sure you’re okay? You seemed like—” his words were cut off as Jack leaned in for an uninvited kiss. Not quite done, Jack began to rub his chest and slowly massage and knead the flesh. David moaned into Jack’s mouth as the latter took dominance and work wonders with his tongue; far more than ever before. At a painfully slow pace, Jack's hands worked David's body and made their way down until they arrived as David's hardening cock. Once their kiss broke, a thin stream of saliva still connecting them, David was far too caught up in a wave of lust to continue worrying.

“I-I thought you weren’t in the mood,” was all David was able to stutter out as Jack led him over to the bed.

“Guess I had a change of heart.” For whatever reason, Jack laughed as he tossed the stained sheets to the side. The two threw themselves onto the bed and a night of pleasure and screaming ecstasy ensued.

Past midnight, Jack climbed from his bed and stretched. He scratched his pits and explored his coarse yet still pleasurable new body. "Not bad, old man," he said, wriggling his toes and laughing at how smooth everything was. Glancing over, he chuckled as he spotted the passed-out David after several hours of making him a cock sleeve. “Nighty-night, Davy.”

A few minutes later, a knock interrupted his “Jack’s” self-exploration. Grinning ecstatically, he opened the window and assisted a younger man to slip into the room. “How’s he feel, Jordan?” asked the young man.

“Oh, much better than I thought, Terry,” said Jordan, enjoying just how sensitive his father’s skin was. “My old man’s such a nice trip. This weight feels nice,” he said, lightly slapping his stomach, enjoying the muscle hidden by the layer of fat that came with age. “Jack’s over there. Go ahead and jump into him. Got him cumming so hard he won’t be able to put up much of a fight.”

Terry, the amateur bodysnatcher, nodded. He wandered over to the bed while stripping his clothes ad muttering the incantation under his breath. “Let’s dance, old man,” he said, getting a running start before cannonballing onto David. The older man woke up with a shocked start.

“UWOHH, oh my GOD!” shouted David. When his eyes opened, he saw a young man’s upper half sink into his torso as if his flesh was nothing but water. “Wh-Whaaaa…!” said David, convulsing and trembling as another man rearranged himself in his body. His back curled into a perfect C as his hips thrust into the air before collapsing onto the bed over and over again. “H-Heeeelp… Jack…” David turned his head, nearly vomiting as he felt another human being rearranging himself in his own body. However, all David saw was his husband grinning maniacally and rubbing his own cock as he was taken over.

Jordan sighed and sat down by his father’s desk as Terry did his job. He felt accomplished. It wasn’t as difficult as he initially believed, but the sense of success mixed with the eroticism of using his father for his own perversion drove him mad with joy. Just yesterday, Jordan arrived at his father's home with grievances. "Why was my cut of the inheritance so massively shrunk?" he came, voice already dripping with venom as Jack had expected.

Sighing, Jack rubbed his temples and said, "Your sister's still not over her illness. With the fear of rising hospital bills—"

“Bullshit,” said Jordan, voice rising. “She’s always been your favorite. Always gotten the most love. And now she’s getting the most money.”

“I don’t favor either of you,” Jack tried to argue. “Have you ever read The Prodigal Son? It’s similar to—”

“I’m so sick of your half-assed non-answers!” Jordan cut in again. The two continued to argue back and forth for several emotionally charged minutes until the two were hoarse and exhausted. Sweat lingered on each of their brows as their chests rose and fell. They never stopped glaring at each other.

Eventually, Jack said, "Get out. I’m sick of your damn attitude,” he said, turning away from his son. “You’re out of the damn will until you fix your sick viewpoint.” Jordan scoffed and turned towards the door. Neither of them looked at each other, burying any regret with their rigid pride. To see the other’s eyes would risk catching their own reflections.

Jordan, however, decided to sink into that reflection. Using lock-picking skills he picked up during some early days of truancy, he broke into his father's home. David was an early riser while Jack sulked in his bed, eventually falling asleep. Once Jordan saw David leaving the house, he sneaked towards his father’s room and stood over the sleeping man. He climbed onto the bed and wrapped his sleeping father’s arm around his shoulders and cuddled with him for a few precious seconds. Magic, theft, and crime were forgotten as he indulged in that brief return to a peaceful childhood.

“I’ll always love you,” he whispered before slithering into his father’s body through his side and armpit. The man awoke with a start, thighs trembling and toes curling as he struggled through the process. Jordan sunk deep into his father and his own delusion with a crazed glee.

“I’m done, babe,” said Terry, snapping Jordan out of his thoughts. David’s body seemed to glimmer in the moonlight, chest waving as Terry posed erotically to stir up Jordan. “We look real good, Jor—Jack. But, I’m not quite satisfied just yet.” Licking his lips, Terry fell back onto the bed, legs spread open and hole in full view. “C’mon, let’s get busy.”

Jordan grinned and walked over to his partner. He passed by a mirror, catching a glimpse of himself—his real self—for just a moment. “What’s wrong?” asked Terry, but Jordan shook his head and dove into his fantasy, content in fogging up his reflection with his father’s stolen pleasure.