[A reverse possession. You'll never escape my body now! part 1 of 2.]

[Features: Addiction, possession, technically a guy transforming into a female, masturbation]

Megan was starting to get worried. It hadn’t been a consistent thing or something she had really noticed at first but between the hours of 6-7, she had lost time. She didn’t know when it had started, but she’d be in a different place than where she was at. The most unnerving part was that at first, it felt natural. She would be studying or doing something on the computer and be in bed or the bathroom or whatever and blink and it’d be like she had just gone on auto-pilot. That was a normal thing.

Normal, humans do it all the time, really.

What was not normal was something her mind had only picked up on recently, which was that she always came out of it at the exact same time and that she was wet, as if she had been masturbating.

Still, that would have been cause for concern but not panic.

Except this time she had been out with her friends.

It had been normal, walking along with her friends on a night out, and then she was home. Her mind filled in the blanks, saying she had obviously just hung out with them for a little while and then went home but, with her aware of the blackouts, she was fairly worried that it could be the second option.

It was so hard, to fight her own mind. It felt like it wanted to pretend like nothing had happened, as if the last 5 seconds she had been “aware” were the exact same as the hour she was missing. If it wasn’t for her being wet and the consistency, she honestly might have missed it forever.

“Luckily”, or more like horrifyingly, her phone was blowing up with her friends texting her.

“You okay? You seemed really out of it.”

“Hey, haven’t heard back from you yet, seriously, text us back, me and Sarah are getting kinda worried.”

“Jesus Meg, it’s been an hour, did you go to sleep immediately when you got home.”

Megan felt a chill go down her spine. She had noticed the, incongruity, only recently but even then, she had ignored it out of fear. It was stupid of her, something she abhorred, but it’s hard to accept that you might be losing time and memories.

She decided to just call Amanda to see what had happened to her that had made her friends so worried.

“Hey, Amanda.”

“Megan! Are you okay? You seemed really, really out of it.”

“Uh, yeah. I was feeling, kind of off. Took a nap. What did I do that had you so worried?”

“Uh Megan, don’t try pulling that crap with us. You didn’t even know where your own house was. Hell, it didn’t seem like you even knew who we were and were acting and talking really strange. What’s going on Meg?”

Megan’s heart ran ice cold. Losing time was one thing but, she wasn’t even able to tell where her own home was? She had lived here for years.

“Nothing, just, having a few hard days at college, that’s all.”

“Megan.”

“Amanda.”

“Sarah” came another voice from the phone. Apparently, she was on speaker and Sarah was there as well. She rolled her eyes at her friends attempt at being funny.

“Look, don’t worry about it. I’ve got it handled.” A bold faced lie but worrying her friends was the last thing she wanted to do.

“Sigh. We’re here if you need us, you know that right? Whatever’s going on, just make sure you go to the hospital if it’s something serious. You’re smarter than this.”

“Yeah Megan, don’t be stupid. It’s not like you.” Sarah said, uncharacteristically seriously. It must have been more than a little worry they had.

Megan grimaced. They were right, she was smarter than this. She had noticed this happening a few days ago and it could’ve been going on for much, much longer without anyone’s knowledge. Hell, her noticing might mean that whatever this is, is getting worse. And she had done literally nothing about it except hope it would go away. Even if it did, how would she know? It was so hard to tell it was happening at all.

“I’ll take care of it.” Was all Megan said before finishing up the conversation and hanging up.

She’d make some calls to see a doctor soon. In the meantime, the least she could do was set up a web camera. She had an old one lying around that connected wirelessly. She could hang it up in her room and see what happens tomorrow, if it happens at all. She did notice one thing, however. She wasn’t wet this time.

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[Elsewhere]

“Fucking Damn it!”

Kyle was pissed. He hadn’t gotten a chance to play with himself today because he had accidentally wound in front of two of the girl’s friends on a street and by the time he had gotten back to her house, his time was up.

“Ughhh. Well, there’s always next time I guess.”

Kyle had been doing this for a while, actually. Well, at least a few weeks, off and on. He didn’t think it had been a month yet. At first, he was really confused. He suddenly, and without warning, got a mark on his skin after picking up and reading an old book he had found in the library. All he had wanted was to find something more helpful for his research paper for class but that had gone up in smoke. Literally. After the book had left a mark on the top of his hand, it had literally poofed out of thin air, into a literal cloud of smoke, that disappeared relatively fast. He couldn’t believe his eyes when that had happened.

He had then worried and stared at the mark on his hand all day, trying to prod it, wash it, scrub it away, etc etc. Nothing of course worked, besides making his hand feel really irritated. Then, when 6 o clock struck, he had felt a pull. He felt like he had been scorched and refused it nearly instantly. The next day, it had happened again, and again the day after that. It was never any better or worse. Just a feeling like he was being tugged in some way and a call and a scorching. More irritating than painful. He refused it every time, worrying about what could happen but eventually, his curiosity got the better of him and he accepted.

He had found himself inside a different room and in a different person’s body.

A girl’s body.

He had nearly freaked out, worrying about what on earth the mark had done to him. He spent the majority of that time looking around and trying (and failing) to get used to his new body. It turned out that the person’s body he was in, wasn’t just someone random, well it was, but, it was an actual person. Not a gender-bent version of him or anything. They existed about a town or two away, still on earth, still in the same country, relatively close, and nothing that suggested they were the reason he was here.

The woman’s name was Megan Cordio, 25 (if her facebook was true), currently in her 5th year of college for a master’s degree in physical therapy. And it showed. Her body was absolutely amazing. Hell, he wasn’t sure but he thought she had abs. He had felt a little bad about seeing her body naked but, well, he was in her body right now and it was probably important to see if she also had a mark on her. Yeah, that’s why he did it, surely.

By the time he was done gawking and putting her clothes back on (which felt even weirder, to put on woman’s clothes, especially when he hadn’t yet gotten use to having a female body at all), 7 o clock had rolled around and he felt himself forcibly pushed back into his own body.

It was all he could think about for the entire night and most of the next day, wondering what the hell was going on. And come 6, he felt the same pull and arrived in the same woman’s body. And again and again.

He didn’t do anything the first few times, hell, he really couldn’t just having boobs alone was throwing him for a loop and half and that was saying nothing about the rest of it. He was just thankful that besides a disturbing lack of something down below, it hadn’t sent his brain any, other, signals.

But, well, he was a curious person.

It started harmless enough. He just couldn’t get enough of her body and would pose in front of the mirror for the hour. Stretching in different ways, reveling in how powerful her body felt from what must have been an incredible gym ethic and good diet.

Then well, he found himself playing with his boobs. Just, touching them a little. Lifting them up, moving them together, and marveling at how different they felt from anything he had really felt before on himself. Or at all, if he was being totally honest. It was a body part that for the most part, he just lacked.

He spent a few days just, doing that. Harmless boob playing, in front of a mirror. He would always make sure she was dressed afterwards and it wasn’t really, that bad was it? It wasn’t like he was doing anything, wrong, right? Or at least not that bad.

Then, one day while he was massaging and rubbing his nipples in her body, he felt something, new. A different sensation. Coming from below. He couldn’t really place it at first, but then it hit him like a ton of bricks. He was horny and he was, feeling what that was like from a woman’s perspective.

He had immediately stopped and just laid in bed, unmoving, for the rest of the hour, heart hammering and trying not to focus on how he felt at all.

He didn’t go into her body for a while after that. At least a week.

But it was always there, the call, the offer, right at his fingertips. His friend had once rolled his eyes and told him that drugs can be legal but they can’t be too easy to access. If you have a button that could instantly give you cocaine, heroin, or even weed or coffee, at the slightest fingertips, you’d become an addict for sure. People needed to at least walk, at least spend some money, have it at least cost a tiny, little bit of effort, for the brain to not regard it as a free action and not to abuse it.

Kyle had thought that was kinda stupid. People could basically already get unlimited of plenty of things without going crazy and becoming an addict.

Now, with a daily question and metaphysical button on his hand, he was seeing where his friend was coming from. It just too easy. And it came at literally no cost. None that he could detect anyway. The woman had shown no evidence of even realizing he had been there, nothing had changed with her, nothing negative had happened with him, his body seemed to just slump over and stay asleep until he got back, etc etc.

And so he went back. And he couldn’t resist, just, playing with himself, just a tiny bit. Just rubbing himself a little bit. He did not want anything inside him, hell no, but, rubbing was okay right? He did it all the time as a guy, rubbing this part of him was hardly even masturbating for a girl right? His mind came up with a lot of excuses.

All his hesitation was washed away after a few, extremely embarrassing, false starts. It was his first time with a vagina and it was just, well, it was his first time with a vagina. But after he got into the ‘groove’ of things, and started to rub himself, he knew he could never really stop. It felt so different than how he felt as a guy. He didn’t have the words or the vocabulary for it, not really. He felt his insides get warm and wet, felt a tingle go along his spine, felt his pussy twitch and squeeze but it didn’t really, encapsulate everything. His entire body felt more sensitive, his inner muscles, the ones inside his vagina, muscles he had never had before, were flexing, his heart was racing and-

“Ahh”

Kyle’s mind blanked as it felt like waves of pleasure and bliss were affecting him. He had looked up how women felt orgasms before and he had gotten everything from “rollercoaster ride” to “jet in a jacuzzi” but they all said the same thing: It was almost quite literally mind blowing. And now, now he understood. He felt his vision go white, his legs twitch, his toes curl, his voice let out moans, his whole body felt like it had gone up a notch in sensitivity, and he just laid there, in bed, panting for a little while.

“Oh my god.”

It wasn’t necessarily 100% different from a guy’s, it was unique but with a lot of similarities. But he had been a guy since conception, he had never been a girl before, let alone orgasmed as one. Those differences made all the difference in the world to him.

And that’s how his addiction started.

He couldn’t stop. He, really, just, couldn’t. And so the day went, sometimes resisting or being too busy to actually do it. He was a high-functioning addict, like most drinkers who only have a “glass or two” with their dinner. Sure, he could be normal and do other things, he played games or watched a show but his mind, his mind was consumed with having his next female orgasm. It was all he could think about.

Tonight, he had awoken to being outside, with two of the woman’s friends and awkwardly had to pretend to be her and make it home. By the time he had actually made it there, his time was up. Even a week or two ago, that event alone might have made him reconsider ever becoming her, would have cemented inside his head that he was stealing another person’s body and using them, but he just couldn’t get enough at this point and it only filled him with annoyance. But as he had said at the beginning, there was always next time.

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Megan was a in state of shock. Something had rapidly changed. She had been wet before, but, this time, she had come out of the blackout hour, as she was calling it, to being absolutely soaked. Her mind was still reeling from the experience, from waking up to having absolutely demolished herself.

“Did, Did I masturbate for an hour straight?” 

She hurriedly went to check her camera footage and it sadly, told her a lot and very little. She had suddenly stopped at exactly 6 o clock and had practically flown into her bed, removing all her clothes, and masturbating, nonstop, for an hour.

She had never heard of “horny Alzheimers” before but she was going to seriously have to start looking into it. However, it all seemed too, exact. The timing was too exact. This didn’t feel like a illness or a mental disorder, it felt like a…

“Person.”

It felt like a person was causing this. Maybe it was a mental disorder. She had heard of multiple personality disorder before and other weird things like that. Of people having a system, of people having to regulate times. More than half of it had come across as absolute bullshit or people that had other horrible mental illness’s just convincing themselves they had this and acting like they had it. Like a guy pretending to be a dog and then being unable to really stop unless he told himself that was an “other” part of him, that had to share the time.

But it wasn’t all bullshit of course. Multiple personality disorder and plenty of similar enough things like it existed, it just wasn’t ever like the movies or shows. Having a specific part of her suddenly start uncontrollably masturbating at a specific hour? Yeah, yeah that could track.

But it was all a guess. And she had gone to the doctor but it was all basic check-up stuff. It would take her weeks to really get to the bottom of this through that route, although she would definitely take it. But in the meantime, she needed a way to feel like she was making some sort of progress.

So she took out a journal and she began to write.

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Yesterday, yesterday had been amazing and awesome for kyle but also a bit much. He had left that state in a state of bliss and been practically painfully thrown into his not-having-masturbated body. It had really felt like a bucket of cold water after having sex. Just really awful all around but he guess he was seeing the point of hormones in the brain and the body. His, god, was he really at the point of calling it that? His, soul or spirit or mind or whatever, had been in there and felt great, and then back in his body, had had to conflict with the fact that he didn’t have dopamine or any other pleasure-causing hormones going full throttle.

Still, the memories and feelings had remained with him and he was really looking forward to having more.

So when he became Megan again, he nearly didn’t see the journal. But he did and his heart started beating rapidly for entirely different reasons. He, she, had been sitting at the desk, staring at the journal, when 6 o clock had rolled around. And there was some writing on it. Namely, a question.

“Who are you?”

Kyle felt a lump forming in his throat. He continued to read.

“I know you show up at 6, I know you leave at 7. Are you me?”

And that was it. Just a question asking for identification from a thoroughly confused and slightly scared woman, directed at kyle.

Kyle realized he could lie here, hell, no, he could say literally whatever he wanted here. She had no way of stopping him or harming him or finding out about him.

But something in him sang at this development. He couldn’t talk about what he was feeling or experiencing at all, with anyone. At best, he’d be thrown at a psychiatrist or be completely ignored, like he was having particularly realistic and fetishistic dreams.

But, well, he had become an addict, even if he hadn’t realized it yet. Everything about his life had slowly started turning to surround this single hour per day, this singular event.

And now? Now he had someone he could experience it with, in a weird way. A way to say whatever he wanted, to let it all out. It was like an alcoholic finding a drinking buddy for the first time.

“My name…” kyle really hesitated here. Should he say it? Should he do it? Should he even respond at all? But, but there was a part of him, a part of him that was getting off on the idea. Of taking a woman’s body and having her be helpless, while he could actually talk to her. It was a darker part of him than he liked, he wasn’t, he wasn’t doing anything that wrong right? But god, he wanted to indulge in that fantasy so badly. And so, he wrote.

“My name is kyle. I am using your body for my own sake. It’s a great body, I thank you for what you have done for it. From now on, between the hours of 6 to 7, it is my body.”

He felt like a piece of shit for writing that, every bone in his body screaming that he was an asshole, that it was too far, that he should erase it and say sorry, and to apologize and to just rip up that page entirely and pretend he had never read it at all.

A darker part of him felt horny and he couldn’t resist any longer.

The next masturbation session he had was even deeper and more fulfilling than the last, masturbating to the idea of her reading that, of her being stunned at what he wrote and how he had said it. And then he really started going ham when he realized that she would continue, that she would respond. He ached already to know what she was going to say back. He had a pen pal and he loved the very idea of it, let alone the actual interaction.

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Megan stared at the words in front of her in disbelief. Well, she did now. She had woken up worse for ware and this time, she had woken up. She had apparently fallen asleep in the time period between 6 to 7 and judging by how exhausted, wet, and slightly sticky she felt, and the shower she had to take, that was not in any way a mystery. The video she saw only confirmed it. She had watched that first and sat mesmerized, watching herself write, hesitating, before going off and masturbating like it was her only reason to live. She quite honestly, literally, never masturbated that hard in her entire life, she was pretty sure. She hadn’t watched the whole thing but she had seen enough. And it hadn’t even been her, according to the notebook.

Her body was being used by a man, molested, raped you could even say. Taken over somehow. It was a simple message. Name, praise, declaration. That for an hour of her day, of her life, for every day going forward, that she no longer had sole ownership of it. That it was a thing that others could just, take and use, for a certain period of time.

That didn’t sit right with her, no, that didn’t sit right with her in any way whatsoever.

But she had to think. There were certainly some very obvious and some not very obvious things.

Obvious thing #1, this guy had a problem. He was masturbating, and only masturbating, every single time he became her. He hadn’t done anything else, well, not that she could figure out. He might have done something else in the past but judging by her consistently wet panties leading up to this point or bedding, this had become his new normal.

Not obvious thing #1, how on earth he was doing this. He was literally taking over her body. Her brain staggered at that. The most realistic answer was still some weird personality thing but this person acted like they had never once been in a female’s body or at least, like it was a brand new experience to be enjoyed, thoroughly. She felt a shiver go up her spine and a strong note of disgust. No, she had to take this like he was some random possessing her until further notice.

Some idea’s flashed through her mind but they were all poor. She could tie herself up every night but what good would that do in the long run? She would either need some way to escape (which means he could find it and undo it) or someone else to tie her up and untie her. Maybe she could jury rig some kind of, timer system to it? But still, this wasn’t solving the issue and even added more. “All”, she nearly spat in disgust as that word crossed her mind, “All” that he was doing was masturbating. But if she starts tying herself up every night, causing him to be stuck in place for a whole hour, unable to do anything? It doesn’t take much pressure to bite through a tongue.

Too dangerous to really piss him off, or at least, not without really, really thinking it through.

She needed to record the info, to get more information. Couldn’t piss the guy off either, not until she knew everything she needed to.

So what did she need to know?

She already knew he didn’t have to take her over every night. It was consistent but not with a schedule of days. She was fairly sure there had been big leaps in the beginning. Missed days. So he chose to do this. At least, that was what she was going to run with until she could confirm it without tipping the guy off.

Next, she knew this guy, even if it was just an inner part of her, didn’t share her memories. He had looked positively shocked, from the angle she could see, at the notebook. As if he had never expected her to contact him or to possibly even realize anything was happening at all.

No, what she most needed to know was how he was doing this and if he could leave once the hour had started.

She frowned.

Learning if he could do it at other times would be helpful too. And maybe if he had any others powers like this he was hiding.

As she thought more about it, more questions popped up and more ways to get answers started to flow in too. Megan was many things and one of those things was intelligent. But still, she grimaced as she realized what this meant. She would have to let this continue and go on. Nothing she had was a permanent or quick solution and she was extremely uncomfortable with pissing the guy off that had her body until she knew more.

And so, she wrote.

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Weeks went by and passed and kyle was in heaven. The woman he was possessing was clearly unhappy, that came through cleanly, but she always reacted as if she was trying to have a polite conversation, regardless of what he said.

The only time it had gone off the rails, where she hadn’t responded back, was when he had refused to answer her questions. It seemed that was her personal line. As long as he kept telling her what she wanted to know, she would continue to talk to him.

And most of the questions were about what he was doing or were boring, but some were absolutely amazing. 

“How does it feel for you?”

“Why are you doing this, specifically this, versus any other form of masturbating?”

“Would you like some tips or porn recommendations to see if your interests are changing as well when you cross over?”

And etc etc. They were rare and they were out of place but they filled his heart with joy and he had gladly written paragraph answers on those ones. He had even decided to be more “polite” and started masturbating without wearing panties after she had made a comment about having to do extra laundry because of him. He wasn’t sure if it was a joke or not but still, he was alright giving up that small thing. It felt better without them on anyway.

The next hiccup, however, came when she started drinking and getting incoherent.

He would wake up in her body, either fully drunk, or having an incredibly nasty hangover and her words were starting to get incredibly nasty and hate-filled.

They were drunken rants, aiming at him, ranging from the written version of yelling to calling him a monster and rapist. He had responded in kind, calling her some pretty terrible things like a toy or a bitch and it had all but ruined their sessions together and put a hard damper on his mood while trying to enjoy himself.

And then stopped responding at all for a few days. On the plus side, there was no more drinking or hangovers or anything like that. He was honestly worried she would turn to drugs next and his morals were really taking a beating as is. He had no idea what he would do if she started taking drugs. Come on! He was only rubbing himself a little bit, it wasn’t that bad of a thing to do! He wouldn’t mind someone else masturbating with his body every once in a while a little bit. He was grumbling to himself, thinking about it, when the time came again and he saw a new message. This one was different however.

“Kyle, it has been, hard on me. You are hurting me. It hurts. Not physically, but mentally. I’m begging you. Please stop. My body isn’t a toy or a plaything and you telling me it is, is incredibly hurtful. Please leave my body alone and go away.”

Kyle gulped. He wasn’t a bad person. He wasn’t. He didn’t want to be. He didn’t want to hurt anyone. He stared, he stared at the message, unmoving, and came to a terrible, terrible realization that sunk his heart. He couldn’t stop. He couldn’t. The idea of it practically harmed him. Going back to life before he felt the female orgasm, never able to feel it again? He grimaced, hard. No, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He was too, too weak. Maybe, maybe he could just stop doing it for a few days? Yeah. Yeah, maybe he could just cut back on the possession for a little bit, give her some more breathing room. He looked back at the bed.

Starting tomorrow. Yeah, yeah he could start tomorrow.

“I’m sorry, but no.” Was what kyle wrote. His masturbation was more subdued that day.

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Megan clicked her tongue, especially after reading the message and watching the tape, something Kyle still wasn’t aware of that she had.

It had taken a lot of work to gather all the information she needed and wanted without giving it all away, that she was collecting the kind of information she could use against him. The most disturbing thing to her was learning that he was an addict. She felt bad in a way. Outside of what he was doing, he seemed ‘okay’ but he had slowly gotten addicted to what it felt like to be a woman and now couldn’t give it up. That was clear as day judging from how he would write whole pages worth of his experiences, going into great detail, etc etc. It was the only time he responded with more than 2 or 3 sentences and judging from the tapes, even that much caused him near physical pain as he was visually resisting running to her bed.

She had a plan, especially now that she got all the pieces lined up.

However, she gave him one final out, pretending to be deeply hurting. Honestly, she probably was hurting, but it was more a violence-fueled anger and vindictiveness than anything else. She wanted to beat the shit out of him and then drag him to a general addictions clinic for some help. Sadly, she was the victim here and he had unlimited access to the drug he had found.

So she had begged. She could have played it up a lot worse and maybe that would have even worked but, well, she was vindictive. Truth be told, she didn’t want it to work. And watching the tape, she practically felt glee. She might never know how he felt, and with any luck would never come back after tomorrow, but she could imagine it and that fact brought her a ton of glee.

Tomorrow, he would suffer like she had suffered.

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