THE BRAIN EXCHANGE c. 2023 by Saintorr

RSD0089 on Manhunt.com was sending me lots of emails about getting together. He had one of those headless torso pictures. It was quite muscular which I found attractive. But headless. And you never know what kind of face you’re going to get with those. One day he finally sent me a picture of his face. He was Asian with lots of acne, a blotchy red complexion and a slight overbite. He looked to be in his late 30's. He called himself Norman. I re-christened him homely but hot "Normal Norman."

You see, I’m in inventor. I call myself a doctor, though I don’t put any stock in certifications and degrees. They’re all just pieces of paper, letters behind a name, and so much blithering dogma. I am a student of the universe, entirely self-taught and free from the constraints of conventional society and its drudging institutions. While most peons march mindlessly through the muck of ordinary living and boring days on their way to the grave, my mind soars at the speed of light!

I invited Normal Norman over to my loft on the Upper Westside of Manhattan. I own an entire floor, with a private elevator of course. It doubles as my laboratory. After he arrived, I drugged him with a sleeping powder I’d purchased at my favorite Santeria Shop on Eldridge St., then, I stripped him buck naked and strapped him tightly onto the padded and heated steel table in my lab, I like my subjects to be comfortable. His body was very well-toned and even more muscular than I had noticed in that headless picture. I began to play with his cock and instantly it became fully erect with a fine, cut, mushroom head. What joy! I had the urge, so I sucked him. Semi-conscious, he began to writhe and moan within the straps. I kept working it, and after about five frenzied minutes of intense cock-sucking, the hot cum exploded in my mouth. I swallowed it all, then I sat back and took three deep breaths.

The steel table upon which he lay made up an integral part of my latest and most glorious invention called “the brain exchange.” Besides being padded and comfortably heated, as I mentioned before, my table can accommodates two. Eight sets of straps of adjustable lengths (to secure any body type) built to gently constrain, secure, and induce my experimental subjects to remain calm and motionless. I have a fetish for passive, constrained bodies, bodies I'm free to have my way with. Heavenly.

Next to Normal Norman lay my other subject. A six-year-old named Musette whom I’d kidnapped (a-hem, acquired) from the Short Hills shopping mall in New Jersey two nights before. Musette was a golden-haired princess, a carbon copy of the hapless Jon Benet Ramsey. After plucking her from that horribly overpriced mall, stealing her back to my lab, stripping and strapping her tiny nude perfect body on top of my padded steel table, I must admit, I--I couldn’t help myself. I began kissing her all over and, and even smooching her tiny, hairless little twat. Out of fear I suppose--she peed right in my face--a jet of hot urine burning straight into my eyes. She was screaming and crying for her mommy and daddy. Her carrying on was unbearable, until I applied Esmeralda. Esmeralda is my magic wand, my cattle prod, my stop-talking-back teaching tool. A few delicate taps, with a tiny ZIP ZIP here and a ZIP ZIP there, followed by the soft, subtle aroma of singeing, girl-child flesh, and touche, tough love is born, along with sweet, golden silence.

After some conditioning, Musette began to change her attitude toward me. During our lessons, I applied Esmeralda if she misbehaved or acted ungrateful in any way. If she showed me affection, smiled, and expressed a nuance of vulnerable intimacy, I applied a single, small drop of medical grade pure golden heroin to her lips. This heavenly candy, I had acquired from my dealer Fernando at a very hefty fee. Musette was a smart child who responded very well to discipline, and even better to addiction. How fondly I recall the words I used to transform her tiny heart from a thing of fear, to a thing of unconditional desire for her new Daddy and doctor--me. And to think I also induced in her, a childlike but almost souless craving for that Heavenly Candy, which only I could supply.

Over and over again, I instructed in a soothing voice; “Your have a new name now, your new name is Musette. I am your Daddy, and your doctor. You will enjoy my kisses on your mouth and when I kiss you where your pee pee comes out, it will make you happy. It will make you smile—like ice cream and cookies make you smile. Otherwise angry Esmeralda will come again and sting you like a big bad spider!"

I could see her wheels turning, and after more applications of my handy tool (forgive my indelicate double entendre) over the course of 48 hours, my darling little captive love slave came around. By the time I had to leave our little Love Lab Lair, to meet, greet, procure and constrain Normal Norman, Musette was begging me to kiss her fully on the mouth and lips; crying for me to stimulate her small but hungry pussy by fingering or nibbling on it gently. But alas, it was never enough. Even after hours of stimulation, Musette opened her mouth for more. Then I applied that single drop of heavenly candy. She was voracious, whether for the sexual stimulation or for the candy, I'm not sure. At one point during my instruction, my golden-maned little love goddess did in fact cum. I’m quite sure, in fact, I both saw, and tasted it with my own eyes. The milky wisps of her girl-child jism gurgling out of her hot hairless hummingbird hole like petite waves of vanilla cream spurting out again and again. I licked away every drop while she sighed and giggled and shivered. She was making outstanding progress, yet there was one thing I had to fix. I abhor the female personality and it had to be extracted from that tiny body. This is where Normal Norman came in.

After all the preparations were complete, I stared down at both subjects. First at naked Normal Norman, moaning softly with his exquisite body and blotchy pizza face, then at lovely little Musette looking every bit the love-starved little cupid that my insidious and psychotic lessons had trained her for. She turned her head toward me, slit her eyes, and panted, like a hungry little nympho. As she wriggled her wrists and legs in the constraints, I noticed there was something almost feral in her contenance. She was pursing, then smacking her lips, then chomping and gnashing her tiny pearl-like teeth. For a moment, they looked pointed. There was no sound, except for the clicking and grinding of the teeth. As I kept staring at her, she became more like a little, hungry ghost or a demon, than a mere girl-child and I found myself getting hard. I had to fight the urge to clamp down on her neck with my bare hands, until her tiny hyoid bone went POP. Then I would fuck her, lifting her by the neck, and lowering her onto my steel cock like a skewer. Stabbing into her tiny hole, I would push her down deeper and deeper onto me, until the hole began to rip, bouncing her on the sharp tip of my seething cock like a lifeless used tampon. I would fuck her up and down, again and again. I myself, became the devil and my cock as a serrated pitchfork-shaped eel, with only one all-consuming urge, to drill and cut and slice, until the friction and the stimulation made me explode with hot endless spurts of cum. Could there be a trace of her child hymen remaining after all this rubbing, power pumping and penetration? I would find out. I would suck her hole then, like a straw-toothed dragon, draining and biting into her like a gnashing, famished; meat-eating monster feeds on some smaller, insignificant prey. I gasped and opened my eyes. The fantasy passed.

Now, both my lovelies were strapped onto the steel table as I told you, each secured by their own set of straps. They were the picture of docility. Norman, so still with the sleeping powder still in effect, and Musette, lulled into a trance by a few drops of her beloved Heavenly Candy which I had applied eariler to her angelic, demonic, cherry pink lips.

I had also strapped onto both their heads another element of my Brain Exchange, the brain caps, which resembled a combination of both a yamaka (a bit of a homage I suppose to my living so long in my beloved New York—or “Jew York” as I sometimes playfully referred to it), and a skull cap. However these parts of my machine were made of copper, thus facilitating the conduction of the electric current carrying the transference in, around, and through my subject’s heads and culminating in the exchange of the essences of their brains’ wealth of knowledge and memories, indeed their very personalities, or their very Souls with each other. This was my creation and I loved it as only a father could.

I pulled the switch. At once both my subjects’ bodies became rigid and contracted up off the tables, their chests arched into frozen angles, as if in electrical shock. They were rigid for a few moments, then the machine stopped, and both bodies fell back into their former, neutral, relaxed positions. Their breathing resumed its normal rhythm. Their faces looked calm, peaceful even, as if they were dreaming.

I roused the body of Musette—which now contained the personality, heart and soul of Normal Norman. I gave her water, caressed her and spoke in assuring whispers for her to not be afraid. "All is well my darling, I must run a little errand but will be right back," I said to her.

As for Norman, I dressed him in a loud red polka-dot pinafore and saddle-shoes, then led him into my van with his hands tied in front of him. He was as docile as a lamb. I fastened his seat belt and drove us out to the far reaches of the Brooklyn Queens Expressway. I drove past polluted marshlands and cheap, ugly housing projects. I turned off the main highway. We were somewhere outside Great Neck, Long Island. I stopped and set Norman free, unlocking his seat belt and pushing him out the van door. He fell down but got back up. I felt sorry for him, looking so lost and sad and out of place with his new body. He began to cry.

“Don’t worry Musette—I’ve called your parents and your Mummy will be by shortly to pick you up” I said. “What's happened to me??" he pleaded, crying louder, "Don’t leave me-don't leave me!" I took off quickly. I didn't look back, for there’s nothing worse than hearing the pleading of a six-year-old-girl coming out of the mouth of a grown man with a bad complexion wearing an ugly dress. I drove back to my lovely prize, knowing that now inside the body of this little girl, was the brain of full grown man.

In honor of the victory of the happy ending to my experiment, I felt very gay and reckless. Musette, now with Normal Norman’s brain safely ensconced in her lovely little velveteen body, and I moved to South America. I let the news leak out via the global terrorist black market of what my invention was, its unlimited applications as a weapon, and its availability to the highest bidder. Covert negotiations commenced with several reliable sources whose funds numbered in the billions. Shortly my invention was sold to the highest bidder.

The first month of settling in Brazil, I received a down payment of $2 billion dollars from an Israeli Defense contractor desperate for my Brain Exchanger. The second month in our new location, I made Musette undergo plastic surgery to alter her appearance. This was necessary to cover any traces of our old life and to avoid any suspicion, given our age difference. Finally, I adopted her.

For years in a mansion by the sea in one of the wealthiest suburbs of Rio we enjoyed the sun, fine dining, attentive servants, and the carnal pleasures of each other’s bodies. When bored, we often indulged in the cheap, gorgeous black-haired, Brazilian whores who sold distraction, comfort, and sensual release. Sometimes men and sometimes women.

This went on for two decades, until dear Musette met with a tragic accident. While hand-feeding the twenty-four piranahas we kept in our floor-to-ceiling aquarium, she fell in. In a matter of moments, the fish had ravaged her, biting off her legs, breasts, and part of her vagina. During her slow and painful convalescence, the injuries proved to be too much. The big finish came when she overdosed on a lethal cocktail of the Chinese herbal formula called Relaxed Wonderer Plus, Absolute Mango Vodka, and an ounce of Heavenly Candy (to which she had developed an addiction, through the years, with my help). I had her mangled body stuffed and donated it to the Museu Nacional. To this very day, you may see her. She's on the third floor, in the diorama entitled "Aztec Virgin Sacrifice to the Sun God." She looks marvelous, with strategically placed native Indian feathres, silks, and beads, concealing any traces of piranha bites and traumatic scars.

I have returned to the east coast of America, and obtained an estate on the outskirts of Secaucus. I have rebuilt, deep within the bowels of my mansion, a clone of my first Brain Exchange. This model though, is much faster, gentler and more fuel efficient. Green as they say nowadays. I’m on Scruff now, nightly, rummaging for a suitable male subject, and tomorrow you may see me shopping at the Short Hills mall for a new child bride. End