I thought I was dead, but a sharp, throbbing pain in my head snapped me back to consciousness. I opened my eyes, fully aware of my existence, sprawled on a cold, filthy floor. A dream? No, this was real. The room was a dump, overflowing with garbage: rusted cans, synthetic food wrappers, broken cables, and a rancid stench that clung to the air. This wasn't my room, not even close to the monastery. I stumbled out onto a narrow balcony, and the world I saw was nothing like the one I knew loomed before me like a dystopian nightmare ripped from some gritty sci-fi show. Towers of steel and neon stretched kilometers into a smog-choked, gray sky. Drones buzzed between crumbling skyscrapers, their flickering lights barely cutting through the toxic haze. Hovercars roared along elevated tracks, their engines screaming over the constant hum of the city below—a chaotic sprawl of slums, factories, and blinking holo-ads promising fake utopias.
I caught my reflection in the grimy balcony window and froze. This wasn't me. The face staring back was pale, gaunt, with thinning black hair receding at the front and a thick, bushy mustache. I looked like a worn-out man in his fifties. A sudden jolt of pain stabbed my skull, and memories flooded in—memories that weren't mine. My name was Steve Philips, 53 years old, a janitor and electrician at the Acriyit Corporation, the biggest superhero organization in the United States. This wasn't a dream. I had reincarnated into another man's body in a dystopian future, and this trash heap was my home.
I staggered back inside, my head spinning, and started cleaning the mess. It took just five minutes to make the place halfway decent. Among the clutter, I found a sleek smartphone and a beat-up laptop loaded with millions of sadomasochistic porn videos—whips, chains, and screams filled the screen when I accidentally clicked one. I shook my head, trying to focus, and headed to the bathroom. The shower was a rusty trickle, but it did the job. I shaved off the mustache, revealing a slightly younger-looking face, maybe early forties if I squinted. I slipped into a blue work jumpsuit I found in the closet, grabbed a set of keys, and pocketed an ID card with my—or rather, Steve's—face on it. The card had a barcode and the Acriyit Corporation logo. This was my ticket in.
I left the apartment, descending the creaky stairs of the run-down building. Halfway down, a woman brushed past me, her presence impossible to ignore. She was about 20, with long blonde hair and piercing blue eyes that matched the dangling earrings she wore. Her outfit was pure provocation: a tight white crop top that barely contained her massive, nipples poking through the thin fabric, and tiny shorts that couldn't cover her enormous buttocks. A pink thong peeked out, riding high above the waistband. Another jolt hit my head, and I knew her—Karen Cooke, a student at the Acriyit Hero University. She was drop-dead gorgeous, and she knew it. "Move it, old perv," she snapped, shoving past me. Intimidated, I stepped aside, my eyes glued to her juicy ass swaying up the stairs. Fuck, she's hot, I thought, and instantly felt a massive bulge straining against my jumpsuit. I glanced down, shocked. My new dick was huge—way bigger than my old one. For a second, I considered running back to the apartment to jerk off to one of those S&M videos, but a notification buzzed on my phone: Shift starts at 10 AM. I had thirty minutes. Work it was.
I headed to the garage beneath the building. The place was packed with sleek, futuristic cars—hovermodels with glowing rims and AI dashboards. I fumbled with the key fob until it beeped, pointing me to my ride: a beat-up, rusted black sedan that looked like it belonged in a scrapyard. As I approached, I heard muffled moans coming from a car a few spaces away. It was rocking rhythmically. Snuck over and peeked through the window. A brown-haired MILF, maybe 40, blue eyes, butt-naked, was riding some jacked blonde dude like a fucking rodeo. Her giant tits flopped hard, and her thick ass clapped with every thrust, shaking the whole damn car.
Plap! Plap! Plap! Clap! Clap!
"Ohhh, fuck, Jack! Your cock's the best!" she screamed, her voice dripping with fake enthusiasm. He's got a tiny dick, she thought to herself, smirking inwardly as she faked another moan. "So fucking good, baby! Ahhn!" Her hips ground against him, her pussy squeezing his small shaft for show. The guy, oblivious, grunted with effort, his hands gripping her meaty hips.
Plap! Plap! Fwap! Fwap! Plap!
"Fuck, Victoria, you're so tight!" he groaned, clearly buying her act. She rolled her eyes in her mind but kept up the performance, slamming her ass down harder.
"Cum for me, big boy!" she purred, leaning forward so her huge tits dangled in his face. He couldn't hold it anymore. With a pathetic whimper, he pulled out just in time, spraying thin ropes of cum across her thick thighs.
Spurt! Spurt! Spurt!
Victoria collapsed onto him, panting dramatically. "Oh, Jack, you lasted so long this time! A whole minute—new record!" she cooed, stroking his ego. He grinned like an idiot. "Been practicing," he boasted, oblivious to her sarcasm.
Another jolt hit my head, and I knew them both. The woman was Victoria Watkins, a widowed MILF who lived in my building. Those massive tits and that fat ass paid her rent—she sold her body to anyone with cash. The guy was Jack Walker, not a neighbor but a frequent visitor. He was Karen's boyfriend, of all people. As they climbed out of the car, Victoria adjusted her cheap red dress, the kind that screamed streetwalker. It barely covered her hard nipples, and she wasn't wearing panties—cum dripped down her leg as she stood. "Doesn't it bother you, fucking your girlfriend's neighbor?" she asked, wiping herself with a tissue.
Jack shrugged, zipping up his pants. "Nah. I love Karen, but she's such a prude. Won't put out." Victoria laughed, a dry, knowing chuckle. "You transferred the cash, right?" she asked. He nodded. "Yeah, and I wanna see you again soon." He grabbed her face and shoved his tongue in her mouth, kissing her sloppily. She kissed back, but as he pulled away and hopped into his sleek hovercar, her face soured. "No wonder Karen won't fuck him," she muttered. "Tiny peanut dick and kisses like a dead fish." With that, she strutted back toward the apartments, her fat ass jiggling with every step.
I slipped out of my hiding spot, heart pounding, and climbed into my clunker. The engine sputtered to life, and I peeled out of the garage, heading toward the Acriyit Corporation, my mind racing.