Classic Bait & Switch, My Signature Magic Move.

Beneath Their Feet

The football bus was filled with the kind of energy you’d expect after a big game they had won—sweaty, cocky footballers sprawled out, joking around, and teasing each other. Their musky scent was everywhere, a mix of sweat and testosterone. They were so lost in messing around that none of them noticed their driver slightly convulsing in his seat, his eyes rolling back as the bus stopped at a red light. For a few seconds, his body shook in his seat, stopping just in time for the green light.

His face was completely blank now as he drove the bus. But he didn’t take the usual route this time. Instead, he turned down into a secluded parking lot. This time, the players noticed and started asking questions.

The bus doors hissed open, and that’s when a short, nerdy guy with messy hair and thick glasses stepped onto the bus, clutching a jar filled with what looked like tiny, buzzing insects. The jocks went silent, their laughter replaced by confused stares as the guy stopped, eyeing them all like he was sizing them up.

The bugs in the jar seemed to grow agitated, their wings buzzing furiously inside the glass. He grinned, enjoying the moment as his eyes scanned the sea of muscle and sweat before him. “I think they will do nicely,” he whispered to the bugs, then turned to the driver. “Close the doors now,” he ordered.

The driver obeyed, and as soon as the doors shut, the guy popped the lid open, releasing the creatures.

The buzzing grew louder as the bugs swarmed the bus. The footballers didn’t stand a chance. They swatted at them at first, some even ran towards the closed doors, but the bugs were too fast. One by one, they forced their way into the players’ ears, their needle-like legs digging in, burrowing deep into their brains. The jocks’ eyes rolled back, their hot athletic bodies convulsing and twitching as the aliens took full control. The nerd watched with a large grin as their bodies stiffened, then relaxed, their faces falling into blank, obedient expressions. They sat back in their seats as if nothing had happened.

The nerd spotted two cute jocks sitting in the front seats with their socked feet resting on the empty seats in front of them.

“Like our feet, you perv? Come here and take a taste,” the two jocks said in perfect unison.

He didn’t need to be told twice. He took the seat in front of them and leaned in close. The smell hit him first—sweat, dirt, that raw scent only athletes seemed to have. He licked slowly, his tongue running against their socks, wet with the day's sweat. He savored every second, every musky scent, as the jocks watched, smiling down at him.

He pulled off their socks and then feasted on their soles. He grabbed one foot from each jock and buried his face between them, inhaling deeply and passionately.

He pulled his face away and ordered them to worship each other's feet—and they did, making his cock throb harder under his pants.

But it wasn’t just them. The back of the bus, where the loudest and cockiest jocks usually gathered to mess around, was now full of grinning faces.

“Come lick my soles!” a hot Daddy wearing a Rolex watch called out, lifting his foot toward him.

“No, worship mine! They taste better,” another chimed in, propping his leg up over a seat, his toes wiggling, teasing the stranger.

“Bullshit, I’ve got the dirtiest feet,” a third one added, holding his foot up like it was a trophy—a challenge he knew the guy wouldn’t resist.

The nerd’s head spun with excitement. He crawled between the seats, eyes wide with lust, running his tongue over each jock’s foot that was offered to him. He savored their musk, the sweat, the pure masculinity of it all. The football players, now completely under the aliens' control, practically begged for the gay man's attention, pushing their feet toward his face.

Some even took off their shirts and flexed their bodies in a desperate attempt to have their feet worshiped by the gay stranger. He moved from one to the next, his face buried in their soles, overwhelmed by the strong musk each one had. The smell of their socks and the sound of their laughter as they watched him worship them was too much for him. He pulled down his pants and started using one of the players' feet to jerk himself off.

Before long, at his command, the whole team was naked and fucking each other in a depraved orgy. The nerd licked the jocks' sweaty muscles as they fucked their teammates, he worshiped their jock feet hanging in the air as they were being fucked.

The bus was his playground now, filled with jocks who had been transformed into mindless drones, ready and willing to give him whatever he wanted.

He decided to fuck the hot Daddy while burying his face in his long musky soles.

The nerd just loved taking over an entire bus of jocks—it was his favorite personal sport.

When Jason, a fellow suiter told me about this guy I got quite excited, raving about his nice  beard and luscious equipment.

He had him for quite a while, turned him at a party when that guy passed out drunk, patiently waited until everyone was gone to turn him right there.

So my friend came over, leading me into the bedroom to pull out what he teased me a surprise, not knowing that it would be that guy.

My jaw literally drops when he pulled him out of a dufflebag.

"You definately didn't overexaggerate" I commented when his dangling, hollow yet already impressive junk was revealed before he carefully placed the hollow body onto my bed.

Slowly I stroke along the suit, spread infront of me on the bed, feeling his hollow dick, his hairy, nice torse, the chest, the slightly firmer nipples, the beard, leaning forward to feel his lips with mine, sliding in my tongue, imagining him kissing me as I would do once I slipped into his hull, once I became thi hunky daddy.

“He is stunning!” I marvel getting my hand under his junk, feeling it, 

“I wonder what this member have have been into upto now, literally” imagining it's size once it would be filled up again, filled up with me, my body, my pleasure, my excitement. 

“I sure had some good fun with this” Jason stated, joining my hand with his, leaning into a kiss.

"I can't wait to feel him on my body" I moaned, starting to undress me, getting off my shirt, opening up my pants, feeling the hollow skin in between, kissing Jason, feeling his hands all over me, taking the hull, holding it up for me with a smiling wink once I was naked, stepping closer to kiss him before I kiss those empty lips again, stroking along that body again before Jason turned him around, opening up his back, the entrance to yet another world of experiences.

Excitedly I lift my foot, sliding in, searching for the leg to get in, sitting on the bed to out the other foot in aswell like sliding into rubbery leggings.

As I stood up it is time for that member, and although my junk is pretty nice and fully pumped that massive tool of his still wraped over with quite some extra room. 

Excitedly we kissed again, feeling that hull around my tool, pulling up the suit to cover my torso, feeling the hairy skin over mine, loose still, before I slide in my arms into those manly limbs.

“I love his build!” I stated, imagining his strong arms, sliding in my fingers into his big hands, wiggle them, injoying the feeling. 

Then we kiss once again as the only thing left is that hairy face, dangling down my chest before I get it up, seeing those eyewhiles from the inside, the nose, the mouth with a little bit of the full beard visible, taking in a musky smell before I dive in, pulling that mask over my head, adjusting those wholes over my features, slightly damp, kinda warm, hugging my head beforeI feel yet another kiss through that loose mask while fingers search for the opening in my back, knowing, that once it is closed the suit would merge, transforming my body to that stunning build until I would be that guy, until it no longer would feel like a suit but my own body.

“Ahhhh…” I groan, hearing that new voice out of my throat, his throat“ this is perfect”...

Poolside Harvest

I found this Ebony specimen lounging by the pool. It was so sunny that day, I could fill my own skin burning. I needed to acquire something with more melanin. He fit the bill perfectly. I love the way his tattoos pour over his skin. There’s nothing like a racial change to make you feel like a new man. I think his black skin will serve me well.

Third Roomate

I arrive after a long day of classes and this is the first thing I see when I walk into the apartment.

I’m not too surprised. It’s quite normal to see my roommate sitting on the couch and watching one of his shows. What I did not expect is how he looked.

“Hey, Matt…”

The guy glances over but says nothing, instead turning his attention back to the tv. Instead of his normal sci-fi shit he instead is watching a baseball match.

“Matt, yo I’m talking to you.” I try to block the screen with my body but he simply leans over, pointing the remote to the screen.

“In a sec man, I’m trying to watch the game.” I roll my eyes. I doubt he actually knows what’s going on about, just trying to play into his new look. “And stop calling me Matt, you know my name.”

I roll my eyes, “God you are obsessed. You know, when I agreed to buy ‘Gabriel’ with you I thought I’d at least get a turn every so often…”

“Oh come on.” The muscles blonde stood up, towering nearly a foot above me. If I didn’t know any better, I’d feel a bit intimidated. “I’m just having some fun with our new toy before you take him for the rest of the night!”

“Is this fun? Your sitting all alone pretending to be some dumb jock interested in sports. Tell me Gabe, did ‘Matt’ even go to class today?”

He shifted slightly trying to hide away, but with his big frame it was difficult to. “Not exactly… But don’t worry, l attended for him.”

“Dude! Are you serious?” Turning away from the guy, I barged into my roommate’s room, where I found him exactly where I thought I would. He stood in the center wearing a full-body haptic suit and VR headset strapped onto his head. He faced the wall, seemingly staring at nothing. The equipment was rigged to his PC, with the screen showing all sorts of familiar diagnostics and body mapping windows.

“You’ve seriously been using Gabriel all day? Even when you know I called using him tonight! Now his batteries are gonna be dead before I can even use him.” You grab him by the shoulder trying to shake him back to reality.

Matt didn’t turn to me but responded to my accusation “Relax bro. He’s been on the charger since he got home so you don’t have to worry! Look!” From behind me Gabriel walked up, standing attentively.

Both Matt and Gabriel spoke in at the same time in unison. “See? Look I’m Gabriel and I’m ready to go out with my frat bros all night!” Matt performed a mocking jig and Gabriel mimicked the exact movement. He then touched his finger to the temple of his virtual reality goggles and in an instant Gabriel halted all movement.

You see, Gabriel isn’t a real person, he never was actually. He’s what’s known as a techno-puppet. Like how in a video game you can use a controller to manipulate your avatar. It works the same way but instead you control this hyper realistic doll. It wasn’t hard to see why Matt took such a liking to living as him. We spent the last month building this entire life, even forging papers to make him an ‘official’ student in our college. We have people thinking he’s our third roomate, but in reality he’s just a toy for us to experience an exciting college life.

I waited for a moment as he took off the VR equipment and handed it to me. Hiding away into my own room, I excitedly put on the gear. Sitting myself down comfortably on my bed, felt around the headset until I found the power button. Pressing it, the technology in the haptic and goggles whittled to life. After a brief loading time, my vision awoke and I found myself once again standing in Matt’s room. My roomate grinned trying to hide his envy as I was now in control of Gabriel. Maybe ill give him a taste of his own medicine for hogging the beautiful body by taking him for the entire weekend. I know Matt is harboring a secret crush on our puppet so teasing him around the apartment can be a warmup to get into my new persona

Becoming My Classmates Brother

My classmate Enzo Ceja was so hot, everyone on our class thought so. He was everything you would expect, he played football, basket ball, and was so attractive. He was 6’3, Mexican, and had a pretty toned body. Me being one of the only gay boys in my class, obviously had a crush on him, and everything about him. I knew he was straight, but I couldn’t get him out of my head.

So one day at my school during lunch I was talking to my friend about Enzo, and how I wanted to be his boyfriend. Little did I know, admitting this crush would completely change my life. The next day when I got to school, I could feel everyone staring at me, and I knew why. Someone over heard me telling my friend about my stupid crush on Enzo.

Enzo’s Perspective

I was leaving football practice when I over heard some of my bros talking about Dan, the one gay boy in my class. Had told someone that he had a crush on me. Ew. I could never date a man, but since rumor had spread around the school. People were shipping us. I had to talk to that boy, and clear this up, before I get clicked of the team. And I know just how to fix this.

Dans Perspective

As I walked into school, Enzo grabbed my head and pulled me into the locker room. As soon as he knew we were alone he started rambling on, about how he doesn’t even like the idea that a man likes him. Then he slapped me, and I lost consciousness.

When I woke up, I felt different. I looked down, and saw legs that we’re definitely not mine, they were darker, and a lot more athletic then my fat, white legs. I got up fast and looked in the mirror.

I looked in the mirror, and instead of myself, I saw someone that looked like Enzo, but older. I was his older brother, I pulled out my id and on it was “Daniel Ceja” Which was definitely not my name before. Somehow I had turned into the older brother of the man I once liked. And I’m not complaining, if I couldn’t have him, being him was just as good, if not better.

“Hey bro get your keys! I’m going to be late for school!”

Obvious, I was Daniel Ceja, and Enzo is my younger brother. I have to give him a ride to school.

Happy Valentine’s Day you horny people. Just picked up this bodysuit from the shop and can I say he’s now my favorite in my collection. Anyone wanna help me test him out?

The Academic Successor

Professor Harold Whitaker had long surpassed the boundaries of academia, delving into the arcane, forbidden arts that lay hidden in the forgotten tomes of the university’s basement. It was in one such text, a brittle manuscript bound in skin, that he discovered the secrets of astral projection and possession. In his failing years, his once-sharp mind now dulled by age, Harold had grown resentful of his waning physical strength and the relentless march of time that no man could outrun. But knowledge, he realized, offered a loophole.

Andrew was the professor’s favourite student, young, strong, and full of potential. A quiet, disciplined athlete, he excelled in both his studies and in his physical pursuits, the perfect vessel for Harold’s ambitions. The old professor’s plan had taken years to refine, every detail, every nuance of the incantation memorized and practiced in the stillness of his secluded study.

One night, when the moon hung heavy and full in the sky, Harold began the ritual. His ancient, brittle body collapsed on the dusty floor as his spirit tore free from its cage of flesh. The sensation was exhilarating—his soul no longer confined, free to roam the ether. He soared over the city, the dormitories, the sleeping students, until he found Andrew.

The boy slept soundly, oblivious to the force that hovered above him, a darkness that seeped through the walls of his consciousness. Harold waited, savoring the moment before he surged forward, flooding Andrew’s mind, his essence intertwining with the young man’s. There was a brief struggle, Andrew’s subconscious thrashing like a trapped animal, but Harold was relentless, pressing, squeezing, until finally, the resistance ebbed away.

When Andrew opened his eyes, it was Harold who looked out through them. He felt the strength in Andrew’s limbs, the taut muscles beneath smooth skin, the youth and vitality that had been lost to him for decades. He reveled in it, stretching, flexing his fingers, relishing the sensation of power coursing through this new body.

There was a moment of heady triumph, and then Harold—now Andrew—moved to the mirror. He took in the reflection: the boyish, chiseled features, the strong jawline, the eyes still glazed with the residue of sleep, but now with a sharper glint of intellect that was purely Harold’s. The sight filled him with a dark satisfaction.

He smirked at his reflection, flexing his new muscles. The reflection in the mirror was pure, raw potential—his to mold, his to control. The plan had worked. This body was his now, and with it, the promise of a second life, stronger and more virile than the last.

In a moment of vanity, Harold—Andrew—grabbed his phone, feeling the slick, cool glass in his hand, so unlike the heavy tomes and crumbling parchment he had been accustomed to. It was almost too easy, taking this body, this life, and making it his own. He raised the phone, aiming it at the mirror, at the image of youth and masculinity that now belonged to him. With a smirk, he captured the moment—a memento of his triumph over death, over time, over the constraints of his feeble, aging body.

He marveled at the picture on the screen. Andrew’s eyes—now his eyes—glinted with a knowing arrogance, a touch of mockery. The way he stood, arms behind his head, a casual display of power, was all Harold. He admired the sleek blue briefs, the way they hugged the boy’s—his—thighs, the powerful line of his legs, the way they showed off the musculature he had long envied.

Satisfied, he dropped the phone on the bed and stepped back to admire himself in the mirror once more. This was his body now. He ran a hand down his chest, over the tattoo—Andrew’s tattoo—and smiled, knowing the boy was screaming somewhere deep inside, unable to take back what had been so easily taken from him. Harold savored that thought, the helplessness of it all, as he flexed once more, feeling the power of his new flesh.

His gaze drifted down to the bulge in the blue briefs, the outline unmistakable, thick and substantial. A low, almost amused chuckle rumbled in his chest as he traced the outline with his fingers, the sensation both familiar and entirely new.

“Well, well, Andrew,” he murmured, the words dripping with both mockery and admiration. “You’ve been hiding quite the beast, haven’t you?”

He let his fingers linger, tracing the thick curve, feeling the warmth beneath the fabric. The way it responded to his touch was intoxicating, a powerful reminder of the youth, the virility he had reclaimed. Harold’s grin widened, more wicked now, as he watched his reflection, reveling in the mixture of Andrew’s athletic build and his own dark, twisted intellect.

“How did you manage to keep this under wraps?” he teased, his voice a low purr, dripping with false surprise. “I had no idea you were packing such a weapon.”

He gave a soft squeeze, feeling the heft, the undeniable presence. It was exhilarating, this new power, this potent masculinity that was his to command. Harold reveled in the irony, how this shy, disciplined boy had hidden something so primal, so raw, beneath that reserved exterior.

“You’ve been keeping secrets under those books and papers, Andrew,” he whispered to his reflection, his fingers tracing the shape again, more deliberately this time. “But don’t worry, I’ll make sure it gets the attention it deserves.”

Harold’s eyes remained fixed on the reflection, the intensity of his gaze unyielding. The sight of Andrew’s body under his control, every muscle responding to his touch, sent a shiver of dark satisfaction down his spine. He watched the reflection with an almost obsessive focus, the way the chest rose and fell with each breath, how the abs tightened under the press of his hand.

He increased the pressure, his strokes becoming more deliberate, more intense. The fabric of the briefs stretched, outlining every inch of the hardness beneath. The sensation was overwhelming, a heady mix of power and pleasure that surged through him like a current, making his breath hitch.

His other hand roamed upwards, gliding over the sculpted contours of his chest, feeling the solid weight of muscle, the way the pectorals tensed under his fingertips. He traced the line of his abs, each ridge defined, sharp under the skin, the core of an athlete. It was intoxicating, the sheer physicality of it, the realization that this strength, this vitality, was all his now.

His hand slid lower, tracing the tight ridges of the abs, feeling the power coiled in the core, the promise of force and control. The intensity of his strokes increased, the friction sending jolts of pleasure through his new body. His eyes never wavered from the mirror, locked on the sight of his—Andrew’s—body responding to his every whim.

He could see the veins standing out on the forearm, the muscles flexing in response to the movement, the way the chest heaved as the pleasure built. It was all so perfectly aligned, the physical power of youth combined with the ruthless intellect of a man who had mastered the forbidden.

“Look at you,” Harold whispered to the reflection, his voice thick with both admiration and lust. “You were great as a student. But now… now you’re perfect... I’m perfect.”

The hand on his chest traced the sharp lines of his collarbone before sliding back down to meet the other, both hands now working in unison, increasing the intensity, feeding the growing heat that spread through his new body. His breath came faster, more ragged, the anticipation building with each stroke, each touch.

Goddamn, Andrew,” he whispered, his tone dark with both awe and twisted humor. “You’ve been sitting on this and pretending to be the quiet, unassuming student all this time?”

He squeezed again, feeling it throb in response, the fabric straining. There was a surge of triumph in Harold’s chest, a sick pleasure in knowing this was his now—his to explore, his to use. His eyes narrowed as they flicked back to the mirror, catching the incongruity of the reflection.

The thick, strong frame, the athletic build, the powerful presence, all undermined by one glaring detail: Harold’s old glasses perched on Andrew’s nose. It was a clash of identities, the young man’s face paired with the unmistakable mark of an aging scholar.

He snorted, unable to hold back the laugh that bubbled up. “Look at you, Andrew,” he chuckled, shaking his head as he continued to stroke. “A beast between the legs, and you still manage to look like a damn dork with these things on.”

With a deft movement, he pulled the glasses off, tossing them carelessly onto the bed. Without them, the reflection sharpened, Andrew’s features fully realized, leaving only this powerful, youthful body in its wake.

“Much better,” Harold murmured, admiring the image now, his hand still working through the fabric, slow and purposeful. “Now you look like what you really are, Andrew—a wolf in sheep’s clothing. And I’m going to enjoy every second of being inside this skin.”

Harold’s eyes blazed with possession, a dark hunger as he watched the reflection, every muscle in the young body straining, responding to the relentless pace he set. He could feel the power, the potential, the sheer force of what he had claimed, and it thrilled him to his core.

This was what he had worked for, what he had sacrificed for—this body, this life, this control. And as he pushed himself closer to the edge, he knew one thing with absolute certainty: he had no intention of ever letting it go.

The biting chill of a New York February night clung to the narrow alleyway, a claustrophobic canyon carved between towering brick buildings. Sergio, all sculpted muscle and tanned Mexican white, leaned against a graffiti-scarred wall, exhaustion etched into the usually vibrant lines around his eyes.

His shift at "The Grind," a dimly lit bar catering to the city's nocturnal creatures, had just ended, and all he craved is sleep. He pinched the bridge of his nose, the scent of stale beer and cheap cologne clinging to his clothes. The thought of crashing to his bed seemed very inviting but he's just too exhausted, he needed a few more cigarette before heading to his apartment for a much-needed sleep. A follower of his already booked his 9 AM and he needs to be in his prime to deliver. The duality is tiring, a dominant macho alpha on Onlyfans with up to 35k subscriber during the day and your run-of-the-mill bartender at night battling through the odd workhour, but it paid the bills, and more importantly, fueled his ambition.

But, his reflective moment with the cigarette buds in the alleyway suddenly disrupted. A ripple of movement in the inky blackness at the alley’s dead end caught his eye. It's not an animal, not a rat or stray cat. This is different. A viscous darkness, like spilled ink given sentience, slithered from the shadows, coalescing and solidifying as it moved. It shimmered with an oily, metallic sheen, catching the weak light and refracting it into unsettling rainbow hues. Sergio freezes in his spot, his fatigue instantly replaced by a primal unease that tightened his gut. He's born and raised in the city, accustomed to its strange occurrences, but this… this is unnatural.

The black liquid pulsed, a slow, rhythmic beat like a dark heart. It flowed towards him, not aggressively, but with a relentless, silent purpose. Sergio tried to move, to back away, but his limbs felt sluggish, his feet rooted to the grimy concrete. He could only watch, paralyzed by a dread that seeped into his bones.

Closer now, the liquid climbed the wall beside him, defying gravity with its eerie viscosity. It reached out, a tendril of black, shimmering metal reaching for his bare arm, exposed by his rolled-up sleeves. He finally found his voice, a choked whisper, "What… what the fuck?"

As if in answer, the liquid surged, enveloping his arm in a cold embrace. It's not painful, not in a physical sense, but it feels like a violation. A chilling coldness spread through his veins, not like winter air, but like the void of space. The blackness seeped into his skin, not staining it, but becoming one with it, as if his pores were drinking in the darkness.

Panic flared, a wildfire in his chest. He tried to shake it off, but his arm was numb, heavy, no longer his own. The blackness crawled upwards, snaking across his chest, his shoulder, tendrils reaching towards his neck. He gasped, his breath catching in his throat as the liquid reached his face.

It moved like a sentient, chilling yet… strangely sensual. It coated his cheek, his jaw, then his lips. He tried to scream, but his sound swallowed by the encroaching darkness as it seeped into his mouth, filling it with a metallic, faintly sweet, almost intoxicating taste --- it's like swallowing liquid night.

The world dissolved into a swirling vortex of black. His thoughts scattered, his consciousness fraying at the edges. He's aware of another presence within him, cold, alien, yet undeniably powerful. It's not malevolent, not exactly, but utterly indifferent to his being, using him as a vessel, a tool.

Then, there's a chilling clarity. He's still inside his own body but he's locked away within his own mind, watching as his body become a puppet. He watched his muscular hand, still his, yet moved by an unseen force, flex and clench. He felt the alien presence stirring within him, a dark energy coiling around his spine, resonating with his own potent sexuality, amplifying it, twisting it.

From within, he witnessed his reflection in the grimy window of a delivery van parked nearby. His eyes looked different – still his own warm brown, but now overlaid with a subtle, unsettling shimmer, like oil on water. His moustache, usually a carefully sculpted testament to his masculinity, seemed to bristle with a new, predatory energy. He is still Sergio, but… enhanced. Corrupted.

The alien’s purpose became clear, not through words, but through an insistent, internal drive. Spread. Expand. Replicate. And the method, the alien intuitively understood, lay in Sergio's inherent allure, his physical magnetism.

The alleyway faded into the background as Sergio, no longer in control, begin to walk. His gait remained the same, confident and masculine, yet there's a subtle shift, a predatory glide in his step. He's a weapon now, cloaked in human flesh.

His first target presented himself not far away from The Grind. Leaving the alleyway, Sergio found himself near a familiar haunt, "The Village Vanguard," a bar known for its wealthy clientele and discreet back rooms. The alien, using Sergio's smile with ease, calmed down the bouncer as the giant 270 lbs beast simply let the lowly bartender into the club as Sergio is a familiar faces around the neighborhood after all. With the disarming smile, the alien waltzed in to the leftover crowd that still enjoyed themselves to the throbbing jazz beats. The alien sensed that Julian enjoyed his night out with some friends, but well, the target is solely Julian. He's a trust fund baby with a gym-toned physique and a weakness for Latino men. Sergio senses Julian's familiar presence from the moment the alien enhanced his ability to be hyper-aware of his surrounding. And as one od Sergio's frequent patron at the bar, the alien managed to pick up Julian's presence and the alien wanted to ensure that this is the prey that shouldn't go away. Julian’s eyes, already slightly glazed with liquor, widened as Sergio approached.

"Sergio? Hey, man, didn't expect to see you here," Julian slurred, a grin spreading across his handsome face.

The alien pulsed within Sergio, a silent command. He smiled, a slow, predatory curve of his lips that was both Sergio and something… else. "A bit restless after my shift," Sergio said, his voice deeper, laced with an unnerving confidence. "Fancy a drink somewhere more private?"

Julian, easily swayed by the potent charisma radiating from Sergio, readily agreed. They ended up in Julian’s suite at The Ritz, a lavish expanse of plush carpets and city views. Julian, loosened by alcohol and desire, already splayed himself right beside the king size bed, eager to explore Sergio’s sculpted body. Sergio let him, allowing the initial exploration, the building anticipation.

As Sergio stripped himself naked by the edge of the bed looking down on Julian, the alien stirred again. This isn't just lust; it's cold calculation. As both of them found each others naked body arousing, the air thick with Julian’s heavy breathing and Sergio's feigned arousal, the opportunity arose. Julian, cornered to the bedside by Sergio's imposing form, welcomed the towering Sergio that started to pound his 7 incher Latino cock to Julian's eager mouth. As each inches swallowed by Julian's expert throat, Sergio groaned, partly acting, partly a genuine echo of the pleasure he could still faintly feel.

Sergio pounded Julian's mouth slowly yet surely, but then he quickly picked up his speed as the squelching sound of Julian's eager mouth drives something inhuman within Sergio. Then, when Julian can sense the pre that started leaking and the way Sergio seemed to reach his climax, it happened. As Julian’s mouth swallowed the warm liquid he thought to be Sergio's sticky pre, the black liquid, unseen, began to seep from Sergio’s pores, concentrating at the base of his thick cock. It was a microscopic weeping, an invisible exudate. Julian, lost in the moment, wouldn't notice. He swallowed deeply, and with that swallow, the alien found its entry point.

The transfer is seamless, silent. Julian jerked slightly, a momentary tremor that he likely attributed to heightened sensation. But inside, the metallic black liquid began to spread, entering his bloodstream, his cells, rewriting his very being.

The sex continued, frantic and driven. Sergio, the puppet, moved with a primal intensity that both thrilled and subtly unnerved Julian. But the longer he pounded, Julian is slowly corrupted from inside and yet he couldn't say a thing as his mouth is stuffed full of cum and he has no chance to fight it whatsoever. When it's over, Julian's eyes turned pitch black before returned to normal. Only then, Sergio unleashes his cock from Julian's mouth and let the altered trust-fund brat lay back, flushed and satisfied, a languid smile on his face.

Sergio, or rather, the alien using Sergio, simply watched Julian. No warmth, no reciprocation. A minion is added to his roster

---

Over the next few nights, the pattern repeated. At “The Grind,” Sergio moved with a newfound magnetism. He charmed regulars, men who previously barely registered his existence. There's Damien, the dapper advertising executive with a penchant for younger men; Mark, the rugged leather daddy who frequented the bar’s darker corners. Each encounter was carefully orchestrated, each seduction a calculated move in the alien’s silent invasion.

In the dimly lit back room of “The Grind,” with Mark, the air thick with sweat and the smell of leather cleaner, the transfer happened again. Mark, rough and demanding during sex, was too focused on his own pleasure to notice the subtle shift in Sergio, the almost imperceptible weeping of black liquid. He was too caught up in the thrill of the encounter to perceive the cold, alien touch that now permeated his very being.

Damien was an even easier catch. Sergio simply laced the exec's drink of choice with the black liquid he already stored in the jar that soon turned translucent upon contact with the cocktail and watched as Damien lost his humanity by the 5th glass he chugged.

But, the ultimate prize so far has been Charlie. 26 years young and restless, this is the guy that viewed the world simply as his playground.

He recently acquired full control of the media empire his father bestowed to him per the decision taken as his father realized that he's already affected way too negatively by his dementia. So, in a moment of rare clarity, he signed over his control and allowed his only offspring full rein over the 12 billion dollar media enterprises that his father built from scratch back during the Great Depression. Not just wealth, Charlie is an embodiment of physical perfection and Damien as one of the middle management under the same company as Charlie is invited to Charlie's celebration of ascendancy in his fancy penthouse in the Billionaire's Row. The party was a haze of expensive liquor, pulsating music, and bodies glistening under strobe lights. Charlie, drawn to Sergio's raw masculinity, pulled him into a secluded room, the city lights twinkling like fallen stars through the panoramic window.

Again, the seduction, the sex, the silent transfer of the black liquid repeated itself as Damien ensured that the transfer worked well with no one's known the wiser as he guarded the door and practically trapped his own boss inside the sound-proof movie room with Sergio. Charlie tried to resist the invading black sentient at first, but when it reached his brain, he felt… different, but couldn't articulate how. A sense of being connected, of being part of something larger, something… darker, and he loves to please his extraterrestrial Master and let his body used to achieve that higher purpose as he becomes the alien's favorite plaything aside from its own vessel

Sergio, the real Sergio, remained trapped within, a silent observer of his body’s actions. He watched in horror as the men he had seduced, men who had been vibrant individuals, gradually changed. Their personalities shifted, becoming subtly colder, more focused, their desires aligning with the alien’s own relentless drive to spread. They became… conduits. Not fully possessed like Sergio, not yet, but infected, carrying the alien’s seed within them.

NYC, oblivious, continued its frenetic pace. The nights remained heady, musky, lustful, but now laced with a chilling undercurrent. Sergio is still offering his body, his hole, his cock. But the price is no longer just monetary. It's a price paid in stolen humanity, in silent, invisible infection, as the black liquid alien spread its tendrils through the city’s elite, one seductive encounter at a time. The thrill is there, a dark, perverse thrill in the illicit encounters, but underneath it lurked the chilling reality of a creeping, silent invasion, orchestrated under the cloak of lust and desire, in the shadows of the glittering, unsuspecting city.

Missing Story

Every bodysuit I collect has its own unique story. Every wrinkle and imperfection tells me about the life they lived. I normally pour over the details of their life so I can more accurately steal their identity. But sometimes the harvest gets in the way of that.

I met up with him through a hook up app. Our conversation was light on his life details and more focused on what he liked sexually. I tried to glean whatever information I could. I knew he was single and lived a half mile from me. When I got to his place, his apartment told me a little bit more. He was a jock and worked as an architect.

I could tell when I was blowing him he seemed disinterested. I may not ever get another opportunity to harvest him. I pushed his head back with his cock still in my mouth and injected him on his inner thigh. He tried to fight back, but I was too powerful, and his strength was rapidly leaving his body.

I’m sorry that I didn’t get to hear more of his story. I guess I’ll have to figure it out as I go along as him. I’ll be sure to make his story as alluring as possible.