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shootingstarwritings · 3 months

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Body Surfing Lesson

“’Body surfing,’ is an important skill to learn as fledgling body possessors,” Gerald spoke to the hidden camera, putting on his teacher persona as best he could considering the ciscumstances. “Normally, it takes a lot of mana for us to take over other people, but the body surfing technique involves taking over multiple people over the course of a single day, using their own mana as a sort of ‘surfboard,’ to ride the waves of mana that flow inside of us all.” He inwardly cringed as he spoke, his current body very clearly unfitting for his lesson.

Gerald had no idea who had come up with such awful terminology, but it was far too late to change that. The small yet tight-knit community the possessors in the area had formed needed to have a sense of unity. Too much innocent blood had been shed for shame to hold Gerald back. ‘Far too many of you have been lost for me to get cold feet now,’ he thought to himself. Taking a deep breath, he continued his explanation for the future viewers.

“I’ve already spent quite a lot of my own mana to possess this young man,” Gerald forced his host to say. What was his name again…? He focused, face visibly tightening before his eyes widened in realization. “Jerry! Huh, it’s so close to my name.” He winced and made a mental note to himself to delete that part of the video. “It was difficult, y’know,” he said, pacing around in Jerry’s underwear with very little shame. He couldn’t help but strut, already enjoying the tight muscle in this youthful form. “I had to float into his cute little butt to take him over.”

Gerald grinned and slapped Jerry’s butt, enjoying the slight jiggling. He thought back earlier today as he launched into a story of how he had taken Jerry over for his class.

Gerald’s misty form had crawled through the apartment building’s pipes, searching for a nice and hot host that would catch people’s eyes while he tried to educate them. Then, he found Jerry exiting the shower and clad in just a pair of new-age briefs. Gerald stared at it in confusion, unsure if this is really what the young ones were really wearing. ‘Am I getting old?’ Gerald had briefly mused before launching himself towards Jerry’s ass.

“AH! Woah, ahhh…!” Jerry collapsed on his stomach, ass facing the ceiling as Gerald’s essence took him over. “Ah, pl-please… help…!” gasped Jerry, his hips thrusting on their own as he lost consciousness.

“Mmm, nice…” Gerald muttered as he sat up. He rubbed his stomach and then his bare, youthful legs. “It’s been a while since I was someone so young. And so hairless,” he chuckled.

“And that’s what happened,” he finished for his class. “It was lucky that this young man enjoys filming so much. Now I’ve got a nice and high-quality camera for this lesson rather than some janky phone.” It truly had been serendipity for him. Gerald giggled as he sat cross-legged in front of the camera, enjoying just how his borrowed form felt so exposed and yet so confident in his near-nudity. “So, I’ve got a dilemma. I want to move on and yet I’m pretty much exhausted my mana supplies—the essence of the soul. Say I even got into the trouble and I have to evacuate for whatever reason. What could I do in this situation?”

Gerald waited a quick second before continuing, “If you don’t know, that’s fine. This technique’s quite advanced. Not even some of our more veteran community members have even mastered it. Yours truly, however,” Gerald paused to place a hand on his chest, making sure to lightly tweak a nipple, “is well-versed enough in the arts to enlighten you.”

It wasn’t a secret nor difficult to figure out the theoretical part, but it was a challenge to divert the flow of energy instead of letting it be lost to entropy. It was similar to having a rush of anger and trying to convert the energy of that anger to something productive. In other words, it was turning anger to passion, turning sadness to compassion, and turning joy to kindness. The emotion behind it was just as important, if not more so, than the actual intention.

‘Easier said than done,’ Gerald thought. ‘Honestly, I’d have to do a one-on-one with all of these new possessors for them to even get proficient at it. However, just imparting the knowledge would be enough… for now, at least.’

“Now, I have invited my host’s friend to come over soon. Before he arrives, I’m going to start masturbating my host’s body and preparing my mana.” One of the ways that mana flowed was through bodily fluids, with semen being one of the most potent ones. The emotions surrounding a climax allows a large flow of magic to surge through and even be present in the semen that one shoots at that moment of peak pleasure. “I won’t use my own mana,” summarized Gerald, “but instead use this young man’s mana from his own climax to possess his friend, Mike.”

Gerald was about to continue, but bit his lower lip as he heard the faintest knock from the front door. Then, Mike’s voice called out to be let in.

Grinning, Gerald placed a finger to his lips and winked at the camera. “Let the show begin.” It wasn’t difficult to begin jacking off in this youth’s body. Even stroke felt like a lightning strike and even gasp was just fuel to Gerald’s fiery lust--now reborn in this young vessel… for the time.

“C-C’mon in,” Gerald forced Jerry to say. He had left the apartment’s front door unlocked on purpose. With any luck, Mike would get curious and explore the lustful noises straight to Jerry’s room. “Door’s unlocked.” Everything was falling into place. Gerald had seen a few pictures of Mike. He was a cute ginger with a good body that used to play hockey in high school. Though his sports days were behind him, Mike still regularly went to the gym to keep a nice form. “Mmm…!” The thought of taking over another young hunk, one with fiery curly hair that was so much like his own during his teenage years, almost made Gerald cum on the spot.

“Hurry up…!” Gerald hissed. Just how much more did his thick cock need to finally cum. It was such a tease--to be on the verge of cumming but not getting there quite yet. “You stupid fucking himbo, fucking cum already!” Although he was on the verge of running out of time, Gerald couldn’t help but find the verbal abuse arousing as well. “Cum for me, boy. Lemme feel that stallion cock of yours burst all over your hairless, himbo body…”

“Jerry? That you? What’re you doing…?” Gerald could hear Mike’s approaching footfalls, and that only made the whole situation more erotic. Before losing his body, Mike would see his best friend cum all over himself like a shameless exhibitionist. And then, Gerald would do the same thing to Mike. Forget the class or keeping the peace, Gerald could only think of hopping between men and turning each of them into cum-obsessed cocksuckers.

“Hrrngh! Oh god…!”

Yes… it was approaching. All Gerald needed to really turn this body on as he cranked the cock was a bit of foreplay. His core was beginning to tense, and he could feel himself rush past the point of no return.

Right at the precise moment, the door opened. “Jerry, what the fuck?!” Mike cried out as he saw his best friend beating his meat without a lick of shame.

Grining, Gerald forced Jerry to shout, “I’m fucking cumming…!” as torrents of cum shot high into the air in Mike’s direction.

‘Now, give me your body, boy.’

Riding that climatic wave, Gerald used the large pool mana that Jerry’s young body was shooting to propel his soul forward. Even though all of his own energy was spent, he felt rejuvenated, as though he was 20 years younger, as Jerry came. However, just like a normal wave crashing into the sea, it would not last forever. The energy could not be stored, only spent in that very moment; but that small burst in power was all Gerald needed as he dove into Mike’s body.

“Oomph!” Mike huffed as the force of Gerald diving into his body was enough to knock him off balance. He fell backwards and hit the ground, body convulsing as an invisible, unknowable force began to take him over. “Wh-What the fuck…?!” was all he could say as a cold and numb sensation spread from the tips of his fingers and toes into his core. “H-Help… ohh… please don’t…” Mike reached a trembling arm towards the doorknob, his fingers twitching as they tried to find anything to grab onto.

By the time Mike’s fingers gripped the brass knob, Gerald was already in control. “Mmm… delicious.” Something that Gerald noticed from certain bodies was that they somehow had some kind of spiritual ‘flavor.’ Mike reminded him of strawberries in a shortcake somehow. He licked his lips and chuckled at the light bristle of Mike’s bushy and manly beard. “Trying to be a real man, boy?”

Gerald forced Mike to sit up and then lie on his stomach. “Just a young man trying to be a big boy,” he chuckled as he positioned Mike’s ass high in the air, wiggling his hips the whole time. “But then a real man like Gerald took over my body. All with my best friend’s spunk as a springboard. God, what kinda friend--what kinda man--am I for letting that happen?”

A horrible idea suddenly crossed Gerald’s mind. Crawling back into Jerry’s room, Gerald opened Mike’s mouth and began to suck the remaining cum off of Jerry’s still twitching cock. “God, Mike, you’re so virile. I’m so glad you’re this cumslut’s friend,” said Gerald. Then he realized that he was still supposed to be explaining a lesson.

Grabbing the camera, Gerald focused it on Mike’s face and began to speak. “Well, did you see that? I was all out of mana, but masturbating with a man’s other body, I was able to use his energy to possess this hunk of meat.” To illustrate his point, Gerald stripped most of Mike’s clothes until he was down to his boxer briefs. “See? And--” he stopped as he heard the front door open.

“Jerry? You home? What’d I tell you about leaving the front door unlocked?”

Jerry’s father. A tall and broad-shouldered man that, from what Gerald could tell from Jerry’s memory, wasn’t particularly fond of Mike due to his… ‘lifestyle.’ Was it due to something repressed? Mike certainly seemed to think so, but Gerald couldn’t make heads or tails of the situation. Taking a look around and seeing the scene before him, Gerald began to internally panic--twisting Mike’s generally nonchalant expression into a stressed grimace.

‘Shit. His son’s unconscious, covered in cum, and his best friend’s stripped down to his underwear. If I saw this scene I’d think Mike was trying to date-rape my son! Don’t think I’ll be able to simply laugh off this little excursion. But… the only way to get out of this would be…’

Gerald had never attempted a double possession, with or without an explosive orgasm catapult. Was it a good thing that the camera was still recording? He wasn’t sure anymore. To be frank, he wasn’t sure of anything anymore. Loud, boisterous footfalls continued to ring in his ears.

Even in times of danger, Gerald knew he could rely on his libido to get him out. Throwing Mike’s underwear away, no longer caring about maintaining any sense of professionalism, Gerald got to work. Using what was left of Jerry’s cum as makeshift lube, he began to explore Mike’s tasty body with horned-up haste.

“The hell’s that, Jerry? Got a girl over?” Jerry’s father called out again. Gerald couldn’t help but giggle in-betweens his moans. If only he knew.

Mike’s gruff voice contrasted so wonderfully with his high-pitched and needy groans. His back arched and his toes curled as Gerald continued to beat his dick. The other hand freely explored the nice pelt of orange hair that coated Mike’s body.

‘What I wouldn’t give to just have a day with this guy,’ thought Gerald. A few tweeks of the nipples and he could already feel an orgasm building up. Just a few more minute and vigorous strokes and he’d be home free. “C’mon, cum for me…! Just a bit more.”

Jerry’s door flew open for the second time that day, and this time Jerry’s father roared in horror at the scene before him. “MIKE! What the fuck are you doing?! Jerry?!”

‘An audience,’ Gerald thought, smirking at the older man. ‘And not a bad looker either.’

“Hey, daddy-o,” Gerald forced Mike to say. He thrust into his grip, gyrating his hips as though to show off what his body could do to Jerry’s father. “Like the show? Have a seat, I can do so much for you if you want. I don’t mind some audience participation.” To emphasize his own point, Gerald raised a hand with a bit of pre-cum and slowly licked it off--savoring the sweet flavor.

Jerry’s father, mouth slightly agape and expression somewhere between horror and arousal, just stared at Gerald abusing Mike’s body. “Y-You’re sick,” he finally said, eyes glued to Mike’s swinging cock as it twitched. “What did you do to Jerry…?”

“Same thing I’m gonna do to you, daddy!” Gerald cried out in glee as Mike’s abused cock shot the first few rounds of semen. He bit his bottom lip, moans just barely muffled, as Mike’s hips naturally thrust with each shot. As the orgasm reached its end, Mike’s body began to tremble and grow limp as Gerald shot himself out. He rushed through the air and quickly dove right into Jerry’s father through his large chest.

“Hurugh! Ohh, what the fuck…?!” Unlike Mike, Jerry’s father remained standing even after Gerald dive bombed into his chest. However, despite his stronger will, he was unable to stop the tidal wave that crashed over his body. His broad arms gripped the door frame for support as his knees bent from the pressure.

The invasive presence washed over him, filling him up slowly. It wasn’t unlike the first time his ex-wife had pegged him. The fear that came from being filled for the first time was matched only by the pleasure that followed. Just the thought of that night made his cargo shorts tighten. He knew that he should’ve been afraid and even outraged, but his body betrayed him in favor of the invasive presence. “M-More, please fuck me more…!” he whispered as his grip on the door frame tightened. Sweat dripped from his body as his soul let the tides carry him to a blissful and erotic rest.

“And that class,” Gerald forced his host to say, “is how you use your host to your advantage. Now, this is a more advanced technique, so don’t worry if you find it tricky at first.” Bill, Jerry’s father, was far more comfortable to Gerald than Jerry or Mike. The beefy look and authoritative voice also helped Gerald really get into the persona of a professor. It was like putting on a custom before getting into character. “But, as you can see from my improvised lesson plan, it’s possible to even chain multiple possessions in just one day! Really beats having to wait for the refractory period to end, huh?” He chuckled in Bill’s deep baritone, hands on his stomach as he felt Bill’s stolen body jiggle and quake with life. This was more like it.

And with the lesson done, Gerald now had plenty of time on his own to get familiar with Bill. Maybe Jerry and Mike would like to get involved as well…

#male possession #male body possession #possession #daddy possession #spirit possession #astral projection #this was supposed to be out a month ago edition

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hardly-an-escape · 3 months

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Stormy Weather, or: Outside, the Wind (Inside, the Light) | Dream/Hob | 1600 words | Rated T

tags: I recently spent an evening without power therefore I must put the blorbos in a Situation, love confessions, first kiss, getting together, power outages, Hob Gadling throughout history, gratuitious use of mildly accurate Middle English

The wind tears around London like a living thing, a wild animal, a predator, intent on the hunt. It chases birds into their nests and people into their homes, moans around corners and rattles shutters, sending piles of leaves whirling into miniature hurricanes and whipping branches into a frenzy, sharpening its claws on roof tiles and telephone poles.

Except in Hob Gadling’s flat.

The New Inn, and the cozy home above it, is in one of those old buildings that’s actually been loved and maintained – thanks in no small part to Hob’s own care and attention. The walls are thick and strong, the roof is solid. The shutters may rattle, but the windows are double-pane; the curtains and carpets are warm and soft, and no drafts encroach on the sanctity of his living room, where Hob and Lord Morpheus, King of Dreams, are having a movie night.

It’s part of Hob’s concerted effort to introduce the Prince of Stories to the stories he’d missed during his imprisonment. Tonight it’s Blade Runner – the final cut, of course – which isn’t necessarily one of Hob’s personal favorites, but seemed to fit the stormy, rainy vibes of the weather. They’re installed on the couch, with hot chocolate and wine and snacks, which Dream has deigned to pick at. Harrison Ford is eating noodles and wandering through wet, moodily-lit streets. The wind is howling outside, but they’re safe and warm and surrounded by soft things and life is about as good, Hob thinks, as it ever gets these days.

And then his lights flicker. Once, twice; there is the impression of a sort of electrical last gasp, and the room is plunged into darkness.

The wind whips and the shutters rattle. A volley of rain spits itself against the windows.

“Bugger,” says Hob.

Dream says nothing, merely brings his wineglass – which had already been cradled in one elegant hand – to his lips.

“Hang on,” says Hob. “I’ve got some candles around here somewhere.”

He gropes his way to the kitchen. In one drawer he unearths some beeswax tapers and several tea lights, which he arranges on a plate. He rummages in one of the deeper cabinets and makes a triumphant noise as he discovers his prize behind disused mugs and a fondue set from the 1980s: a pair of old-fashioned brass candlesticks equipped with round reflectors, highly polished to catch the light and bounce it back out into the darkness.

“You are remarkably well-prepared for an event such as this,” says Dream, as Hob lights his various prizes and returns to the living room with his hands full of flickering flames.

“Well, you know,” Hob demurs. “When it comes down to it, I’ve lived a lot more of my life without electricity than with it.” He arranges the tea lights on the coffee table and sets the brass candlesticks on a nearby bookshelf. “You never really get out of the habit of preparing for the worst. Although I will say, these beeswax ones beat the hell out of the old tallow jobbies we had when I was young. Got ‘em from a local bloke who keeps bees not half a mile away, isn’t that cool? A beekeeper in the middle of London. There, now,” he says, and having arranged the lights to his satisfaction he plops himself back down on the sofa.

Outside, the wind wails. The lack of lamps on the empty street below and the gentle candlelight within make the night seem even darker, and turn Hob’s living room into something even softer and cozier than it already is.

Dream’s face, in the flickering candles, seems even more otherworldly than usual; and Hob, for his part, truly looks as though he belongs in another century. The very shape of his face has changed, somehow, into something older; taking on a new appearance in the candlelight the way a man’s tongue might curl differently around the syllables of another language.

“I miss it, sometimes,” he says lowly. “This kind of world. Before the wires and the phones and the cars. It was… quieter.”

“You speak often of your delight in change and progress. Do you truly long for your past lives?” asks Dream.

“Yes and no,” answers Hob. “Some things are better now, no question. Antibiotics, wouldn’t want to live without those again. Vaccines and X-rays and chemotherapy and antidepressants – almost all the medical stuff. Mass transportation. Cars and planes have never been safer. Honestly, I’ve never understood the people who moan about the olden days and oh, life was simpler back then. Don’t they know how many people died? How many kids? Because they caught a cold or fell out of a tree or had a case of the runs that lasted a little too long?”

He leans forward to adjust one of the candles, which is dripping unevenly, and when he sags back into the couch there is just the hint of a frown between his strong brows.

“And yet…” he says, staring into the flames, voice quiet. “Nights like this. I do sometimes think…”

Hob trails off for a long moment.

“There was a rhythm to life, back then,” he says finally. “You counted hours by the church bells and days by the tasks that needed done. And there was so much that needed to be done… cows milked and fields planted and clothes knitted or mended. And it was all so important, so… necessary. Regimented. But in the in between time – Christ! your time wast thine.” As he speaks, his voice has slipped into an older register: his Rs grown rounder, his vowels longer, curling from his mouth to mingle with the candlesmoke hovering over his coffee table. “I remember fair hours as a lad, even into my manhood, of which I spent lyende in th’ fields, watching ants in th’ grass. And later, too, we’d hie us to bed with the sonne, the fire banked in the hearth. An’ it happen that if we awakened before dawn, ’twas a simple thing to pass the time in simple ways, be it in prayer or in pleasure…”

The innuendo in his words is clear, but Hob is not looking at Dream; his eyes are unfocused as he stares into the middle distance, revisiting the past via candlelight. Until one of the wicks lets out a small pop, and flares, and he shakes himself, coming back to the present.

“God, sorry,” he says, voice back in the 21st century. “Woolgathering. I’ll go on for an age, me. More wine?”

But Dream’s eyes have also gone unfocused, his lips parted slightly, chest rising and falling with unnecessary breaths as he stares – no, gazes – at Hob. He, too, must shake himself into the present moment at Hob’s offer of more wine. He silently holds out his glass.

“May I ask you a personal question?” Dream says.

“Anything. You know that.”

Dream pauses. Sips. Outside, the sound of the wind has not abated; has grown, if anything, even more dramatic. There is the muffled sound of branches scraping against the side of the building.

“Why,” asks Dream finally, “do you pretend to yourself that you do not want me?”

Hob chokes. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Why do you pretend thus to me?” Dream pursues. “Who has known you longer than any being on this planet or any other; who can know your innermost dreams?”

“What do you mean, other planets?” Hob demands. And then: “Have you been peeking at my dreams?”

“I need not peek, as you put it, to see the truth of the matter. It is writ plain on your face and in your every word and deed. I merely wonder why this truth has hovered before us for over six hundred years and you have yet to press your suit. Do you doubt, after all this time, my affection for you? Do you find me – unworthy?”

Dream sounds, impossibly, almost uncertain. Even vulnerable. Hob sighs heavily and leans forward, elbows on his knees and face in his hands.

“I – God. Dream,” he stammers. “Yes, Christ, I am full of doubts. You stormed away from me when I implied you might be lonely, I… I have never, once, thought I had a suit to press at all. What on earth has brought this on? Now, of all times?”

“I do not know,” Dream murmurs. “Perhaps… this darkness is working on me, as well. Perhaps I am as susceptible to candlelight and nostalgia as the next anthropomorphic personification.”

He smiles, a little quirk of the mouth that contains worlds, and Hob leans over, listing helplessly into Dream’s space as the tapers flicker.

“Fuck,” he whispers, pressing their foreheads together, turning his head to butt his cheekbone against the sharp line of Dream’s nose. “Art thou rēal? Speak you treue?”

“Aye, my Hob,” answers Dream. “Min herte is treue and bilongeth to you.”

A sob catches in the back of Hob’s throat at the words. “Fuck,” he whispers again, “Dream, I’m yours. I am. I always have been. My Dream, min sweven, my leof. Alwei, allesweis…”

Their mouths find each other, then, finally, lip against lip and breath against breath. They kiss for a long, long moment, desperate and hungry and soft all at once, as outside the wind howls coldly around the corners of the New Inn, and inside the light cast by Hob’s candles bathes their whole little world in a cozy glow.

“Take me to bed,” murmurs Dream against Hob’s mouth. “Make me your lover. Show me how you pass the time by candlelight, and in darkness.”

“Oh, darling. Dearheart,” Hob answers. “Nothing in this world or any world past could make me happier.”

And he suits his actions to his words.

#my writing #the sandman #dreamling #dream of the endless #hob gadling #a needlessly complicated title for a truly simple little fic #I've already written this basic premise so many times AND I'LL DO IT AGAIN #the archaic English Hob uses in this fic is based on the most cursory googling #just tell yourself it's all over the place because historically English is.... all over the place #my unpopular opinion is that I think Blade Runner is overrated and yes I will project my opinions onto fictional characters #as usual this started in one place and went in another direction entirely #may post on AO3 tomorrow if the spirit so moves me

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