Apologies for the sparse activity on this blog - I have some stories & challenges planned in the coming weeks, but for now here’s a quick story that came to mind last night. Enjoy! And thanks for sticking with me.
All characters are fictional.
Miles was a product of his generation. Kind, intelligent, charming. He came out of the closet before he even made it to high school, and he educated himself on other cultures and their entertainment long before the popularity spike.
He had a loving boyfriend, a scholarship to a prestigious college, and a huge crush on his favorite K-pop idol, Hyeon. He was the lead singer for one of the newest bands to make their debut, and already he had captured Miles’ heart.
It was all playful, of course. Miles had a wonderful guy in his life, and a comfortable future, not to mention that if the tabloids were correct, Hyeon was totally straight. He’d be lucky to ever get a picture with the guy.
But still, he was infatuated, and so desperate just to be near the handsome singer. He was flawless, and his voice was heavenly, and Miles just wanted to be in his presence for a mere moment. So he spoke those ill-fated words.
“I just wish I could be around him.”
And it should have been simple, and innocent. Until his eyelids started to flutter, and everything warped around him, until suddenly he was left with the sensation of a clearing headache and the surroundings of a private jet around him.
And he… he was different. He looked down to see the flashy suit he was now wearing, the rich fabric and fine details, but then his attention shifted to body beneath it all. It wasn’t his. Everything was tight, and bloated. Huge.
It seemed like one movement would send his new pecs spilling out, or a thigh shredding through the leg of his pants. All he could do was flex his new sausage-like fingers, making the gold rings on his hands clang together.
His hips and ass filled up the whole seat, his shoulders stretching beyond the backrest, he was an absolute unit of a man. And for some reason, he couldn’t stand up, or shout, or express any of his confusion.
His posture was solid, and straight, like he was waiting for orders. It’s like his mind had been transported into the body of a living boulder, crying out in fear and anxiety, but unable to control the massive hunk of muscle. Unable to move.
Until he grunted like some sort of animal, and reached down a meaty paw to adjust the bull nuts being squeezed by his tight trousers. And then he mumbled something in frustration, but the voice wasn’t his. Not even the language.
It was deep, and bovine, short and to the point and so dumb-sounding. His whole body vibrated with the sound of it, but more than that, he could vaguely recognize the strange words coming out of his mouth as Korean.
“Too tight. Too big.”
He shouldn’t have been able to understand, but something about his new brain was wired differently. He could speak Korean now, or at least this beast he was trapped inside of could. He felt his lips twist into a smirk fit for a proper douche.
“Nah. Never too big.”
And then the bathroom door swung open, and the stewardess stumbled out with a look of ecstasy across her features. Giggling. And then there was a flush, and the sound of zipping, and out walked Hyeon. He adjusted his package.
Miles could feel his heart start to race, or at least it should have been. He wanted to rush over to him, to ramble on and on about how incredible of a performer he was, but all he did was smirk once again. And chuckle.
“You satisfied, Boss?”
His celebrity crush lowered himself into the seat across from him, running a hand along his cheek like a true fuck-boy and licking his lips. “Yeah. Sure am.” Miles was panicking even more now. What was happening?
He kept his gaze on Hyeon, but even though his mind told him that he should be swooning, he simply sat there. He didn’t blush, didn’t compliment the idol on his fashion or perfect hair, he just rolled his shoulders and grinned.
“I’ll have to hunt some pussy for myself. After your concert.”
Miles froze inside of himself, looking at Hyeon, looking at anyone, hoping to place the words to another mouth. But then his chest shook again, and he laughed, and Hyeon started laughing, too. The heartthrob slapped his shoulder.
“My bodyguard, the pussy-hound.”
It was all he could do to scream in his mind. He was straight? Korean? The bodyguard of the man he idolized? The wish played itself out in his mind once more, wishing just to be around Hyeon, and he hated himself for it.
Because it came true.
Here he was, right across from the guy that starred in all of his dreams, in a body that felt no attraction or respect for his talent. They simply talked about all the hot chicks they had conquered, and their gym routines.
Miles had been transformed into the one male who could spend all of his time around Hyeon. Not a gay white boy, but a hulking, straight Korean monster of a man. His life was lived on autopilot, forever serving his crush as his bodyguard.
When he was away from Hyeon, his body was at the gym. Tearing into anything with raw protein, pumping weights until his massive body was sore, until he was pouring sweat and making all the passersby cover their noses in disgust.
Miles was forced to watch as this man uploaded selfies to his new social media, crying at how lazy and straight it all was. He looked like a balloon filled with meat, not even facing the camera, unashamed of how manly he was.
He was stupid, and immature, but so strong. The perfect man to protect and serve one of South Korea’s newest treasures. And Miles was there for all of it, experiencing everything through this vessel he had wished for.
Watching as Hyeon partied his way through life, fucking any girl that would spread her legs, and even being forced to watch his own body plow women during his breaks from work. He would stare down at the bouncing tits.
Feel his cock swell. Feel his smirk start to form again. Crying out in Korean as he filled the slut with his alpha sperm, as Miles cried out at the existence that had been robbed from him. He hated this person. He hated himself.
His new name was Dong-hyun, a douche who loved to crack jokes about his own massive dong, who told people to call him Kong. Because he was a king, a man in his most primal state. Everything about him screamed masculinity.
He loved his best bud, Hyeon, the man who paid his bills and took him around the world. Not that he had ever listened to any of his music, much as the voice in his mind would argue, and not that he thought the guy was really all that special.
He was skinny, and weak, and much too feminine. But he was loaded, and had a hunger for women, and that was all it took to win Kong’s respect. He lived the lifestyle of a true playboy, all the while keeping the pretty boy safe from harm.
And Miles is still trapped inside.
Forced to travel the world in luxury.
Forced to spend his time around other straight muscle monsters.
Forced to take douche-selfies for the ladies.
Forced to spend the rest of his life at the side of Hyeon, taking his orders, laughing and joking and swaggering his way through life. Because he’s fucking Kong now. He’s the king of this castle. The uncontested alpha.
Even if he doesn’t pay the bills.
At least he gets the most pussy - right, Miles?