Sam admires himself

Sam looked at himself in the mirror. Slim, pale limbs. Long, ginger hair. A loose t-shirt and matching pair of pyjama shorts. He looked just the same as he had for the last year or so, since his body had stretched out and made its way toward early adulthood. Becoming ever taller and thinner, but never bulking out into the musculature that most of his friends had developed. "If I had your bone structure, I'd be a world-famous model by now…" Was a lament expelled often by Jen.

Yet, even as he watched… his own hands began roaming over his body as if they’d never touched it before. They crept up his sides, tickling slightly and sending creepy shivers straight up Sam's spine. He could feel everything. The soft cotton caressing his fingertips and the press of those digits against the smooth skin inside. But it was not him who was choosing the directions those fingers progressed along. They brushed down across his stomach and headed straight for his shorts, grabbing what lay within just momentarily… but invasively. Then they travelled back upward to the boy's face, stroking up the side of each cheek, before leaning in closer to admire the finer details of his features. Sam even felt one of his own index fingers pop itself inside his lips for a moment, and his own teeth bite softly down on it in reply. The sharpness, pressure and warmth of his breath were all there for him to experience.

If nothing up till now had done it… Now the eighteen year old was officially freaking out. Some unknown **** had taken complete control over everything he knew as his own… and he could do nothing about it. Internally his thoughts had become just one great, horrified scream. Adrenaline seemed to be pumping through his ears, neck burning up and hairs all on end. Except none of this had any effect on the actual movements his body made. There was no indication of any distress at all in that grinning reflection. No tremble to those sloping shoulders or crossing of those knees against the still-present need to head to the bathroom.

That mirror vision of himself stepped back from itself, and reached down toward its midsection once more. With a deeply unsettling little giggle; one that had certainly never come from his own throat before; Sam's hand crept down into the waistband of his shorts. It tiptoed back and forth along the circumference of that boundary, coy and teasing. Then gently, carefully… pulled that elasticated fabric out and down. He was certain now: that whoever it was controlling him had exactly as clear a view as he did… Though he doubted they could feel any of the sparking nerves their actions were eliciting. The teen was left staring at his naked form in the mirror, pink flesh on full display. Those traitorous hands which had stripped him bare, now reaching down to present his young manhood for unkempt perusal.

Worst of all… he could already see and feel that soft pillar beginning to react. Swelling up with instinctual arousal to a touch both familiar and not. Sam was no stranger to playing with himself, of course… but this felt oh-so different. Like lying on your hand until it fell asleep and then imagining it was the grip of another. They were his fingertips for sure; but it was someone else who was guiding them to gently cup around his balls. To tenderly creep along his shaft. To delicately peel back his foreskin.

It didn’t take any great leap of logic to recognise that it all had to be something to do with his new implant… but he had never heard of anything like this happening to anyone else. It was so utterly galling to imagine some stranger in a dark room, looking out through his eyes and controlling his every move. How was any of this possible?! How could he possibly have let this happen? And, most importantly… Just when would it stop?!