Caution: This Fantasy Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Mind Control, Heterosexual, TransGender, Fiction, Science Fiction, Transformation, .
Desc: Fantasy Sex Story: Chapter 1 - This is a fantasy idea that I've been working on. A dead boxer's body is chosen to be used by an alien life force composed of pure white energy. Something goes wrong, and the boxer and the alien wind up dependant on each other.
Danny "Pretty Boy" Sanders sat quietly on a training table looking down at his tightly taped hands. The dressing room was quiet as he found himself totally alone with his thoughts. He was trying his hardest to concentrate, to think about what he would soon need to be doing.
Being 34 years old, Danny knew that he had to put up a good showing tonight, if he was to retain any hope of getting booked for any future fights. His last two performances had been less than stellar, losing a three round decision to that kid from Phoenix, and then getting knocked out in two, on the under card to a lousy State championship bout, one that had been part of a County Fair.
Danny flexed his hands, feeling the pain shoot through the knuckles and wrists. 'Christ, if they hurt this much now, how are they going to feel when I actually hit the guy?' For the ten thousandth time Danny thought back to his glory days, back to when he'd been a brash and cocky 20 year old kid, sporting his flashy undefeated record, convinced that he'd be the "Champ" before his next birthday.
He'd definitely had it all in those days, quickness, power, legs that never tired, and an almost magical ability to slip punches. He was possessed of a lightning counter for his opponent's every move. He was really something then, all right.
People had been falling all over themselves, trying their hardest to find ways to attach themselves to Danny's bright future. They wanted to be as close as they could be to all the promise he offered, the promise of an almost certain ride, straight to the top.
It had all come crashing down around him, the first time he'd ever tasted the bitterness of defeat. It had been amazing, watching as all the hangers on, and the freeloaders, hurriedly uncoupled themselves from his entourage.
His own trainers and advisors began slipping away too, leaving just as quietly as they could, all hoping to find another young up and comer, needing to attach themselves to someone with the prospects for a brilliant future.
The boxing game has forever been a tough one. Lose just one fight, and you are as valuable as yesterday's news.
After that first loss, he'd been 23-1, still a great record, but no longer unbeaten. The mantle of invincibility, once you've been beaten, is forever gone. He had slipped into that all too common category, the beatable fighter.
Within days of that first ring loss, the phones in his promoter's office were ringing off the hook. Now, suddenly, some ranked fighters, men who'd been ducking him before, were willing, even eager, to sign contracts for future bouts with Danny.
Some of those bouts had turned out well, and he'd won his next three fights, following that initial loss. Because he'd been beaten once before though, everyone now knew that he could be beaten again.
His second loss had been hard fought, and exceedingly brutal, ending after he'd been knocked out in the fifth round, by a tough Dominican kid. Knocked out cold too, not stopped because of a cut, or because of an accidental head butt, but pounded into a careless submission, then popped right on the button, and dropped for the count.
He really should have given it up then. Just quit the ring after that second loss. He couldn't bring himself to do it. He was still convinced that he had what it took to make it all the way to the top. He still believed that someday he would get himself squared away again, finding that intangible, little something extra, enough for him to become the champ.
Danny snapped back from his reverie, looking up as his trainer, and the guy from the boxing commissioner's office, came in to supervise the glove lacing and taping.
His trainer for this fight was just a guy from a local gym that Danny had given $10.00 to, and a free ticket to the fights, just to get him to put on his gloves, and work the water bottle in his corner.
He no longer had the fancy entourage, the luxury of traveling with his own trainer and personal cut man. Tonight, if he got cut, he'd just have to bleed.
With his laces tied and taped, and with the boxing commission's approval, Danny was ready to go. Tonight he was scheduled for six rounds against some kid who was a small town hero.
There was one advantage to taking these short notice fights, sometimes you could pick up a good purse, facing very little competition. Danny had signed on for a thousand dollars for tonight's fight, a lot more than the four hundred he'd gotten for his last one. He hoped it would be an easy win for him. He certainly could use one.
"Ladies and gentleman, welcome to the Visalia Arena, and to our co-featured, main event attraction. Six rounds of light heavyweight action. Introducing, in the blue corner, wearing white trunks with the gold stripes, hailing from the great city of Los Angeles, California, he weighs in at 182 pounds, with a record of 66 wins, 21 losses, and 2 draws, with 23 of those wins coming by way of the knockout, the former number 3 IBF light heavyweight contender, Danny "Pretty Boy" Sanders."
The announcer paused, and there was a miniscule amount of polite clapping at the introduction of Danny. They are all here tonight to root for their hometown favorite.
"And, in the red corner, wearing the black trunks, from right here in Visalia, California, he weighs in at 185 lbs, with an undefeated record of 9 wins, no losses, no draws, with all 9 wins coming via the knockout, please welcome him, as he's making his 10th straight professional appearance, right here in the Visalia Arena, Felipe "The Visalia Dragon" Torres!! Torres!! "
The announcer paused to let the crowd stomp their feet and howl their support for the local favorite. The ring bell gongs twice before the announcer continues.
"Tonight's fight is scheduled for six rounds, and is sanctioned by the California State Athletic Commission, Jim Julian, representing the Commission, is here, in attendance, at ringside. Dr. David Cummins is also in attendance, acting as the ring physician. The referee for tonight's fight is Jack Grover. The judges are Sid Terrel and Rudy Cortez. At the bell, and counting for the knockdown's will be Sandra Cheney. The three knockdown rule is in effect, and the fighters cannot be saved by the bell."
The bell rings six more times, then the two fighters, along and their trainers, walk out to the center of the ring. They meet there, to get their instructions, and to have their mouthpieces, kidney and cup protection inspected by the ref.
Danny touches gloves with his opponent, and then walks purposely back to his corner. The opponent looks big and strong to Danny, but he also notices a small ring of flab circling around his middle. If there's any softness in the kid, Danny will find and exploit it.
Finally, the bell rings and Danny turns to face his opponent, who is charging out of his own corner, anxious to do battle.
The kid is strong and confident, willing, even anxious, to trade blows with Danny right away. Danny keeps him at bay though, with strong left jabs and some good footwork.
It is easy for Danny to see, this kid knows only a single speed, fast and furious. He knows he is going to have to withstand a furious attack from the kid early in the fight. As the kid keeps moving forward, he is letting both hands go constantly. With both hands being so active, he is making up for any lack of training and technique.
The kid is relying solely on his youth, his great strength, and on his ability to take a punch.
All his punches are being blocked, caught, and parried, but still they strike Danny's arms and his gloves, sending painful shocks into his sore hands and up through his shoulders.
This kid has the kick of a mule, but lacks any finesse. Danny counters with a quick left hook and a right cross that stops the kid right in his tracks, but only for a short second or two, before he comes rushing forward for more.
The pain in his hands is worrying Danny, and he decides to move more, using the whole ring, slipping and sliding away from punches, just letting the kid tire himself out.
For the remainder of the round he glides around the ring, giving the kid a real lesson in boxing footwork. He pitty pats at the kid's head, throwing a series of soft combinations, trying to earn points with the judges, and to keep the referee from warning him about this being a fight, and not a dance.
The crowd was starting to get restless, by the time the bell sounded, ending the first round. Back in his own corner, sitting on the stool, Danny felt sure that he'd done just enough to steal the round.
By the end of the third round, Danny had the kid very frustrated. He was angry, embarrassed, and getting tired. He'd been chasing Danny for nine minutes, and still didn't have anything to show for all his efforts.
The crowd had been booing and yelling, ever since midway through the second round. They kept yelling at Danny to quit dancing, wanting him to make a real fight of it. The referee had come to Danny's corner, at the end of the third, warning him to pick up the pace a little.
Danny knew he was going to have to go after the kid, hard, during this next round. He just hoped the kid was tired enough, and that he could be had.
If he wasn't tired enough, Danny knew he'd be the one that would have to endure a terrible beating. He gathered himself, preparing his mind and body to make that one, sustained, all out effort at attacking the opponent.
When the bell sounded, it was Danny who came out first, who rushed across the ring, catching the kid unawares. He started his own, furious barrage, pounding away, to the head and to the stomach.
His strategy nearly worked, it was almost enough. Somehow though, the kid managed to stay on his feet, and to keep his composure. Halfway through the round, it was obvious, to everyone, that the kid had managed to weather Danny's assault.
Danny did manage to put the kid onto the canvas for an eight count, later, near the end of the round, but, by then, the kid somehow knew that all Danny's energy had been spent, and he got up with a determined look on his bruised and swollen face.
He still had lots of fight left in him. As the round drew to a close, the kid landed his first solid shots of the night. The crowd, having remained silent throughout Danny's fierce barrage, sensed a shift in the fight's momentum. They rose quickly to their feet, shouting out their encouragement to the kid.
By the middle of the fifth, Danny was just trying to clinch and hold on. All his thoughts of offense were now cast aside. He was just trying to survive the next round and a half.
The kid was swarming him, punching and pushing, trying to land that one solid punch that would assure him of the win. He had to know that Danny was way ahead on all the judge's scorecards, so he needed a knock out, to secure himself the win.
When Danny finally reached that point where he just didn't care anymore, he lowered his left hand, and steeled himself for the punch he knew would end the bout. It was a pragmatic decision he made, to take one punch, to keep himself from having to absorb any more of this kid's terrible punishment. By now, he realized he couldn't make it to the end of the fight, not standing on his feet.
He saw the punch coming, and he could have possibly moved his head out of reach. Instead, he stayed right there, taking the powerful shot, right on the button. He almost didn't feel a thing, except for the sound the punch made as it connected with his jaw, his consciousness just disappeared from the sheer force of the blow.
One second he was tired, in pain, and gasping desperately for air. In the next second, all his switches had been turned off, and he was gone.
He didn't feel his legs give way, or know it when his body dropped to the canvas, his head snapping up once, before flopping back down again with great force.
Sometime, between the instant that punch landed, and his head flopping back to the canvas, Danny "Pretty Boy" Sanders was dead.
The referee didn't even bother counting. He kneeled down, reaching in quickly, to pull out Danny's mouthpiece. Then, he signaled immediately for the Doctor to enter the ring.
The crowd had erupted with excitement and cheering when Danny went down, but now, they had quieted, seeing that Danny wasn't moving. They watched, in horrible fascination, as the Doctor was rushed into the ring, helped as he made his way through the ropes.
The physician quickly examined Danny, looking first for signs of consciousness, then, checking for any vital signs, wanting to see whether Danny still lived. Not finding any pulse, he looked inside Danny's mouth, and checked both his pupils, before turning his head, shaking it side to side at the referee.
In a few minutes, two ambulance attendants came into the ring, placing the body on a stretcher, before carrying it over to a wheeled gurney set up just outside the ropes. They placed the lifeless body carefully onto the gurney, and wheeled it out to a waiting ambulance.
Placing the body inside the ambulance, they sped off into the night, heading to the emergency room, where Danny would officially be pronounced dead.
Boxers are never pronounced dead in the places where they are killed. Instead, they wait, then let the hospital announce that they were pronounced dead on arrival. By doing it this way, they can pretend that the boxer died of his injuries, en route to the hospital.
It is better that people think that boxers are first injured and then, after a period of time, die, rather than admitting that they really are sometimes killed from the actual punch itself.
This worked out perfectly for Caleb of the KAL, an alien visitor from a far distant nebula.
He entered the ambulance as a pinprick of purest white energy, investing himself into the DNA of Danny Sanders. He wasted no time, immediately making adjustments and repairs. He never paused until he had Danny's body fully restored. In fact, it was far more than just restored. Caleb adjusted it so that it was much better than it had ever been before.
With lightning quick ability, he assimilated all of Danny's past memories and skills, retaining them for use with this new bio construct he was creating. The entire process took Caleb less than seven seconds, Earth time.
Normally, to do a complete job, Caleb would have taken an additional four or five seconds and subdued the latent consciousness that still lingered somewhere in Danny's dying brain cells. Being in a hurry though, Caleb neglected to perform this procedure. This lack would make his own future far more complex.
He opened his eyes, anxious to see his surroundings, just as the ambulance attendant happened to glance over at him. Caleb felt more than a little amusement after smelling that the attendant had voided his bladder.
It felt so good to Caleb to once again be a corporeal presence. The most difficult thing about being of the KAL is that they hardly ever send you on a mission where you got to be something other than pure radiant energy.
Caleb was determined that he'd make the most of this opportunity. By his calculations, he'd be waiting 52.73 Earth years, before his mission there could be undertaken anyway. A good opportunity for him to savor the enjoyment of having a body, and experiencing all the many sensations that this would allow.
"Hold on, buddy, we'll be there soon and the doctors will fix you right up!"
The ambulance attendant had recovered sufficiently, to allow himself to begin to function like the professional he'd been trained to be.
His buddy, driving the ambulance, was amused to hear his co-worker talking to a stiff, but then he decided to play along, turning on his sirens and lights, and stepping on the gas pedal harder. They pulled into the hospital's emergency entrance two minutes later, rushing into the emergency room with their patient.
An obviously conscious Caleb allowed himself to be subjected to much probing and examination before the doctors finally pronounced him well. He heard one doctor remark that, for a dead man, he was remarkably responsive and animated.
Several people came over to the section of the emergency room where he was being treated, wanting to see for themselves what all the fuss was about. The administrators finally grew tired of all the commotion Caleb was causing, so they transferred him to a ward, for overnight observation.
In the morning, Caleb was examined again, pronounced healthy, and released.
Someone from the Visalia Arena came to pick him up at the hospital, transporting him back to the arena, to pick up his gear, and his fight purse.
While Caleb was dressing, a reporter for the local newspaper came over and asked for an interview. When asked if he remembered the punch that had floored him for the knock out, Caleb laughed, and said no. He said he remembered waking up in the ambulance, and had been wondering how he got there.
He told the reporter the kid packed a terrific punch, and then predicted a big future for him. The reporter went away, happy with his interview, but surprised at how well Danny Sanders was taking the loss.
He thought that the previous night's loss probably had marked the end of a long career. It was a career that hadn't been all that distinguished, except for the undefeated start it had begun with.
To the reporter, Danny was just another dead ended boxer, one who was sticking around too far past his prime. Still, he was struck with how clear eyed Danny had been, and with the way his mind composed, and then the mouth clearly delivered his thoughts.
Most boxers who had managed to have ninety professional fights, would be lucky to be able to string enough words together to form any kind of a sensible sentence.
Caleb was really starting to enjoy the sensations of having physical needs again. He thought that very few of the KAL had ever experienced anything so fine as really needing to take a piss.
Biting into an olive, stuffed with pimento, was pretty good too. Caleb had stopped at a bar, right before boarding a bus, to make the return trip to Los Angeles. He ordered a martini, and then marvelled at the effect it had on his newly restored bio system.
It was really going to be all good, Caleb thought, as he started to chart out the fifty plus years of his future stay here on Earth.
Caleb had pretty much resurrected all of Danny's old memories, experiences, and thoughts, and had rearranged them in a more orderly manner, hoping to catalog them for study, sometime in the future.
He found himself somewhat amused by the seeming disparity between Danny's actual physical abilities, before, considering what his ambitions had been. After a small time given over to making minute adjustments, Danny's body had now become the vehicle he'd thought he had possessed before. With these changes, the body was now more than capable of taking him to the very top of the boxing world. Caleb wasn't going to do that, of course, but he was amused that he now could.
Caleb was looking forward to making good use of the time he'd be spending. The bus ride back to Los Angeles was relatively long, and not entirely uneventful, as Caleb used the time en route, to absorb some of the memories and knowledge of his fellow passengers. He wasn't impressed by their collective life experiences.
"Who the fuck are you?" Caleb felt his brain being attacked from within. To say that having Danny speak to him thusly was a shock, wouldn't be adequate. Immediately, Caleb regretted his earlier oversight in not dealing with the remnants of Danny's consciousness. Somehow, Danny had reintegrated sufficiently to have made for himself a presence in Caleb's new consciousness.
"I am Caleb, of the KAL. My thanks to you for hosting me, human. It was my intent to resurrect a lifeless bio form. It seems I was not successful in doing so. If I leave, you have insufficient remaining life force to continue to survive on your own. If I stay, we need to reach some accommodation, each with the other. What do you propose?"
"Technically, you were dead, before I invested my life force into your corpse. It appears that you still had sufficient residual awareness to rally, once your brain and other bodily functions had been repaired by me. You have made yourself a parasite to my life energy."
"This is still my brain and body though, right?"
"You are correct that you are inhabiting a tiny portion of the space you once commanded. You are incorrect if you believe that you could operate as a separate entity. When I leave, you will cease to function as a viable life force."
"What does that mean, in English?"
"You'll die, immediately, if I choose to revert to pure light energy, and abandon this host body."
"So, what happens to me if you stay?"
"You'll need to be quiet while I think about that." A minute and a half passes while Caleb thinks about all the ramifications. "I will host you while I'm here, but, you will die in any case, when I leave shortly."
"You're leaving? How soon? You aren't leaving today are you?"
"I'm leaving in less than fifty three of your Earth years. I'm sorry, but that is as long as I'm able to stay."
"Fifty three years? Shit, I'll be long dead by then anyway."
"No, you will live until I abandon this receptacle. I see your point though. Even without your fatal injuries, your normal life span would be so short that death would have been a more probable outcome for you in far fewer than fifty three of your years."
"How are we going to work this? Do I just tell you what I want us to do, or what?"
"I am commanding this body and this mind now. We will do as I choose. You will only experience that which I decide to engage us in."
"When is our next fight? Have you thought about that?"
"There will be no next fight. The KAL do not engage in barbarisms."
Caleb's right hand rose up, without him willing it to do so, and punched him in the face, and with some authority. It took him but a portion of one second to regain control over the body, but, just being subjected to having control wrested from him, even for the time it took to land that single punch, signified much to Caleb.
"Let me think about what this might mean."
Caleb surrendered himself back to a full energy setting, examining every aspect of Danny's old body, before finding the root cause of the anomaly he'd just experienced.
It had been Caleb's own re-organization of Danny's thoughts and memories that had allowed his presence to become sufficiently well enough integrated to even present a challenge to Caleb's command and control of the body's physical functioning. There could only be a single master though.
Something needed to be done to eliminate this potential conflict. A body he couldn't absolutely control was less than useless to him. Caleb knew that he'd already expended far too much pure light energy investing himself in this body. If he carried out his threat to abandon Danny's body, the energy he'd need to expend to invest himself in another bio vessel, might reduce his light energy level to below that needed to adequately perform his mission.
He needed to reason with Danny, to come to an understanding with him. The problem with that was, how do you reason with someone who willingly punches himself in the face, to register his disapproval of your responses? With someone who has made a long career out of exchanging blows with another, just to amuse a crowd of strangers?
Caleb wished with all his essence, that he was still with the KAL, instead of merely being of them. Should he jeopardize the mission to be rid of this great annoyance, or, should he humor it for the little bit of time he'd be remaining on this planet, thus assuring the success of his mission?
Being Caleb of the KAL, he made the responsible choice. He'd humor Danny Sanders, but later, when he caused the planet to slip from it's orbit, and intersect with the Feltarian Fleet, he'd make sure that Danny Sander's body was the first to feel the impact of that collision.
Having decided, Caleb felt restored to calmness.
"What the fuck is the Feltarian Fleet?"
A sharp tremor of anxiety passed through Caleb. This human wretch could hear his thoughts? If that were true, his plan to stop the Feltar invasion was already doomed.
"Listen here, Caleb, or whatever you want to call yourself. You don't have to worry none about me interfering. At least you don't, not as long as you do what I want to do. We can work together until its time for you to do whatever you're going to do to them damn Feltars. By then, it won't matter to me what you do, not as long as I've had a chance to do what I wanted to do."
Caleb of the KAL experienced a feeling he'd never had before, knowing that he was being controlled by a vastly inferior being. His only two consolations were, it wasn't going to be for very long, and that no one, other than he himself, would ever know about it.