A Round With The Champ (ASK)

Rex had fallen asleep infront of the TV, his hand stuffed under his boxers and around his stubby dick. He’d been watching WWE. Not that he was interested in wrestling in the least bit; he was interested in John fucking Cena, with his ripped muscles, dripping with sweat after rolling around on the mat with some guy for hours and hours. He fantasized regularly about the man bursting through his front door, wearing nothing but his wrestling belt and a sly look of determination on his face as he’d ask:

“You think you can handle a round with the champ?”

Jesus. He couldn’t look at a picture of Cena in public without popping a boner. He imagined how great that mouth would feel around his cock, how great his dick must feel shoving into Rex’s ass.

That was all he could think about as he drifted off into dreamland. But Rex didn’t dream about John Cena. He dreamed that he’d been visited by a witch, a beautiful woman draped in grey cloth. She reached out and grabbed Rex’s hand, and starring deep into his soul, asked him what his heart most desired.

Rex didn’t even need to answer. The next thing he knew, he was falling backwards, a feeling of sickness settling in his gut. Was this some sort of trick? What had he done? Had the witch betrayed him??

Rex awoke with a start. Panting hard, he was overcome with relief. It was all a dream. But the relief turned to confusion. Rex hadn’t gone back up to his bedroom. This wasn’t even his bedroom. Where was he? And why was he… naked?

The room was spacious and bright, morning sun flowing in from a grand window. He could see the cream white sheets were stained around his crotch from where he had came the night before. He tore the sheet off and his jaw dropped.

That was not Rex’s dick. What lay before him, lopsided and resting lazily on his thigh, was a full 9 inch cock. And it wasn’t even erect.

That’s when Rex started to notice the rest of his body. His thighs were ginormous, his feet big and animal. As his dick started to wake up and expand, it swung onto his belly, which was practically bulging out with muscle. He felt it with his hands, rough and warm, he felt his pecs, which were unbelievably swole.

“Where did those come from?” Rex asked in a voice that was clearly not his own. It was deep, slightly dumb. Very hot.

He jumped up and ran into the bathroom, dick swinging like an extra limb. In the mirror, Rex was face to face with John Cena, his square jaw open in disbelief, his blond hair tousled and skin wet with the sweat of a reckless night’s sleep. His naked body looked better than the thousands Rex had conjured up in his mind. And the best part? Rex wasn’t even looking at John Cena; he was looking at himself.

There was a buzz from the bedroom, and after a good minute of admiring his chiseled wrestling physique and flexing his bulbous biceps in the bathroom window, Rex sauntered over to the iPhone sitting on the bedside table.

On it were a dozen voicemails from a number he recognized as his own. The witch must have swapped our bodies, Rex thought. He was about to swipe the message to call back, but he stopped. Rex had been granted his greatest wish. To live in the body of the hottest man who walked the earth. Was he really about to just give that up?

Just then, the door to the room swung open. “Oh shit, sorry.” It was a young man, about Rex’s age. He was a big lanky, but toned, and light brown hair peppered his baby face. “Sorry Mr. Cena, I didn’t realize you were—“

“It’s totally fine,” Rex said, slipping into his best Cena impersonation. “What are you doing in here?”

The young man looked confused. “Um… I’m Ted, your assistant sir. You don’t remember hiring me?”

The body of a god AND a cute assistant? There was no way in hell Rex was going to give this up. He dropped the phone on the bed and walked over slowly to Tad, becoming Cena more and more with each step.

“Well,” he said dropping his voice a bit, “there’s actually something I might need assisting with.”

Tad looked down almost instinctively to his dick, now erect at it’s full 10 ½ inches. “And… what would that be sir.”

“I think you know,” by now, John Cena was just inches away from Ted’s face. His warm breath caressing the young man’s face, the warmth of his body covering his shivering being like a blanket. “So,” Cena said gripping the Ted’s arm, “you think you can handle a round with the champ?”