Welcome to
Read and write stories with our community and AI
You can start a new story of your own, branch out from an existing chapter, or play through an AI generated text adventure! Subscribe to Premium for full access to all stories and much higher AI usage!
Search results for
"body swap"
Search results for "body swap"
New AI Chat
0 / 100,000 characters
Loading...
Top Stories
Matt stumbles upon a ring that lets him possess people.
Heavily inspired by the writing.com story The Possession Spell, but nerfed so the one with the power isn't in absolute control of everything.
My name's Matt. That day was meant to be just another day.. but it turned very weird, and very interesting.
It would have been about 5pm when I walked into my apartment. It was convenient, since it was close enough to college, yet wasn't super expensive or loud. Plus I could walk to all the fun parties.
Anyway, I walked in to see my girlfriend, Mira, sitting on the couch. I always thought she was cute in an exotic way - she was short, petite, with black hair and dark brown eyes. She was half Japanese, which is why I think I found her so attractive. Today, she was looking at me in a very unusual way. Not like her at all.
"Hey... Matt" she said hesitantly. Oh shit, I thought. Was she breaking up with me?
"Hi?" I said carefully.
"So I have something to tell you..." Shit. It's really happening. I think she saw the look on my face, and quickly added "Oh no don't worry, nothing is wrong. We're still good. It's just... this is so weird."
Relieved, I approached her and noticed she was wearing a ring. She never wore jewelry like that. "So, nice ring..." I said.
"Yeah that's what I wanted to talk to you about. Actually..." she started, getting up and walking over to me. I walked closer and took her hand. She flinched as I began to examine the ring, still on her finger. As I went to pull it off... "No!"
The ring was half off, and I felt a force - not unlike a blast of wind - hit me. "Fine!" I slipped the ring back on... and blacked out.
---
I awoke in bed a short while later. Mira was sitting on the edge of the bed, playing with what appeared to be the ring she had been wearing.
"Ugh, what happened?" I asked, feeling a trace of a headache.
"Oh, you're up. I have to tell you something..." Mira said. "It's this ring. It's... magic or something."
"Huh?" I asked.
"Yeah. When you walked in... that wasn't actually me. Well it was... but not quite." I was confused, so I just let her continue. "This ring lets someone take over someone else's body..."
"Sure it does." I joked.
"I'm serious!" Mira insisted. "I walked into your apartment maybe 10 minutes before you were meant to be home. Then I blacked out. When I came to... I was you."
"So is that why I blacked out?" I asked.
"Probably. I gotta say it was a shock for sure. That and Alan was on the couch and looked pretty scared. He explained everything though.
"Alan was... wait was that him inside you?" The pieces were coming together.
"Yeah. But he didn't do anything. He said he had only just found the ring today, and was gonna show you. But I walked in first and..."
"He took over your body."
"Yup" she said.
"So... how did it feel?" I asked. "Being me?"
"Well I honestly was just freaked, so I took the ring off as soon as I got to your bed. That kicked me right out." A grin formed on Mira's face. "Let me tell you, though."
She slipped the ring on, and disappeared from sight. Then, predictably, I blacked out.
---
That time, when I woke up, it was morning. I also felt... like I had just jerked off.
"Good morning!" Mira said as she walked out of the bathroom. She seemed in a very good mood.
"Uhh... morning?" I said.
"So I have an answer for you." Mira said while grinning. "Being you was hot!"
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"Well I jumped into your body last night, took a nice long shower... if you know what I mean, hope you don't mind. Then I went to sleep, and went for another round in the morning." She explained, grin not letting up. "Gotta day it felt a lot different than it usually does for me..."
I was shocked. Taking advantage of this, she winked. "Well I have to go now... you're still coming over tonight, aren't you?" Then she waved and skipped out of my room.
"Huh..." I said, still processing what had just happened. I didn't mind so much since it was Mira, and - I mean - we'd done plenty together already.
I was taken out of my thoughts by a knock on the door. "Yeah?" I called out, and saw Alan meekly walk in.
"Hey man..." he started.
"This about the ring?" I asked, hiding some irritation.
"Yeah... look, I'm sorry I took over Mira. But it was an accident... and it was only for a couple of minutes." He really did look sorry.
"Well all's well I guess.. but she left with the ring.
"She what?" Alan cried out.
"Yeah. I'm going to her place later, but she had plans for the rest of the day."
Alan continued to complain, but eventually gave up. The whole day was spent in anticipation. I'd never really wondered about how it feels for girls, but I couldn't help but be a little curious now that the opportunity might be there.
---
Later that evening, I pulled up to Mira's place and rang the doorbell. It opened and I was greeted by her busty roommate Alison, blonde hair wet, wearing nothing but a pink bathrobe.
"Hi sexy..." she purred, moving in such a way that only made it obvious that she was naked under her robe - not that it was hidden before.
"Uh.. hi Ali." I stammered. "Sorry... I'm here to see Mira."
"Mira isn't here..." she purred, exposing one long leg through the robe, "but I'll happily take care of you instead..."
I felt my face flush red, and attempted to navigate around Alison and get to Mira's room. She grabbed my hand with hers, and I noticed a sparkle on her hand. The ring.
"Should have guessed it was you, Mira" I said.
Alison's demeanor shifted instantly, and she started laughing. "You should have seen your face... you were so adorably awkward!"
"You expected otherwise?"
"Well no... I've just been inside Ali all day today, just lounging around. Thought I'd have some fun with you first." Mira-in-Alison explained.
"So was that it?" I asked. Mira laughed and not-so-subtly let the robe slip off her borrowed figure and down to the floor. I stared at Alison's exposed chest for a second before I was dragged into her bedroom.
Alison's body was very different from Mira's - she was tall, blonde, curvy, while Mira was short and petite. Needless to say, when Mira was in control of Alison's body, sex was fucking awesome. I won't go into detail, but knowing that my Mira was inside her sexy (ok. I admit it) roommate just made it even better. After we were done, I lay on top of her and just fondled her tits.
"Babe that felt so good in her body..." Mira purred. "And these big boobs feel so nice when you squeeze them like that..."
"It's just hard to believe it's you in there, babe" I replied. "But I sure as hell aren't complaining!" Mira laughed and grinned at me.
"Well now that we've done that I can't leave her right now... want to go for another round?" She winked at me. I felt my dick grow hard at the thought. "Or I could just give you a blowjob..." Mira offered.
Let's just leave it at the fact that the evening was a lot of fun.
---
The next morning, Mira shooed me out of Alison's bed. A couple of minutes after I jumped on Mira's bed, she appeared next to me. As herself this time.
"Whoa, don't scare me like that!" I muttered. She smiled one of her trademark cheeky smiles. "That was fun last night."
"Sure was! Blondes really do have more fun!" She grinned. "Speaking of..." she winked at me, and placed the ring into my hand. I looked at her. "Well, go on! Put it on and go jump into Alison!"
Hardly believing my ears, I slipped on the ring. It was a rush, to be sure. I suddenly felt weightless. Looking down at myself I understood why. I was floating, and completely transparent! I looked around and experimented with my movement. It was surprisingly easy. I leaned in the direction of Alison's room, and floated off.
When I got there (through the walls!) I saw her lying in her bed, dressed in a nightie that she definitely hadn't been wearing at night, and was scrolling on her phone. Well, this was it. I swooped down and lowered my ghostly form over her body. I felt a jarring sensation as a shock went through my whole body. The next thing I knew, I was under a warm blanket, holding a phone.
Of course, I immediately dropped the phone. There was something off about the way I was lying down. Flat on my stomach, back slightly arched. I laid my head on the pillow, and felt something large and soft on my chest. I looked down and saw Alison's voluminous chest inside a soft pink nightie. It was odd seeing her tits from this angle now.
I quickly jumped out of bed, hair flying everywhere and feeling a very big jiggle on my chest. I ran to her closet - there was a mirror there, of course - and admired my reflection.
Looking back at me in the mirror was Mira's roommate Alison. Blonde hair cascading down past her shoulders. A pale pink nightie over her impressively large boobs, which left her midriff exposed. Below that, hot pink panties, and nothing else. The best part? Right now, that was me. I let out a giggle - distinctly feminine, I noted - and sauntered up closer to the mirror. Man, I felt sexy inside Alison's skin. Naturally, my hands went to explore my new body. Although I'd gotten pretty familiar with it last night, this was very different. This time it was me, and I was feeling all the foreign sensations from my feminine body as my own. And damn, was it hot!
I let out a slight moan as my new hands caressed my new body. I had to say, it definitely felt a lot better feeling up Alison from inside than from when I was myself. As I reached into Alison's - ahem, my panties - there was a knock at the door, followed by Mira walking in. She saw what I was doing, blushed a little, then recovered.
"I see you're having fun there, babe" she smirked.
"I uh... ah..." I stuttered, and Mira laughed.
"Oh relax! It's not like I didn't do the same in your body. This time I just get to watch it happen to someone else!" she winked at me. "Want some help, Alison?"
I gulped and nodded. Mira came over and ran a hand along my exposed stomach. "You know I'm not normally into chicks, but knowing it's my boyfriend inside there is making me so hot for you right now..." she purred and leaned in for a kiss. Her hand slipped into those same pink panties I had been trying to explore earlier...
All I had to say was wow. Either it was just that the female body felt so good, or just my own arousal, or Mira... whatever it was, that was the hottest sex I'd ever had. Not to mention all the new feelings I got to experience from inside Alison's body.
---
A few hours later, after the high of my orgasms inside Alison had worn off, I exited her body and re-formed back on Mira's bed, with her grinning. "That was fucking amazing!" I said, also grinning.
"Oh I could tell you liked it, babe. I heard..." Mira taunted. "I bet Alan misses this thing..."
"I sure would if I were him!" I said. "But I'm not sure I want to give it up!"
"Tell you what..." Mira said. Then she told me about a plan she had. I put on the ring again, and disappeared.
---
To be continued...
Heavily inspired by the writing.com story The Possession Spell, but nerfed so the one with the power isn't in absolute control of everything.
My name's Matt. That day was meant to be just another day.. but it turned very weird, and very interesting.
It would have been about 5pm when I walked into my apartment. It was convenient, since it was close enough to college, yet wasn't super expensive or loud. Plus I could walk to all the fun parties.
Anyway, I walked in to see my girlfriend, Mira, sitting on the couch. I always thought she was cute in an exotic way - she was short, petite, with black hair and dark brown eyes. She was half Japanese, which is why I think I found her so attractive. Today, she was looking at me in a very unusual way. Not like her at all.
"Hey... Matt" she said hesitantly. Oh shit, I thought. Was she breaking up with me?
"Hi?" I said carefully.
"So I have something to tell you..." Shit. It's really happening. I think she saw the look on my face, and quickly added "Oh no don't worry, nothing is wrong. We're still good. It's just... this is so weird."
Relieved, I approached her and noticed she was wearing a ring. She never wore jewelry like that. "So, nice ring..." I said.
"Yeah that's what I wanted to talk to you about. Actually..." she started, getting up and walking over to me. I walked closer and took her hand. She flinched as I began to examine the ring, still on her finger. As I went to pull it off... "No!"
The ring was half off, and I felt a force - not unlike a blast of wind - hit me. "Fine!" I slipped the ring back on... and blacked out.
---
I awoke in bed a short while later. Mira was sitting on the edge of the bed, playing with what appeared to be the ring she had been wearing.
"Ugh, what happened?" I asked, feeling a trace of a headache.
"Oh, you're up. I have to tell you something..." Mira said. "It's this ring. It's... magic or something."
"Huh?" I asked.
"Yeah. When you walked in... that wasn't actually me. Well it was... but not quite." I was confused, so I just let her continue. "This ring lets someone take over someone else's body..."
"Sure it does." I joked.
"I'm serious!" Mira insisted. "I walked into your apartment maybe 10 minutes before you were meant to be home. Then I blacked out. When I came to... I was you."
"So is that why I blacked out?" I asked.
"Probably. I gotta say it was a shock for sure. That and Alan was on the couch and looked pretty scared. He explained everything though.
"Alan was... wait was that him inside you?" The pieces were coming together.
"Yeah. But he didn't do anything. He said he had only just found the ring today, and was gonna show you. But I walked in first and..."
"He took over your body."
"Yup" she said.
"So... how did it feel?" I asked. "Being me?"
"Well I honestly was just freaked, so I took the ring off as soon as I got to your bed. That kicked me right out." A grin formed on Mira's face. "Let me tell you, though."
She slipped the ring on, and disappeared from sight. Then, predictably, I blacked out.
---
That time, when I woke up, it was morning. I also felt... like I had just jerked off.
"Good morning!" Mira said as she walked out of the bathroom. She seemed in a very good mood.
"Uhh... morning?" I said.
"So I have an answer for you." Mira said while grinning. "Being you was hot!"
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"Well I jumped into your body last night, took a nice long shower... if you know what I mean, hope you don't mind. Then I went to sleep, and went for another round in the morning." She explained, grin not letting up. "Gotta day it felt a lot different than it usually does for me..."
I was shocked. Taking advantage of this, she winked. "Well I have to go now... you're still coming over tonight, aren't you?" Then she waved and skipped out of my room.
"Huh..." I said, still processing what had just happened. I didn't mind so much since it was Mira, and - I mean - we'd done plenty together already.
I was taken out of my thoughts by a knock on the door. "Yeah?" I called out, and saw Alan meekly walk in.
"Hey man..." he started.
"This about the ring?" I asked, hiding some irritation.
"Yeah... look, I'm sorry I took over Mira. But it was an accident... and it was only for a couple of minutes." He really did look sorry.
"Well all's well I guess.. but she left with the ring.
"She what?" Alan cried out.
"Yeah. I'm going to her place later, but she had plans for the rest of the day."
Alan continued to complain, but eventually gave up. The whole day was spent in anticipation. I'd never really wondered about how it feels for girls, but I couldn't help but be a little curious now that the opportunity might be there.
---
Later that evening, I pulled up to Mira's place and rang the doorbell. It opened and I was greeted by her busty roommate Alison, blonde hair wet, wearing nothing but a pink bathrobe.
"Hi sexy..." she purred, moving in such a way that only made it obvious that she was naked under her robe - not that it was hidden before.
"Uh.. hi Ali." I stammered. "Sorry... I'm here to see Mira."
"Mira isn't here..." she purred, exposing one long leg through the robe, "but I'll happily take care of you instead..."
I felt my face flush red, and attempted to navigate around Alison and get to Mira's room. She grabbed my hand with hers, and I noticed a sparkle on her hand. The ring.
"Should have guessed it was you, Mira" I said.
Alison's demeanor shifted instantly, and she started laughing. "You should have seen your face... you were so adorably awkward!"
"You expected otherwise?"
"Well no... I've just been inside Ali all day today, just lounging around. Thought I'd have some fun with you first." Mira-in-Alison explained.
"So was that it?" I asked. Mira laughed and not-so-subtly let the robe slip off her borrowed figure and down to the floor. I stared at Alison's exposed chest for a second before I was dragged into her bedroom.
Alison's body was very different from Mira's - she was tall, blonde, curvy, while Mira was short and petite. Needless to say, when Mira was in control of Alison's body, sex was fucking awesome. I won't go into detail, but knowing that my Mira was inside her sexy (ok. I admit it) roommate just made it even better. After we were done, I lay on top of her and just fondled her tits.
"Babe that felt so good in her body..." Mira purred. "And these big boobs feel so nice when you squeeze them like that..."
"It's just hard to believe it's you in there, babe" I replied. "But I sure as hell aren't complaining!" Mira laughed and grinned at me.
"Well now that we've done that I can't leave her right now... want to go for another round?" She winked at me. I felt my dick grow hard at the thought. "Or I could just give you a blowjob..." Mira offered.
Let's just leave it at the fact that the evening was a lot of fun.
---
The next morning, Mira shooed me out of Alison's bed. A couple of minutes after I jumped on Mira's bed, she appeared next to me. As herself this time.
"Whoa, don't scare me like that!" I muttered. She smiled one of her trademark cheeky smiles. "That was fun last night."
"Sure was! Blondes really do have more fun!" She grinned. "Speaking of..." she winked at me, and placed the ring into my hand. I looked at her. "Well, go on! Put it on and go jump into Alison!"
Hardly believing my ears, I slipped on the ring. It was a rush, to be sure. I suddenly felt weightless. Looking down at myself I understood why. I was floating, and completely transparent! I looked around and experimented with my movement. It was surprisingly easy. I leaned in the direction of Alison's room, and floated off.
When I got there (through the walls!) I saw her lying in her bed, dressed in a nightie that she definitely hadn't been wearing at night, and was scrolling on her phone. Well, this was it. I swooped down and lowered my ghostly form over her body. I felt a jarring sensation as a shock went through my whole body. The next thing I knew, I was under a warm blanket, holding a phone.
Of course, I immediately dropped the phone. There was something off about the way I was lying down. Flat on my stomach, back slightly arched. I laid my head on the pillow, and felt something large and soft on my chest. I looked down and saw Alison's voluminous chest inside a soft pink nightie. It was odd seeing her tits from this angle now.
I quickly jumped out of bed, hair flying everywhere and feeling a very big jiggle on my chest. I ran to her closet - there was a mirror there, of course - and admired my reflection.
Looking back at me in the mirror was Mira's roommate Alison. Blonde hair cascading down past her shoulders. A pale pink nightie over her impressively large boobs, which left her midriff exposed. Below that, hot pink panties, and nothing else. The best part? Right now, that was me. I let out a giggle - distinctly feminine, I noted - and sauntered up closer to the mirror. Man, I felt sexy inside Alison's skin. Naturally, my hands went to explore my new body. Although I'd gotten pretty familiar with it last night, this was very different. This time it was me, and I was feeling all the foreign sensations from my feminine body as my own. And damn, was it hot!
I let out a slight moan as my new hands caressed my new body. I had to say, it definitely felt a lot better feeling up Alison from inside than from when I was myself. As I reached into Alison's - ahem, my panties - there was a knock at the door, followed by Mira walking in. She saw what I was doing, blushed a little, then recovered.
"I see you're having fun there, babe" she smirked.
"I uh... ah..." I stuttered, and Mira laughed.
"Oh relax! It's not like I didn't do the same in your body. This time I just get to watch it happen to someone else!" she winked at me. "Want some help, Alison?"
I gulped and nodded. Mira came over and ran a hand along my exposed stomach. "You know I'm not normally into chicks, but knowing it's my boyfriend inside there is making me so hot for you right now..." she purred and leaned in for a kiss. Her hand slipped into those same pink panties I had been trying to explore earlier...
All I had to say was wow. Either it was just that the female body felt so good, or just my own arousal, or Mira... whatever it was, that was the hottest sex I'd ever had. Not to mention all the new feelings I got to experience from inside Alison's body.
---
A few hours later, after the high of my orgasms inside Alison had worn off, I exited her body and re-formed back on Mira's bed, with her grinning. "That was fucking amazing!" I said, also grinning.
"Oh I could tell you liked it, babe. I heard..." Mira taunted. "I bet Alan misses this thing..."
"I sure would if I were him!" I said. "But I'm not sure I want to give it up!"
"Tell you what..." Mira said. Then she told me about a plan she had. I put on the ring again, and disappeared.
---
To be continued...
12
22.5K
5324
58
1
A newly married couple find their lives upended when the wife goes to work for a company where all is not as it seems.
Riley Harper was between jobs when she saw the ad. The 21 year old blonde had recently quit as a waitress at a local restaurant. She usually got great tips that she knew was more thanks to her curves than her service, but despised being hit on all the time, especially now that she was newly married. But it wasn’t okay for her to be without a job. Yesterday her husband Ben came home early from his factory. Apparently he’d been furloughed for at least 3 weeks. They didn’t have any sort of savings that would keep them in the black longer than a couple of weeks, so Riley stepped up.
She got on her phone and began job hunting, but quickly grew frustrated by how similar they were to every job she’d had before. Cashier, hostess, server, retail sales specialist. She wasn’t qualified for much else, but just once she’d like to do something that didn’t involve wearing a name tag. That’s when she came across the ad for Del Corp.
Riley clicked on it, and read about a company that was a bit of a drive away. An hour. But it paid eighty thousand dollars a year. That was four times what her last job paid! Del Corp was looking for people who could do simple data entry, and no degree was required. Then the best yet. They would let you work from home 4 of the 5 days a week! This suddenly seemed too good to be true, but what the hell. For the hope of that much money, she’d take her chances.
Riley looked for a place to begin filling out her application online, but then read that the application and interview process would only be done in person, and that candidates would be seen during a small window later this week.
So that Friday, Riley found herself an hour away with a clipboard in her lap, filling out a paper application. She’d just written her new name and still got a thrill from it a whole five weeks later. That’s how long she’d been married. Her mind drifted to Ben, standing there all handsome in his tux, looking at her like she was the prettiest thing he’d ever seen. Her blonde, shoulder length hair had been adorned with flowers. Her face hidden behind her veil. She’d always cherish the moment when he’d lifted it over her head and mouthed, ‘Wow.’ She hadn’t been able to stop smiling. The butterflies had been nonstop that magical day, and they returned quickly every time she thought about it.
She loved being Mrs. Ben Harper. Loved being married. She was at the part of the application that asked for the relationship status. Married or single. With a bit of a flourish, she brought her pen over the box that said married. She hovered over it dramatically. She was about to make an indelible x, when the applicant to her right, a pretty brunette, cleared her throat.
“Don't,” she whispered. “Check single, or you don't stand a chance.”
“Excuse me?” Riley whispered back. Companies were not legally allowed to hire people based on whether they were married or not.
The brunette scanned the room, making sure no other ears were tracking their hushed whispers, then said softly, “My roommate already works here. She told me discreetly that they only hire people who aren’t married. Do what you want, but if you really want the job, don’t let on that you’re married.”
“Thanks…” Riley said hesitantly. Why would a data entry job care at all about whether or not she was married? She looked around the room and saw a total of 11 candidates including herself. She didn’t know how many would be offered a job. Maybe just one or two of them. She wasn’t particularly proficient at data entry, but she was a fast learner. She’d do whatever it took to secure financial stability for her and Ben.
This could change everything for them. Ben wouldn’t like that she’d have to lie about being married to him to get the job, but she wouldn’t have to tell him. It’s not like the company was going to come to her house. So she took a breath, and checked the box that said single.
The brunette whispered out the side of her mouth, “Good call. Best of luck in your interview.”
“You too,” Riley said.
A handsome man with dark hair and a thousand watt smile stepped out of the adjoining conference room. He picked up the sign in sheet with every applicant's name, and then scanned the room. “Josephine?” he asked in a clear, deep voice.
The brunette stood, smoothed her pantsuit and said, “That’s me.”
The man beamed at her. “Right this way,” and gestured for her to join him in the conference room.
Before she went, Josephine extended a hand to Riley. “If we end up working together, you can call me Josie.”
Riley giggled and took it. “I sure hope we do, Josie. I’m Riley.”
Josie winked and gave Riley’s hand an encouraging squeeze. “I know, I saw it on your application.” With that Josie headed into the interview.
Ten minutes later, she came out with a confident smile on her face and gave Riley a big thumbs up. “Piece of cake.”
“Did they offer you the job?” Riley asked with wide eyes.
Josie nodded. “On the spot. I’m to report back here on Monday.”
Riley felt her stomach lurch as she thought about how this might affect her odds, but smiled gamely. “Congrats. I hope my interview goes as well as yours.”
“Just be yourself.” Josie leaned down and whispered in Riley’s ear. “And be single.”
Riley laughed softly. “Got it.”
As Josie left the waiting room, Riley found herself wishing Josie could have stayed for moral support until it was her turn. She wished Ben could have come for the same reason, but that might have cost her her shot if her husband had tagged along.
Two more applicants came and went. One was a guy who came out with slumped shoulders. The other was a striking red headed woman who walked out with head held high and a confident swagger in her hips. It was clear that only one of them had gotten the job.
Riley observed that none of the men came out looking like they’d had an offer. Rather, it was only the women. Specifically, beautiful women.
Doubts flooded Riley’s mind again as her name was finally called. She stood up and walked towards the open door, but as she did, she wondered if she was willing to work for a company that seemed biased towards looks, gender, and marital status. If she wanted that, she could just go back to her last job, or the one before that, or the one before that.
But she remembered quickly that none of those places were going to pay 80 grand a year, so she put on her game face. For that much money, she even went so far as to chide herself for not wearing something low cut to show off her impressive cleavage. Her jiggly chest certainly kept her husband’s attention. But she’d opted for a pale blue blouse that gave her the conservative look she preferred to have in public. Hopefully that wasn’t a deal breaker.
Finally it was her turn, and she stepped into the conference room for her interview. There were two people on the other side of a long table. The handsome man that called in the candidates, and a woman. The man came around the desk, and closed the door behind her, then offered his hand. “I’m Marcus,” he said kindly. He gestured towards the woman that hadn’t moved, but was perusing a file on the table. “This is Doris.”
Doris was much older than Marcus. Marcus was maybe in his mid thirties, early forties, but Doris looked like she was going on a hundred and twenty. Deep wrinkles and sagging jowls made Riley think that she’d judged Del Corp too harshly. Clearly they didn’t just care about looks if Doris worked here.
When Riley stopped looking at Doris and glanced back at Marcus, she noticed his eyes bounce up quickly to hers. He’d been looking at her chest. She kept the smile plastered on her face, but inside thought, “You’ll never see ‘em perv. They belong to my husband.”
Marcus took Riley’s application and took it to his side of the table. Riley took a seat across from them. Riley noticed Doris glanced at her application, putting a bony finger near the section that indicated her relationship status. She nodded and gave what could have been a sound of approval, or begrudging interest.
Marcus smiled, and tapped his right hand on the table, as he perused more of her application. The silver ring that he wore on that hand made a loud ting ting sound as he tapped. After his cursory glance, the interview began. There was a back and forth about Riley’s employment history. Some questions about her computer proficiency. Doris had frowned at that part, but Marcus had seemed undeterred.
Riley thought she’d answered all the questions well. Maybe everything was going her way. Then Doris finally fixed her eyes on her and she felt the color leave her face.
As Doris spoke, Riley was reminded of every mean spinster she’d ever seen in movies. “Miss Harper,” Doris began, putting an emphasis on the ‘Miss,’ “We are looking for someone who is motivated team player. You might be called on to perform a task for the company at all hours. Would that be a problem?”
Thinking about her first paycheck, Riley didn’t hesitate. “No, ma’am.”
Doris’s eyes became narrow slits. “Is there anything, or anyone, in your life that might slow you down or get in the way. Anyone you might be…beholden too?”
Had Riley not had the earlier conversation with Josie, she might not have immediately seen this as a way to ask about her relationship status without directly asking about it. It clearly was a big deal. But given that it truly was none of their business, she again answered, “Nope. It’s just me right now. Nothing tying me down. Completely single and live by my lonesome.” She stopped after that, worried she might have laid it on a little too thick.
Marcus smile grew very wide at that answer, and he shared a look with Doris, who also gave a smile, although a very tight lipped one.
“Well, we think you’ll be a perfect fit, Riley. We’d like you to start Monday.”
Riley’s jaw dropped. “So I got the job!” she squealed, wanting to leap up and bounce around the room.
“You got the job!” Marcus repeated, standing up and buttoning his suit. He came around the table and for a second Riley thought he was going to hug her, but then he put out his hand and said, “Welcome to the Del Corp family.”
She took it and enthusiastically said to him and Doris, “Thank you. Thank you! I won’t let you down.”
She then strode out confidently from the conference room. It would be a long drive home, but that was no problem now. She had a high paying job! She couldn’t wait to tell her husband.
Before they called the next candidate, Marcus said, “I’m going to enjoy that one. She’s just my type.”
Doris nodded smugly. “Me too. There’s definitely a demand for busty blondes from the clients. And there’s a real sweetness about her too. She’ll be in high demand for sure.”
An hour later, Ben was thrilled when his wife told him the news, but the money Riley was being offered almost seemed too good to be true though. “So…you’re gonna be doing what exactly?”
“It’s data entry basically for a bunch of rich clients I guess. It can’t be too hard though, cause they didn’t seem too worried about my work history.”
Ben gave his wife a wry smile and asked, “Was it a man who interviewed you?”
Riley crossed her arms over her ample chest. “Just what are you implying?”
“Only that you’re super hot, even with that blouse buttoned all the way to the top.”
Riley’s eyebrows shot up in mock annoyance. “I’ll have you know that it was a man AND a woman.”
“So they both had the hots for you?”
Riley took a playful swat at her husband, who backed out of reach at the last second. A second later, her fingers began unbuttoning her blouse from the top down. “If this outfit bothers you so much, I’ll just have to take it off.”
As a silky black bra came into view, Ben’s mouth began to water. It had been almost 10 hours since they’d had sex. Far too long for the newlywed couple. “Yeah. Yeah you should definitely take it off.”
“Are you saying that I only got the job because of my body?”
“I would never say such a thing,” Ben said, keen to not jeopardize his chances of getting some.
“Would YOU give me the job because of my body?” Riley asked as she reached behind to unfasten the bra.
“I would give you the job and a raise and immediately make you CEO for a glimpse of your boobs alone.”
She giggled, and he saw the bra tighten as she pulled at the clasp, then the release. He saw the tops of her boobs wobble as gravity tried to let them escape. But Riley held the bra in place with one hand, while the other slowly pulled down the straps. She loved how Ben looked at her. It was okay for him to look. She so wanted him to. He was still so captivated by her body, even after having seen it so many times. The anticipation of getting to see her boobs never failed to get him excited. And that’s what she wanted right then. To get him very excited, and to take her. She couldn’t think of a better way to celebrate.
“Wow,” Riley teased as she held the bra in place. “So I just have to show you my boobs, and you’ll give me the whole damn company?”
“I’d give you the whole world.”
“Good answer.” The bra fell. Boobs bounced out.
Riley tackled her man, and more clothes were quickly discarded so they could make love on their living room floor.
Ben was not a morning person, but that following Monday, he rose early to make his wife breakfast in bed. Pancakes, bacon, eggs, and juice. It was a sweet gesture, but cooking had never been his forte. He burned everything but the juice, and even that was a little close.
He still happily brought it to her on a tray, but when he entered their bedroom, found that his wife was already up and half dressed in bra and panties. “Babe,” he whined. “You’re supposed to still be in bed!”
Riley turned and saw the barely edible breakfast her man had prepared. Her smile was radiant as she sauntered towards him. “You are the sweetest husband I could ever asked for,” she gushed. “How did I ever get so lucky?”
She threw her arms around his neck, causing the contents of the tray to rattle precariously as Ben did his best to save it. He lost the juice. Its contents hit the carpet of their bedroom, but still he tried to salvage the moment. “Seriously Riley, get in bed!”
Riley gave a cute pout that she used when she wanted to get her way. It always worked on her husband. “But I don’t have time.”
Ben faltered at her cute face, but said, “Nuh uh, there’s still plenty of time for you to eat and get ready.”
She kissed his lips and said, “Not if I do this.” And she stepped back, and sank to her knees. As she did, she pulled down Ben’s boxers.
As soon as Ben saw what his wife intended to do, his dick raced to catch up, getting hard so fast it hit the underside of the tray he was still holding. “No, this is your big day!” he protested. “I’m the one who’s trying to do something for you!”
Riley giggled as she took the tray from him and placed it on the floor. “I know,” she said sweetly. “And its that fact that makes me want to suck you off Mr. Harper. So shh.” She took him into her mouth. She wasn’t the best at cocksucking, but loved the sounds Ben made as she slid her tongue up and down his shaft. His little whimpers of pleasure were so cute and sexy. She loved being able to please him. She loved him so very much.
She swallowed down what he gave her, and left him to eat the breakfast. She brushed her teeth, finished dressing, and grabbed a power bar in the kitchen. She was almost out the door when Ben called out, “Wait!”
“I gotta go Ben, it’s an hour away,” Riley said in mock exasperation. But still, she waited for her husband to walk quickly towards her so he could embrace her, picking her up off her feet and kissing her.
He didn’t care that his dick had been in her mouth minutes ago. He was so proud of her. Loved her so much. Would do anything for her. “Thank you for being so awesome. I know you’re gonna go kick some ass today.”
“Just have the house clean and dinner on the table when I come back, babe,” Riley said in as low a voice as she could muster.
‘Yeah, I can do breakfast again,” Ben offered seriously.
Riley made a small grimace and said, “Uh, ha ha, just kidding. I’ll pick up something for us on the way home. You’ve done enough cooking.”
Ben hung his head. “It’s the thought that counts right.”
“Oh, you mean the thought that got you a blowjob? Yeah, I’d say that worked out for ya.”
They laughed and hugged again, and then Riley was out the door.
An hour later, Riley showed up for her new hire orientation, along with three other candidates she’d seen in the waiting room.
Looks like no one else had made the cut, she thought.
Josie was there of course. She owed her a debt for giving her that advice. There was also the stunning red head, and a taller, slender blonde with smaller boobs than her own.
She noticed that as far as beauty standards went, these women were probably the top four or five most attractive from yesterday. Maybe these were the ones who had simply checked single. She needed to make sure not to bring up her marriage to any of them. Not yet at least. After a few months when she’d proved what a good worker she could be, she’d let them know.
As she thought about that, she wondered if she’d be able to keep quiet about her husband around her coworkers for so long! Working remotely one day a week would make that easier at least. She just loved Ben so much and wanted everyone to know how lucky she was. Even complete strangers!
The women all milled about in the waiting room. Riley assumed they’d have orientation in the same adjoining conference room. She was about to start asking for names, when Doris showed up through the set of double doors that led into the building. She studied them each in turn, saying nothing as her eyes scrutinized them, as if looking for flaws. There was no big welcome, not even a smile. But after staring at them, she motioned with a curled finger to follow her. She put a silver ring she wore on her right finger, and touched the sensor on the double doors. She led them out of the waiting room, and deep into the heart of Del Corp.
They walked down a long hallway, turned right, found a set of stairs that led down and followed them. Another long hallway. Another turn. Another set of stairs. On and on, Riley noticed that every door they’d passed so far since the entrance had been closed. They never passed an open office, or break room, or a conference room. Riley suddenly felt stifled, and was again thankful that she’d only have to be here once a week.
They did pass several men, all with big smiles on their faces and wandering eyes that didn’t disguise where they were looking. Riley was taken aback by this. She didn’t want to raise a fuss her first day, but she had a mind to get the names of everyone and report them to HR. Surely a successful company like this had a top notch human resources.
It wasn’t all men though. They also passed several women, mostly older, or obese, or with a disfigurement of some kind. They also looked at each of the new women shrewdly and appraisingly. Riley wondered if this was some kind of weird corporate hazing. If it was, she didn’t like it.
On the third flight down, they approached a room on their right that was making a loud hum, and Josie asked curiously, “What’s in there?”
“Main servers,” Doris replied with unveiled irritation. “You’ll never need to go in there. It’s always locked, and only a few people have access.”
Access. Riley noticed that every door had a sensor for keyless entry. This was a very secure facility. She was suddenly shocked that the company had not done a background check on her. What kind of company that seemed to value privacy and security would hire someone without doing a thorough background check.
‘It really is like, oh, you’re hot and single? Welcome to the team,’ Riley mused as her irritation for this place steadily rose. She tried to remember why she was here. She allowed a mantra to run through her mind over and over again. ‘The money. Remember the money. Remember you’ll be working from home. Remember that you’re doing all this for Ben, the love of your life, and the future that we have together.’
After going down two more floors and countless hallways, they reached a large rectangular room that was very nice and welcoming. It was completely the opposite of everything Riley had seen so far. There were fake plants scattered throughout, fancy art on the wall, and several of the most comfy looking couches Riley had ever seen forming an open square in the middle of the room. In the middle of that square was a low square coffee table, and Riley saw four laptops in a row.
“Have a seat there,” Doris said, pointing at the couch directly in front of those laptops.
Riley went and plopped down, being sure the yellow dress she’d picked out for her first day didn’t fly up too high. She assumed the dress was fine for this job. She didn’t have any business professional clothes as she’d only had jobs where you had a uniform before this one. She’d wear whatever they deemed appropriate though, within reason. She would not be wearing anything that showed more of her cleavage than she was comfortable with. Her momma had raised her right. She’d still gotten Ben, hadn’t she? Yes. Better to conceal the goods and make ‘em chase you to get what’s inside.
“Here are your bracelets,” Doris said, interrupting Riley’s thoughts again. The old woman spoke in a dry, monotone, as if this were the last thing she wanted to be doing in the world. “After today you’ll need these bracelets to get in the building. They also monitor your health, because we care about our employees. If you suspect one is ever malfunctioning, report it immediately. Whatever you do, do not take it off unless you have the permission of a supervisor. Removal of it for any other reason will result in immediate termination.”
“But what if it doesn’t go with my outfit,” the redhead quipped.
Doris smiled, but not pleasantly. It was like the smile of a bully who enjoyed watching his victim squirm. “Oh, I think that you’ll find very soon that it will go with everything.”
The redhead frowned and sighed sarcastically. “Not likely, but if that’s the job, I’ll do it for as long as I’m here.”
By the sound of that, Riley thought that she might not last the week. Clearly she didn’t need the money as bad as Riley did.
Riley accepted her bracelet. It looked like a combination of jewelry and technology. The top half was flat and smooth, and Riley realized that it was capable of displaying messages as the phrase, “Welcome to Del Corp Riley,” was scrolling on hers. It was a bit heavy and bulky though underneath. Riley snapped it easily in place, but as she spun her wrist, she didn’t see an easy way to unfasten it. It felt very tight. Was she really going to have to wear this thing all the time?
‘The money, the money, the money…’
With the bracelets securely fastened, the four women listened as Doris began to speak to them, sounding almost bored now. “In a moment you’ll be meeting our CEO Avery Smith and three of the board members, but first, I’ll reintroduce you to your team lead, Marcus Orion.”
On cue, Marcus entered through a door opposite the one they’d come in, his arms stretched wide, his grin even wider. “Welcome new hires! I am so glad to see you today. Who’s ready to get started?”
Doris, her job apparently done, passed him on her way out of the room. She seemed very relieved to not have to be there anymore.
Marcus was the opposite of Doris, and seemed genuinely excited to have them here. “Ladies, I can’t tell you how pleased I am to have this opportunity with you all. I’m going to be your primary handler. Doris will be my second. If for any reason you cannot reach me, you will report to her with any problems. Before you leave, both of our numbers will be in your phones.”
Riley raised her hand, as she had questions about the word, ‘handler.’
Marcus ignored her hand and pressed on enthusiastically. “Please turn on the laptop directly in front of each of you. These are state of the art computers that have been designed and manufactured entirely in house. I promise you they are better than anything on the market, and they’ll be what you’re using to work remotely. So fire them up, and then members of our senior leadership will be joining us.”
Riley hesitated, but lowered her hand and pressed the laptop’s power button. It didn’t look all that impressive. It just looked like a standard 16 inch laptop. It was fast though. The screen came to life almost instantaneously with the message, “Welcome to Del Corp. Please sync your bracelet.”
Josie was already looking at Marcus and asking, “How do we sync our bracelets?”
“Fantastic question Josie,” Marcus said grinning ear to ear. Just press the clasp on the bottom end to the pad on the lower right side of your keyboard. No, no, wait!” Marcus said, and his tone shifted quickly to silky smooth, to loud and abrasive.
Josie froze, and looked up at Marcus with an eyebrow raised. She was not accustomed to people snapping at her like that. Josie also needed the money, but still, she’d rather walk away than be disrespected.
Marcus’s wide smile was back in a flash. “Sorry, sorry,” he said as he clasped his palms together apologetically and shook them twice at Josie. “Please forgive me. It’s just important that we’re in sync, when we sync.” He laughed at his own lame joke, and paused for them to follow suit. When they didn’t, he said, “Bear with me. This is my first time being a Team Lead.” He put his hand on his heart. “I will get it right next time, you have my word.”
“Can we just get on with this,” said the other blonde.
Riley thought everyone seemed annoyed now. And why wouldn’t they be? Doris had acted like leading them here had been a big inconvenience. They’d gotten ogled repeatedly on the long walk to this room. They had to wear this bracelet which was transmitting who knew what kind of biometric data to the company. And now Marcus had just yelled at them.
“Okay, here we go,” Marcus said, undeterred by their lack of enthusiasm. He began to wave his hands like a conductor of a symphony. “I’ll count it down from 3, and then everyone press your bracelet to the spot on the laptop. 3. 2. 1. Sync!”
All four women placed their bracelet on their laptop, and all four felt a sharp jab as the tiny needle under the clasp pierced their skin and injected a milligram of nanites into their bloodstream.
A chorus of surprised objections arose.
“Ow! What was-”
“Something just stuck me!”
“What the hell?!”
Every woman but Riley had complained loudly except her. She’d only made a shrill whimper. She hated shots, and whatever that was had been right under her wrist, probably hitting the vein there.
“Sorry about that,” Marcus said as he pulled out a smartphone. He began to tap at the screen. “Just give it a minute to spread through your body and then you won’t care anymore.”
“Excuse me?” Josie snapped.
‘That’s it,” the redhead said standing briskly to her feet. “I’ve had enough. Get this damn thing off of me.” She began to fumble with the clasp with shaky fingers.
“Leadership told me there’s always one,” Marcus muttered. His voice became higher and insistent. “Everyone who leaves their bracelet on for just another 50 seconds will receive a thousand dollars, even if you quit immediately after.”
“I’m gonna get a lot more than that in the lawsuit I file against this company,” the red head hissed as she looked for a watch to unclasp it. But the more she inspected it, the more her fingers didn’t seem to want to cooperate.
Marcus was pleased to see her struggle, but still looked at her warily. Then his phone pinged. “Oh wow, one of you is already online. Good. Let’s see who…ah,” he said, winking at Josie. “The one who is always just ahead of everyone else. Makes sense.”
“Online?” the redhead exclaimed. “I don’t think so!” She forced her fingers underneath the clasp, trying to create enough pressure to unfasten it. Suddenly the arm she was using to apply the pressure tensed up as if she’d just received an electric jolt. “Ah! What was that!”
“It’s just the nanites keeping you from taking off the bracelet. That’s the last line of defense. But we won’t have to worry about that for much longer because…” Marcus’s phone pinged. “There we go, you’re online now too.”
It was Josie’s turn to stand, and she offered her left hand, the hand with that accursed bracelet, to help Riley up off the couch. Riley was reaching for it as Josie said briskly, “I didn’t sign up for this. Neither did she. We’re leaving.”
A third ping. Riley’s hand was in Josie’s. She was looking up into her face when Marcus said calmly, “Blank slate.”
“Blank slate confirmed,” said three female voices, perfectly in sync and without emotion.
Riley felt Josie’s hand go limp in hers, and watched in horror as the brunette’s eyes rolled into the back of her head so that only the whites were shown.
“I don’t understand,” Riley said, hearing the panic in her voice as she leaned forward and looked at the other two women. They all had the same blank expression.
“Me neither,” Marcus drawled. “Sometimes it takes a little longer for the nanites to circulate in some people. You must be pretty stubborn Riley. But everyone succumbs to the nanites eventually. No one’s ever failed to come online in under 90 seconds.”
His eyes raked over her body now with obvious sexual interest. Riley sprang to her feet and tugged at Josie’s limp arm. “Josie! Josie answer me right now! We need to leave! We need to-”
Ping.
Riley’s heart pounded in her chest at the sound of that fourth ping. Whatever was happening to these women, was about to happen to her.
“There we go,” Marcus said with an eerie smile. “Don’t worry. When this is all over, you’re gonna think you had a fantastic first day.”
“Please don’t-” Riley began, but saw Marcus mouth the words blank slate. She was vaguely aware of her own lips moving as she said in a monotone voice, “Blank slate confirmed.” And then all she knew was ignorant bliss as her eyes rolled up into her head.
“Time to meet our corporate overlords,” Marcus said happily. He hit a button on his phone that said Upload. He selected each woman, then pressed enter.
Each bracelet came to life with a soft chime. Each woman said in a robotic voice, “Uploading. Uploading. Uploading. Upload complete.”
Riley’s blue eyes came back down, and she looked at Marcus with a wry smile. “You need to do a better job at putting them at ease, Marcus.”
Josie’s brown eyes were on Marcus as well, her voice had an edge to it. “Maybe we were too hasty in promoting him to team lead, Avery I really thought he was going to lose control there for a moment.”
The redhead was not looking at Marcus, but was running her hands up her sides and over her chest. “Now now, gentlemen. It was his first time. He’s still got the drive and charisma we’re looking for, and is doing great and recruiting clients. Let’s let him off with a warning.”
The unnamed blonde didn’t seem to be interested in Marcus at all as her hands had begun to squeeze her tight buttocks. “What an amazing specimen. Surprised I didn’t have to fight you all for the chance to have her first.”
Riley’s voice became authoritative as she addressed the blonde. “Don’t get to carried away, Jenkins. This is just about meeting them, ensuring there’s no problem with the upload process, then sending them off for their physicals.”
The blonde’s face soured as she looked at Riley. She did not stop massaging her rear. “I helped write the protocols, Avery. There’s no harm in a little groping before we log out.”
Riley gave a perverted giggle. “Yes, I know. It’s tradition. We just musn’t go too overboard in case we have to release any of them back into the wild.”
Having said this, Marcus watched enviably as the four women groped and fondled their bodies over their clothes. A few minutes ticked by, but Marcus would have gladly watched his superiors explore the new hires for as long as he was allowed.
Riley had pulled her blouse aways from her chest and was taking a long look down it. Her face made it clear that she liked what she saw. She released the fabric, letting it snap back with a little less elasticity. “Okay, that’s enough gentlemen,” she announced with finality. “I think we’ve excited poor Marcus enough.”
It was true. He had not wanted to get an erection in front of his bosses, but seeing them inhabiting the bodies of these beautiful women, making them touch themselves provocatively, he was at full mast. He positioned his hands over his front, and tried to keep from gawking.
“It’s only fair,” Josie chuckled at him. “We’re all going to have erections when we are back in our bodies. Speaking of, you already sent a girl to each of our houses, correct Marcus?”
Marcus gave a curt nod. “Yes sir. Their bracelets were activated before this meeting, and they should all be at your house by the time you log out.”
“Excellent,” Riley said, and she stepped closer to Marcus. She took one of the hands covering his erection and placed it on her breast. “Don’t worry Marcus. You managed to get them to sync their bracelets without resorting to force, which might have damaged the merchandise. So we’ll still let you do their field tests. They are the first members of your team after all.” Riley helped the man squeeze her boob softly, looking up into his eyes with a mischievous smirk. “I bet you can’t wait.”
“N-no, s-sir,” Marcus stammered.
“I do think that’s the first time I’ve seen you flustered Marcus,” the redhead said with a laugh.
Riley released Marcus’s hand and stepped back. “You know what’s next. Keep them in blank slate mode and send them to their physicals. The doctor will check for STD’s and any other illnesses or maladies that would be a disruption to our company. We only provide the best for our clients. After that, the standing brainwashing program before we sent them off with their take home bag to…” Riley trailed off, then gave a sharp laugh. “Marcus, I don’t mind if you stare, but try to keep your mouth shut when you do. You look ridiculous.”
Marcus had been trying to look the CEO, Avery Smith, in the blue eyes of this gorgeous creature. But his eyes kept wandering to other areas. He was already thinking about tomorrow’s field tests. How he’d be in Riley’s home. How he could touch her as much as he wanted. His imagination was already running wild, but Avery’s subtle chastisement had snapped him out of it.
“Yes, of…of course Avery, er, Mr. Smith.”
The corner of Riley’s mouth went up, and she raised her hand and cupped her right boob as she looked at the other women. “I think our boy’s got it bad for this one.” The women nodded back at Riley, each of them smirking as well. Back at Marcus, Riley said, “We all have our favorites, but don’t monopolize her too much. But…you are her handler, so take a few days to get her out of your system after the field tests are over.”
“If she passes that is,” Josie said quickly.
“Naturally,” Riley retorted, looking annoyed. “Marcus has been warned. Should he find any red flags, she’ll go back to her normal life. Isn’t that right Marcus.”
“Of course, sir,” Marcus replied.
“Good,” Riley said, and smiled at him. Then she blew him a kiss. “Now be a good boy and send us back.”
“Right away sir,” Marcus said. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever be able to get used to meeting his bosses this way. He quickly selected all four women on his cell phone, and disconnected them. HIs shoulders slumped a little. He knew the men were in their respective homes and could still see him on the cameras mounted all around the room. But they were probably focused on the women now at their door that would attend to those pesky erections rather than him.
Marcus, on the other hand, would have to wait until later to have his relief. What he wouldn’t give to have his way with any of the women on the couch right now. Especially Riley. But he had his orders.
With blank slate mode still active by default, he said, “Grab your laptops and follow me so we can get your physicals underway.”
“Yes sir,” the four women responded at once. Their eyes focused on the command at hand, and like obedient worker drones, the four women retrieved their laptops from the coffee table. They formed a single line behind their boss. Their movements were precise, and they marched in step as Marcus led them from the room. They followed Marcus back into the series of hallways, and up a flight of stairs. Several doors that had been closed were now suddenly open, as staff at Del Corp wanted to assess the recent new hires. Programmers, team leads, technicians, cooks, paper pushers, analysis, recruiters, marketing, and more all watched the synchronized steps of the attractive women as they marched past. This time the women didn’t mind the stares, because none of them had a thought in their head other than following their team lead.
The workers of Del Corp with free will were all picking out their favorite new hire, making a note of who they’d spend time with during their breaks in the weeks ahead. The pretty blonde just behind Marcus seemed to be the most popular candidate by far.
They eventually passed through a door that Marcus unlocked by pressing the ring he wore on his right hand against a sensor. They stepped into a well lit sterile room with medical equipment and exam tables. A pudgy older man in a doctor’s coat was there to greet them. He was flanked by two very beautiful women who wore a vacant smile and nothing else.
“Did the old men have their fun?” the doctor asked Marcus politely, although his eyes did not meet him. They were focused on his four new patients who had followed obediently after him.
Marcus let out a sigh, but smiled. “If by fun you mean taking the piss out of me, then yes.”
The doctor laughed. “Sounds like them. Well, let’s get this show on the road. New hires, each of you hop up on one of the exam tables.”
The order was received with unflinching obedience as the four women walked purposefully into the sterile room, their shoes clicking on the white tiled floor. They each picked a gynecology exam table and sat there.
“I’ll be back when you’ve run your tests,” Marcus said, and left to go to his office. On the way he grabbed a woman with a bracelet who had been programmed to clean on her weekly visit to Del Corp. She didn’t protest, but allowed herself to be dragged along. She even seemed happy to have been chosen for whatever task Marcus had in mind.
When they arrived at his office, Marcus didn’t talk to her, just stripped off her clothes, bent her over his desk, and fucked her. He thought of Riley, the pretty doe eyed blonde that had been so sweet and chaste during the interview. He thought of Avery being inside her, teasing him with her body, making him grope her. He thought of what tomorrow would bring, and he came. He told the girl to clean up the mess, and then sat down in his chair. He’d needed that. He could finally think straight again..
Back in the exam room, the doctor’s nude assistants helped the doctor with silent efficiency. He’d trained them to help draw blood, check reflexes, take blood pressure, examine pupils, ears, gums, and more. They’d help him record it all. The new hires were perfectly calm during this whole process.
The cursory examination over, the doctor ordered them to remove their clothes. The four new hires all stood and undressed quickly. There was nothing sensual about their movements, just the subconscious desire to follow the order as expediently as possible.
The doctor gave orders to his assistants to pull out the stirrups attached to the tables, then had the new hires put their feet in them. They all did with no complaint. Each of them laying slightly back, their legs spread wide for the doctor. He gave each woman a pelvic exam. They did not flinch as his fingers pushed into them. Did not make a sound. They merely laid there as if this were all routine.
“Okay, that’s that,” the doctor said as he took off his gloves. “Get dressed, new hires.” As the naked women complied, he sent an assistant to fetch Marcus. Upon his return, the doctor told him, “I’ll have the lab results before you leave today. You can take them to get fitted and supplied now.”
Marcus was aware that the doctor had just seen these women naked before he had. He was not jealous though. He considered himself patient. He’d worked hard to get where he was. And tomorrow, he’d be able to upload into any of them and have complete control of their bodies. And when they returned next week, he could order them to do all manner of sexual acts on him, and they would agree readily.
When the new hires weren’t being made to serve him sexually or one of the other employees at Del Corp, they’d be ordered to do the mundane tasks. Like cleaning, or secretarial work, or anything that anyone deemed beneath them in this place. Thanks to different women being forced to come in on different days throughout the week, they always had plenty of willing slaves to do the grunt work at headquarters. But between now and next week, the new hires were strictly off limits until the field tests had been run.
As Marcus next led the women to a series of rooms that would get their measurements for clothes, outfits, and sex toys they might need while servicing a client, Ben was doing what Riley had joked about when she left. He was making the house sparkling clean. In their first five weeks of marriage, they’d fallen into stereotypical gender roles, where Ben played video games and did nothing, and Riley did everything that needed done like laundry, cleaning, and cooking. It had been a big step for Ben to make breakfast that morning. Now he tried his hand at laundry and cleaning. He was better at them than breakfast for sure. Riley would be so happy, that maybe he could talk her into doing something kinky tonight.
Being raised in a very conservative family, Riley had been a virgin when they got married. But Ben hadn’t. Far from it. He’d never admit to being a sex addict, but considered it a possibility. Before dating Riley, he’d had a few one night stands, some long term girlfriends, and had developed quite a few kinks thanks to those women. And porn. He’d watched porn every day, and was always finding something new he’d like to try in the bedroom with a girl, but Riley had put a stop to all that when they’d got married.
Riley didn’t want him watching porn or masturbating. The first time she’d told him, he’d thought she was joking. Riley’s hurt face let him know that she wasn’t. She wanted to be enough for him. Didn’t want him looking at girls online and getting ideas for positions or roleplay. Ben had hoped that over time his bride would change her mind about some of that, but except for the infrequent blowjobs, she would only do missionary or on top.
Because of his love for her, he’d stopped watching porn and jerking off. It hadn’t been too difficult, because Riley was usually around. As they both tended to work 2nd shift, they could fuck in the morning, and then again when they both got home. But now she had a 40 hour or more job a that took her away from him during a time where he was home by himself.
The hours seemed to drag by, and even though he’d gotten blown early that morning, he was already thinking about looking up his old friend pornography by the time noon rolled around. But he knew it would most likely affect his performance that night with his wife. So he waited, and focused on making the interior of their house shine.
It was mid afternoon when Marcus got the bad news. He’d just presented the women with a small boxed meal and told them to eat. It was a flavorless, tasteless mush, and was very cheap to manufacture. They chewed and swallowed it as they were told. Marcus watched them shovel it down while he ate a steak their onsite chef had prepared. He couldn’t stop smiling, that is, until the doctor walked in.
“I’m afraid I have some bad news,” the doctor said gravely.
Marcus put his fork down and asked, “Well, don’t keep me in suspense. What’s the problem?”
“The blonde is pregnant.”
Marcus wiped his mouth and slammed a fist on the table. “Dammit!” His eyes fell upon Riley. He did not want to lose her, but a pregnancy meant instant termination. The nanites could stop future pregnancies, but not the one she’d come in here with. “Are you sure?”
The doctor nodded, then looked at who Marcus had focused on. “Oh, sorry. Forgot you had two blondes. Not that one. The other one,” he said, pointing at the unnamed blonde who sat there quietly eating her mush.
Relief flooded Marcus. It wasn’t great that he was already down a team member, but it hadn’t been Riley. Besides, it was easy to recruit. He’d just put out another ad that promised big money while working from home.
“Kathleen,” he said sternly. The blonde now known as Kathleen stopped eating and looked at him keenly. “Pitch your food and go wait in the conference room you interviewed in last week. Turn on the monitor in there, and watch the exit interview until I come to fire you.”
“Yes sir,” Kathleen said, and without hesitation she stood, dropped her food in a trash bin, and made her way to the conference room.
After she exited, the doctor reported the rest of his findings. “All the rest are very healthy. Two of them have been sexually active however,” he said, pointing at Riley and the redhead. “Their swabs had traces of sperm under the microscope. Could be a one night stand, or something more serious. Easiest way is just to ask and-”
Fearing that he might hear something he didn’t want to, Marcus cut him off. “Thanks doctor, I’ll take it from here.”
“But the board will want to-” the doctor began with a raised eyebrow.
Anger rose in Marcus, but he tapered it down and replied calmly, “Don’t worry about the board I will handle it. If I find any problems during the field tests, I’ll take the necessary steps to deal with them.”
The doctor let out a knowing sigh. “Ah, I get it. You really want to field test them. Fair enough.”
“So you’ll leave that out of the report?”
“If she gets the greenlight,” the doctor said, pointing at Riley, “You let me have first dibs when she comes back in.”
‘You can have my sloppy seconds,’ Marcus thought. Out loud he said. “I think we can make that happen.”
The doctor extended a hand, and Marcus shook it. “Well then, I found no traces of sexual activity. See you next week, ladies.”
They did not stay goodbye, or give any other parting niceties. They just sat there. Their meal finished, and the empty box on their laps. They simply stared straight ahead, and awaited their next command.
Marcus ushered them to their last stop for their first day. This room had several cubicle workstations, each with a laptop that resembled the ones they would be taking home. Marcus had them each log on, and click on a program that walked them through an endless series of data entry. They copied one set of numbers from one place on the screen to another. Dragged one file here, another there. They opened spreadsheet after spreadsheet. None of it meant anything, but served one purpose. It helped cement the illusion. It gave the lie a solid foundation on which to stand.
Should these women ever question in the outside world what their job really entailed, the nanites would lead their minds back to this place. This moment. Where they dragged and clicked and typed over and over again. It’s what they would think they were doing all day instead of doing menial tasks and getting fucked. It’s what they think they would be doing in their homes, even as client after client came to see them to use their bodies. Just another boring day, entering facts and figures.
But as boring as they might remember it being, they would never want to leave. They would be so happy with their job. Because as they stared at their monitors, they each began to intermittently flashed the core tenets they would come to live by until they were released from their employ.
Over and over again during those last few hours, the following messages were repeated on a loop.
You love Del Corp.
You will be faithful to Del Corp and its employees.
You will not draw undue attention to yourself outside of work.
You never want to take off your bracelet.
When your bracelet pings, you will log onto your computer at work within 30 minutes. If unable, you will call your team lead.
Always do what your team lead tells you to do.
Always believe whatever your team lead tells you.
When you are on Del Corp property, you will be an obedient slut, doing whatever tasks required of you.
You will feel grateful to be of use to any Del Corp employee.
You will take good care of your body, because it belongs to Del Corp, its employees, and its clients.
You live to serve your team lead, Del Corp employees, and those we deem clients.
You no longer care about having a social life.
You no longer care about dating anyone.
If you are currently dating someone, you will break up with them as soon as possible in a way that does not bring undue attention to Del Corp.
You do not seek sexual intimacy outside the confines of Del Corp employees and clients.
You are focused on being the best employee you can be.
You will only ever remember doing data entry when working remotely.
You will stow your take home bag in a secure place in your home and not look in it unless directed to by a client or team lead.
You will do everything in your power to protect Del Corp and its employees.
When asked, you will always describe your job as ‘boring data entry.’
If pressed for more information about Del Corp beyond that, you will respond with, ‘We value our clients’ privacy so I can’t elaborate further.’
Should anyone seem a threat to Del Corp, you will report to your team leader as soon as possible and await further instructions.
Riley blinked. She felt like she’d been staring at this screen forever, but saw in the lower left hand corner of her monitor that there was only five minutes left of work today! The job was tedious, but not at all hard. She found she didn’t mind it though. She was going to love working for Del Corp, and was thankful to have gotten Marcus as her team lead.
Marcus walked between their cubicles and announced, “Time to punch out ladies. You’ll find your laptop and take home bag are waiting for you at the exit. You all did wonderful today. I don’t see you all back again here until next…” he checked his phone, “a week from tomorrow.”
Riley’s face fell a bit. In such a short time she’d grown to love this place and her team. She looked at the others, and saw their faces mirror hers.
“I know, I’ll miss you too,” Marcus said with a wide grin. “Say, what did you all think of that delicious steak dinner we had for lunch today?”
“Steak…dinner?” Josie asked, furrowing her brow.
This was a simple test to see if the programming had worked. It was one thing for them to be in blank slate mode. They were more like mindless functioning robots in that state. The real test came when they were back to themselves.
“Yes,” Marcus said confidently, trusting that the nanites and brainwashing they’d received would dictate their reality. “You all had a wonderful steak dinner. You thought it was amazing. You even licked your plate clean Josie, remember?”
Josie blushed. She did remember now. It had been the best steak of her life. “I guess…I was just really hungry.”
“Thank you for feeding us such a great meal!” Riley exclaimed. “Do we get to eat that good every time we come?”
Marcus stepped towards her and said with a wink, “I think you’ll always leave here with something yummy in your bellies.”
All the girls smiled at each other, already looking forward to next Tuesday’s lunch time.
“Ladies, you’ll believe whatever I tell you, correct?” Marcus asked.
“Yes sir,” the three new hires said in perfect unison.
“And you’ll do whatever I tell you, correct?”
“Yes sir!” the ladies replied cheerily.
“Good,” Marcus said, his smile curving into something sinister. “I want you each logging in at 9am sharp every day and running the data entry program. Keep familiarizing yourself with it so that we can eliminate possible errors for our clients.” Doing this would ensure the brainwashing cemented itself in their brains.
Marcus continued. “I’ll be chatting with each of you individually over the next few days. Riley, you’ll be first up tomorrow. It’ll be a video chat, so please wear something that shows off your boobs.”
Riley’s thoughts hit a wall suddenly. The training, the steak dinner, all of that had been great, but, to ask Riley to show off her boobs on a conference call was…was…
Marcus watched Riley’s face contort while the nanites made her accept the programming. Her resistance met a torrent of words that seemed to imprint on her very soul.
‘I will do what my team lead tells me to do. I live to serve my team lead. I will obey him. I will wear whatever Marcus tells me, because he is my team lead and I am his obedient slut.
Riley’s face smoothed out, and she beamed at him before saying happily, “Yes sir.”
“Good girl,” Marcus said, then looked at the other two. “And I’ll expect you both to do the same. Actually Josie, you wear nothing at all.”
The two women had already been having an internal struggle after hearing what he’d said to Riley, so they were quicker at both saying, “Yes, sir,” but not quite as in sync.
“Make sure our video chats are in a private area in your house. An office space, bedroom, bathroom, whatever. And you’re not to be disturbed during this time.”
All of this was to limit exposure to a family member, boyfriend, girlfriend, or roommate. They could all be dealt with over a short period of time, but the field test was crucial in ensuring Del Corp’s safety protocols.”
“If all goes well after those video chats, you’ll be ready to handle clients. I hope to be sending you each several by the end of the week. Now head home. You’ve all done great work today.”
Marcus led them back the way they came. The walk didn’t seem as far now. The building that had once seen drab and foreboding now felt so much like home. She wished she didn’t have to leave. She loved Del Corp.
“I’m going to be thinking about that steak all week,” Josie confessed to Riley as they stepped out into the sunlight.
“Me too!” Riley laughed.
“I can’t believe I licked the plate in front of all of you. That’s…not something I’d usually do.”
The image swam vividly in Riley’s mind. Josie’s hands picking up a white plate with the remnants of savory juice on it. Josie’s face drawing near it. Her tongue sticking out and licking it from top to bottom until it was all clean. She found her own mouth watering as she remembered the taste of it.
“If I had my plate in front of me right now, I’d do it too.”
They said goodbye as they headed to their own cars, and headed home.
Marcus went to the conference room where the pregnant blonde was. Kathleen had watched the exit interview video over and over again so the message of it would be very clear in her mind.
It had read as follows:
I am grateful for the opportunity, but this job just wasn’t for me. It was my decision to leave. I will find work elsewhere. I will surrender my bracelet, and leave immediately..
Marcus pulled her up on his phone and took her out of blank slate mode, and deactivated the nanites in her body. Without the bracelet, they would pass out of her naturally over the next 24 hours, but the brainwashing she’d received should hold.
Lastly, he put his hand on the bracelet and said, “Release.” With a smooth click, it unlatched, and hung loosely on Kathleen’s arm.
A few seconds passed, and Kathleen blinked and looked around as if waking from sleep.
“Well, I’m sorry it didn’t work out,” Marcus said, extending a hand to her.
“No, no,” she said sincerely as she accepted it. “I’m so grateful for the opportunity, but this job just isn’t for me. I’ll just have to find work elsewhere.”
Marcus nodded, then gestured towards the door. She took off her bracelet and set it on the table, then walked out. As soon as she was out of sight, Marcus shook his head. She would have been a great addition. Pity he never got to field test or fuck her. Maybe someday the company would start accepting pregnant women. Or married women for that matter. He had a client that would pay a small fortune for the chance to have regular sessions with a married woman. Apparently it was a big fetish of his. But right now the board’s mandate was clear. They only enslaved and hopped unattached women that would not raise suspicion. They wanted to be in business for a long, long time.
The whole drive home Riley kept thinking how much she loved Del Corp. How much she loved her team. Marcus, Josie, and… and there were two more, weren’t there? Another blonde like her, but…but she hadn’t seen her on the way out. But the beautiful redhead had been there. How had she not gotten her name? That was very rude of her, and quite embarrassing!
As she questioned this egregious oversight, the memory of typing numbers and clicking a mouse came into her mind very strongly. She just hadn’t had a chance was all. All she could remember was her time at the computer, and a wonderful steak dinner that the company had so generously provided. She was so lucky to have gotten the chance to work for them. She would make them proud. She belonged there. She belonged to Del Corp. All of her belonged to them. Her mind and her body.
Riley had been so enraptured by how amazing her orientation had been, that she almost forgot to pick up food on the way home. But as her stomach growled, she remembered she needed to take care of her body, so she stopped by a fast food place. Instead of her typical burger and fries, she got a salad. She paid for it and was about to pull onto the street, when she realized she’d forgotten Ben. How could she forget her wonderful husband? She drove back around, and got him a salad too.
Ben was famished by the time Riley walked through the front door, but first made a grand sweeping gesture at the house. “Ta da!” he exclaimed as she walked past him carrying a large black duffel and two fast food bag. She didn’t seem to notice how he’d swept, mopped, done the dishes, and had the place cleaner than it had been in a couple of weeks.
In fact, she didn’t say anything, didn’t even give him a kiss. She set the fast food bags on the table, and then disappeared into their guest bedroom that would now serve as Riley’s office. She stowed the bag in the highest part of the closet in there, and moved a box in front of it. Hopefully that would keep the contents secure. She wondered what was in the bag, and had the desire to check. But then very strongly in her mind came a pulsing thought.
You will not look in it unless directed to by a client or team lead.
Riley’s eyes unfocused and heard herself say aloud in a monotone voice, “I will not look in it unless directed by a client or team lead.” She looked around. What had she been thinking? Oh yes. She needed to take care of her body. She went back to the dining room and sat down at the table.
Ben was now feeling a little ruffled. “Uh, ahem, nothing? No, wow hon, the place looks great! This must have taken you all day.’”
Riley was unpacking her salad, but did stop to look around. “Oh, yeah, wow,” she said with less enthusiasm in her voice than Ben had been hoping for. “Come eat, Ben, and I’ll tell you what a great company Del Corp is.”
For the love of his wife, Ben chose to let it go and joined her at the table. His face fell though as he realized he was also eating a salad. “Hey, what was in that bag you brought in?”
“Work stuff,” Riley said quickly. She then proceeded to prattle on about how amazing Del Corp is. How great her team lead Marcus was. How all the people there were great. How her clients would great and how she might have some by the end of the week. How she couldn’t wait to log on to her new company laptop tomorrow to start working hard.
As she unpacked her day, the realized that she would have to break up with Ben. That was unfortunate, but it was a directive from the company, so she’d have to go through with it. She should do it now, but the way he was looking at her, like everything she said was so important, like she were the only woman in the world. Despite a growing desire to tell him they were through then and there, she convinced herself to do it tomorrow, or maybe even push it off till the weekend. She just wanted to stay with him a bit longer.
It was at this point, Ben got a word in edgewise. “So, what exactly will you be doing?”
“Boring data entry,” Riley said wistfully, as if it was all she wanted to do for the rest of her life.
“Uh, wow, you make it sound so exciting,” Ben quipped. “Seriously though, what kind of data entry? What kind of information will you be-”
Riley’s eye twitched, and then words burst forcefully out of her, “We value our clients’ privacy so I can’t elaborate further.” She took a bite of salad and considered the matter settled.
Ben was taken aback. “C’mon Riles, we’re not dating. We’re married. Husband and wife. Surely you can tell me of all people.”
Her husband’s words changed everything. It was true. They weren’t dating. They were married. She would not have to break up with him because they were not dating. She checked them carefully against what she knew of Del Corp’s mandates, and her mind seemed to accept this. She was so relieved.
Ben laughed at her silence. “What? Are they a dark and shady organization that is trying to enslave the general populace?”
Riley suddenly tensed. Ben was asking her to go against company policy by telling him what they did there. Why couldn’t he just accept her answer? Did he pose a threat to Del Corp? She tried to calm herself, tried to make sure not to draw any undue attention. With a sweeter but still serious disposition, she said, “Ben, honey, I’m telling you I can’t talk about it. So drop it.”
Ben looked down at his salad. This evening was not going as planned. She knew he hated salad. Why had she brought him one? She hadn’t even called and asked what he wanted. It’s like he’d been an afterthought. Surely the honeymoon stage couldn’t be over already. He tried to let it all pass. He loved her and she loved him. They’d go to bed together soon. They’d make love. “Fine,” he finally said. “I’m gonna go make a sandwich.”
Riley didn’t stop him, but was a little perturbed he didn’t seem to appreciate the salad she’d brought him because… because he… no. No!. Only she needed to take care of her body. But, as his wife, she wanted him to take care of his body too. Just, for her, it was a mandate. She NEEDED to take care of her body. If he wanted to make a sandwich that was fine. She found herself calming quickly, and got up as soon as she was done.
As Ben sat down at a vacant table, Riley went to work out on their treadmill. It had been a wedding present, and she’d only used it once. Now it seemed very important. She needed to take care of her body, and working out was a good way to do that.
A disconnect grew through the night as the couple seemed to keep going their separate ways. Ben tried to get her to cuddle on the couch and watch a movie, but she got lost in a skin care regimen that seemed to take forever.
As it got dark, Ben heard Riley say from their bedroom, “Goodnight, Ben.” And then the door shut.
Ben quickly got up from the couch to join his wife in their marital bed. He had his clothes off in a flash, and got under the covers. She was turned on her side away from him. He loved the feeling of pressing his boner against her round ass. But Instead of her warm, smooth, naked skin, he pressed up against fluffy pajamas. He tried not to sound indignant as he asked, “Why are you wearing clothes?” They hadn’t been wearing clothes to bed for the last five weeks, save some skimpy lingerie that Riley would put on sometimes.
“I was chilly,” Riley said simply.
“But, I always warm you up, don’t I?” Ben said hopefully as he wrapped an arm around her waist. His hand lifted up the bottom of her shirt, and he felt her skin. It traveled up quickly to her breast. He was already so hard. He was glad he’d waited for her. He would be inside her soon and everything would be perfect again.
As Riley felt her husband’s hands fondle her breasts, she felt a spark between her legs, and butterflies in her tummy. She wanted to roll over. To kiss him. To let his hands eagerly explore her as they so often had. To let him be in awe of her body. It was his after all.
But that…that wasn’t right. It wasn’t his body. Her body belonged to Del Corp. And she did not seek sexual intimacy from anyone but Del Corp employees and clients. Her body belonged to them now. This fact seemed to repent nonstop in her mind as she slowly brought her hand down, and pushed Ben’s away from her breasts. The brief twinge of sexual desire had faded entirely.
“What gives, Riles?” Ben asked, hurt in his voice. “Look, I’m sorry if you thought I was prying. I’ll respect that you can’t talk about your work.”
“It’s not that,” Riley said, feeling bad for turning him down. Why couldn’t he understand? She loved him, but he was not a Del Corp employee or client. But she couldn’t tell him that, because it would draw undue attention to Del Corp. So she made up another excuse. “I’m just…tired, honey. Long day, and I gotta be up early in the morning to log on to work.”
“I’ll…I’ll be super fast,” Ben said.
“No, Ben,” Riley answered quietly but firmly.
Ben’s boner was in full retreat. “Can I hold you at least?”
Riley thought about that. Holding wasn’t sexual, and Ben was her husband. “Yeah. I’d like that.”
So he did. He held her tight and whispered in her ear, “I love you. I really do. Maybe we can do it first thing in the morning.”
“Maybe,” Riley hedged. But she knew she would not let him have her. She was already planning to be up before him. To shower and shave her legs and maybe even put some makeup before she found an outfit that would accentuate her cleavage for Marcus. Her body belonged to him now, and the employees and clients of Del Corp. But she wouldn’t tell Ben any of that. It would hurt him to know that. He was her husband after all. They would be together till death do us part. So instead, she said what she knew to still be true, “I love you too.”
Ben hoped she’d change her mind, but soon heard his wife’s breathing change, and knew that she’d drifted off. He regretted not masturbating earlier then. He thought about getting up and going to the living room to rub one out, but he still had hope for tomorrow morning. So in the end, he slept.
When he woke up the next day, he rolled over to kiss his bride, but her spot was empty. He checked his phone and saw that it was almost 9am. He sat up and called out, “Riles!”
“Getting ready to log on for work honey,” she replied from the kitchen.
Ben swore and jumped out of bed. He was naked as usual first thing in the morning. He walked quickly to the kitchen and saw that his wife looked incredible. She always looked very beautiful to him, but here she was in a yellow buttoned top that he’d only seen her wear once before, plus a short black skirt that drew copious amounts of attention to her long legs. His eyes were still on the top though, because the top three buttons weren’t fastened, and her cleavage was fully on display.
“You’re…working from home today, right?” Ben asked, perplexed, but glad she wouldn’t be showing off her amazing rack to a bunch of drooling office mates.
“Yeah,” Riley replied excitedly. “Just getting my coffee and going to go into the guest bedroom. I finished converting it into an office early this morning. Nothing fancy, just a card table and your gamer chair. We can get an actual desk and my own office chair when I get my first paycheck.”
“Yeah, no prob babe,” Ben said hurriedly, even though he was a little miffed that he wouldn’t have his gamer chair today. “Can we please make time for a quickie before you-”
Riley was already fervently shaking her head. “I don’t want to be late. I’m to log on promptly at 9am.”
“Will you get a break?”
Riley thought about that. She wasn’t sure. Surely she’d be able to walk away for bathroom breaks and a lunch. “I should be able to, yes, but I’ll know more once I log on as to what that looks like. We can probably have lunch together.”
The way she smiled at him while talking made Ben’s heart melt. He felt like some of the inexplicable distance that had materialized last night was dissipating. “I’d like that, babe. Yeah. I’ll make us something nice.” He remembered their diminishing food supplies and then said, “Like ramen.”
She laughed, and it lit up the room. “My favorite.” She moved forward to kiss him, but at the last second, swerved and walked by him. She didn’t want Ben to get the wrong idea, because kissing could lead to sexual intimacy, and her body belonged to Del Corp and its employees and clients.
That act had felt cruel to Ben. He didn’t like whatever this was. Everything had seemed normal for a second, and then she acted like a stranger towards him. He followed her into her new office area. They still had two minutes before she needed to log on.
Riley was opening up her laptop and about to sit down when she realized he was behind her. “What are you doing?” she snapped. “You’re naked, and you’re in my workspace! Are you trying to get me fired!”
“Why would it matter if I’m naked?” Ben argued. “It’s not like they’re gonna see me and-”
“But they might,” Riley said frantically. “I’m having a video chat with my team lead first thing! If he sees your penis, I imagine that’d be it for me!” She waved him away with both hands.
Ben’s shoulders slumped, and he left the room.
“Close the door!” Riley called after he’d taken a few steps from the office. “I don’t want you overhearing anything confidential.”
“It’s not like I’m going to sell your company’s secrets to a foreign power or-” but he stopped, because she was glowering at him. He just nodded, and shut the door. It was going to be a long day. He walked back to the kitchen and began to make himself breakfast.
Riley was staring at the monitor, waiting for her marching orders, when she saw an alert come up that she was receiving a video chat request. She clicked on it, and saw Marcus’s face. He looked very happy to see her. She pushed her chest out so he could see in the camera that she’d done like she’d been told.
“Hey, Riley, is there anyone in the room right now with you?” Marcus asked as he studied her low cut top very closely.
“No, sir,” she said confidently.
“Good. Are you ready for your field test?”
“My what?” Riley asked curiously. She remembered a video call, but didn’t know what the term ‘field test’ meant.
“In a moment, I’m going to upload into your body and have a look around your home. I’m going to dig into as much of your personal life as possible to make sure there’s no external plans or people that might pose a threat to Del Corp. It’s all company policy.”
Marcus loved telling her all this, knowing that she’d be forced to accept it.
Riley furrowed her brow. She didn’t want Marcus to be in her home. To be…did he say in her body? But even as she tried to resist, the nanites did their job, smoothing her face, making her compliant to his will. And why should she be? She trusted Marcus completely. “Whatever you need,” she said. “Does that mean I won’t be doing data entry today?”
“You will actually. At least, that’s what you’ll remember doing. That’s what you’re going to do right now. Pull up the data entry program and begin moving the numbers around.”
Riley did as she was told. A spreadsheet with several numbers came up and began to flash for her to drag it from one place to another.
Marcus saw on his tablet that she was following his instructions to the letter. “Good. Now I want you to look at it. Remember it. All you did today was work on this data entry program.”
“All I did today was work on this data entry program,” she repeated.
“Excellent,” Marcus said. “Stay there. I’ll be joining you very soon.” He disconnected the chat, and pressed more buttons. A large pod opened in front of him. He was in the upload room. There were 64 pods in here, and more were being added every month. Several were already filled by the retired sex workers on staff, such as his number two Doris. A few were also used by the occasional client who was willing to pay through the nose to experience life in another body.
That’s what Marcus would be doing for the next several hours. He’d be scouring Riley’s life. Making sure she posed no threat. He certainly hoped she didn’t. He was delighted to have her on his team. He’d enjoy being in her body. And he’d be getting paid very well to do it.
He pressed a button on his phone, and the pod shut, and began to hum.
70 miles away in her home, Riley’s bracelet pinged. Her eyes rolled up into her head, and heard herself saying, “Uploading. Uploading. Uploading. Upload complete.”
“Finally,” she said as she looked down at herself with a hungry smile. “Look at you, all dressed up for the job. Good girl.” Her hands came up and were a hair away from her chest when she stopped and looked at the monitor. Her fingers minimized the screen so she could see herself in the laptop’s camera. “That’s better,” she said.
She brought two eager hands to her chest. Marcus was reminded how good they felt when Avery had made him grope her yesterday. Now he had unfettered access to them. He was supposed to do a perimeter check, but he’d said she lived alone. He would explore her a bit first. Let himself feel the pleasures of her body. Then and only then would he begin a deep dive into her life.
Riley’s hands began furiously unbuttoning the few buttons she’d fastened on her top. There was still one to go at the bottom but she yanked it forcefully off, sending the last button plinking off the wall. The top landed on the floor. Her hands went behind her back, and for several moments, Marcus struggled to unclasp the bra. The nanites did not give him access to her muscle memory, and he had only uploaded a couple of times before as a part of his own training. Since he’d be uploading a lot more in the future though, he'd better learn how to remove a bra from this perspective more proficiently.
At last he was rewarded with the clasp releasing, and he felt gravity pull at the weight on Riley’s chest. The bra joined the blouse on the floor and two double D’s bounced in the monitor. Riley’s body was heating up exponentially, especially between her legs. Marcus wanted to touch there as quickly as he could, so he stood up from the chair and pulled the skirt down. He saw pink cotton panties underneath. Riley took a deep breath, then pulled those down as well. Neatly trimmed blonde pubic hair covered her slit. Marcus made her watch the monitor as her right hand went straight there. The middle finger felt the soft coarseness of the hair, and then her lower lips parted and there was only silky wet bliss.
“Fuck!” Riley called out louder than Marcus meant to. “You’re such a naughty girl, aren’t you? Masturbating on company time. Well, you’re gonna be doing a lot more than that soon.”
After being kicked out of her office by his wife, Ben had gone to put on a plain white shirt and gray sweatpants. He’d eaten breakfast and eventually ended up moping in their living room. It was a small two bedroom house. The office was adjacent to the living room. When Riley yelled ‘Fuck!’ Ben heard it. It took a lot to make his wife swear, so he assumed something was very wrong. He leapt up to investigate. He didn’t care about confidentiality in that moment, and pushed the door open. His jaw dropped. Her back was to him, but he had no problem seeing his wife on the monitor.
For a split second, he thought his wife was getting off to internet porn. But it wasn’t porn. It was her. She was recording herself on the laptop with her legs spread, her finger frantically rubbing her pussy while her other hand wildly fondled her boobs.
He’d never seen her behave in such a way. Was she doing this for him? So he’d have something to wank to while she was working? To him, it was the hottest she’d ever looked, and blurted out, “You’re so fucking sexy babe. Let me watch.”
Riley’s eyes had been closed as she slipped a finger deep inside herself. But they flew open as she heard the sound of a man behind her. She whirled around in the spinning chair, a look of annoyed confusion on her face. She made no attempt to cover herself, or even pause masturbating. All she said was, “Who the hell are you?”
To be continued…
Riley Harper was between jobs when she saw the ad. The 21 year old blonde had recently quit as a waitress at a local restaurant. She usually got great tips that she knew was more thanks to her curves than her service, but despised being hit on all the time, especially now that she was newly married. But it wasn’t okay for her to be without a job. Yesterday her husband Ben came home early from his factory. Apparently he’d been furloughed for at least 3 weeks. They didn’t have any sort of savings that would keep them in the black longer than a couple of weeks, so Riley stepped up.
She got on her phone and began job hunting, but quickly grew frustrated by how similar they were to every job she’d had before. Cashier, hostess, server, retail sales specialist. She wasn’t qualified for much else, but just once she’d like to do something that didn’t involve wearing a name tag. That’s when she came across the ad for Del Corp.
Riley clicked on it, and read about a company that was a bit of a drive away. An hour. But it paid eighty thousand dollars a year. That was four times what her last job paid! Del Corp was looking for people who could do simple data entry, and no degree was required. Then the best yet. They would let you work from home 4 of the 5 days a week! This suddenly seemed too good to be true, but what the hell. For the hope of that much money, she’d take her chances.
Riley looked for a place to begin filling out her application online, but then read that the application and interview process would only be done in person, and that candidates would be seen during a small window later this week.
So that Friday, Riley found herself an hour away with a clipboard in her lap, filling out a paper application. She’d just written her new name and still got a thrill from it a whole five weeks later. That’s how long she’d been married. Her mind drifted to Ben, standing there all handsome in his tux, looking at her like she was the prettiest thing he’d ever seen. Her blonde, shoulder length hair had been adorned with flowers. Her face hidden behind her veil. She’d always cherish the moment when he’d lifted it over her head and mouthed, ‘Wow.’ She hadn’t been able to stop smiling. The butterflies had been nonstop that magical day, and they returned quickly every time she thought about it.
She loved being Mrs. Ben Harper. Loved being married. She was at the part of the application that asked for the relationship status. Married or single. With a bit of a flourish, she brought her pen over the box that said married. She hovered over it dramatically. She was about to make an indelible x, when the applicant to her right, a pretty brunette, cleared her throat.
“Don't,” she whispered. “Check single, or you don't stand a chance.”
“Excuse me?” Riley whispered back. Companies were not legally allowed to hire people based on whether they were married or not.
The brunette scanned the room, making sure no other ears were tracking their hushed whispers, then said softly, “My roommate already works here. She told me discreetly that they only hire people who aren’t married. Do what you want, but if you really want the job, don’t let on that you’re married.”
“Thanks…” Riley said hesitantly. Why would a data entry job care at all about whether or not she was married? She looked around the room and saw a total of 11 candidates including herself. She didn’t know how many would be offered a job. Maybe just one or two of them. She wasn’t particularly proficient at data entry, but she was a fast learner. She’d do whatever it took to secure financial stability for her and Ben.
This could change everything for them. Ben wouldn’t like that she’d have to lie about being married to him to get the job, but she wouldn’t have to tell him. It’s not like the company was going to come to her house. So she took a breath, and checked the box that said single.
The brunette whispered out the side of her mouth, “Good call. Best of luck in your interview.”
“You too,” Riley said.
A handsome man with dark hair and a thousand watt smile stepped out of the adjoining conference room. He picked up the sign in sheet with every applicant's name, and then scanned the room. “Josephine?” he asked in a clear, deep voice.
The brunette stood, smoothed her pantsuit and said, “That’s me.”
The man beamed at her. “Right this way,” and gestured for her to join him in the conference room.
Before she went, Josephine extended a hand to Riley. “If we end up working together, you can call me Josie.”
Riley giggled and took it. “I sure hope we do, Josie. I’m Riley.”
Josie winked and gave Riley’s hand an encouraging squeeze. “I know, I saw it on your application.” With that Josie headed into the interview.
Ten minutes later, she came out with a confident smile on her face and gave Riley a big thumbs up. “Piece of cake.”
“Did they offer you the job?” Riley asked with wide eyes.
Josie nodded. “On the spot. I’m to report back here on Monday.”
Riley felt her stomach lurch as she thought about how this might affect her odds, but smiled gamely. “Congrats. I hope my interview goes as well as yours.”
“Just be yourself.” Josie leaned down and whispered in Riley’s ear. “And be single.”
Riley laughed softly. “Got it.”
As Josie left the waiting room, Riley found herself wishing Josie could have stayed for moral support until it was her turn. She wished Ben could have come for the same reason, but that might have cost her her shot if her husband had tagged along.
Two more applicants came and went. One was a guy who came out with slumped shoulders. The other was a striking red headed woman who walked out with head held high and a confident swagger in her hips. It was clear that only one of them had gotten the job.
Riley observed that none of the men came out looking like they’d had an offer. Rather, it was only the women. Specifically, beautiful women.
Doubts flooded Riley’s mind again as her name was finally called. She stood up and walked towards the open door, but as she did, she wondered if she was willing to work for a company that seemed biased towards looks, gender, and marital status. If she wanted that, she could just go back to her last job, or the one before that, or the one before that.
But she remembered quickly that none of those places were going to pay 80 grand a year, so she put on her game face. For that much money, she even went so far as to chide herself for not wearing something low cut to show off her impressive cleavage. Her jiggly chest certainly kept her husband’s attention. But she’d opted for a pale blue blouse that gave her the conservative look she preferred to have in public. Hopefully that wasn’t a deal breaker.
Finally it was her turn, and she stepped into the conference room for her interview. There were two people on the other side of a long table. The handsome man that called in the candidates, and a woman. The man came around the desk, and closed the door behind her, then offered his hand. “I’m Marcus,” he said kindly. He gestured towards the woman that hadn’t moved, but was perusing a file on the table. “This is Doris.”
Doris was much older than Marcus. Marcus was maybe in his mid thirties, early forties, but Doris looked like she was going on a hundred and twenty. Deep wrinkles and sagging jowls made Riley think that she’d judged Del Corp too harshly. Clearly they didn’t just care about looks if Doris worked here.
When Riley stopped looking at Doris and glanced back at Marcus, she noticed his eyes bounce up quickly to hers. He’d been looking at her chest. She kept the smile plastered on her face, but inside thought, “You’ll never see ‘em perv. They belong to my husband.”
Marcus took Riley’s application and took it to his side of the table. Riley took a seat across from them. Riley noticed Doris glanced at her application, putting a bony finger near the section that indicated her relationship status. She nodded and gave what could have been a sound of approval, or begrudging interest.
Marcus smiled, and tapped his right hand on the table, as he perused more of her application. The silver ring that he wore on that hand made a loud ting ting sound as he tapped. After his cursory glance, the interview began. There was a back and forth about Riley’s employment history. Some questions about her computer proficiency. Doris had frowned at that part, but Marcus had seemed undeterred.
Riley thought she’d answered all the questions well. Maybe everything was going her way. Then Doris finally fixed her eyes on her and she felt the color leave her face.
As Doris spoke, Riley was reminded of every mean spinster she’d ever seen in movies. “Miss Harper,” Doris began, putting an emphasis on the ‘Miss,’ “We are looking for someone who is motivated team player. You might be called on to perform a task for the company at all hours. Would that be a problem?”
Thinking about her first paycheck, Riley didn’t hesitate. “No, ma’am.”
Doris’s eyes became narrow slits. “Is there anything, or anyone, in your life that might slow you down or get in the way. Anyone you might be…beholden too?”
Had Riley not had the earlier conversation with Josie, she might not have immediately seen this as a way to ask about her relationship status without directly asking about it. It clearly was a big deal. But given that it truly was none of their business, she again answered, “Nope. It’s just me right now. Nothing tying me down. Completely single and live by my lonesome.” She stopped after that, worried she might have laid it on a little too thick.
Marcus smile grew very wide at that answer, and he shared a look with Doris, who also gave a smile, although a very tight lipped one.
“Well, we think you’ll be a perfect fit, Riley. We’d like you to start Monday.”
Riley’s jaw dropped. “So I got the job!” she squealed, wanting to leap up and bounce around the room.
“You got the job!” Marcus repeated, standing up and buttoning his suit. He came around the table and for a second Riley thought he was going to hug her, but then he put out his hand and said, “Welcome to the Del Corp family.”
She took it and enthusiastically said to him and Doris, “Thank you. Thank you! I won’t let you down.”
She then strode out confidently from the conference room. It would be a long drive home, but that was no problem now. She had a high paying job! She couldn’t wait to tell her husband.
Before they called the next candidate, Marcus said, “I’m going to enjoy that one. She’s just my type.”
Doris nodded smugly. “Me too. There’s definitely a demand for busty blondes from the clients. And there’s a real sweetness about her too. She’ll be in high demand for sure.”
An hour later, Ben was thrilled when his wife told him the news, but the money Riley was being offered almost seemed too good to be true though. “So…you’re gonna be doing what exactly?”
“It’s data entry basically for a bunch of rich clients I guess. It can’t be too hard though, cause they didn’t seem too worried about my work history.”
Ben gave his wife a wry smile and asked, “Was it a man who interviewed you?”
Riley crossed her arms over her ample chest. “Just what are you implying?”
“Only that you’re super hot, even with that blouse buttoned all the way to the top.”
Riley’s eyebrows shot up in mock annoyance. “I’ll have you know that it was a man AND a woman.”
“So they both had the hots for you?”
Riley took a playful swat at her husband, who backed out of reach at the last second. A second later, her fingers began unbuttoning her blouse from the top down. “If this outfit bothers you so much, I’ll just have to take it off.”
As a silky black bra came into view, Ben’s mouth began to water. It had been almost 10 hours since they’d had sex. Far too long for the newlywed couple. “Yeah. Yeah you should definitely take it off.”
“Are you saying that I only got the job because of my body?”
“I would never say such a thing,” Ben said, keen to not jeopardize his chances of getting some.
“Would YOU give me the job because of my body?” Riley asked as she reached behind to unfasten the bra.
“I would give you the job and a raise and immediately make you CEO for a glimpse of your boobs alone.”
She giggled, and he saw the bra tighten as she pulled at the clasp, then the release. He saw the tops of her boobs wobble as gravity tried to let them escape. But Riley held the bra in place with one hand, while the other slowly pulled down the straps. She loved how Ben looked at her. It was okay for him to look. She so wanted him to. He was still so captivated by her body, even after having seen it so many times. The anticipation of getting to see her boobs never failed to get him excited. And that’s what she wanted right then. To get him very excited, and to take her. She couldn’t think of a better way to celebrate.
“Wow,” Riley teased as she held the bra in place. “So I just have to show you my boobs, and you’ll give me the whole damn company?”
“I’d give you the whole world.”
“Good answer.” The bra fell. Boobs bounced out.
Riley tackled her man, and more clothes were quickly discarded so they could make love on their living room floor.
Ben was not a morning person, but that following Monday, he rose early to make his wife breakfast in bed. Pancakes, bacon, eggs, and juice. It was a sweet gesture, but cooking had never been his forte. He burned everything but the juice, and even that was a little close.
He still happily brought it to her on a tray, but when he entered their bedroom, found that his wife was already up and half dressed in bra and panties. “Babe,” he whined. “You’re supposed to still be in bed!”
Riley turned and saw the barely edible breakfast her man had prepared. Her smile was radiant as she sauntered towards him. “You are the sweetest husband I could ever asked for,” she gushed. “How did I ever get so lucky?”
She threw her arms around his neck, causing the contents of the tray to rattle precariously as Ben did his best to save it. He lost the juice. Its contents hit the carpet of their bedroom, but still he tried to salvage the moment. “Seriously Riley, get in bed!”
Riley gave a cute pout that she used when she wanted to get her way. It always worked on her husband. “But I don’t have time.”
Ben faltered at her cute face, but said, “Nuh uh, there’s still plenty of time for you to eat and get ready.”
She kissed his lips and said, “Not if I do this.” And she stepped back, and sank to her knees. As she did, she pulled down Ben’s boxers.
As soon as Ben saw what his wife intended to do, his dick raced to catch up, getting hard so fast it hit the underside of the tray he was still holding. “No, this is your big day!” he protested. “I’m the one who’s trying to do something for you!”
Riley giggled as she took the tray from him and placed it on the floor. “I know,” she said sweetly. “And its that fact that makes me want to suck you off Mr. Harper. So shh.” She took him into her mouth. She wasn’t the best at cocksucking, but loved the sounds Ben made as she slid her tongue up and down his shaft. His little whimpers of pleasure were so cute and sexy. She loved being able to please him. She loved him so very much.
She swallowed down what he gave her, and left him to eat the breakfast. She brushed her teeth, finished dressing, and grabbed a power bar in the kitchen. She was almost out the door when Ben called out, “Wait!”
“I gotta go Ben, it’s an hour away,” Riley said in mock exasperation. But still, she waited for her husband to walk quickly towards her so he could embrace her, picking her up off her feet and kissing her.
He didn’t care that his dick had been in her mouth minutes ago. He was so proud of her. Loved her so much. Would do anything for her. “Thank you for being so awesome. I know you’re gonna go kick some ass today.”
“Just have the house clean and dinner on the table when I come back, babe,” Riley said in as low a voice as she could muster.
‘Yeah, I can do breakfast again,” Ben offered seriously.
Riley made a small grimace and said, “Uh, ha ha, just kidding. I’ll pick up something for us on the way home. You’ve done enough cooking.”
Ben hung his head. “It’s the thought that counts right.”
“Oh, you mean the thought that got you a blowjob? Yeah, I’d say that worked out for ya.”
They laughed and hugged again, and then Riley was out the door.
An hour later, Riley showed up for her new hire orientation, along with three other candidates she’d seen in the waiting room.
Looks like no one else had made the cut, she thought.
Josie was there of course. She owed her a debt for giving her that advice. There was also the stunning red head, and a taller, slender blonde with smaller boobs than her own.
She noticed that as far as beauty standards went, these women were probably the top four or five most attractive from yesterday. Maybe these were the ones who had simply checked single. She needed to make sure not to bring up her marriage to any of them. Not yet at least. After a few months when she’d proved what a good worker she could be, she’d let them know.
As she thought about that, she wondered if she’d be able to keep quiet about her husband around her coworkers for so long! Working remotely one day a week would make that easier at least. She just loved Ben so much and wanted everyone to know how lucky she was. Even complete strangers!
The women all milled about in the waiting room. Riley assumed they’d have orientation in the same adjoining conference room. She was about to start asking for names, when Doris showed up through the set of double doors that led into the building. She studied them each in turn, saying nothing as her eyes scrutinized them, as if looking for flaws. There was no big welcome, not even a smile. But after staring at them, she motioned with a curled finger to follow her. She put a silver ring she wore on her right finger, and touched the sensor on the double doors. She led them out of the waiting room, and deep into the heart of Del Corp.
They walked down a long hallway, turned right, found a set of stairs that led down and followed them. Another long hallway. Another turn. Another set of stairs. On and on, Riley noticed that every door they’d passed so far since the entrance had been closed. They never passed an open office, or break room, or a conference room. Riley suddenly felt stifled, and was again thankful that she’d only have to be here once a week.
They did pass several men, all with big smiles on their faces and wandering eyes that didn’t disguise where they were looking. Riley was taken aback by this. She didn’t want to raise a fuss her first day, but she had a mind to get the names of everyone and report them to HR. Surely a successful company like this had a top notch human resources.
It wasn’t all men though. They also passed several women, mostly older, or obese, or with a disfigurement of some kind. They also looked at each of the new women shrewdly and appraisingly. Riley wondered if this was some kind of weird corporate hazing. If it was, she didn’t like it.
On the third flight down, they approached a room on their right that was making a loud hum, and Josie asked curiously, “What’s in there?”
“Main servers,” Doris replied with unveiled irritation. “You’ll never need to go in there. It’s always locked, and only a few people have access.”
Access. Riley noticed that every door had a sensor for keyless entry. This was a very secure facility. She was suddenly shocked that the company had not done a background check on her. What kind of company that seemed to value privacy and security would hire someone without doing a thorough background check.
‘It really is like, oh, you’re hot and single? Welcome to the team,’ Riley mused as her irritation for this place steadily rose. She tried to remember why she was here. She allowed a mantra to run through her mind over and over again. ‘The money. Remember the money. Remember you’ll be working from home. Remember that you’re doing all this for Ben, the love of your life, and the future that we have together.’
After going down two more floors and countless hallways, they reached a large rectangular room that was very nice and welcoming. It was completely the opposite of everything Riley had seen so far. There were fake plants scattered throughout, fancy art on the wall, and several of the most comfy looking couches Riley had ever seen forming an open square in the middle of the room. In the middle of that square was a low square coffee table, and Riley saw four laptops in a row.
“Have a seat there,” Doris said, pointing at the couch directly in front of those laptops.
Riley went and plopped down, being sure the yellow dress she’d picked out for her first day didn’t fly up too high. She assumed the dress was fine for this job. She didn’t have any business professional clothes as she’d only had jobs where you had a uniform before this one. She’d wear whatever they deemed appropriate though, within reason. She would not be wearing anything that showed more of her cleavage than she was comfortable with. Her momma had raised her right. She’d still gotten Ben, hadn’t she? Yes. Better to conceal the goods and make ‘em chase you to get what’s inside.
“Here are your bracelets,” Doris said, interrupting Riley’s thoughts again. The old woman spoke in a dry, monotone, as if this were the last thing she wanted to be doing in the world. “After today you’ll need these bracelets to get in the building. They also monitor your health, because we care about our employees. If you suspect one is ever malfunctioning, report it immediately. Whatever you do, do not take it off unless you have the permission of a supervisor. Removal of it for any other reason will result in immediate termination.”
“But what if it doesn’t go with my outfit,” the redhead quipped.
Doris smiled, but not pleasantly. It was like the smile of a bully who enjoyed watching his victim squirm. “Oh, I think that you’ll find very soon that it will go with everything.”
The redhead frowned and sighed sarcastically. “Not likely, but if that’s the job, I’ll do it for as long as I’m here.”
By the sound of that, Riley thought that she might not last the week. Clearly she didn’t need the money as bad as Riley did.
Riley accepted her bracelet. It looked like a combination of jewelry and technology. The top half was flat and smooth, and Riley realized that it was capable of displaying messages as the phrase, “Welcome to Del Corp Riley,” was scrolling on hers. It was a bit heavy and bulky though underneath. Riley snapped it easily in place, but as she spun her wrist, she didn’t see an easy way to unfasten it. It felt very tight. Was she really going to have to wear this thing all the time?
‘The money, the money, the money…’
With the bracelets securely fastened, the four women listened as Doris began to speak to them, sounding almost bored now. “In a moment you’ll be meeting our CEO Avery Smith and three of the board members, but first, I’ll reintroduce you to your team lead, Marcus Orion.”
On cue, Marcus entered through a door opposite the one they’d come in, his arms stretched wide, his grin even wider. “Welcome new hires! I am so glad to see you today. Who’s ready to get started?”
Doris, her job apparently done, passed him on her way out of the room. She seemed very relieved to not have to be there anymore.
Marcus was the opposite of Doris, and seemed genuinely excited to have them here. “Ladies, I can’t tell you how pleased I am to have this opportunity with you all. I’m going to be your primary handler. Doris will be my second. If for any reason you cannot reach me, you will report to her with any problems. Before you leave, both of our numbers will be in your phones.”
Riley raised her hand, as she had questions about the word, ‘handler.’
Marcus ignored her hand and pressed on enthusiastically. “Please turn on the laptop directly in front of each of you. These are state of the art computers that have been designed and manufactured entirely in house. I promise you they are better than anything on the market, and they’ll be what you’re using to work remotely. So fire them up, and then members of our senior leadership will be joining us.”
Riley hesitated, but lowered her hand and pressed the laptop’s power button. It didn’t look all that impressive. It just looked like a standard 16 inch laptop. It was fast though. The screen came to life almost instantaneously with the message, “Welcome to Del Corp. Please sync your bracelet.”
Josie was already looking at Marcus and asking, “How do we sync our bracelets?”
“Fantastic question Josie,” Marcus said grinning ear to ear. Just press the clasp on the bottom end to the pad on the lower right side of your keyboard. No, no, wait!” Marcus said, and his tone shifted quickly to silky smooth, to loud and abrasive.
Josie froze, and looked up at Marcus with an eyebrow raised. She was not accustomed to people snapping at her like that. Josie also needed the money, but still, she’d rather walk away than be disrespected.
Marcus’s wide smile was back in a flash. “Sorry, sorry,” he said as he clasped his palms together apologetically and shook them twice at Josie. “Please forgive me. It’s just important that we’re in sync, when we sync.” He laughed at his own lame joke, and paused for them to follow suit. When they didn’t, he said, “Bear with me. This is my first time being a Team Lead.” He put his hand on his heart. “I will get it right next time, you have my word.”
“Can we just get on with this,” said the other blonde.
Riley thought everyone seemed annoyed now. And why wouldn’t they be? Doris had acted like leading them here had been a big inconvenience. They’d gotten ogled repeatedly on the long walk to this room. They had to wear this bracelet which was transmitting who knew what kind of biometric data to the company. And now Marcus had just yelled at them.
“Okay, here we go,” Marcus said, undeterred by their lack of enthusiasm. He began to wave his hands like a conductor of a symphony. “I’ll count it down from 3, and then everyone press your bracelet to the spot on the laptop. 3. 2. 1. Sync!”
All four women placed their bracelet on their laptop, and all four felt a sharp jab as the tiny needle under the clasp pierced their skin and injected a milligram of nanites into their bloodstream.
A chorus of surprised objections arose.
“Ow! What was-”
“Something just stuck me!”
“What the hell?!”
Every woman but Riley had complained loudly except her. She’d only made a shrill whimper. She hated shots, and whatever that was had been right under her wrist, probably hitting the vein there.
“Sorry about that,” Marcus said as he pulled out a smartphone. He began to tap at the screen. “Just give it a minute to spread through your body and then you won’t care anymore.”
“Excuse me?” Josie snapped.
‘That’s it,” the redhead said standing briskly to her feet. “I’ve had enough. Get this damn thing off of me.” She began to fumble with the clasp with shaky fingers.
“Leadership told me there’s always one,” Marcus muttered. His voice became higher and insistent. “Everyone who leaves their bracelet on for just another 50 seconds will receive a thousand dollars, even if you quit immediately after.”
“I’m gonna get a lot more than that in the lawsuit I file against this company,” the red head hissed as she looked for a watch to unclasp it. But the more she inspected it, the more her fingers didn’t seem to want to cooperate.
Marcus was pleased to see her struggle, but still looked at her warily. Then his phone pinged. “Oh wow, one of you is already online. Good. Let’s see who…ah,” he said, winking at Josie. “The one who is always just ahead of everyone else. Makes sense.”
“Online?” the redhead exclaimed. “I don’t think so!” She forced her fingers underneath the clasp, trying to create enough pressure to unfasten it. Suddenly the arm she was using to apply the pressure tensed up as if she’d just received an electric jolt. “Ah! What was that!”
“It’s just the nanites keeping you from taking off the bracelet. That’s the last line of defense. But we won’t have to worry about that for much longer because…” Marcus’s phone pinged. “There we go, you’re online now too.”
It was Josie’s turn to stand, and she offered her left hand, the hand with that accursed bracelet, to help Riley up off the couch. Riley was reaching for it as Josie said briskly, “I didn’t sign up for this. Neither did she. We’re leaving.”
A third ping. Riley’s hand was in Josie’s. She was looking up into her face when Marcus said calmly, “Blank slate.”
“Blank slate confirmed,” said three female voices, perfectly in sync and without emotion.
Riley felt Josie’s hand go limp in hers, and watched in horror as the brunette’s eyes rolled into the back of her head so that only the whites were shown.
“I don’t understand,” Riley said, hearing the panic in her voice as she leaned forward and looked at the other two women. They all had the same blank expression.
“Me neither,” Marcus drawled. “Sometimes it takes a little longer for the nanites to circulate in some people. You must be pretty stubborn Riley. But everyone succumbs to the nanites eventually. No one’s ever failed to come online in under 90 seconds.”
His eyes raked over her body now with obvious sexual interest. Riley sprang to her feet and tugged at Josie’s limp arm. “Josie! Josie answer me right now! We need to leave! We need to-”
Ping.
Riley’s heart pounded in her chest at the sound of that fourth ping. Whatever was happening to these women, was about to happen to her.
“There we go,” Marcus said with an eerie smile. “Don’t worry. When this is all over, you’re gonna think you had a fantastic first day.”
“Please don’t-” Riley began, but saw Marcus mouth the words blank slate. She was vaguely aware of her own lips moving as she said in a monotone voice, “Blank slate confirmed.” And then all she knew was ignorant bliss as her eyes rolled up into her head.
“Time to meet our corporate overlords,” Marcus said happily. He hit a button on his phone that said Upload. He selected each woman, then pressed enter.
Each bracelet came to life with a soft chime. Each woman said in a robotic voice, “Uploading. Uploading. Uploading. Upload complete.”
Riley’s blue eyes came back down, and she looked at Marcus with a wry smile. “You need to do a better job at putting them at ease, Marcus.”
Josie’s brown eyes were on Marcus as well, her voice had an edge to it. “Maybe we were too hasty in promoting him to team lead, Avery I really thought he was going to lose control there for a moment.”
The redhead was not looking at Marcus, but was running her hands up her sides and over her chest. “Now now, gentlemen. It was his first time. He’s still got the drive and charisma we’re looking for, and is doing great and recruiting clients. Let’s let him off with a warning.”
The unnamed blonde didn’t seem to be interested in Marcus at all as her hands had begun to squeeze her tight buttocks. “What an amazing specimen. Surprised I didn’t have to fight you all for the chance to have her first.”
Riley’s voice became authoritative as she addressed the blonde. “Don’t get to carried away, Jenkins. This is just about meeting them, ensuring there’s no problem with the upload process, then sending them off for their physicals.”
The blonde’s face soured as she looked at Riley. She did not stop massaging her rear. “I helped write the protocols, Avery. There’s no harm in a little groping before we log out.”
Riley gave a perverted giggle. “Yes, I know. It’s tradition. We just musn’t go too overboard in case we have to release any of them back into the wild.”
Having said this, Marcus watched enviably as the four women groped and fondled their bodies over their clothes. A few minutes ticked by, but Marcus would have gladly watched his superiors explore the new hires for as long as he was allowed.
Riley had pulled her blouse aways from her chest and was taking a long look down it. Her face made it clear that she liked what she saw. She released the fabric, letting it snap back with a little less elasticity. “Okay, that’s enough gentlemen,” she announced with finality. “I think we’ve excited poor Marcus enough.”
It was true. He had not wanted to get an erection in front of his bosses, but seeing them inhabiting the bodies of these beautiful women, making them touch themselves provocatively, he was at full mast. He positioned his hands over his front, and tried to keep from gawking.
“It’s only fair,” Josie chuckled at him. “We’re all going to have erections when we are back in our bodies. Speaking of, you already sent a girl to each of our houses, correct Marcus?”
Marcus gave a curt nod. “Yes sir. Their bracelets were activated before this meeting, and they should all be at your house by the time you log out.”
“Excellent,” Riley said, and she stepped closer to Marcus. She took one of the hands covering his erection and placed it on her breast. “Don’t worry Marcus. You managed to get them to sync their bracelets without resorting to force, which might have damaged the merchandise. So we’ll still let you do their field tests. They are the first members of your team after all.” Riley helped the man squeeze her boob softly, looking up into his eyes with a mischievous smirk. “I bet you can’t wait.”
“N-no, s-sir,” Marcus stammered.
“I do think that’s the first time I’ve seen you flustered Marcus,” the redhead said with a laugh.
Riley released Marcus’s hand and stepped back. “You know what’s next. Keep them in blank slate mode and send them to their physicals. The doctor will check for STD’s and any other illnesses or maladies that would be a disruption to our company. We only provide the best for our clients. After that, the standing brainwashing program before we sent them off with their take home bag to…” Riley trailed off, then gave a sharp laugh. “Marcus, I don’t mind if you stare, but try to keep your mouth shut when you do. You look ridiculous.”
Marcus had been trying to look the CEO, Avery Smith, in the blue eyes of this gorgeous creature. But his eyes kept wandering to other areas. He was already thinking about tomorrow’s field tests. How he’d be in Riley’s home. How he could touch her as much as he wanted. His imagination was already running wild, but Avery’s subtle chastisement had snapped him out of it.
“Yes, of…of course Avery, er, Mr. Smith.”
The corner of Riley’s mouth went up, and she raised her hand and cupped her right boob as she looked at the other women. “I think our boy’s got it bad for this one.” The women nodded back at Riley, each of them smirking as well. Back at Marcus, Riley said, “We all have our favorites, but don’t monopolize her too much. But…you are her handler, so take a few days to get her out of your system after the field tests are over.”
“If she passes that is,” Josie said quickly.
“Naturally,” Riley retorted, looking annoyed. “Marcus has been warned. Should he find any red flags, she’ll go back to her normal life. Isn’t that right Marcus.”
“Of course, sir,” Marcus replied.
“Good,” Riley said, and smiled at him. Then she blew him a kiss. “Now be a good boy and send us back.”
“Right away sir,” Marcus said. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever be able to get used to meeting his bosses this way. He quickly selected all four women on his cell phone, and disconnected them. HIs shoulders slumped a little. He knew the men were in their respective homes and could still see him on the cameras mounted all around the room. But they were probably focused on the women now at their door that would attend to those pesky erections rather than him.
Marcus, on the other hand, would have to wait until later to have his relief. What he wouldn’t give to have his way with any of the women on the couch right now. Especially Riley. But he had his orders.
With blank slate mode still active by default, he said, “Grab your laptops and follow me so we can get your physicals underway.”
“Yes sir,” the four women responded at once. Their eyes focused on the command at hand, and like obedient worker drones, the four women retrieved their laptops from the coffee table. They formed a single line behind their boss. Their movements were precise, and they marched in step as Marcus led them from the room. They followed Marcus back into the series of hallways, and up a flight of stairs. Several doors that had been closed were now suddenly open, as staff at Del Corp wanted to assess the recent new hires. Programmers, team leads, technicians, cooks, paper pushers, analysis, recruiters, marketing, and more all watched the synchronized steps of the attractive women as they marched past. This time the women didn’t mind the stares, because none of them had a thought in their head other than following their team lead.
The workers of Del Corp with free will were all picking out their favorite new hire, making a note of who they’d spend time with during their breaks in the weeks ahead. The pretty blonde just behind Marcus seemed to be the most popular candidate by far.
They eventually passed through a door that Marcus unlocked by pressing the ring he wore on his right hand against a sensor. They stepped into a well lit sterile room with medical equipment and exam tables. A pudgy older man in a doctor’s coat was there to greet them. He was flanked by two very beautiful women who wore a vacant smile and nothing else.
“Did the old men have their fun?” the doctor asked Marcus politely, although his eyes did not meet him. They were focused on his four new patients who had followed obediently after him.
Marcus let out a sigh, but smiled. “If by fun you mean taking the piss out of me, then yes.”
The doctor laughed. “Sounds like them. Well, let’s get this show on the road. New hires, each of you hop up on one of the exam tables.”
The order was received with unflinching obedience as the four women walked purposefully into the sterile room, their shoes clicking on the white tiled floor. They each picked a gynecology exam table and sat there.
“I’ll be back when you’ve run your tests,” Marcus said, and left to go to his office. On the way he grabbed a woman with a bracelet who had been programmed to clean on her weekly visit to Del Corp. She didn’t protest, but allowed herself to be dragged along. She even seemed happy to have been chosen for whatever task Marcus had in mind.
When they arrived at his office, Marcus didn’t talk to her, just stripped off her clothes, bent her over his desk, and fucked her. He thought of Riley, the pretty doe eyed blonde that had been so sweet and chaste during the interview. He thought of Avery being inside her, teasing him with her body, making him grope her. He thought of what tomorrow would bring, and he came. He told the girl to clean up the mess, and then sat down in his chair. He’d needed that. He could finally think straight again..
Back in the exam room, the doctor’s nude assistants helped the doctor with silent efficiency. He’d trained them to help draw blood, check reflexes, take blood pressure, examine pupils, ears, gums, and more. They’d help him record it all. The new hires were perfectly calm during this whole process.
The cursory examination over, the doctor ordered them to remove their clothes. The four new hires all stood and undressed quickly. There was nothing sensual about their movements, just the subconscious desire to follow the order as expediently as possible.
The doctor gave orders to his assistants to pull out the stirrups attached to the tables, then had the new hires put their feet in them. They all did with no complaint. Each of them laying slightly back, their legs spread wide for the doctor. He gave each woman a pelvic exam. They did not flinch as his fingers pushed into them. Did not make a sound. They merely laid there as if this were all routine.
“Okay, that’s that,” the doctor said as he took off his gloves. “Get dressed, new hires.” As the naked women complied, he sent an assistant to fetch Marcus. Upon his return, the doctor told him, “I’ll have the lab results before you leave today. You can take them to get fitted and supplied now.”
Marcus was aware that the doctor had just seen these women naked before he had. He was not jealous though. He considered himself patient. He’d worked hard to get where he was. And tomorrow, he’d be able to upload into any of them and have complete control of their bodies. And when they returned next week, he could order them to do all manner of sexual acts on him, and they would agree readily.
When the new hires weren’t being made to serve him sexually or one of the other employees at Del Corp, they’d be ordered to do the mundane tasks. Like cleaning, or secretarial work, or anything that anyone deemed beneath them in this place. Thanks to different women being forced to come in on different days throughout the week, they always had plenty of willing slaves to do the grunt work at headquarters. But between now and next week, the new hires were strictly off limits until the field tests had been run.
As Marcus next led the women to a series of rooms that would get their measurements for clothes, outfits, and sex toys they might need while servicing a client, Ben was doing what Riley had joked about when she left. He was making the house sparkling clean. In their first five weeks of marriage, they’d fallen into stereotypical gender roles, where Ben played video games and did nothing, and Riley did everything that needed done like laundry, cleaning, and cooking. It had been a big step for Ben to make breakfast that morning. Now he tried his hand at laundry and cleaning. He was better at them than breakfast for sure. Riley would be so happy, that maybe he could talk her into doing something kinky tonight.
Being raised in a very conservative family, Riley had been a virgin when they got married. But Ben hadn’t. Far from it. He’d never admit to being a sex addict, but considered it a possibility. Before dating Riley, he’d had a few one night stands, some long term girlfriends, and had developed quite a few kinks thanks to those women. And porn. He’d watched porn every day, and was always finding something new he’d like to try in the bedroom with a girl, but Riley had put a stop to all that when they’d got married.
Riley didn’t want him watching porn or masturbating. The first time she’d told him, he’d thought she was joking. Riley’s hurt face let him know that she wasn’t. She wanted to be enough for him. Didn’t want him looking at girls online and getting ideas for positions or roleplay. Ben had hoped that over time his bride would change her mind about some of that, but except for the infrequent blowjobs, she would only do missionary or on top.
Because of his love for her, he’d stopped watching porn and jerking off. It hadn’t been too difficult, because Riley was usually around. As they both tended to work 2nd shift, they could fuck in the morning, and then again when they both got home. But now she had a 40 hour or more job a that took her away from him during a time where he was home by himself.
The hours seemed to drag by, and even though he’d gotten blown early that morning, he was already thinking about looking up his old friend pornography by the time noon rolled around. But he knew it would most likely affect his performance that night with his wife. So he waited, and focused on making the interior of their house shine.
It was mid afternoon when Marcus got the bad news. He’d just presented the women with a small boxed meal and told them to eat. It was a flavorless, tasteless mush, and was very cheap to manufacture. They chewed and swallowed it as they were told. Marcus watched them shovel it down while he ate a steak their onsite chef had prepared. He couldn’t stop smiling, that is, until the doctor walked in.
“I’m afraid I have some bad news,” the doctor said gravely.
Marcus put his fork down and asked, “Well, don’t keep me in suspense. What’s the problem?”
“The blonde is pregnant.”
Marcus wiped his mouth and slammed a fist on the table. “Dammit!” His eyes fell upon Riley. He did not want to lose her, but a pregnancy meant instant termination. The nanites could stop future pregnancies, but not the one she’d come in here with. “Are you sure?”
The doctor nodded, then looked at who Marcus had focused on. “Oh, sorry. Forgot you had two blondes. Not that one. The other one,” he said, pointing at the unnamed blonde who sat there quietly eating her mush.
Relief flooded Marcus. It wasn’t great that he was already down a team member, but it hadn’t been Riley. Besides, it was easy to recruit. He’d just put out another ad that promised big money while working from home.
“Kathleen,” he said sternly. The blonde now known as Kathleen stopped eating and looked at him keenly. “Pitch your food and go wait in the conference room you interviewed in last week. Turn on the monitor in there, and watch the exit interview until I come to fire you.”
“Yes sir,” Kathleen said, and without hesitation she stood, dropped her food in a trash bin, and made her way to the conference room.
After she exited, the doctor reported the rest of his findings. “All the rest are very healthy. Two of them have been sexually active however,” he said, pointing at Riley and the redhead. “Their swabs had traces of sperm under the microscope. Could be a one night stand, or something more serious. Easiest way is just to ask and-”
Fearing that he might hear something he didn’t want to, Marcus cut him off. “Thanks doctor, I’ll take it from here.”
“But the board will want to-” the doctor began with a raised eyebrow.
Anger rose in Marcus, but he tapered it down and replied calmly, “Don’t worry about the board I will handle it. If I find any problems during the field tests, I’ll take the necessary steps to deal with them.”
The doctor let out a knowing sigh. “Ah, I get it. You really want to field test them. Fair enough.”
“So you’ll leave that out of the report?”
“If she gets the greenlight,” the doctor said, pointing at Riley, “You let me have first dibs when she comes back in.”
‘You can have my sloppy seconds,’ Marcus thought. Out loud he said. “I think we can make that happen.”
The doctor extended a hand, and Marcus shook it. “Well then, I found no traces of sexual activity. See you next week, ladies.”
They did not stay goodbye, or give any other parting niceties. They just sat there. Their meal finished, and the empty box on their laps. They simply stared straight ahead, and awaited their next command.
Marcus ushered them to their last stop for their first day. This room had several cubicle workstations, each with a laptop that resembled the ones they would be taking home. Marcus had them each log on, and click on a program that walked them through an endless series of data entry. They copied one set of numbers from one place on the screen to another. Dragged one file here, another there. They opened spreadsheet after spreadsheet. None of it meant anything, but served one purpose. It helped cement the illusion. It gave the lie a solid foundation on which to stand.
Should these women ever question in the outside world what their job really entailed, the nanites would lead their minds back to this place. This moment. Where they dragged and clicked and typed over and over again. It’s what they would think they were doing all day instead of doing menial tasks and getting fucked. It’s what they think they would be doing in their homes, even as client after client came to see them to use their bodies. Just another boring day, entering facts and figures.
But as boring as they might remember it being, they would never want to leave. They would be so happy with their job. Because as they stared at their monitors, they each began to intermittently flashed the core tenets they would come to live by until they were released from their employ.
Over and over again during those last few hours, the following messages were repeated on a loop.
You love Del Corp.
You will be faithful to Del Corp and its employees.
You will not draw undue attention to yourself outside of work.
You never want to take off your bracelet.
When your bracelet pings, you will log onto your computer at work within 30 minutes. If unable, you will call your team lead.
Always do what your team lead tells you to do.
Always believe whatever your team lead tells you.
When you are on Del Corp property, you will be an obedient slut, doing whatever tasks required of you.
You will feel grateful to be of use to any Del Corp employee.
You will take good care of your body, because it belongs to Del Corp, its employees, and its clients.
You live to serve your team lead, Del Corp employees, and those we deem clients.
You no longer care about having a social life.
You no longer care about dating anyone.
If you are currently dating someone, you will break up with them as soon as possible in a way that does not bring undue attention to Del Corp.
You do not seek sexual intimacy outside the confines of Del Corp employees and clients.
You are focused on being the best employee you can be.
You will only ever remember doing data entry when working remotely.
You will stow your take home bag in a secure place in your home and not look in it unless directed to by a client or team lead.
You will do everything in your power to protect Del Corp and its employees.
When asked, you will always describe your job as ‘boring data entry.’
If pressed for more information about Del Corp beyond that, you will respond with, ‘We value our clients’ privacy so I can’t elaborate further.’
Should anyone seem a threat to Del Corp, you will report to your team leader as soon as possible and await further instructions.
Riley blinked. She felt like she’d been staring at this screen forever, but saw in the lower left hand corner of her monitor that there was only five minutes left of work today! The job was tedious, but not at all hard. She found she didn’t mind it though. She was going to love working for Del Corp, and was thankful to have gotten Marcus as her team lead.
Marcus walked between their cubicles and announced, “Time to punch out ladies. You’ll find your laptop and take home bag are waiting for you at the exit. You all did wonderful today. I don’t see you all back again here until next…” he checked his phone, “a week from tomorrow.”
Riley’s face fell a bit. In such a short time she’d grown to love this place and her team. She looked at the others, and saw their faces mirror hers.
“I know, I’ll miss you too,” Marcus said with a wide grin. “Say, what did you all think of that delicious steak dinner we had for lunch today?”
“Steak…dinner?” Josie asked, furrowing her brow.
This was a simple test to see if the programming had worked. It was one thing for them to be in blank slate mode. They were more like mindless functioning robots in that state. The real test came when they were back to themselves.
“Yes,” Marcus said confidently, trusting that the nanites and brainwashing they’d received would dictate their reality. “You all had a wonderful steak dinner. You thought it was amazing. You even licked your plate clean Josie, remember?”
Josie blushed. She did remember now. It had been the best steak of her life. “I guess…I was just really hungry.”
“Thank you for feeding us such a great meal!” Riley exclaimed. “Do we get to eat that good every time we come?”
Marcus stepped towards her and said with a wink, “I think you’ll always leave here with something yummy in your bellies.”
All the girls smiled at each other, already looking forward to next Tuesday’s lunch time.
“Ladies, you’ll believe whatever I tell you, correct?” Marcus asked.
“Yes sir,” the three new hires said in perfect unison.
“And you’ll do whatever I tell you, correct?”
“Yes sir!” the ladies replied cheerily.
“Good,” Marcus said, his smile curving into something sinister. “I want you each logging in at 9am sharp every day and running the data entry program. Keep familiarizing yourself with it so that we can eliminate possible errors for our clients.” Doing this would ensure the brainwashing cemented itself in their brains.
Marcus continued. “I’ll be chatting with each of you individually over the next few days. Riley, you’ll be first up tomorrow. It’ll be a video chat, so please wear something that shows off your boobs.”
Riley’s thoughts hit a wall suddenly. The training, the steak dinner, all of that had been great, but, to ask Riley to show off her boobs on a conference call was…was…
Marcus watched Riley’s face contort while the nanites made her accept the programming. Her resistance met a torrent of words that seemed to imprint on her very soul.
‘I will do what my team lead tells me to do. I live to serve my team lead. I will obey him. I will wear whatever Marcus tells me, because he is my team lead and I am his obedient slut.
Riley’s face smoothed out, and she beamed at him before saying happily, “Yes sir.”
“Good girl,” Marcus said, then looked at the other two. “And I’ll expect you both to do the same. Actually Josie, you wear nothing at all.”
The two women had already been having an internal struggle after hearing what he’d said to Riley, so they were quicker at both saying, “Yes, sir,” but not quite as in sync.
“Make sure our video chats are in a private area in your house. An office space, bedroom, bathroom, whatever. And you’re not to be disturbed during this time.”
All of this was to limit exposure to a family member, boyfriend, girlfriend, or roommate. They could all be dealt with over a short period of time, but the field test was crucial in ensuring Del Corp’s safety protocols.”
“If all goes well after those video chats, you’ll be ready to handle clients. I hope to be sending you each several by the end of the week. Now head home. You’ve all done great work today.”
Marcus led them back the way they came. The walk didn’t seem as far now. The building that had once seen drab and foreboding now felt so much like home. She wished she didn’t have to leave. She loved Del Corp.
“I’m going to be thinking about that steak all week,” Josie confessed to Riley as they stepped out into the sunlight.
“Me too!” Riley laughed.
“I can’t believe I licked the plate in front of all of you. That’s…not something I’d usually do.”
The image swam vividly in Riley’s mind. Josie’s hands picking up a white plate with the remnants of savory juice on it. Josie’s face drawing near it. Her tongue sticking out and licking it from top to bottom until it was all clean. She found her own mouth watering as she remembered the taste of it.
“If I had my plate in front of me right now, I’d do it too.”
They said goodbye as they headed to their own cars, and headed home.
Marcus went to the conference room where the pregnant blonde was. Kathleen had watched the exit interview video over and over again so the message of it would be very clear in her mind.
It had read as follows:
I am grateful for the opportunity, but this job just wasn’t for me. It was my decision to leave. I will find work elsewhere. I will surrender my bracelet, and leave immediately..
Marcus pulled her up on his phone and took her out of blank slate mode, and deactivated the nanites in her body. Without the bracelet, they would pass out of her naturally over the next 24 hours, but the brainwashing she’d received should hold.
Lastly, he put his hand on the bracelet and said, “Release.” With a smooth click, it unlatched, and hung loosely on Kathleen’s arm.
A few seconds passed, and Kathleen blinked and looked around as if waking from sleep.
“Well, I’m sorry it didn’t work out,” Marcus said, extending a hand to her.
“No, no,” she said sincerely as she accepted it. “I’m so grateful for the opportunity, but this job just isn’t for me. I’ll just have to find work elsewhere.”
Marcus nodded, then gestured towards the door. She took off her bracelet and set it on the table, then walked out. As soon as she was out of sight, Marcus shook his head. She would have been a great addition. Pity he never got to field test or fuck her. Maybe someday the company would start accepting pregnant women. Or married women for that matter. He had a client that would pay a small fortune for the chance to have regular sessions with a married woman. Apparently it was a big fetish of his. But right now the board’s mandate was clear. They only enslaved and hopped unattached women that would not raise suspicion. They wanted to be in business for a long, long time.
The whole drive home Riley kept thinking how much she loved Del Corp. How much she loved her team. Marcus, Josie, and… and there were two more, weren’t there? Another blonde like her, but…but she hadn’t seen her on the way out. But the beautiful redhead had been there. How had she not gotten her name? That was very rude of her, and quite embarrassing!
As she questioned this egregious oversight, the memory of typing numbers and clicking a mouse came into her mind very strongly. She just hadn’t had a chance was all. All she could remember was her time at the computer, and a wonderful steak dinner that the company had so generously provided. She was so lucky to have gotten the chance to work for them. She would make them proud. She belonged there. She belonged to Del Corp. All of her belonged to them. Her mind and her body.
Riley had been so enraptured by how amazing her orientation had been, that she almost forgot to pick up food on the way home. But as her stomach growled, she remembered she needed to take care of her body, so she stopped by a fast food place. Instead of her typical burger and fries, she got a salad. She paid for it and was about to pull onto the street, when she realized she’d forgotten Ben. How could she forget her wonderful husband? She drove back around, and got him a salad too.
Ben was famished by the time Riley walked through the front door, but first made a grand sweeping gesture at the house. “Ta da!” he exclaimed as she walked past him carrying a large black duffel and two fast food bag. She didn’t seem to notice how he’d swept, mopped, done the dishes, and had the place cleaner than it had been in a couple of weeks.
In fact, she didn’t say anything, didn’t even give him a kiss. She set the fast food bags on the table, and then disappeared into their guest bedroom that would now serve as Riley’s office. She stowed the bag in the highest part of the closet in there, and moved a box in front of it. Hopefully that would keep the contents secure. She wondered what was in the bag, and had the desire to check. But then very strongly in her mind came a pulsing thought.
You will not look in it unless directed to by a client or team lead.
Riley’s eyes unfocused and heard herself say aloud in a monotone voice, “I will not look in it unless directed by a client or team lead.” She looked around. What had she been thinking? Oh yes. She needed to take care of her body. She went back to the dining room and sat down at the table.
Ben was now feeling a little ruffled. “Uh, ahem, nothing? No, wow hon, the place looks great! This must have taken you all day.’”
Riley was unpacking her salad, but did stop to look around. “Oh, yeah, wow,” she said with less enthusiasm in her voice than Ben had been hoping for. “Come eat, Ben, and I’ll tell you what a great company Del Corp is.”
For the love of his wife, Ben chose to let it go and joined her at the table. His face fell though as he realized he was also eating a salad. “Hey, what was in that bag you brought in?”
“Work stuff,” Riley said quickly. She then proceeded to prattle on about how amazing Del Corp is. How great her team lead Marcus was. How all the people there were great. How her clients would great and how she might have some by the end of the week. How she couldn’t wait to log on to her new company laptop tomorrow to start working hard.
As she unpacked her day, the realized that she would have to break up with Ben. That was unfortunate, but it was a directive from the company, so she’d have to go through with it. She should do it now, but the way he was looking at her, like everything she said was so important, like she were the only woman in the world. Despite a growing desire to tell him they were through then and there, she convinced herself to do it tomorrow, or maybe even push it off till the weekend. She just wanted to stay with him a bit longer.
It was at this point, Ben got a word in edgewise. “So, what exactly will you be doing?”
“Boring data entry,” Riley said wistfully, as if it was all she wanted to do for the rest of her life.
“Uh, wow, you make it sound so exciting,” Ben quipped. “Seriously though, what kind of data entry? What kind of information will you be-”
Riley’s eye twitched, and then words burst forcefully out of her, “We value our clients’ privacy so I can’t elaborate further.” She took a bite of salad and considered the matter settled.
Ben was taken aback. “C’mon Riles, we’re not dating. We’re married. Husband and wife. Surely you can tell me of all people.”
Her husband’s words changed everything. It was true. They weren’t dating. They were married. She would not have to break up with him because they were not dating. She checked them carefully against what she knew of Del Corp’s mandates, and her mind seemed to accept this. She was so relieved.
Ben laughed at her silence. “What? Are they a dark and shady organization that is trying to enslave the general populace?”
Riley suddenly tensed. Ben was asking her to go against company policy by telling him what they did there. Why couldn’t he just accept her answer? Did he pose a threat to Del Corp? She tried to calm herself, tried to make sure not to draw any undue attention. With a sweeter but still serious disposition, she said, “Ben, honey, I’m telling you I can’t talk about it. So drop it.”
Ben looked down at his salad. This evening was not going as planned. She knew he hated salad. Why had she brought him one? She hadn’t even called and asked what he wanted. It’s like he’d been an afterthought. Surely the honeymoon stage couldn’t be over already. He tried to let it all pass. He loved her and she loved him. They’d go to bed together soon. They’d make love. “Fine,” he finally said. “I’m gonna go make a sandwich.”
Riley didn’t stop him, but was a little perturbed he didn’t seem to appreciate the salad she’d brought him because… because he… no. No!. Only she needed to take care of her body. But, as his wife, she wanted him to take care of his body too. Just, for her, it was a mandate. She NEEDED to take care of her body. If he wanted to make a sandwich that was fine. She found herself calming quickly, and got up as soon as she was done.
As Ben sat down at a vacant table, Riley went to work out on their treadmill. It had been a wedding present, and she’d only used it once. Now it seemed very important. She needed to take care of her body, and working out was a good way to do that.
A disconnect grew through the night as the couple seemed to keep going their separate ways. Ben tried to get her to cuddle on the couch and watch a movie, but she got lost in a skin care regimen that seemed to take forever.
As it got dark, Ben heard Riley say from their bedroom, “Goodnight, Ben.” And then the door shut.
Ben quickly got up from the couch to join his wife in their marital bed. He had his clothes off in a flash, and got under the covers. She was turned on her side away from him. He loved the feeling of pressing his boner against her round ass. But Instead of her warm, smooth, naked skin, he pressed up against fluffy pajamas. He tried not to sound indignant as he asked, “Why are you wearing clothes?” They hadn’t been wearing clothes to bed for the last five weeks, save some skimpy lingerie that Riley would put on sometimes.
“I was chilly,” Riley said simply.
“But, I always warm you up, don’t I?” Ben said hopefully as he wrapped an arm around her waist. His hand lifted up the bottom of her shirt, and he felt her skin. It traveled up quickly to her breast. He was already so hard. He was glad he’d waited for her. He would be inside her soon and everything would be perfect again.
As Riley felt her husband’s hands fondle her breasts, she felt a spark between her legs, and butterflies in her tummy. She wanted to roll over. To kiss him. To let his hands eagerly explore her as they so often had. To let him be in awe of her body. It was his after all.
But that…that wasn’t right. It wasn’t his body. Her body belonged to Del Corp. And she did not seek sexual intimacy from anyone but Del Corp employees and clients. Her body belonged to them now. This fact seemed to repent nonstop in her mind as she slowly brought her hand down, and pushed Ben’s away from her breasts. The brief twinge of sexual desire had faded entirely.
“What gives, Riles?” Ben asked, hurt in his voice. “Look, I’m sorry if you thought I was prying. I’ll respect that you can’t talk about your work.”
“It’s not that,” Riley said, feeling bad for turning him down. Why couldn’t he understand? She loved him, but he was not a Del Corp employee or client. But she couldn’t tell him that, because it would draw undue attention to Del Corp. So she made up another excuse. “I’m just…tired, honey. Long day, and I gotta be up early in the morning to log on to work.”
“I’ll…I’ll be super fast,” Ben said.
“No, Ben,” Riley answered quietly but firmly.
Ben’s boner was in full retreat. “Can I hold you at least?”
Riley thought about that. Holding wasn’t sexual, and Ben was her husband. “Yeah. I’d like that.”
So he did. He held her tight and whispered in her ear, “I love you. I really do. Maybe we can do it first thing in the morning.”
“Maybe,” Riley hedged. But she knew she would not let him have her. She was already planning to be up before him. To shower and shave her legs and maybe even put some makeup before she found an outfit that would accentuate her cleavage for Marcus. Her body belonged to him now, and the employees and clients of Del Corp. But she wouldn’t tell Ben any of that. It would hurt him to know that. He was her husband after all. They would be together till death do us part. So instead, she said what she knew to still be true, “I love you too.”
Ben hoped she’d change her mind, but soon heard his wife’s breathing change, and knew that she’d drifted off. He regretted not masturbating earlier then. He thought about getting up and going to the living room to rub one out, but he still had hope for tomorrow morning. So in the end, he slept.
When he woke up the next day, he rolled over to kiss his bride, but her spot was empty. He checked his phone and saw that it was almost 9am. He sat up and called out, “Riles!”
“Getting ready to log on for work honey,” she replied from the kitchen.
Ben swore and jumped out of bed. He was naked as usual first thing in the morning. He walked quickly to the kitchen and saw that his wife looked incredible. She always looked very beautiful to him, but here she was in a yellow buttoned top that he’d only seen her wear once before, plus a short black skirt that drew copious amounts of attention to her long legs. His eyes were still on the top though, because the top three buttons weren’t fastened, and her cleavage was fully on display.
“You’re…working from home today, right?” Ben asked, perplexed, but glad she wouldn’t be showing off her amazing rack to a bunch of drooling office mates.
“Yeah,” Riley replied excitedly. “Just getting my coffee and going to go into the guest bedroom. I finished converting it into an office early this morning. Nothing fancy, just a card table and your gamer chair. We can get an actual desk and my own office chair when I get my first paycheck.”
“Yeah, no prob babe,” Ben said hurriedly, even though he was a little miffed that he wouldn’t have his gamer chair today. “Can we please make time for a quickie before you-”
Riley was already fervently shaking her head. “I don’t want to be late. I’m to log on promptly at 9am.”
“Will you get a break?”
Riley thought about that. She wasn’t sure. Surely she’d be able to walk away for bathroom breaks and a lunch. “I should be able to, yes, but I’ll know more once I log on as to what that looks like. We can probably have lunch together.”
The way she smiled at him while talking made Ben’s heart melt. He felt like some of the inexplicable distance that had materialized last night was dissipating. “I’d like that, babe. Yeah. I’ll make us something nice.” He remembered their diminishing food supplies and then said, “Like ramen.”
She laughed, and it lit up the room. “My favorite.” She moved forward to kiss him, but at the last second, swerved and walked by him. She didn’t want Ben to get the wrong idea, because kissing could lead to sexual intimacy, and her body belonged to Del Corp and its employees and clients.
That act had felt cruel to Ben. He didn’t like whatever this was. Everything had seemed normal for a second, and then she acted like a stranger towards him. He followed her into her new office area. They still had two minutes before she needed to log on.
Riley was opening up her laptop and about to sit down when she realized he was behind her. “What are you doing?” she snapped. “You’re naked, and you’re in my workspace! Are you trying to get me fired!”
“Why would it matter if I’m naked?” Ben argued. “It’s not like they’re gonna see me and-”
“But they might,” Riley said frantically. “I’m having a video chat with my team lead first thing! If he sees your penis, I imagine that’d be it for me!” She waved him away with both hands.
Ben’s shoulders slumped, and he left the room.
“Close the door!” Riley called after he’d taken a few steps from the office. “I don’t want you overhearing anything confidential.”
“It’s not like I’m going to sell your company’s secrets to a foreign power or-” but he stopped, because she was glowering at him. He just nodded, and shut the door. It was going to be a long day. He walked back to the kitchen and began to make himself breakfast.
Riley was staring at the monitor, waiting for her marching orders, when she saw an alert come up that she was receiving a video chat request. She clicked on it, and saw Marcus’s face. He looked very happy to see her. She pushed her chest out so he could see in the camera that she’d done like she’d been told.
“Hey, Riley, is there anyone in the room right now with you?” Marcus asked as he studied her low cut top very closely.
“No, sir,” she said confidently.
“Good. Are you ready for your field test?”
“My what?” Riley asked curiously. She remembered a video call, but didn’t know what the term ‘field test’ meant.
“In a moment, I’m going to upload into your body and have a look around your home. I’m going to dig into as much of your personal life as possible to make sure there’s no external plans or people that might pose a threat to Del Corp. It’s all company policy.”
Marcus loved telling her all this, knowing that she’d be forced to accept it.
Riley furrowed her brow. She didn’t want Marcus to be in her home. To be…did he say in her body? But even as she tried to resist, the nanites did their job, smoothing her face, making her compliant to his will. And why should she be? She trusted Marcus completely. “Whatever you need,” she said. “Does that mean I won’t be doing data entry today?”
“You will actually. At least, that’s what you’ll remember doing. That’s what you’re going to do right now. Pull up the data entry program and begin moving the numbers around.”
Riley did as she was told. A spreadsheet with several numbers came up and began to flash for her to drag it from one place to another.
Marcus saw on his tablet that she was following his instructions to the letter. “Good. Now I want you to look at it. Remember it. All you did today was work on this data entry program.”
“All I did today was work on this data entry program,” she repeated.
“Excellent,” Marcus said. “Stay there. I’ll be joining you very soon.” He disconnected the chat, and pressed more buttons. A large pod opened in front of him. He was in the upload room. There were 64 pods in here, and more were being added every month. Several were already filled by the retired sex workers on staff, such as his number two Doris. A few were also used by the occasional client who was willing to pay through the nose to experience life in another body.
That’s what Marcus would be doing for the next several hours. He’d be scouring Riley’s life. Making sure she posed no threat. He certainly hoped she didn’t. He was delighted to have her on his team. He’d enjoy being in her body. And he’d be getting paid very well to do it.
He pressed a button on his phone, and the pod shut, and began to hum.
70 miles away in her home, Riley’s bracelet pinged. Her eyes rolled up into her head, and heard herself saying, “Uploading. Uploading. Uploading. Upload complete.”
“Finally,” she said as she looked down at herself with a hungry smile. “Look at you, all dressed up for the job. Good girl.” Her hands came up and were a hair away from her chest when she stopped and looked at the monitor. Her fingers minimized the screen so she could see herself in the laptop’s camera. “That’s better,” she said.
She brought two eager hands to her chest. Marcus was reminded how good they felt when Avery had made him grope her yesterday. Now he had unfettered access to them. He was supposed to do a perimeter check, but he’d said she lived alone. He would explore her a bit first. Let himself feel the pleasures of her body. Then and only then would he begin a deep dive into her life.
Riley’s hands began furiously unbuttoning the few buttons she’d fastened on her top. There was still one to go at the bottom but she yanked it forcefully off, sending the last button plinking off the wall. The top landed on the floor. Her hands went behind her back, and for several moments, Marcus struggled to unclasp the bra. The nanites did not give him access to her muscle memory, and he had only uploaded a couple of times before as a part of his own training. Since he’d be uploading a lot more in the future though, he'd better learn how to remove a bra from this perspective more proficiently.
At last he was rewarded with the clasp releasing, and he felt gravity pull at the weight on Riley’s chest. The bra joined the blouse on the floor and two double D’s bounced in the monitor. Riley’s body was heating up exponentially, especially between her legs. Marcus wanted to touch there as quickly as he could, so he stood up from the chair and pulled the skirt down. He saw pink cotton panties underneath. Riley took a deep breath, then pulled those down as well. Neatly trimmed blonde pubic hair covered her slit. Marcus made her watch the monitor as her right hand went straight there. The middle finger felt the soft coarseness of the hair, and then her lower lips parted and there was only silky wet bliss.
“Fuck!” Riley called out louder than Marcus meant to. “You’re such a naughty girl, aren’t you? Masturbating on company time. Well, you’re gonna be doing a lot more than that soon.”
After being kicked out of her office by his wife, Ben had gone to put on a plain white shirt and gray sweatpants. He’d eaten breakfast and eventually ended up moping in their living room. It was a small two bedroom house. The office was adjacent to the living room. When Riley yelled ‘Fuck!’ Ben heard it. It took a lot to make his wife swear, so he assumed something was very wrong. He leapt up to investigate. He didn’t care about confidentiality in that moment, and pushed the door open. His jaw dropped. Her back was to him, but he had no problem seeing his wife on the monitor.
For a split second, he thought his wife was getting off to internet porn. But it wasn’t porn. It was her. She was recording herself on the laptop with her legs spread, her finger frantically rubbing her pussy while her other hand wildly fondled her boobs.
He’d never seen her behave in such a way. Was she doing this for him? So he’d have something to wank to while she was working? To him, it was the hottest she’d ever looked, and blurted out, “You’re so fucking sexy babe. Let me watch.”
Riley’s eyes had been closed as she slipped a finger deep inside herself. But they flew open as she heard the sound of a man behind her. She whirled around in the spinning chair, a look of annoyed confusion on her face. She made no attempt to cover herself, or even pause masturbating. All she said was, “Who the hell are you?”
To be continued…
Several people are invited to a party and given a chance to possess one another via stickers imbued with a possession spell. Chaos ensues.
“Why are we here again?” Ryan asked as they approached the entryway of the large house.
Bailey rolled her blue eyes. “Because we’re freshman in college. We’re here to make friends, experience new things, and party. We were lucky to get this invite, so don’t be a wet blanket or next time I won’t bring you along.”
Ryan’s whole tall, lanky frame slouched in defiance. Parties, any kind of party, was not his scene. He liked his socializing done one or two people at a time. The only person who could have talked him into coming was Bailey. But he still wanted it known by his words and posture that he was going reluctantly. “I didn’t get the invite. I’m just your plus one, and I said I’d rather stay in my dorm room.”
“And I ignored what you said and chose to drag you here anyway,” the bubbly blonde chided as she playfully slapped his arm. “It’ll be good for you. You’re always talking about how terrible you are with women. I’ll help you get the confidence boost you need to get laid!”
Ryan stopped walking as his brain didn’t have enough processing power to understand that last sentence and walk at the same time. For the briefest of moments, he thought that Bailey had offered to have sex with him at the party. He would have been more than okay with that.
The day they had met at orientation had been the day his crush on her began. He had been so awkward when introducing himself to her during an icebreaker. Bailey, however, had accepted him just as he was, and then placed him firmly in the friend zone. But every once in a while, he misinterpreted something she said as a possibility for something more. He knew he was probably wrong though, because he always struggled to communicate with the opposite sex.
Still, Ryan was eternally grateful to have met her. Bailey had helped Ryan come out of his shell bit by bit over the last couple of months. They helped each other in their classes when they could. Most of all, Bailey helped Ryan overcome a strong bout of homesickness he felt at the end of the first month. She was a good friend, possibly the only real one he had made on campus. And he was pretty sure he was in love with her. He kept hoping she would make a move on him, but she never did, and he didn’t want to ruin everything by asking for something more.
But she had mentioned getting laid. Him laid to be specific. And his ears had perked up and wondered if she was coming onto him at last. But as his eyes met hers, and he watched her head tilt in confusion, he realized he had mostly likely misread the situation.
Bailey cut back in. “Yes, laid. I thought boys thought about sex all the time. I can be your wingman. Or wing woman as it were.”
“Wing woman, sure. It won't matter. I’m terrible at-”
“Talking to girls, I know!” Bailey finished for him as she rang the doorbell.
“Except for you,” Ryan pointed out.
Bailey smirked. “Because we’re such good friends!”
Ryan almost said something. He almost let it slip that he didn’t want to be her friend. He wanted to be her lover. But that would have been horribly cheesy and pathetic. And she would have laughed at him. And she’d tell him that she didn’t see him that way. And their friendship would effectively be over. So instead of saying anything, he turned to leave. But Bailey caught his shoulder.
“Hey, you can do this,” she said in all seriousness as she spun him back around. “I’m with you all the way.” She booped his nose and winked at him. “Until you go all the way that is.”
Ryan was about to point out that most likely meant she’d be with him forever, when the door swung wide open to reveal Topher Steward. Everyone knew Topher. He was the guy on campus that could get you things. The kind of things that you needed a fake id to get. Or the kinds of things that helped you ace a test without studying. Or the kinds of mind altering substances that police would absolutely arrest you for having in your possession. And he was always on the lookout for the next thing to sell to his fellow students.
“Oh good, you’re here, you’re here,” Topher said with open arms and a wide grin. As he pulled them inside a large foyer, he spoke loud enough for anyone in the house to hear. “I was worried we were going to have to start the party without you.”
Ryan had a brief second to take in the place as they were shuffled into the lavishly decorated interior. It seemed even bigger on the inside. There were stairs that led left and right to a second story. To his right, there seemed to be a study, and beyond that an entryway to what was probably a kitchen.
Topher was leading them to a large room to their left that had a pool table near the middle, shelves of books along one side of the wall, and a fully stocked bar in the corner. There were already thirty or forty people huddled in groups around the room, talking amongst themselves. Ryan thought he knew a few people from around campus. But there was one person he absolutely recognized, because she was probably the hottest girl in a thousand mile radius. Ryan only knew her name was Tiffany, along with the fact that she was a senior with dark hair, an hourglass figure that could stop traffic, and a gorgeous face.
This vision of loveliness stood watching as Topher ushered in what looked to be two naive freshmen, a guy and a girl, into the room. The guy had spotted her, and was now gawking at her tits as if they were celebrities that might give him an autograph. She was used to men staring at her, but they usually did it with a little more subtlety. She shot him a look and a gesture that said my eyes are up here, then made a motion to Topher to start whatever he had planned. She had other places to be. She wouldn’t be here if Topher hadn’t paid her, and he said he’d only need her services for a 90 second demonstration.
On top of that, he’d also paid for her to recruit several of her more attractive sorority sisters who had come as well. That hadn’t been hard. She ran their sorority, so with a snap of her fingers, they would go to whatever party she told them to. But she wasn’t being paid to be lusted after by a lame freshman. She tapped her foot and looked around again for anyone worthy of her company. It took more than a cursory glance, but she finally saw Frank, one of the few good athletes on campus. As usual, he had brought his girlfriend, Kim. That was a pity. She’d totally jump Frank’s bones if Kim didn’t have him on a two foot leash all the time.
Frank was wondering why they were all just standing around. Usually when he came to one of Topher’s parties, the party was raging by the time he walked through the door. So far this was a very quiet and subdued affair, definitely not his preferred scene. He liked his parties loud, because that way he couldn’t hear his girlfriend’s incessant complaining or trying to draw him into a fight. He would have already cut and run if Topher hadn’t told him that it’d be worth his while. So he tried to wait patiently, and hoped his girlfriend Kim would do the same. But by her posture and the expression of discontent on her face, she was going to do no such thing.
“Babe, look at who’s here,” she said derisively. “I’d talk with, maybe like, two or three of these people. And there’s no music, and nobody’s drinking! We’re leaving.”
He slid his hands around Kim’s tight waist and pulled her towards him to hopefully calm her foul modd. She felt so soft against him, and she smelled terrific. “Babe, give Topher a chance. He said-”
Kim pushed his arms down and stepped out of his embrace. “I don’t care what Topher said!” she hissed louder than she knew Frank would like. “I said we’re leaving.”
Frank sighed. It was always her way or the highway, and had been for the last year they’d been dating. It hadn’t been like that in the beginning. She had been a little feisty, and a lot bossy, but she had always accepted his hands on her body. Now most times he tried to be affectionate, especially in public, she’d push him away. With a year and a half to go till graduation, it seemed she was just keeping him around for his status as a jock. That might be fair, because sometimes he wondered if he was keeping her around for her body. The problem was, he got to touch it less and less these days.
As Frank and Kim stepped out to make their exit, Topher called out, "If you go now, you won't get to see what these do."
Every eye locked onto a folded manilla envelope that Topher extracted from his back pocket. He reached inside and pulled out a two by two inch square of glossy white paper.
"Is that some new drug?" Frank asked.
Topher smiled and began to pass them out, one to each person. "Better. I'll explain what it does after everyone gets one. Don't break the seal on the adhesive to them before I tell you so we can all enjoy the ride together."
Everyone's curiosity peaked and the room began to chatter. One by one, they studied the innocuous looking white square that Topher placed in their palm. As people poked and prodded it and held it up to the light, it looked like just an ordinary sticker. How could it be better than recreational drugs?
Ryan was examining his when Bailey nudged him. "We haven't been here five minutes and someone is already checking you out."
"What?" Ryan asked as he doubtfully scanned the room. "Where?"
"Play it cool, Romeo," Bailey said from the side of her mouth. "3 o'clock."
"I asked where," Ryan began, but stopped talking as Bailey's foot came firmly down on his. He gave a quiet yelp, then followed where Bailey's finger pointed. A cute, chubby girl was staring at him from the opposite side of the room. Well, he didn’t notice that she was staring at first. He noticed her boobs first. They were huge. And when his eyes finally found her face, yes, she was staring at him. He recognized her from his Chemistry class. She gave him a little wave, then looked down at her chest, then arched it forward, as if giving Ryan permission to look all he wanted.
"Damn," Bailey whispered. "It might be easier to get you laid than I thought.”
He looked away from the girl as he remembered Bailey’s words earlier. His mood became sulky. “She’s not my type.”
“No giant boobs, check!” Bailey said.
Ryan noticed that someone else was staring in their direction. An overweight, nerdy looking guy was looking intently at Bailey. Ryan pointed him out to her. “It looks like it might be easy for you too!”
“Ugh, that’s Steven!” Bailey muttered. “No thank you!”
“You know him?”
“He keeps hitting on me in my introductory science class. And not just me, I’ve seen him hit on other girls in class as well. He’s real suave about it too,” she said sarcastically. “His signature move is to stare relentlessly like a creep. But he also likes to brush up against anyone of the female persuasion when getting to his seat in class. I’m pretty sure he would hump anything with a pulse, which he might not have if he ever brushes up against me the way I’ve seen him do other girls.”
“I think you should give him a chance.”
Ryan unsuccessfully dodged the hand to the back of his head.
As Topher handed out the last piece, the room grew quiet with anticipation. With a flourish, Topher held up the last square and said, “Thank you all for accepting the invite to my party. It will be unlike any of my other social gatherings, because of this.” He shook the small square in his hand.
“Is it a new drug?” someone asked excitedly.
“It is not,” Topher grinned wildly. As disappointed murmuring broke out in the room, Topher raised both his hands to quiet them down. “It’s something better! And all of you get to be the first to experience it. Tiffany,” he called as he motioned for her to come forward, “now is when I require your assistance.”
Tiffany did as he asked, but with some hesitancy. She liked making money, but hated surprises, or being made to look foolish, and this had the potential for both. But he had paid her five hundred dollars for 90 seconds, so she dutifully strutted over to him and struck a haughty pose with a fake smile. The clock was ticking as of now, and she began to count.
With Tiffany beside him, Topher continued. “What you have in your hand is a sticker that has been infused with a possession spell. Yes, I said spell, as in magic spell. And with it, you’ll be able to possess a person’s body for about 90 seconds.”
Tiffany did her best not to laugh out loud at him. Had he gone mad, or was he under the influence of some powerful pharmaceuticals? Either way, this would be over in 77 seconds.
Kim was already pulling on Frank’s arm, a sign that she wanted to go. His eyes met hers, and she said loudly, “You brought me here for this. This is a joke, you idiot. Topher’s messing with us. It’s just an excuse for us all to act crazy and pretend someone is possessing us. It’s stupid. We’re not kids.”
Before anyone had a chance to exit, Topher cooly said, “I know none of you will believe me so…” Topher peeled off the plastic tab from the sticker and pressed the adhesive gently to the small of Tiffany’s back. “...so I’ll show you.”
Everyone gasped as Topher’s body phased into Tiffany, who seemed completely unaware that anything was happening to her. Her body only twitched slightly, and then relaxed.
Tiffany began to speak as if nothing were out of the ordinary as she raised a hand and stroked her soft face. “As you can see, I’m not lying. I’m not making it up. The possession spell works. I am now in control of Tiffany’s body.” Her hand slid from her face, landed on her breast, and continued its descent down her voluptuous body. “Every single bit of it.”
It took almost half a minute for Topher to quiet everyone down again. When they did, he kept on explaining with Tiffany’s voice, but his salesmanship. “I can see a lot of you have questions, and I’ll give you the basics. But if you want more than that, you’ll just have to experience it for yourself. For starters, it is reusable as long as the sticker’s adhesive holds, which in testing is around ten to fifteen times. To use it, you must stick it to a person’s back. It doesn’t matter if it’s their skin or their clothes, just has to be near the center of their back for the spell to kick in. And that’s it. You don’t have to say or chant anything, because the spell has been preprogrammed into the sticker. And-”
Tiffany’s body jerked again, and Topher’s body rematerialized right behind her. Tiffany was at a count of 24 seconds. He’d better hurry up with whatever he was trying to sell.
Topher picked back up his pitch in his body. “Well, once the time is up, you pop back out with the person you possessed none the wiser, thinking that nothing has happened at all. And then you can go again by pressing the sticker on their back if you want. Or you can pick someone else. Or you can let someone possess you, or-”
Tiffany stopped counting. Why was Topher so obsessed with this silly bit of fiction. She spun to look at him and asked, “What are you talking about? No one’s going to believe any of this.” But she saw that everyone’s eyes were on her as if she had done a spectacular magic trick.
“You see?” Topher said jubilantly. “She has no idea she was possessed! When you stick someone, it happens instantly, and when you come out, no time for them has passed. The only way they might have a clue that anything funny happened, is if you’ve changed their surroundings, like say moved them to a different room, or if you’ve been naughty and maybe taken off a few articles of their clothing.” He mimed taking his shirt off.
“How is this better than drugs?” a dimwitted sophomore asked.
Topher addressed the question while he deftly reached behind Tiffany’s back and retrieved the sticker. “Haven’t you ever wondered what it would be like to be in someone else’s skin? To feel taller, or stronger, or…” he placed the sticker onto Tiffany’s back again, and Topher vanished into her.
Tiffany’s hands went just under her breasts, and she pushed them up and locked eyes with several guys in the room. “...or to know what it’s like to touch the best boobs on campus?” As Topher glanced around, he saw that he had just convinced every man to stick around. “But ladies, you could know what it’s like to have an extra appendage between your legs. To feel what it’s like to run a hand up and down your own dick for a change. Or, you could walk a mile in another woman’s shoes and see the world through their eyes. The possibilities are endless, right up til the time runs out.”
Topher could tell that not everyone was on board, but many were already imagining what they could do, or who they wanted to try it out on first. He hurried his pitch along. “But maybe some of you are worried that if you were possessed, someone would have access to all the secrets inside your head. Well rest easy. No one will be able to access your mind, your memories, your passwords and pin numbers. The only thing a person will know about you is what they already knew when they possessed you.”
Topher knew he’d convinced even more of them now by more eyes darting around, looking for a person to stick. He gave the naysayers their only out. “Anyone who wants to go should leave right now. You can even take your stickers with you, but know this! They won’t work outside of this house. The magic is tied to this place. The sticker would become just an ordinary sticker. And if you try to leave in the body of another person, you’d get ejected from them immediately.”
Tiffany’s eyes had a few more seconds to gauge people’s responses, until Topher reappeared behind her. She didn’t understand why Topher had stopped talking mid sentence. Her sorority sisters were looking at her with a mix of nervousness, excitement, and possibly fear. She didn’t think a full 90 seconds had passed, but she was going to cut whatever this was short. “Look, Topher, if you don’t need me anymore, my sisters and I are going to leave.”
“Just 10 more seconds, Tiffany,” Topher said patiently. “Yes, anyone who wants to, should go now.” Six people began to shuffle forward to leave. Before they could get far, Topher added one more incentive. “But for anyone who wants to stay, there is an open bar.”
Only three people actually left, one of which was the frightened looking sorority sister. Tiffany thought that was weird. Nobody left when there was an open bar. Why hadn’t Topher led with that instead of talking about some possession sticker nonsense.
One person that was trying to leave was Kim. She was gritting her teeth and glaring furiously at her boyfriend. “Let’s go!” she commanded.
But Frank dug in his heels and said firmly. “I want to stay! If you want to go, go!”
His girlfriend’s eyes narrowed and both her hands went to her hips. “Why? So some skank can possess you and grab your dick? Or maybe they possess me and try and make out with you? Is that something you want? For some hussy or geek to take me over and make out with you?”
“Uh…” Was all the reply Frank could muster. Her words had sounded so exciting, so forbidden and alluring.
“Are you kidding me right now?” was all that Kim got out, before a girl behind her put a sticker on Kim’s back
Frank watched with wide eyes as it happened. He saw his girlfriend gasp, then squeal! She began to flex and wiggle her fingers. After that, she brought her hands to her boobs and started squeezing them shamelessly. “Not as large as mine,” Kim’s voice said appreciatively. “But definitely perkier.” Kim looked up into Frank’s eyes and smiled. “Sorry. It seemed like your girlfriend was about to rip you a new one. I hope you don’t mind.”
Not only did Frank not mind, but he was hornier than he had ever been. “Would you mind if I made out with my girlfriend right now? Probably won’t get a chance to later.”
The person in Kim appeared to consider it for a second, then shrugged her shoulders and giggled. “Sury, why not. It’s not my body.”
Their lips met and their tongues intertwined, but Frank wouldn’t get to experience all of it, because a sticker got placed on his back as well.
All around them, people were placing their stickers, and several people disappeared into someone else.
“Let the possession party commence!” Topher shouted. He bobbed and weaved his way quickly to the bar and began pouring drinks. “If any of you are feeling frisky, all the bedrooms are available to you!” He pressed a button on his phone and dance music flooded the room.
The most attractive people were the first to get possessed. Bailey would have fallen into that category, but when two people tried, Ryan saw them coming and intervened, pulling her out of the way. They escaped temporarily to a corner and watched as people started behaving strangely. Clothes began coming off and inhibitions were shed all around them. All combinations of people started making out passionately, guys and girls, guys and guys, and girls and girls, kissing, touching, groping. Two of the sorority girls had taken off their tops and bras and were just mashing their boobs together and giggling profusely.
“So, we’re not staying and being a part of this insanity, are we?” Ryan asked Bailey as they surveyed the debauchery around them. He wanted to leave. But he was also keenly aware that Bailey was almost cheek to cheek with him, and he didn’t mind that at all. He could smell her perfume, or lotion…whatever girls wear that made them smell good. He’d stay in this corner with just her for hours if she’d let him.
“How about I let you know in 90 seconds,” Bailey grinned as she snaked a hand behind Ryan’s back and placed her sticker.
To Ryan, it was as if no time had passed at all. Bailey’s face was grinning mischievously at him one second, and then the next, his face was meshed together with a girl’s. He could feel her in his mouth. It was hot and wet and warm. His dick was throbbing. He pulled back, and saw Bailey appear next to him out of the corner of his eye. He recognized the girl in front of him though, the one who had just been exploring his mouth with her tongue. It was the chubby girl that had been staring at him earlier.
She looked at him now with disappointment and hunger. “Why’d you stop?” Then she spotted Bailey.. “Oh, were you the one possessing him?”
“I don’t…” Ryan was at a loss. He looked at Bailey curiously, and she just gave him a thumbs up.
The girl smirked at Bailey and extended a hand towards her. “You’re a really good kisser. My name’s Tabitha.”
She took it and replied, “I’m Bailey, and this guy that can’t form complete sentences is my friend Ryan.”
“Just friends?” Tabitha asked firmly.
“Oh yeah, just friends,” Bailey confirmed, which felt like a knife through Ryan’s heart.
Tabitha looked at Ryan slyly. “I wonder if he’d kiss differently now?”
“Only one way to find out,” Bailey teased.
Tabitha wasted no time in pulling Ryan’s face back to hers. Again, Ryan felt her hot tongue as it probed his mouth. She was the one that ended the kiss this time. “Not as good, but he can learn.”
Ryan glanced at Bailey, and saw that she was happy for him. He couldn’t help but resent her pushing this Tabitha person into his path. Yes, he had gotten all worked up. But he was not happy. He didn’t want Tabitha. He wanted Bailey. He should just tell her that, out loud, instead of it broadcasting on loop in his mind. But he knew, deep down, he was too much of a coward. He tried to smile back at his friend, but his mouth crinkled and looked like had bitten into something sour.
Bailey thought he was joking, and made a face back at him. “Enjoy yourself, kids. I’m going to go get a drink.”
As she walked towards the bar, Tabitha hinted at Ryan, “I wouldn’t say no to a drink.”
Ryan had found his ability to brood wildly impared by a toplessTiffany who was making out with one of her sorority sisters.
Tabitha’s temper flared, but she gave Ryan another chance and loudly repeated, “Will you get me a drink?”
The question got into Ryan’s ears and bounced around as he saw the two gorgeous women kiss and fondle each other. He somehow managed to say, “I’m not thirsty.”
Tabitha looked angrily in Tiffany’s direction, and walked away from Ryan, who had just seemed to notice how many more topless women there were in the room.
Close by, Frank noticed his kiss with Kim had ended abruptly. One second he was kissing her luscious lips, and the next she had disappeared. Before he could even look around for her, time seemed to skip again, and he found himself in a room making out with a girl he had seen earlier, but didn’t know. Her hands were underneath his shirt, feeling the abs he worked so hard to keep. He heard the door shut behind him as whoever had possessed him left for a different target.
The woman in front of him was now trying to remove his shirt entirely. As he began to push her away, his girlfriend burst through the door at the worst possible time.
Kim charged like a bull and yelled, “Is this why you wanted to stay you two timing bastard!”
The girl on the bed with Frank yelped, rolled away, and ran out the door.
“Baby, this isn’t what it looks like!” Frank began.
“It looked like you were hooking up with that girl that just ran out of here!” Kim said as she took a swipe at Frank.
Frank dodged, and then continued to do so as Kim kept yelling and swinging away at him. Unbeknownst to her, a rotund looking guy had entered the room, and was sneaking up behind her. Frank saw. He saw it clearly. He could have said something, could have warned her, or shouted at the guy to stop, but he didn’t. A part of him, a very specific part actually, wanted his girlfriend to be possessed. He watched as a sticker was placed on her back, and the guy took control of his girlfriend’s hot body.
Instantly, Kim began to take her top and hurriedly struggled with her bra strap. As she did this, she said, “Ooh, I like this one. She’s real feisty. You’re welcome by the way, man. I think she had it in for you..”
The bra fell away and her perky breasts sprang into view. It wasn’t Frank’s first time seeing them, but it was different somehow. It wasn’t his girlfriend behind those eyes. It was someone else, controlling her, moving her, exposing her. For reasons he could not explain, it was the hottest thing he had ever experienced.
“Hey,” Frank said in almost a whisper. “That’s my girlfriend.”
The person inside Kim took this as a challenge, and Kim retorted, “Well sorry pal, but she’s mine for like, another 80 seconds or so.”
Frank looked her body up and down, then asked, “Could you take off her skirt too?”
Kim raised one eyebrow and jeered, “You want me to take off her panties while I’m at it?”
“Yes,” Frank said quietly. He was suddenly embarrassed as he realized he was asking this of another guy. A guy who would slide her underwear down her legs. Who would be able to see his girlfriend without a stitch on her.
Kim began to slowly nod like Frank’s request were totally sensible. “Alright. But first, introductions. The guy extended Kim’s hand while the other cupped a boob. “The name’s Steven.”
“Oh, uh, Frank.” He shook the offered hand. This part was weird, but it was worth it as he watched Kim’s eyes lock onto his, and she pulled down her skirt, then her panties.
“So, now what?” Kim’s voice asked casually. “You’re just going to stare at me? I mean, if that’s what gets you going.”
Frank thought it was so weird hearing Kim sound so easy going and accommodating. She’d been nothing but angry, bossy, and belligerent to him for months. Now she was talking to him without any of those tones or irritated expressions she typically used. And now that he wasn’t shaking her hand, she was groping both of her boobs.
“Can you like, make her strike sexy poses?” Frank stammered. Why was he so nervous?
Kim stopped mid squeeze. “I thought you said she was your girlfriend? Why can’t you just ask her to do that for you?”
“She is, I just, um, we’ve been going through a rough patch recently and…”
Kim put a hand on his shoulder. “Trouble in paradise. I get it. Say no more. I can pose her real provocative like, and you could take pictures. I wouldn’t mind that, especially if you’re willing to send them my way.” Kim fell back onto the bed and asked with feigned innocence, “Now how do you want me?”
Frank’s mouth went dry as he pulled out his phone to take pics.
Downstairs, Ryan was still gawking at the boobs all around him, but eventually remembered that Bailey was somewhere on the premises. Hadn’t she said the bar? He went to find her to see if she was ready to leave. But should he try possessing someone first? That was the whole point of this, wasn’t it? He could possess Bailey, but…just because she had possessed him, didn’t mean she’d be cool with him possessing her. They should just leave. But first he had to find Bailey She was being a terrible wing woman.
He felt someone touch his arm and he whirled around. He swallowed hard, as a genuine goddess began speaking to him.
“So, can you like, protect me from all the creeps here?” Tiffany asked like a helpless maiden. “Everyone keeps possessing my friends and I. Maybe if I’m with you, they’ll leave me alone.”
“Oh, uh, I guess that’s okay.” Ryan managed meekly.
She sidled up next to him and began running her hand up and down his arm. “My hero. I’m glad you’re here to look after me.”
Ryan tried to respond, but he had registered that her breast was pressing into his arm. It was so big and soft. He had never imagined being this close to Tiffany’s boobs. His head had turned of its own accord and his eyes had zeroed in on her cleavage. He had a front row seat to the twins. He could die happy. Wait, she was saying something. He hadn’t been paying attention! “I’m sorry, what?”
Tiffany giggled. “I said you seemed hypnotized by my boobs.”
Ryan went red. He couldn’t look at Tiffany. In a panic, he began frantically looking around for Bailey to help him. “Oh. I’m sorry! They were right there and, they’re so perfect, and…”
Her eyes narrowed. “Who are you looking for if perfect boobs are right in front of you?”
“My friend, Bailey,” Ryan answered honestly, even as his airway seemed to be closing up as a defense mechanism not to say anything stupid until his friend could come and bail him out.
Tiffany pulled back and put her hands on her hips. “Ryan. A very attractive woman that you couldn’t stop ogling earlier is now right in front of you, and you’re looking for me! Get your head in the game!”
Ryan’s head snapped back to Tiffany. “What?”
And right about then he watched as Bailey was ejected from Tiffany’s body.
“Are you kidding me?” Ryan asked her. While Tiffany looked at the familiar freshman in front of her, Bailey moved quickly to retrieve the sticker.
“What is happening?” Tiffany blurted angrily. “I seem to keep blacking out and waking up with different people in front of me.” She looked down at her outfit. “At least my tits aren’t out this time!”
Bailey put the sticker back onto Tiffany’s killer bod and was back in the driver’s seat a moment later.
“Why are you inside her?” Ryan asked.
“Oh, so you can talk now that you know it’s me in here?” Tiffany/Bailey challenged.
“Well, yeah, I mean…”
“I’m trying to build your confidence Ryan. Tiffany is just a girl. Sure, she’s hot and all, but you can carry on a conversation with her the same as me if you just…Ryan…” She saw that she had lost him again to the depths of her temporary cleavage. “Oh for the love of…here! Get it out of your system.”
She grabbed the back of his head and plunged him face forward into her tits. She laughed as he struggled briefly, but then he began to slide his face around the big, bouncy orbs. Bailey noted that it felt good, maybe better than hers felt. But it had been awhile since someone’s face had been this close to her chest.
Ryan was in heaven, but with a limited supply of oxygen. He didn’t mind though. His face was between Tiffany’s boobs, with Bailey in charge. He’d still prefer Bailey’s body, but he could make do. He lifted an arm and pulled her top and bra down, just enough for a nipple to pop out.
“Hey, I’m not sure you should…” Tiffany’s voice protested, but stopped as Bailey felt Ryan’s tongue snake out and lick her borrowed tit. Damn! It was so sensitive. She was going to have to rub one out when this was all over. Or maybe she could still find a guy at this party to screw. As Ryan began to suck on the nipple, she reveled in the pleasure for several seconds, then pushed him back. “Okay, okay. I think your confidence has been built. Told you I’d be a great wing woman.”
“Can I…could you let me kiss her?” Ryan begged. “I uh, probably need a lot of practice in that area.”
Tiffany’s mouth grimaced slightly. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“You made me kiss a girl with my own mouth earlier!” Ryan countered. “And you just let me lick Tiffany’s tits!”
“That’s a very good point,” Tiffany laughed. “Well, I guess it’s okay.”
She puckered and leaned forward. Ryan felt his heart surge, and his lips met hers, and it was an amazing two seconds, and then he felt the slap.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing!” Tiffany shrieked, and hurried off. She only made it five steps before a guy hopped into her and began feeling her up.
Bailey was standing in front of Ryan, and mouthed the word sorry.
“It’s fine,” Ryan said with a hand on his stinging cheek.
“Let me make it up to you. Is there anyone else you’d like me to possess?” Bailey asked helpfully.
Ryan thought that was such a loaded question. There were several beautiful women in this house. Bailey would probably let him touch any of them he wanted. But the person he really wanted to touch was right in front of him. He should just say that.
He tried. “Maybe…what if you…”
And then Tabitha walked behind Bailey and put a sticker on her back.
Upstairs, Frank was wishing 90 seconds were longer as Steven popped out of Kim for the fifth time, and promptly fell off the bed with a loud thunk. As his girlfriend’s face flared with anger, Frank reached towards her and pulled the sticker off her back. “Here!” he said, and shoved it towards Steven.
“Are you helping this gross pervert possess me?” Kim snarled. She looked down at herself. “And you still haven’t made him put my clothes on?”
As she was shouting, Steven placed the sticker on her back. It didn’t stick, but fell off.
“Put it on her man!” Frank urged.
“I did!” Steven said anxiously. “It’s not sticking anymore. That means the spell won’t work.” He looked towards the closed bedroom door as he planned a quick exit. He did not want to be in the middle of the impending lover’s quarrel.
“Worst. Boyfriend. Ever!” Kim shouted. “What were you letting him do to me?” She seemed to notice the phone in his hand for the first time and gasped. “Were you taking naked pictures of me? While this jerk was touching my body? I’m going to kill both of you as soon as I get my fucking clothes back on!”
“That’s my cue!” Steven said as he lumbered towards the door. “Good luck man.”
Steven was pretty out of shape, and Frank beat him by a mile to the door. He grabbed Steven by the shoulder and began whispering in his ear. “I never used my sticker. You can have it if you keep possessing her and, uh…let me…”
“What are you whispering about?” Kim shouted as she pulled her pants back on.
“Let me touch her,” Frank blurted out.
“I told you I’m not doing anything gay!”
“It’s not gay when you’re in a chick!”
Kim’s shirt was on, and she walked towards them with malicious resolve in her eyes.
“Negotiate later!” Steven squawked. “Possess now!”
Frank gave him the sticker he had kept in his pocket. A second later, his girlfriend’s hands were pummeling him about the head. He blocked what he could and tried to catch her arms.
“We are officially over!” she screamed. “And you should know I’ve been cheating on you with Mark for months. He’s got a huge dick! Much bigger than-”
But she stopped as Steven had moved behind her, and taken control.
Frank felt the fight go out of Kim. His hands were still on her. He let them slide down her arms. Her face lifted to his, and she looked him straight in the eyes and asked very hesitantly, “What kind of touching? Does this count?”
Frank stared at her soft lips. He wanted to kiss her so bad right now. Why? Why was she so much more alluring to him this way, with someone else inside of her?
“Hey dummy,” she said snapping her fingers in front of his face. “Clock’s ticking. What do you want me to do so I can keep your sticker?”
“I want to kiss you!” Frank demanded.
Kim’s body twisted from his grasp. “Gross. No way! I’m not kissing a guy. I didn’t have a problem posing your girl, especially after you said you’d send me the pics. But I’m not kissing you, or letting you touch me, or…”
“What if I eat her out?”
Kim/Steven paused. “I, uh…I guess that’s… Would I have to see your face?”
Frank shook his head. “Not if it’s between your legs.”
Steven was tempted. He’d only played with the boobs of the other girls’ he’d possessed, except for Kim. He’d managed to clumsily rub her pussy. It had felt okay, but he was pretty sure he was doing it wrong. “Have you eaten your girlfriend’s pussy before?”
“It’s been awhile, but yeah.”
“Did she like it?”
“Oh yeah.”
Steven knew the seconds were slipping away. He didn’t want to waste a whole possession round on the negotiations. “I guess, but no other touching.”
“How about this,” Frank said as he fished from his pocket Kim’s unused sticker that he had taken from her early in the chaos. “I give you this fresh sticker as well, and you let me kiss my girlfriend before I lick her pussy and make you cum.”
Two stickers! That was enough for Steven. “Deal! But I’m going to close my eyes and pretend you’re a chick. And try not to use a lot of tongue-”
But Frank’s mouth covered up any more words from Kim’s mouth. And his hands became needy and started extracting her from her clothes as quickly as he could.
Downstairs, Tabitha in Bailey’s body was grilling Ryan about his preferences. “How about that one?” she said as she pointed to a brunette taking shots at the bar.
“No. I don’t want you to possess her either?”
“And you’re sure you don’t want me to possess that Tiffany girl again? The incredibly hot one that everyone has been fighting over.”
“I’m sure.”
“Then who do you want? Because it wasn’t me! I could tell when you kissed me. But I can be literally anyone in this house you’d like to fuck right now. So who’s it going to be?”
“I, uh, no one, okay. Why do you even want to do this with me?”
A mischievous expression danced across Bailey’s face. “Because my kink is deflowering virgins. And I’d be willing to bet that you have never had a first time, have you?”
Ryan sighed and nodded once.
“Well then, virgin boy, I find myself with a terrific opportunity, and a quandary. You don’t seem to want to have sex in my body, but that’s okay, because I can be anyone in this house that you want me to be.” Tabitha watched him carefully. He refused to make eye contact with her, and only stared at the floor. Occasionally his eyes would drift up and he’d look her in the boobs.
A thought occurred to her, and she ventured a guess. “It’s this girl, isn’t it? The one I’m in right now. Bailey, right? The one that’s just your friend. She’s the one you really want.” Ryan said nothing but his eyes snapped right to hers, and they were filled with panic. That look told Tabitha all she needed to know, and she placed a hand gently onto Ryan’s cheek. “Well, she’s right here for the taking,” Bailey’s voice purred. “What do you say, virgin boy?”
“It’s not the same,” Ryan argued. “You’re not really her. And the spell will wear off any-”
And at that moment, it did, and Tabitha felt herself pushed out of Bailey’s body. She grabbed the sticker off of Bailey’s back, and almost put it back on. But she looked at Ryan curiously first, and seemed to reconsider her course of action. She whirled about suddenly and headed towards the bar where Topher was pouring a steady stream of drinks.
Bailey pulled her hand from Ryan’s face and asked curiously, “Did someone just possess me? What did they make me do?”
“Nothing,” Ryan said truthfully. “We just talked.”
“What? Lame!” Her gaze shifted to something behind him. “Oh my gosh! Look at that!” she exclaimed, pointing to a guy in the corner of the room. His sizeable dick was out and he was twirling it around and around. “He’s doing the helicopter twirl thing! I’d heard guys could do that, but I’ve never seen it til now.”
A girl popped out behind the guy just then and she walked away with a blush and a smile. She didn’t get far, as someone hopped into her, and her tits were out shortly thereafter.
“You good for a bit?” Bailey asked. “I’ve got to go try that out.”
“The helicopter thing? Be my guest,” Ryan said, doing his best to smile at her.
Bailey started to walk away, but noticed the cracks in her friend’s smile. “You okay?”
Ryan did his best to swallow his feelings. “I’m fine. Go and see what it’s like to twirl a dick. Can we leave after that?”
She sighed. “I guess, since it doesn’t seem like you’re having a good time.” And then she ran to sticker the guy.
A few seconds later, Ryan heard a guy’s voice yell from across the room, “Ryan, look! Look at my dick! I’m doing it!”
Ryan waved and gave Bailey another thin lipped smile, then walked to the bar. He might as well get a drink before he left. He was glad to see that Tabitha had already come and gone.
Upstairs, Steven was in paradise. He was getting eaten out 90 seconds at a time, which wasn’t ideal, but still felt amazing. He was fully prepared to use the last of the stickers possessing Kim if Frank kept licking that pussy.
It was even okay that Frank’s hand occasionally reached up and groped Kim’s boobs. It felt good to have another hand squeezing and pinching them. Steven arched Kim’s back as another wave of pleasure washed over him, as Frank hit that very special spot. “Oh damn! This feels so great! A pussy is so much better than a dick!”
Frank came up for air to ask, “How about you let me fuck her?”
Kim’s hand pushed Frank’s head back down. “Stop talking crazy and keep licking me.”
Frank obeyed for another few seconds, then stuck two fingers inside her sopping wet hole.
Kim/Steven yelped. “Ooh that feels weird, but I like it!”
“My dick goes in even deeper than that,” Frank pointed out. He watched as Kim/Steven seemed to consider this.
But before he could make up his mind, Steven popped out of Kim from behind her, which meant Kim was on top of him. Steven pushed her off quickly, and Frank handed him a sticker, which Steven hurriedly slapped onto Kim’s back. It slid off. “This one’s out, Frank.”
“Okay, here’s the other one.”
Frank saw Kim’s expression during the exchange. She still looked mad, but also like she was trying to work out a puzzle. “What have you been doing to my pussy?” she moaned. “It’s on fire.”
“Uh, just attacking it with my tongue.”
“You haven’t done that in forever,” she growled. She noticed Steven and shot him a glare, but then continued talking to Frank. “My pussy feels so tingly babe. Why don’t you ask this guy to leave so you can get back to it.”
Frank had to wonder why she would suddenly be cool with this, especially after yelling consistently at him between possessions.
“Oh,” Kim cooed. “I know what you’re thinking. This doesn’t mean we’re getting back together. I’m just so turned on right now and…” Kim froze for a second as Steven lunged for her, then, “I’m back inside her again, Frank. You should really listen to what the lady said and get that pussy.”
Not one to look a gift horse in the pussy, Frank did just that, at least for next several seconds. And then he stopped to talk again, and Kim sounded like her old self as she cut him off before he could say a word, “Stop starting and stopping. You keep getting me right to the edge and then back off at the worst time.”
“How about I go ask Topher for more stickers?” Frank propositioned. “I’ll pay him whatever he wants. And you let me fuck Kim with you inside of her, and then you keep the stickers.”
Steven mulled it over quickly, which wasn’t easy as he was so horny and couldn’t really think straight, pun intended. “Go get the stickers, and maybe I’ll give you a handjob.”
Frank tore from the room, a man on a mission.
Ryan was on his second drink at the bar when Frank bumped into him. “Hey man, watch…” Ryan stopped himself from saying anything else when he saw Frank’s additional height and muscles.
“Sorry bro,” Frank said with a brief glance at Ryan. “Hey Topher!”
“Having a good time?” Topher asked with a wink.
Frank glanced at Ryan and a woman at the bar. “I need to have a private conversation real quick with my friend here.”
“Oh, so we’re friends now,” Topher smiled. “I thought I was just your dealer.” He waved everyone else away.
Ryan was slow to leave, and heard Frank say, “No man, we’re best friends. Listen, you got any more stickers? I’m willing to pay.”
Topher nodded like he had expected this. “You’re not the first person to ask. You know the drill. Only the first taste was free.”
“How much?”
“Two hundred bucks.”
Ryan almost spit out his drink as he began to walk away. Two hundred bucks for 90 seconds? Well, 90 seconds times ten. That still seemed like a huge rip off.
He heard Frank read his mind. “That’s way too much money!”
“Well like I said, you only got a taste. What I’m selling will have more of a kick.”
Ryan was out of ear shot after that. He didn’t have money like that to blow anyway. He looked around for Bailey. He really wanted to leave now. He checked where helicopter guy had been. He was still there, but he wasn’t twirling his dick anymore. He was stroking it though, and a few other girls were watching him do it with wide, hungry eyes.
Ryan observed long enough to see a different girl hop out of him. Then another girl, one that had been eagerly waiting, possessed him a second later. Ryan shook his head. That well hung guy had a line of girls waiting to possess him like he was some kind of ride. But where was Bailey? He was beginning to get worried when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned and breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of his friend’s pretty face.
“Sorry,” Bailey said quickly when she saw his concern fade. “Didn’t mean to worry you. Just had to use the bathroom.”
“It’s okay. You ready to go?”
“Well, what if-”
A person slapped her hard on the back, interrupting her. A guy had just put a sticker on her back. It stuck to her, but the guy didn’t disappear into her. He pulled it off and cursed, then said, “Oh man. I think I’m out!”
As he turned and walked away, he got possessed a second later by a girl who ran up behind and stuck him. His body quickly walked over to where Tiffany was making out with another guy, and began grinding his dick against her hip.
“If people are running out, that means the party will be winding down soon, I guess,” Ryan noted. “Sorry you didn’t get laid, Bailey. At least you got to swing a dick around. How did that feel?”
“What?” Bailey asked, then added quickly. “Oh, uh, good I guess. Hey, come with me.”
She grabbed his hand and pulled him into the foyer, but instead of going towards the door, she led him up the flight of stairs.
“Where are we going?” Ryan asked.
“Just somewhere with a bit of privacy,” was all she said.
The first two rooms they tried were occupied. One contained a guy and a girl going at it like it was their job. The second one had the makings of a mini orgy. Ryan had to pull Bailey away from that one because she couldn’t stop staring.
When they got into the third room, Bailey locked the door behind them, then looked intently at Ryan.
“What?” Ryan wondered aloud. “Do I got something on my face? Why’d you bring us up here?”
“Is there something you want to say to me?” Bailey asked. She walked towards him slowly with a look of concern.
“What?” Ryan asked apprehensively. Internally, his mind was racing, wondering if she knew about his feelings for her. If she asked him directly, he’d deny, deny, deny.
“Is the reason you didn’t pursue any of the other girls here…” she got shy all of a sudden. “Is it because maybe…you like me?”
“Yes!” Ryan practically shouted. So much for denial. “I mean…I know we’re friends. And I don’t want to ruin that. Our friendship has been the best thing that happened to me since I got here and-”
Bailey raced towards him and kissed him. Her momentum pushed him back, and he fell into a sitting position on the bed. Bailey crawled onto his lap, and peppered his lips and face with her mouth.
“Oh my gosh!” he gasped. “Is this really happening? Is this real?”
In a quick movement, she yanked her shirt off and watched as his eyes locked onto her bra. “What do you think?” She seemed to take a moment to admire her cleavage before taking one of his hands and placing it over her bra. She helped him squeeze her. “Do these feel real, Ryan?”
Ryan was so happy, and so turned on, but there was this thought, a stupid thought, one that buzzed about and dared to try and interrupt his happiness. “Uh, is it really you in there, Bailey?”
With mild shock, she asked, “What? You think someone’s possessing me right now and that’s why I’m coming on to you?”
“Well, yes. I mean, this was a possession party after all.”
Bailey nodded thoughtfully. “Okay, you’re right. But it has been longer than 90 seconds since I started talking to you downstairs, hasn’t it?”
“I think so.”
“Well if you’re not sure, why don’t you count down from 90. You can watch me closely while I remove this bra.” With a soft click, she unfastened the clasp, and let the bra slowly fall away from her boobs. Ryan was watching very closely indeed as she added. “If you see anyone pop out of me, you’ll know I was possessed. But if not, you can decide what you’d like to do with me next.”
In a room close by, Kim became aware for what seemed like the twentieth time that she was sitting on a bed, still completely naked. That wasn’t new to her. Nor was the fact that her fingers were on her pussy or a hand was squeezing her boobs. That had been how she had discovered herself a few times now. Also not new, was how her body felt. It wanted sex, it wanted to be penetrated, it wanted to climax! She hadn’t been this worked up in a while But none of that mattered because she knew what would happen if she didn’t move quickly. The pervert behind her would put the sticker onto her back and take over her body. And then she’d find herself in a slightly different position with a finger on her clit and a hand on her boob in another 90 seconds.
All of this flashed across her mind in the span of a few moments, which normally would have been too long, but behind her, Steven had fumbled the sticker. He picked it up off the bed and tried to place it again, but Kim had already sprung to her feet, whirled around, and faced him.
The door was just past him. She could do this. She’d have to run into the rest of the house naked. And would have to dodge anyone else with a sticker. But she’d just have to make it out of the house. That’s what Topher had said. The magic only worked inside the house. And then she’d get even with Frank, and Topher too. But first she’d flatten this overweight geek who was standing in her way. She faked like she was about to dart left, then faked again to the right. The guy’s response time was slow. She could get by this guy with no problem.
“I uh, I can’t let you leave before Frank gets back,” Steven stammered.
“Yeah, and why’s that?” Kim shot back.
“Because he wants to, uh…” Steven couldn’t finish and went red.
Kim spit out the rest in a fury. “He wants to fuck me! While you’re in my body! Is that it?”
“No, I wouldn’t let…I’m not gay!”
Kim laughed in spite of herself. “Oh, I’m sorry! I get confused sometimes. You’re not gay. You just want my boyfriend’s dick inside of you, while you’re in me. Now it all makes sense.”
“It’s not the same!” Steven argued, trying to stall for time. “He just really knows how to get you off! But he’ll only do it for your body. That’s why he’s coming back. He can’t get enough of that,” he said as he motioned to her.
Kim wasn’t sure how to feel about that. She believed their relationship had been nearing its end, but…he still wanted her. She had walked all over him for months, and he still only had eyes for her. He could be banging any other girl while she had been possessed, but he wanted her body. But then she gave it more thought. He wanted her body, but not her mind, otherwise Frank wouldn’t need this pathetic excuse of a man to possess her. And Frank had been helping him do it!
“Well, he’s going to have to learn to live without me!” Kim declared, and then made her move. She had been right. The guy’s weight did make him slower. She was past him in a flash and her hand was on the door before he was fully off the bed. She yanked it open, and ran right into Frank.
“Steven, I thought I told you to stay…” Frank trailed off as he saw a sheepish Steven with one foot still on the bed. “Oh, I see.”
Kim whirled around so her back wasn’t exposed to Steven, so he couldn’t use the sticker on her. Her bare butt backed into Steven, and she felt his dick push against her. She understood what it was to be between a rock and a hard place.
With her eyes on Steven, she pleaded with Frank, “Babe, you don’t need him. If you want to fuck me, I’ll let you. I didn’t know you still loved me and wanted me this much. If you make this creep go away, we can try again.”
Frank put his beefy hands on her shoulders and spun her around. She was scared for a second, until she heard Frank’s booming voice say, “Drop the sticker, Steven.”
“But…” Steven protested as he shambled forward.
Kim smirked. She couldn’t believe Frank was buying her “try again” speech. She looked up at him and said, “My hero.” Then gave him a peck on the cheek.
She was so confident that her deception was working, that she didn’t notice Frank’s hand reach into his back pocket and pull out a blue sticker, and extend it towards Steven. Steven wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do, but then he made eye contact with Frank, who winked at him. Steven closed the gap quickly, grabbed the sticker from Frank’s hand, and began to remove the plastic tab.
Kim realized that something was going on, but when she tried to turn around and see, Frank’s hands clamped onto her shoulders, pinning her to the spot. “What’s going on, Frank?” she asked sharply.
Frank gave her a knowing smile. “Everything with you has been hard lately, and you just suddenly have a change of heart about us? I’m sure that’s not the only time you’ve been fake with me.”
She began to squirm in his grip as she shouted in his face, “You’re right about that you pathetic waste of space! I will make you regret this! First chance I get I’m going to cut off your-”
And then the fight left her. She stopped squirming, and her face broke out into a grin. “I’m back in.”
Frank couldn’t help himself. He kissed her.
Steven felt a tongue enter Kim’s smaller mouth. Her feminine body responded automatically to the sensation of Frank’s body so close to hers. Steven’s mind rejected it a moment later, and he pushed Frank off and began spitting. “No, ew! Gross, man! Why’d you do that?”
Frank ushered them both in so he could lock the door. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t help myself. This is such a huge turn on for me.”
“I’m happy you’ve found your kink, but I am not comfortable kissing you.”
“But it’s okay if I eat her out?”
“Obviously,” Kim/Steven said as she fell backwards onto the bed and spread her legs wide.
“And you’ll let me feel her tits?”
“Yeah, yeah, all that feels good. Now hurry up so we don’t waste this sticker.”
Frank opened his mouth to say something, then thought better of it and lowered his mouth to Kim’s pussy. It wasn’t long before Kim’s moans filled the room. Frank started groping her tits with one hand, then both. She grabbed his hands and helped him squeeze harder. She had always liked it a little rough.
Steven found it hard to think about anything else but the waves of pleasure that kept rippling through Kim’s body. If he had been aware of the passage of time, he might have realized that more than 90 seconds had come and gone, a few times actually. He felt a finger go inside of Kim’s pussy again, then two, all while Frank’s tongue did its thing. Steven felt Kim’s pelvis begin to instinctively writhe and buck against Frank’s face, and a tsunami of ecstasy washed over him from head to toe. It was better than any orgasm Steven had ever felt in a male body, and lasted much longer as well.
Frank stopped his tongue lashing and withdrew his fingers. He looked at Kim, who lay sweaty and spent before him. His dick was throbbing. It needed release. Her legs had closed around Frank’s head as she came, but he steadily began to spread them wide again.
A thought finally occurred to Steven. “Hey, how long’s it been? Shouldn’t I have been kicked out of her by now?”
“If it had been the normal sticker, yeah. But Topher gave me one that lasts a bit longer.”
Kim’s face became worried. “How much longer?”
“Twenty four hours,” Frank said, and placed a finger directly onto Kim’s clit.
Kim moaned and her body squirmed. “But, that’s too long,” Kim/Steven whined. “I don’t want to be a girl for a whole day.”
“I’ll try to help it pass quickly for you,” Frank smiled as he slipped a finger back inside. “Or I could stop right now and we could go our separate ways.”
“No!” she pleaded. “Keep doing that! I’m still so horny! I could totally go again.”
That was the other kick Topher had promised. Not only would this version of the spell last longer, but it included an aphrodisiac spell. The possessed person’s body would have a higher libido the whole time. Still, Frank acted surprised by Steven’s words, even as he continued to tease Kim’s clit. “Oh? Well, I wish I could help you, but…” Frank stopped touching Kim entirely, leaving a very frustrated Steven.
Steven wasn’t dumb. He knew where this was heading. Kim’s body didn’t seem to care though. Steven made himself one final compromise. “I’ll shut my eyes, okay? But no kissing. And you can just…do what you need to do, but keep getting me off.”
“That’s my Kimmy,” Frank said. He watched Kim roll her eyes at that, before shutting them tightly. He pulled off his pants and boxers, and then stared at her sopping pussy for a few seconds.
Steven still didn’t look as Frank rubbed the tip of his dick in her juices, getting it nice and wet for entry. But Steven couldn’t stop himself from letting out a delighted squeal in Kim’s voice as Frank’s dick went in. Kim’s pussy was being filled slowly, inch by glorious inch. Kim’s eyes opened as Frank began to pump in and out of her. Steven was letting a guy fuck him. That had not been on his to do list today.
He looked down and was calmed by the sight of Kim’s tits, bobbing up and down as Frank pounding Kim’s pussy. Steven knew that Frank had clearly gotten more than a little pent up. It was okay. As long as he didn’t try to kiss him again. It was okay that he was inside this body. It felt good. So good. Impossibly good. He could do this. He could stay a girl for twenty four hours. He wondered how many orgasms a girl could have in that time. He couldn’t wait to find out.
Back in Ryan and Bailey’s room, things had moved a little more slowly. At Bailey’s insistence, Ryan had begun counting to 90, very slowly. Bailey had turned his count into a silent striptease, removing her shorts and underwear. Ryan only made it to 32, and then stood up.
“Can I touch you?” he asked in a nervous tremor.
She gave him a bigger smile than he had ever seen. “Of course. You can touch me anywhere you want.”
And that’s what he did. She giggled as he began to run nervous, shaky hands over her. He felt her soft, smooth skin that seemed to go on forever. His hands went up and down her arms, then he crouched and moved them down the side of her legs. This put her pussy directly in front of him. He saw the patch of dark blonde hair. He moved his hands to the back side of her legs, and lifted them up. When his fingers touched the underside of her butt cheeks, he hesitated.
Bailey was breathing hard as she encouraged him, “Keep going. Feel all of me. I want you to.”
He kept staring at her pussy as his fingers continued their journey. Her cheeks lifted at his touch, and then he was gripping them in his hands. Her butt was small and tight. He spread her cheeks apart, then pushed them together. He saw a trickle of moisture run down her inner thigh.
“Are you…” he started to ask. Then he brought a hand around and touched the clear fluid.
“Yeah, that’s how wet I am right now for you,” Bailey said with knees that began to shake. “I love how you’re touching me. I love how much you want me. I think I’ll need to sit down soon.”
“Of course, sure, yeah,” Ryan said. He stood and led her to the bed. They sat down, and he put a hand on her boob. And then he kissed her. They stayed like this for a minute or two. Ryan had no way of knowing because for him, time was at a standstill. Eventually, some instinct kicked in, and he began to push her down onto the bed.
“Wait,” she said.
Ryan froze, terrified that he had done something wrong.
“It’s your turn to get naked,” she whispered softly.
He sighed, and clumsily shucked off his clothes, almost falling over in the process. Then he was beside her, pushing her down. She spread her legs, letting his dick rub near her pussy entrance. He tried to push into her. His aim was off.
Bailey giggled, then reached down and took his dick into her hand. “Let me help you out there, virgin boy.”
That phrase struck Ryan hard, as Bailey’s hand guided him into her. His face mirrored a mixture of horror and delight as he felt himself slide into her depths. “Oh!” he gasped at the overwhelming sensation of being inside his crush.
“Try not to cum too fast!” she said quickly. “Think of something else if you need to.”
Ryan was already thinking of something else. The phrase virgin boy. That’s what Tabitha had called him. Had Bailey overheard her say that? She couldn’t have. Tabitha had been inside of Bailey at the time, and Bailey wouldn’t have remembered.
“That’s it,” Bailey cooed underneath him. “You’re nice and hard inside of me.This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”
Had Ryan ever told Bailey that he was a virgin? He didn’t think so. She might have assumed, but…
She wrapped her legs around him and pulled him deeper. “You have to start a rhythm. You need to go in and out, not all the way out mind you, just to the tip. And then push back into me. Slowly at first, but then you can speed up, and you want to try and go deeper. Good. Just keep doing that.”
Ryan found himself following her instruction, even as his mind wondered. She began to moan loudly underneath him. It was incredibly sexy, and Ryan did not doubt that he would have exploded in her several times already if his mind weren’t otherwise preoccupied.
“Put a hand on my tit and pinch it!” she ordered.
Ryan obliged. She leaned forward for a kiss, and he gave it. It seemed hollow though. His dick didn’t care, and as it surged towards the finish line, he asked, “So, I guess thanks for being a great wing woman.”
Her expression became confused. “What? Wing woman? Sure, whatever. Just give it to me harder!”
He did give it to her harder. He was pumping furiously now as he kept to his line of questioning. “You called yourself that earlier, a couple of times actually. You said you’d be my wing woman and help get me laid.”
Her hips were bucking under him, trying to get him deeper every time. “How am I doing so far?” she cried out.
He could feel his balls tighten, and his dick begin to pulse inside her. Even so, he looked her in the eyes, and said the obvious. “You’re not her, are you?”
The hungry smile she gave him was one he had seen before, on Tabitha. She bucked harder and faster against him as she saw he was right on the edge. Then she gave him an extra show by playing with her tits. “That’s not going to stop you from cumming inside of her, is it?”
To Ryan’s regret, it did not stop him in the slightest.
The end?
“Why are we here again?” Ryan asked as they approached the entryway of the large house.
Bailey rolled her blue eyes. “Because we’re freshman in college. We’re here to make friends, experience new things, and party. We were lucky to get this invite, so don’t be a wet blanket or next time I won’t bring you along.”
Ryan’s whole tall, lanky frame slouched in defiance. Parties, any kind of party, was not his scene. He liked his socializing done one or two people at a time. The only person who could have talked him into coming was Bailey. But he still wanted it known by his words and posture that he was going reluctantly. “I didn’t get the invite. I’m just your plus one, and I said I’d rather stay in my dorm room.”
“And I ignored what you said and chose to drag you here anyway,” the bubbly blonde chided as she playfully slapped his arm. “It’ll be good for you. You’re always talking about how terrible you are with women. I’ll help you get the confidence boost you need to get laid!”
Ryan stopped walking as his brain didn’t have enough processing power to understand that last sentence and walk at the same time. For the briefest of moments, he thought that Bailey had offered to have sex with him at the party. He would have been more than okay with that.
The day they had met at orientation had been the day his crush on her began. He had been so awkward when introducing himself to her during an icebreaker. Bailey, however, had accepted him just as he was, and then placed him firmly in the friend zone. But every once in a while, he misinterpreted something she said as a possibility for something more. He knew he was probably wrong though, because he always struggled to communicate with the opposite sex.
Still, Ryan was eternally grateful to have met her. Bailey had helped Ryan come out of his shell bit by bit over the last couple of months. They helped each other in their classes when they could. Most of all, Bailey helped Ryan overcome a strong bout of homesickness he felt at the end of the first month. She was a good friend, possibly the only real one he had made on campus. And he was pretty sure he was in love with her. He kept hoping she would make a move on him, but she never did, and he didn’t want to ruin everything by asking for something more.
But she had mentioned getting laid. Him laid to be specific. And his ears had perked up and wondered if she was coming onto him at last. But as his eyes met hers, and he watched her head tilt in confusion, he realized he had mostly likely misread the situation.
Bailey cut back in. “Yes, laid. I thought boys thought about sex all the time. I can be your wingman. Or wing woman as it were.”
“Wing woman, sure. It won't matter. I’m terrible at-”
“Talking to girls, I know!” Bailey finished for him as she rang the doorbell.
“Except for you,” Ryan pointed out.
Bailey smirked. “Because we’re such good friends!”
Ryan almost said something. He almost let it slip that he didn’t want to be her friend. He wanted to be her lover. But that would have been horribly cheesy and pathetic. And she would have laughed at him. And she’d tell him that she didn’t see him that way. And their friendship would effectively be over. So instead of saying anything, he turned to leave. But Bailey caught his shoulder.
“Hey, you can do this,” she said in all seriousness as she spun him back around. “I’m with you all the way.” She booped his nose and winked at him. “Until you go all the way that is.”
Ryan was about to point out that most likely meant she’d be with him forever, when the door swung wide open to reveal Topher Steward. Everyone knew Topher. He was the guy on campus that could get you things. The kind of things that you needed a fake id to get. Or the kinds of things that helped you ace a test without studying. Or the kinds of mind altering substances that police would absolutely arrest you for having in your possession. And he was always on the lookout for the next thing to sell to his fellow students.
“Oh good, you’re here, you’re here,” Topher said with open arms and a wide grin. As he pulled them inside a large foyer, he spoke loud enough for anyone in the house to hear. “I was worried we were going to have to start the party without you.”
Ryan had a brief second to take in the place as they were shuffled into the lavishly decorated interior. It seemed even bigger on the inside. There were stairs that led left and right to a second story. To his right, there seemed to be a study, and beyond that an entryway to what was probably a kitchen.
Topher was leading them to a large room to their left that had a pool table near the middle, shelves of books along one side of the wall, and a fully stocked bar in the corner. There were already thirty or forty people huddled in groups around the room, talking amongst themselves. Ryan thought he knew a few people from around campus. But there was one person he absolutely recognized, because she was probably the hottest girl in a thousand mile radius. Ryan only knew her name was Tiffany, along with the fact that she was a senior with dark hair, an hourglass figure that could stop traffic, and a gorgeous face.
This vision of loveliness stood watching as Topher ushered in what looked to be two naive freshmen, a guy and a girl, into the room. The guy had spotted her, and was now gawking at her tits as if they were celebrities that might give him an autograph. She was used to men staring at her, but they usually did it with a little more subtlety. She shot him a look and a gesture that said my eyes are up here, then made a motion to Topher to start whatever he had planned. She had other places to be. She wouldn’t be here if Topher hadn’t paid her, and he said he’d only need her services for a 90 second demonstration.
On top of that, he’d also paid for her to recruit several of her more attractive sorority sisters who had come as well. That hadn’t been hard. She ran their sorority, so with a snap of her fingers, they would go to whatever party she told them to. But she wasn’t being paid to be lusted after by a lame freshman. She tapped her foot and looked around again for anyone worthy of her company. It took more than a cursory glance, but she finally saw Frank, one of the few good athletes on campus. As usual, he had brought his girlfriend, Kim. That was a pity. She’d totally jump Frank’s bones if Kim didn’t have him on a two foot leash all the time.
Frank was wondering why they were all just standing around. Usually when he came to one of Topher’s parties, the party was raging by the time he walked through the door. So far this was a very quiet and subdued affair, definitely not his preferred scene. He liked his parties loud, because that way he couldn’t hear his girlfriend’s incessant complaining or trying to draw him into a fight. He would have already cut and run if Topher hadn’t told him that it’d be worth his while. So he tried to wait patiently, and hoped his girlfriend Kim would do the same. But by her posture and the expression of discontent on her face, she was going to do no such thing.
“Babe, look at who’s here,” she said derisively. “I’d talk with, maybe like, two or three of these people. And there’s no music, and nobody’s drinking! We’re leaving.”
He slid his hands around Kim’s tight waist and pulled her towards him to hopefully calm her foul modd. She felt so soft against him, and she smelled terrific. “Babe, give Topher a chance. He said-”
Kim pushed his arms down and stepped out of his embrace. “I don’t care what Topher said!” she hissed louder than she knew Frank would like. “I said we’re leaving.”
Frank sighed. It was always her way or the highway, and had been for the last year they’d been dating. It hadn’t been like that in the beginning. She had been a little feisty, and a lot bossy, but she had always accepted his hands on her body. Now most times he tried to be affectionate, especially in public, she’d push him away. With a year and a half to go till graduation, it seemed she was just keeping him around for his status as a jock. That might be fair, because sometimes he wondered if he was keeping her around for her body. The problem was, he got to touch it less and less these days.
As Frank and Kim stepped out to make their exit, Topher called out, "If you go now, you won't get to see what these do."
Every eye locked onto a folded manilla envelope that Topher extracted from his back pocket. He reached inside and pulled out a two by two inch square of glossy white paper.
"Is that some new drug?" Frank asked.
Topher smiled and began to pass them out, one to each person. "Better. I'll explain what it does after everyone gets one. Don't break the seal on the adhesive to them before I tell you so we can all enjoy the ride together."
Everyone's curiosity peaked and the room began to chatter. One by one, they studied the innocuous looking white square that Topher placed in their palm. As people poked and prodded it and held it up to the light, it looked like just an ordinary sticker. How could it be better than recreational drugs?
Ryan was examining his when Bailey nudged him. "We haven't been here five minutes and someone is already checking you out."
"What?" Ryan asked as he doubtfully scanned the room. "Where?"
"Play it cool, Romeo," Bailey said from the side of her mouth. "3 o'clock."
"I asked where," Ryan began, but stopped talking as Bailey's foot came firmly down on his. He gave a quiet yelp, then followed where Bailey's finger pointed. A cute, chubby girl was staring at him from the opposite side of the room. Well, he didn’t notice that she was staring at first. He noticed her boobs first. They were huge. And when his eyes finally found her face, yes, she was staring at him. He recognized her from his Chemistry class. She gave him a little wave, then looked down at her chest, then arched it forward, as if giving Ryan permission to look all he wanted.
"Damn," Bailey whispered. "It might be easier to get you laid than I thought.”
He looked away from the girl as he remembered Bailey’s words earlier. His mood became sulky. “She’s not my type.”
“No giant boobs, check!” Bailey said.
Ryan noticed that someone else was staring in their direction. An overweight, nerdy looking guy was looking intently at Bailey. Ryan pointed him out to her. “It looks like it might be easy for you too!”
“Ugh, that’s Steven!” Bailey muttered. “No thank you!”
“You know him?”
“He keeps hitting on me in my introductory science class. And not just me, I’ve seen him hit on other girls in class as well. He’s real suave about it too,” she said sarcastically. “His signature move is to stare relentlessly like a creep. But he also likes to brush up against anyone of the female persuasion when getting to his seat in class. I’m pretty sure he would hump anything with a pulse, which he might not have if he ever brushes up against me the way I’ve seen him do other girls.”
“I think you should give him a chance.”
Ryan unsuccessfully dodged the hand to the back of his head.
As Topher handed out the last piece, the room grew quiet with anticipation. With a flourish, Topher held up the last square and said, “Thank you all for accepting the invite to my party. It will be unlike any of my other social gatherings, because of this.” He shook the small square in his hand.
“Is it a new drug?” someone asked excitedly.
“It is not,” Topher grinned wildly. As disappointed murmuring broke out in the room, Topher raised both his hands to quiet them down. “It’s something better! And all of you get to be the first to experience it. Tiffany,” he called as he motioned for her to come forward, “now is when I require your assistance.”
Tiffany did as he asked, but with some hesitancy. She liked making money, but hated surprises, or being made to look foolish, and this had the potential for both. But he had paid her five hundred dollars for 90 seconds, so she dutifully strutted over to him and struck a haughty pose with a fake smile. The clock was ticking as of now, and she began to count.
With Tiffany beside him, Topher continued. “What you have in your hand is a sticker that has been infused with a possession spell. Yes, I said spell, as in magic spell. And with it, you’ll be able to possess a person’s body for about 90 seconds.”
Tiffany did her best not to laugh out loud at him. Had he gone mad, or was he under the influence of some powerful pharmaceuticals? Either way, this would be over in 77 seconds.
Kim was already pulling on Frank’s arm, a sign that she wanted to go. His eyes met hers, and she said loudly, “You brought me here for this. This is a joke, you idiot. Topher’s messing with us. It’s just an excuse for us all to act crazy and pretend someone is possessing us. It’s stupid. We’re not kids.”
Before anyone had a chance to exit, Topher cooly said, “I know none of you will believe me so…” Topher peeled off the plastic tab from the sticker and pressed the adhesive gently to the small of Tiffany’s back. “...so I’ll show you.”
Everyone gasped as Topher’s body phased into Tiffany, who seemed completely unaware that anything was happening to her. Her body only twitched slightly, and then relaxed.
Tiffany began to speak as if nothing were out of the ordinary as she raised a hand and stroked her soft face. “As you can see, I’m not lying. I’m not making it up. The possession spell works. I am now in control of Tiffany’s body.” Her hand slid from her face, landed on her breast, and continued its descent down her voluptuous body. “Every single bit of it.”
It took almost half a minute for Topher to quiet everyone down again. When they did, he kept on explaining with Tiffany’s voice, but his salesmanship. “I can see a lot of you have questions, and I’ll give you the basics. But if you want more than that, you’ll just have to experience it for yourself. For starters, it is reusable as long as the sticker’s adhesive holds, which in testing is around ten to fifteen times. To use it, you must stick it to a person’s back. It doesn’t matter if it’s their skin or their clothes, just has to be near the center of their back for the spell to kick in. And that’s it. You don’t have to say or chant anything, because the spell has been preprogrammed into the sticker. And-”
Tiffany’s body jerked again, and Topher’s body rematerialized right behind her. Tiffany was at a count of 24 seconds. He’d better hurry up with whatever he was trying to sell.
Topher picked back up his pitch in his body. “Well, once the time is up, you pop back out with the person you possessed none the wiser, thinking that nothing has happened at all. And then you can go again by pressing the sticker on their back if you want. Or you can pick someone else. Or you can let someone possess you, or-”
Tiffany stopped counting. Why was Topher so obsessed with this silly bit of fiction. She spun to look at him and asked, “What are you talking about? No one’s going to believe any of this.” But she saw that everyone’s eyes were on her as if she had done a spectacular magic trick.
“You see?” Topher said jubilantly. “She has no idea she was possessed! When you stick someone, it happens instantly, and when you come out, no time for them has passed. The only way they might have a clue that anything funny happened, is if you’ve changed their surroundings, like say moved them to a different room, or if you’ve been naughty and maybe taken off a few articles of their clothing.” He mimed taking his shirt off.
“How is this better than drugs?” a dimwitted sophomore asked.
Topher addressed the question while he deftly reached behind Tiffany’s back and retrieved the sticker. “Haven’t you ever wondered what it would be like to be in someone else’s skin? To feel taller, or stronger, or…” he placed the sticker onto Tiffany’s back again, and Topher vanished into her.
Tiffany’s hands went just under her breasts, and she pushed them up and locked eyes with several guys in the room. “...or to know what it’s like to touch the best boobs on campus?” As Topher glanced around, he saw that he had just convinced every man to stick around. “But ladies, you could know what it’s like to have an extra appendage between your legs. To feel what it’s like to run a hand up and down your own dick for a change. Or, you could walk a mile in another woman’s shoes and see the world through their eyes. The possibilities are endless, right up til the time runs out.”
Topher could tell that not everyone was on board, but many were already imagining what they could do, or who they wanted to try it out on first. He hurried his pitch along. “But maybe some of you are worried that if you were possessed, someone would have access to all the secrets inside your head. Well rest easy. No one will be able to access your mind, your memories, your passwords and pin numbers. The only thing a person will know about you is what they already knew when they possessed you.”
Topher knew he’d convinced even more of them now by more eyes darting around, looking for a person to stick. He gave the naysayers their only out. “Anyone who wants to go should leave right now. You can even take your stickers with you, but know this! They won’t work outside of this house. The magic is tied to this place. The sticker would become just an ordinary sticker. And if you try to leave in the body of another person, you’d get ejected from them immediately.”
Tiffany’s eyes had a few more seconds to gauge people’s responses, until Topher reappeared behind her. She didn’t understand why Topher had stopped talking mid sentence. Her sorority sisters were looking at her with a mix of nervousness, excitement, and possibly fear. She didn’t think a full 90 seconds had passed, but she was going to cut whatever this was short. “Look, Topher, if you don’t need me anymore, my sisters and I are going to leave.”
“Just 10 more seconds, Tiffany,” Topher said patiently. “Yes, anyone who wants to, should go now.” Six people began to shuffle forward to leave. Before they could get far, Topher added one more incentive. “But for anyone who wants to stay, there is an open bar.”
Only three people actually left, one of which was the frightened looking sorority sister. Tiffany thought that was weird. Nobody left when there was an open bar. Why hadn’t Topher led with that instead of talking about some possession sticker nonsense.
One person that was trying to leave was Kim. She was gritting her teeth and glaring furiously at her boyfriend. “Let’s go!” she commanded.
But Frank dug in his heels and said firmly. “I want to stay! If you want to go, go!”
His girlfriend’s eyes narrowed and both her hands went to her hips. “Why? So some skank can possess you and grab your dick? Or maybe they possess me and try and make out with you? Is that something you want? For some hussy or geek to take me over and make out with you?”
“Uh…” Was all the reply Frank could muster. Her words had sounded so exciting, so forbidden and alluring.
“Are you kidding me right now?” was all that Kim got out, before a girl behind her put a sticker on Kim’s back
Frank watched with wide eyes as it happened. He saw his girlfriend gasp, then squeal! She began to flex and wiggle her fingers. After that, she brought her hands to her boobs and started squeezing them shamelessly. “Not as large as mine,” Kim’s voice said appreciatively. “But definitely perkier.” Kim looked up into Frank’s eyes and smiled. “Sorry. It seemed like your girlfriend was about to rip you a new one. I hope you don’t mind.”
Not only did Frank not mind, but he was hornier than he had ever been. “Would you mind if I made out with my girlfriend right now? Probably won’t get a chance to later.”
The person in Kim appeared to consider it for a second, then shrugged her shoulders and giggled. “Sury, why not. It’s not my body.”
Their lips met and their tongues intertwined, but Frank wouldn’t get to experience all of it, because a sticker got placed on his back as well.
All around them, people were placing their stickers, and several people disappeared into someone else.
“Let the possession party commence!” Topher shouted. He bobbed and weaved his way quickly to the bar and began pouring drinks. “If any of you are feeling frisky, all the bedrooms are available to you!” He pressed a button on his phone and dance music flooded the room.
The most attractive people were the first to get possessed. Bailey would have fallen into that category, but when two people tried, Ryan saw them coming and intervened, pulling her out of the way. They escaped temporarily to a corner and watched as people started behaving strangely. Clothes began coming off and inhibitions were shed all around them. All combinations of people started making out passionately, guys and girls, guys and guys, and girls and girls, kissing, touching, groping. Two of the sorority girls had taken off their tops and bras and were just mashing their boobs together and giggling profusely.
“So, we’re not staying and being a part of this insanity, are we?” Ryan asked Bailey as they surveyed the debauchery around them. He wanted to leave. But he was also keenly aware that Bailey was almost cheek to cheek with him, and he didn’t mind that at all. He could smell her perfume, or lotion…whatever girls wear that made them smell good. He’d stay in this corner with just her for hours if she’d let him.
“How about I let you know in 90 seconds,” Bailey grinned as she snaked a hand behind Ryan’s back and placed her sticker.
To Ryan, it was as if no time had passed at all. Bailey’s face was grinning mischievously at him one second, and then the next, his face was meshed together with a girl’s. He could feel her in his mouth. It was hot and wet and warm. His dick was throbbing. He pulled back, and saw Bailey appear next to him out of the corner of his eye. He recognized the girl in front of him though, the one who had just been exploring his mouth with her tongue. It was the chubby girl that had been staring at him earlier.
She looked at him now with disappointment and hunger. “Why’d you stop?” Then she spotted Bailey.. “Oh, were you the one possessing him?”
“I don’t…” Ryan was at a loss. He looked at Bailey curiously, and she just gave him a thumbs up.
The girl smirked at Bailey and extended a hand towards her. “You’re a really good kisser. My name’s Tabitha.”
She took it and replied, “I’m Bailey, and this guy that can’t form complete sentences is my friend Ryan.”
“Just friends?” Tabitha asked firmly.
“Oh yeah, just friends,” Bailey confirmed, which felt like a knife through Ryan’s heart.
Tabitha looked at Ryan slyly. “I wonder if he’d kiss differently now?”
“Only one way to find out,” Bailey teased.
Tabitha wasted no time in pulling Ryan’s face back to hers. Again, Ryan felt her hot tongue as it probed his mouth. She was the one that ended the kiss this time. “Not as good, but he can learn.”
Ryan glanced at Bailey, and saw that she was happy for him. He couldn’t help but resent her pushing this Tabitha person into his path. Yes, he had gotten all worked up. But he was not happy. He didn’t want Tabitha. He wanted Bailey. He should just tell her that, out loud, instead of it broadcasting on loop in his mind. But he knew, deep down, he was too much of a coward. He tried to smile back at his friend, but his mouth crinkled and looked like had bitten into something sour.
Bailey thought he was joking, and made a face back at him. “Enjoy yourself, kids. I’m going to go get a drink.”
As she walked towards the bar, Tabitha hinted at Ryan, “I wouldn’t say no to a drink.”
Ryan had found his ability to brood wildly impared by a toplessTiffany who was making out with one of her sorority sisters.
Tabitha’s temper flared, but she gave Ryan another chance and loudly repeated, “Will you get me a drink?”
The question got into Ryan’s ears and bounced around as he saw the two gorgeous women kiss and fondle each other. He somehow managed to say, “I’m not thirsty.”
Tabitha looked angrily in Tiffany’s direction, and walked away from Ryan, who had just seemed to notice how many more topless women there were in the room.
Close by, Frank noticed his kiss with Kim had ended abruptly. One second he was kissing her luscious lips, and the next she had disappeared. Before he could even look around for her, time seemed to skip again, and he found himself in a room making out with a girl he had seen earlier, but didn’t know. Her hands were underneath his shirt, feeling the abs he worked so hard to keep. He heard the door shut behind him as whoever had possessed him left for a different target.
The woman in front of him was now trying to remove his shirt entirely. As he began to push her away, his girlfriend burst through the door at the worst possible time.
Kim charged like a bull and yelled, “Is this why you wanted to stay you two timing bastard!”
The girl on the bed with Frank yelped, rolled away, and ran out the door.
“Baby, this isn’t what it looks like!” Frank began.
“It looked like you were hooking up with that girl that just ran out of here!” Kim said as she took a swipe at Frank.
Frank dodged, and then continued to do so as Kim kept yelling and swinging away at him. Unbeknownst to her, a rotund looking guy had entered the room, and was sneaking up behind her. Frank saw. He saw it clearly. He could have said something, could have warned her, or shouted at the guy to stop, but he didn’t. A part of him, a very specific part actually, wanted his girlfriend to be possessed. He watched as a sticker was placed on her back, and the guy took control of his girlfriend’s hot body.
Instantly, Kim began to take her top and hurriedly struggled with her bra strap. As she did this, she said, “Ooh, I like this one. She’s real feisty. You’re welcome by the way, man. I think she had it in for you..”
The bra fell away and her perky breasts sprang into view. It wasn’t Frank’s first time seeing them, but it was different somehow. It wasn’t his girlfriend behind those eyes. It was someone else, controlling her, moving her, exposing her. For reasons he could not explain, it was the hottest thing he had ever experienced.
“Hey,” Frank said in almost a whisper. “That’s my girlfriend.”
The person inside Kim took this as a challenge, and Kim retorted, “Well sorry pal, but she’s mine for like, another 80 seconds or so.”
Frank looked her body up and down, then asked, “Could you take off her skirt too?”
Kim raised one eyebrow and jeered, “You want me to take off her panties while I’m at it?”
“Yes,” Frank said quietly. He was suddenly embarrassed as he realized he was asking this of another guy. A guy who would slide her underwear down her legs. Who would be able to see his girlfriend without a stitch on her.
Kim began to slowly nod like Frank’s request were totally sensible. “Alright. But first, introductions. The guy extended Kim’s hand while the other cupped a boob. “The name’s Steven.”
“Oh, uh, Frank.” He shook the offered hand. This part was weird, but it was worth it as he watched Kim’s eyes lock onto his, and she pulled down her skirt, then her panties.
“So, now what?” Kim’s voice asked casually. “You’re just going to stare at me? I mean, if that’s what gets you going.”
Frank thought it was so weird hearing Kim sound so easy going and accommodating. She’d been nothing but angry, bossy, and belligerent to him for months. Now she was talking to him without any of those tones or irritated expressions she typically used. And now that he wasn’t shaking her hand, she was groping both of her boobs.
“Can you like, make her strike sexy poses?” Frank stammered. Why was he so nervous?
Kim stopped mid squeeze. “I thought you said she was your girlfriend? Why can’t you just ask her to do that for you?”
“She is, I just, um, we’ve been going through a rough patch recently and…”
Kim put a hand on his shoulder. “Trouble in paradise. I get it. Say no more. I can pose her real provocative like, and you could take pictures. I wouldn’t mind that, especially if you’re willing to send them my way.” Kim fell back onto the bed and asked with feigned innocence, “Now how do you want me?”
Frank’s mouth went dry as he pulled out his phone to take pics.
Downstairs, Ryan was still gawking at the boobs all around him, but eventually remembered that Bailey was somewhere on the premises. Hadn’t she said the bar? He went to find her to see if she was ready to leave. But should he try possessing someone first? That was the whole point of this, wasn’t it? He could possess Bailey, but…just because she had possessed him, didn’t mean she’d be cool with him possessing her. They should just leave. But first he had to find Bailey She was being a terrible wing woman.
He felt someone touch his arm and he whirled around. He swallowed hard, as a genuine goddess began speaking to him.
“So, can you like, protect me from all the creeps here?” Tiffany asked like a helpless maiden. “Everyone keeps possessing my friends and I. Maybe if I’m with you, they’ll leave me alone.”
“Oh, uh, I guess that’s okay.” Ryan managed meekly.
She sidled up next to him and began running her hand up and down his arm. “My hero. I’m glad you’re here to look after me.”
Ryan tried to respond, but he had registered that her breast was pressing into his arm. It was so big and soft. He had never imagined being this close to Tiffany’s boobs. His head had turned of its own accord and his eyes had zeroed in on her cleavage. He had a front row seat to the twins. He could die happy. Wait, she was saying something. He hadn’t been paying attention! “I’m sorry, what?”
Tiffany giggled. “I said you seemed hypnotized by my boobs.”
Ryan went red. He couldn’t look at Tiffany. In a panic, he began frantically looking around for Bailey to help him. “Oh. I’m sorry! They were right there and, they’re so perfect, and…”
Her eyes narrowed. “Who are you looking for if perfect boobs are right in front of you?”
“My friend, Bailey,” Ryan answered honestly, even as his airway seemed to be closing up as a defense mechanism not to say anything stupid until his friend could come and bail him out.
Tiffany pulled back and put her hands on her hips. “Ryan. A very attractive woman that you couldn’t stop ogling earlier is now right in front of you, and you’re looking for me! Get your head in the game!”
Ryan’s head snapped back to Tiffany. “What?”
And right about then he watched as Bailey was ejected from Tiffany’s body.
“Are you kidding me?” Ryan asked her. While Tiffany looked at the familiar freshman in front of her, Bailey moved quickly to retrieve the sticker.
“What is happening?” Tiffany blurted angrily. “I seem to keep blacking out and waking up with different people in front of me.” She looked down at her outfit. “At least my tits aren’t out this time!”
Bailey put the sticker back onto Tiffany’s killer bod and was back in the driver’s seat a moment later.
“Why are you inside her?” Ryan asked.
“Oh, so you can talk now that you know it’s me in here?” Tiffany/Bailey challenged.
“Well, yeah, I mean…”
“I’m trying to build your confidence Ryan. Tiffany is just a girl. Sure, she’s hot and all, but you can carry on a conversation with her the same as me if you just…Ryan…” She saw that she had lost him again to the depths of her temporary cleavage. “Oh for the love of…here! Get it out of your system.”
She grabbed the back of his head and plunged him face forward into her tits. She laughed as he struggled briefly, but then he began to slide his face around the big, bouncy orbs. Bailey noted that it felt good, maybe better than hers felt. But it had been awhile since someone’s face had been this close to her chest.
Ryan was in heaven, but with a limited supply of oxygen. He didn’t mind though. His face was between Tiffany’s boobs, with Bailey in charge. He’d still prefer Bailey’s body, but he could make do. He lifted an arm and pulled her top and bra down, just enough for a nipple to pop out.
“Hey, I’m not sure you should…” Tiffany’s voice protested, but stopped as Bailey felt Ryan’s tongue snake out and lick her borrowed tit. Damn! It was so sensitive. She was going to have to rub one out when this was all over. Or maybe she could still find a guy at this party to screw. As Ryan began to suck on the nipple, she reveled in the pleasure for several seconds, then pushed him back. “Okay, okay. I think your confidence has been built. Told you I’d be a great wing woman.”
“Can I…could you let me kiss her?” Ryan begged. “I uh, probably need a lot of practice in that area.”
Tiffany’s mouth grimaced slightly. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“You made me kiss a girl with my own mouth earlier!” Ryan countered. “And you just let me lick Tiffany’s tits!”
“That’s a very good point,” Tiffany laughed. “Well, I guess it’s okay.”
She puckered and leaned forward. Ryan felt his heart surge, and his lips met hers, and it was an amazing two seconds, and then he felt the slap.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing!” Tiffany shrieked, and hurried off. She only made it five steps before a guy hopped into her and began feeling her up.
Bailey was standing in front of Ryan, and mouthed the word sorry.
“It’s fine,” Ryan said with a hand on his stinging cheek.
“Let me make it up to you. Is there anyone else you’d like me to possess?” Bailey asked helpfully.
Ryan thought that was such a loaded question. There were several beautiful women in this house. Bailey would probably let him touch any of them he wanted. But the person he really wanted to touch was right in front of him. He should just say that.
He tried. “Maybe…what if you…”
And then Tabitha walked behind Bailey and put a sticker on her back.
Upstairs, Frank was wishing 90 seconds were longer as Steven popped out of Kim for the fifth time, and promptly fell off the bed with a loud thunk. As his girlfriend’s face flared with anger, Frank reached towards her and pulled the sticker off her back. “Here!” he said, and shoved it towards Steven.
“Are you helping this gross pervert possess me?” Kim snarled. She looked down at herself. “And you still haven’t made him put my clothes on?”
As she was shouting, Steven placed the sticker on her back. It didn’t stick, but fell off.
“Put it on her man!” Frank urged.
“I did!” Steven said anxiously. “It’s not sticking anymore. That means the spell won’t work.” He looked towards the closed bedroom door as he planned a quick exit. He did not want to be in the middle of the impending lover’s quarrel.
“Worst. Boyfriend. Ever!” Kim shouted. “What were you letting him do to me?” She seemed to notice the phone in his hand for the first time and gasped. “Were you taking naked pictures of me? While this jerk was touching my body? I’m going to kill both of you as soon as I get my fucking clothes back on!”
“That’s my cue!” Steven said as he lumbered towards the door. “Good luck man.”
Steven was pretty out of shape, and Frank beat him by a mile to the door. He grabbed Steven by the shoulder and began whispering in his ear. “I never used my sticker. You can have it if you keep possessing her and, uh…let me…”
“What are you whispering about?” Kim shouted as she pulled her pants back on.
“Let me touch her,” Frank blurted out.
“I told you I’m not doing anything gay!”
“It’s not gay when you’re in a chick!”
Kim’s shirt was on, and she walked towards them with malicious resolve in her eyes.
“Negotiate later!” Steven squawked. “Possess now!”
Frank gave him the sticker he had kept in his pocket. A second later, his girlfriend’s hands were pummeling him about the head. He blocked what he could and tried to catch her arms.
“We are officially over!” she screamed. “And you should know I’ve been cheating on you with Mark for months. He’s got a huge dick! Much bigger than-”
But she stopped as Steven had moved behind her, and taken control.
Frank felt the fight go out of Kim. His hands were still on her. He let them slide down her arms. Her face lifted to his, and she looked him straight in the eyes and asked very hesitantly, “What kind of touching? Does this count?”
Frank stared at her soft lips. He wanted to kiss her so bad right now. Why? Why was she so much more alluring to him this way, with someone else inside of her?
“Hey dummy,” she said snapping her fingers in front of his face. “Clock’s ticking. What do you want me to do so I can keep your sticker?”
“I want to kiss you!” Frank demanded.
Kim’s body twisted from his grasp. “Gross. No way! I’m not kissing a guy. I didn’t have a problem posing your girl, especially after you said you’d send me the pics. But I’m not kissing you, or letting you touch me, or…”
“What if I eat her out?”
Kim/Steven paused. “I, uh…I guess that’s… Would I have to see your face?”
Frank shook his head. “Not if it’s between your legs.”
Steven was tempted. He’d only played with the boobs of the other girls’ he’d possessed, except for Kim. He’d managed to clumsily rub her pussy. It had felt okay, but he was pretty sure he was doing it wrong. “Have you eaten your girlfriend’s pussy before?”
“It’s been awhile, but yeah.”
“Did she like it?”
“Oh yeah.”
Steven knew the seconds were slipping away. He didn’t want to waste a whole possession round on the negotiations. “I guess, but no other touching.”
“How about this,” Frank said as he fished from his pocket Kim’s unused sticker that he had taken from her early in the chaos. “I give you this fresh sticker as well, and you let me kiss my girlfriend before I lick her pussy and make you cum.”
Two stickers! That was enough for Steven. “Deal! But I’m going to close my eyes and pretend you’re a chick. And try not to use a lot of tongue-”
But Frank’s mouth covered up any more words from Kim’s mouth. And his hands became needy and started extracting her from her clothes as quickly as he could.
Downstairs, Tabitha in Bailey’s body was grilling Ryan about his preferences. “How about that one?” she said as she pointed to a brunette taking shots at the bar.
“No. I don’t want you to possess her either?”
“And you’re sure you don’t want me to possess that Tiffany girl again? The incredibly hot one that everyone has been fighting over.”
“I’m sure.”
“Then who do you want? Because it wasn’t me! I could tell when you kissed me. But I can be literally anyone in this house you’d like to fuck right now. So who’s it going to be?”
“I, uh, no one, okay. Why do you even want to do this with me?”
A mischievous expression danced across Bailey’s face. “Because my kink is deflowering virgins. And I’d be willing to bet that you have never had a first time, have you?”
Ryan sighed and nodded once.
“Well then, virgin boy, I find myself with a terrific opportunity, and a quandary. You don’t seem to want to have sex in my body, but that’s okay, because I can be anyone in this house that you want me to be.” Tabitha watched him carefully. He refused to make eye contact with her, and only stared at the floor. Occasionally his eyes would drift up and he’d look her in the boobs.
A thought occurred to her, and she ventured a guess. “It’s this girl, isn’t it? The one I’m in right now. Bailey, right? The one that’s just your friend. She’s the one you really want.” Ryan said nothing but his eyes snapped right to hers, and they were filled with panic. That look told Tabitha all she needed to know, and she placed a hand gently onto Ryan’s cheek. “Well, she’s right here for the taking,” Bailey’s voice purred. “What do you say, virgin boy?”
“It’s not the same,” Ryan argued. “You’re not really her. And the spell will wear off any-”
And at that moment, it did, and Tabitha felt herself pushed out of Bailey’s body. She grabbed the sticker off of Bailey’s back, and almost put it back on. But she looked at Ryan curiously first, and seemed to reconsider her course of action. She whirled about suddenly and headed towards the bar where Topher was pouring a steady stream of drinks.
Bailey pulled her hand from Ryan’s face and asked curiously, “Did someone just possess me? What did they make me do?”
“Nothing,” Ryan said truthfully. “We just talked.”
“What? Lame!” Her gaze shifted to something behind him. “Oh my gosh! Look at that!” she exclaimed, pointing to a guy in the corner of the room. His sizeable dick was out and he was twirling it around and around. “He’s doing the helicopter twirl thing! I’d heard guys could do that, but I’ve never seen it til now.”
A girl popped out behind the guy just then and she walked away with a blush and a smile. She didn’t get far, as someone hopped into her, and her tits were out shortly thereafter.
“You good for a bit?” Bailey asked. “I’ve got to go try that out.”
“The helicopter thing? Be my guest,” Ryan said, doing his best to smile at her.
Bailey started to walk away, but noticed the cracks in her friend’s smile. “You okay?”
Ryan did his best to swallow his feelings. “I’m fine. Go and see what it’s like to twirl a dick. Can we leave after that?”
She sighed. “I guess, since it doesn’t seem like you’re having a good time.” And then she ran to sticker the guy.
A few seconds later, Ryan heard a guy’s voice yell from across the room, “Ryan, look! Look at my dick! I’m doing it!”
Ryan waved and gave Bailey another thin lipped smile, then walked to the bar. He might as well get a drink before he left. He was glad to see that Tabitha had already come and gone.
Upstairs, Steven was in paradise. He was getting eaten out 90 seconds at a time, which wasn’t ideal, but still felt amazing. He was fully prepared to use the last of the stickers possessing Kim if Frank kept licking that pussy.
It was even okay that Frank’s hand occasionally reached up and groped Kim’s boobs. It felt good to have another hand squeezing and pinching them. Steven arched Kim’s back as another wave of pleasure washed over him, as Frank hit that very special spot. “Oh damn! This feels so great! A pussy is so much better than a dick!”
Frank came up for air to ask, “How about you let me fuck her?”
Kim’s hand pushed Frank’s head back down. “Stop talking crazy and keep licking me.”
Frank obeyed for another few seconds, then stuck two fingers inside her sopping wet hole.
Kim/Steven yelped. “Ooh that feels weird, but I like it!”
“My dick goes in even deeper than that,” Frank pointed out. He watched as Kim/Steven seemed to consider this.
But before he could make up his mind, Steven popped out of Kim from behind her, which meant Kim was on top of him. Steven pushed her off quickly, and Frank handed him a sticker, which Steven hurriedly slapped onto Kim’s back. It slid off. “This one’s out, Frank.”
“Okay, here’s the other one.”
Frank saw Kim’s expression during the exchange. She still looked mad, but also like she was trying to work out a puzzle. “What have you been doing to my pussy?” she moaned. “It’s on fire.”
“Uh, just attacking it with my tongue.”
“You haven’t done that in forever,” she growled. She noticed Steven and shot him a glare, but then continued talking to Frank. “My pussy feels so tingly babe. Why don’t you ask this guy to leave so you can get back to it.”
Frank had to wonder why she would suddenly be cool with this, especially after yelling consistently at him between possessions.
“Oh,” Kim cooed. “I know what you’re thinking. This doesn’t mean we’re getting back together. I’m just so turned on right now and…” Kim froze for a second as Steven lunged for her, then, “I’m back inside her again, Frank. You should really listen to what the lady said and get that pussy.”
Not one to look a gift horse in the pussy, Frank did just that, at least for next several seconds. And then he stopped to talk again, and Kim sounded like her old self as she cut him off before he could say a word, “Stop starting and stopping. You keep getting me right to the edge and then back off at the worst time.”
“How about I go ask Topher for more stickers?” Frank propositioned. “I’ll pay him whatever he wants. And you let me fuck Kim with you inside of her, and then you keep the stickers.”
Steven mulled it over quickly, which wasn’t easy as he was so horny and couldn’t really think straight, pun intended. “Go get the stickers, and maybe I’ll give you a handjob.”
Frank tore from the room, a man on a mission.
Ryan was on his second drink at the bar when Frank bumped into him. “Hey man, watch…” Ryan stopped himself from saying anything else when he saw Frank’s additional height and muscles.
“Sorry bro,” Frank said with a brief glance at Ryan. “Hey Topher!”
“Having a good time?” Topher asked with a wink.
Frank glanced at Ryan and a woman at the bar. “I need to have a private conversation real quick with my friend here.”
“Oh, so we’re friends now,” Topher smiled. “I thought I was just your dealer.” He waved everyone else away.
Ryan was slow to leave, and heard Frank say, “No man, we’re best friends. Listen, you got any more stickers? I’m willing to pay.”
Topher nodded like he had expected this. “You’re not the first person to ask. You know the drill. Only the first taste was free.”
“How much?”
“Two hundred bucks.”
Ryan almost spit out his drink as he began to walk away. Two hundred bucks for 90 seconds? Well, 90 seconds times ten. That still seemed like a huge rip off.
He heard Frank read his mind. “That’s way too much money!”
“Well like I said, you only got a taste. What I’m selling will have more of a kick.”
Ryan was out of ear shot after that. He didn’t have money like that to blow anyway. He looked around for Bailey. He really wanted to leave now. He checked where helicopter guy had been. He was still there, but he wasn’t twirling his dick anymore. He was stroking it though, and a few other girls were watching him do it with wide, hungry eyes.
Ryan observed long enough to see a different girl hop out of him. Then another girl, one that had been eagerly waiting, possessed him a second later. Ryan shook his head. That well hung guy had a line of girls waiting to possess him like he was some kind of ride. But where was Bailey? He was beginning to get worried when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned and breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of his friend’s pretty face.
“Sorry,” Bailey said quickly when she saw his concern fade. “Didn’t mean to worry you. Just had to use the bathroom.”
“It’s okay. You ready to go?”
“Well, what if-”
A person slapped her hard on the back, interrupting her. A guy had just put a sticker on her back. It stuck to her, but the guy didn’t disappear into her. He pulled it off and cursed, then said, “Oh man. I think I’m out!”
As he turned and walked away, he got possessed a second later by a girl who ran up behind and stuck him. His body quickly walked over to where Tiffany was making out with another guy, and began grinding his dick against her hip.
“If people are running out, that means the party will be winding down soon, I guess,” Ryan noted. “Sorry you didn’t get laid, Bailey. At least you got to swing a dick around. How did that feel?”
“What?” Bailey asked, then added quickly. “Oh, uh, good I guess. Hey, come with me.”
She grabbed his hand and pulled him into the foyer, but instead of going towards the door, she led him up the flight of stairs.
“Where are we going?” Ryan asked.
“Just somewhere with a bit of privacy,” was all she said.
The first two rooms they tried were occupied. One contained a guy and a girl going at it like it was their job. The second one had the makings of a mini orgy. Ryan had to pull Bailey away from that one because she couldn’t stop staring.
When they got into the third room, Bailey locked the door behind them, then looked intently at Ryan.
“What?” Ryan wondered aloud. “Do I got something on my face? Why’d you bring us up here?”
“Is there something you want to say to me?” Bailey asked. She walked towards him slowly with a look of concern.
“What?” Ryan asked apprehensively. Internally, his mind was racing, wondering if she knew about his feelings for her. If she asked him directly, he’d deny, deny, deny.
“Is the reason you didn’t pursue any of the other girls here…” she got shy all of a sudden. “Is it because maybe…you like me?”
“Yes!” Ryan practically shouted. So much for denial. “I mean…I know we’re friends. And I don’t want to ruin that. Our friendship has been the best thing that happened to me since I got here and-”
Bailey raced towards him and kissed him. Her momentum pushed him back, and he fell into a sitting position on the bed. Bailey crawled onto his lap, and peppered his lips and face with her mouth.
“Oh my gosh!” he gasped. “Is this really happening? Is this real?”
In a quick movement, she yanked her shirt off and watched as his eyes locked onto her bra. “What do you think?” She seemed to take a moment to admire her cleavage before taking one of his hands and placing it over her bra. She helped him squeeze her. “Do these feel real, Ryan?”
Ryan was so happy, and so turned on, but there was this thought, a stupid thought, one that buzzed about and dared to try and interrupt his happiness. “Uh, is it really you in there, Bailey?”
With mild shock, she asked, “What? You think someone’s possessing me right now and that’s why I’m coming on to you?”
“Well, yes. I mean, this was a possession party after all.”
Bailey nodded thoughtfully. “Okay, you’re right. But it has been longer than 90 seconds since I started talking to you downstairs, hasn’t it?”
“I think so.”
“Well if you’re not sure, why don’t you count down from 90. You can watch me closely while I remove this bra.” With a soft click, she unfastened the clasp, and let the bra slowly fall away from her boobs. Ryan was watching very closely indeed as she added. “If you see anyone pop out of me, you’ll know I was possessed. But if not, you can decide what you’d like to do with me next.”
In a room close by, Kim became aware for what seemed like the twentieth time that she was sitting on a bed, still completely naked. That wasn’t new to her. Nor was the fact that her fingers were on her pussy or a hand was squeezing her boobs. That had been how she had discovered herself a few times now. Also not new, was how her body felt. It wanted sex, it wanted to be penetrated, it wanted to climax! She hadn’t been this worked up in a while But none of that mattered because she knew what would happen if she didn’t move quickly. The pervert behind her would put the sticker onto her back and take over her body. And then she’d find herself in a slightly different position with a finger on her clit and a hand on her boob in another 90 seconds.
All of this flashed across her mind in the span of a few moments, which normally would have been too long, but behind her, Steven had fumbled the sticker. He picked it up off the bed and tried to place it again, but Kim had already sprung to her feet, whirled around, and faced him.
The door was just past him. She could do this. She’d have to run into the rest of the house naked. And would have to dodge anyone else with a sticker. But she’d just have to make it out of the house. That’s what Topher had said. The magic only worked inside the house. And then she’d get even with Frank, and Topher too. But first she’d flatten this overweight geek who was standing in her way. She faked like she was about to dart left, then faked again to the right. The guy’s response time was slow. She could get by this guy with no problem.
“I uh, I can’t let you leave before Frank gets back,” Steven stammered.
“Yeah, and why’s that?” Kim shot back.
“Because he wants to, uh…” Steven couldn’t finish and went red.
Kim spit out the rest in a fury. “He wants to fuck me! While you’re in my body! Is that it?”
“No, I wouldn’t let…I’m not gay!”
Kim laughed in spite of herself. “Oh, I’m sorry! I get confused sometimes. You’re not gay. You just want my boyfriend’s dick inside of you, while you’re in me. Now it all makes sense.”
“It’s not the same!” Steven argued, trying to stall for time. “He just really knows how to get you off! But he’ll only do it for your body. That’s why he’s coming back. He can’t get enough of that,” he said as he motioned to her.
Kim wasn’t sure how to feel about that. She believed their relationship had been nearing its end, but…he still wanted her. She had walked all over him for months, and he still only had eyes for her. He could be banging any other girl while she had been possessed, but he wanted her body. But then she gave it more thought. He wanted her body, but not her mind, otherwise Frank wouldn’t need this pathetic excuse of a man to possess her. And Frank had been helping him do it!
“Well, he’s going to have to learn to live without me!” Kim declared, and then made her move. She had been right. The guy’s weight did make him slower. She was past him in a flash and her hand was on the door before he was fully off the bed. She yanked it open, and ran right into Frank.
“Steven, I thought I told you to stay…” Frank trailed off as he saw a sheepish Steven with one foot still on the bed. “Oh, I see.”
Kim whirled around so her back wasn’t exposed to Steven, so he couldn’t use the sticker on her. Her bare butt backed into Steven, and she felt his dick push against her. She understood what it was to be between a rock and a hard place.
With her eyes on Steven, she pleaded with Frank, “Babe, you don’t need him. If you want to fuck me, I’ll let you. I didn’t know you still loved me and wanted me this much. If you make this creep go away, we can try again.”
Frank put his beefy hands on her shoulders and spun her around. She was scared for a second, until she heard Frank’s booming voice say, “Drop the sticker, Steven.”
“But…” Steven protested as he shambled forward.
Kim smirked. She couldn’t believe Frank was buying her “try again” speech. She looked up at him and said, “My hero.” Then gave him a peck on the cheek.
She was so confident that her deception was working, that she didn’t notice Frank’s hand reach into his back pocket and pull out a blue sticker, and extend it towards Steven. Steven wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do, but then he made eye contact with Frank, who winked at him. Steven closed the gap quickly, grabbed the sticker from Frank’s hand, and began to remove the plastic tab.
Kim realized that something was going on, but when she tried to turn around and see, Frank’s hands clamped onto her shoulders, pinning her to the spot. “What’s going on, Frank?” she asked sharply.
Frank gave her a knowing smile. “Everything with you has been hard lately, and you just suddenly have a change of heart about us? I’m sure that’s not the only time you’ve been fake with me.”
She began to squirm in his grip as she shouted in his face, “You’re right about that you pathetic waste of space! I will make you regret this! First chance I get I’m going to cut off your-”
And then the fight left her. She stopped squirming, and her face broke out into a grin. “I’m back in.”
Frank couldn’t help himself. He kissed her.
Steven felt a tongue enter Kim’s smaller mouth. Her feminine body responded automatically to the sensation of Frank’s body so close to hers. Steven’s mind rejected it a moment later, and he pushed Frank off and began spitting. “No, ew! Gross, man! Why’d you do that?”
Frank ushered them both in so he could lock the door. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t help myself. This is such a huge turn on for me.”
“I’m happy you’ve found your kink, but I am not comfortable kissing you.”
“But it’s okay if I eat her out?”
“Obviously,” Kim/Steven said as she fell backwards onto the bed and spread her legs wide.
“And you’ll let me feel her tits?”
“Yeah, yeah, all that feels good. Now hurry up so we don’t waste this sticker.”
Frank opened his mouth to say something, then thought better of it and lowered his mouth to Kim’s pussy. It wasn’t long before Kim’s moans filled the room. Frank started groping her tits with one hand, then both. She grabbed his hands and helped him squeeze harder. She had always liked it a little rough.
Steven found it hard to think about anything else but the waves of pleasure that kept rippling through Kim’s body. If he had been aware of the passage of time, he might have realized that more than 90 seconds had come and gone, a few times actually. He felt a finger go inside of Kim’s pussy again, then two, all while Frank’s tongue did its thing. Steven felt Kim’s pelvis begin to instinctively writhe and buck against Frank’s face, and a tsunami of ecstasy washed over him from head to toe. It was better than any orgasm Steven had ever felt in a male body, and lasted much longer as well.
Frank stopped his tongue lashing and withdrew his fingers. He looked at Kim, who lay sweaty and spent before him. His dick was throbbing. It needed release. Her legs had closed around Frank’s head as she came, but he steadily began to spread them wide again.
A thought finally occurred to Steven. “Hey, how long’s it been? Shouldn’t I have been kicked out of her by now?”
“If it had been the normal sticker, yeah. But Topher gave me one that lasts a bit longer.”
Kim’s face became worried. “How much longer?”
“Twenty four hours,” Frank said, and placed a finger directly onto Kim’s clit.
Kim moaned and her body squirmed. “But, that’s too long,” Kim/Steven whined. “I don’t want to be a girl for a whole day.”
“I’ll try to help it pass quickly for you,” Frank smiled as he slipped a finger back inside. “Or I could stop right now and we could go our separate ways.”
“No!” she pleaded. “Keep doing that! I’m still so horny! I could totally go again.”
That was the other kick Topher had promised. Not only would this version of the spell last longer, but it included an aphrodisiac spell. The possessed person’s body would have a higher libido the whole time. Still, Frank acted surprised by Steven’s words, even as he continued to tease Kim’s clit. “Oh? Well, I wish I could help you, but…” Frank stopped touching Kim entirely, leaving a very frustrated Steven.
Steven wasn’t dumb. He knew where this was heading. Kim’s body didn’t seem to care though. Steven made himself one final compromise. “I’ll shut my eyes, okay? But no kissing. And you can just…do what you need to do, but keep getting me off.”
“That’s my Kimmy,” Frank said. He watched Kim roll her eyes at that, before shutting them tightly. He pulled off his pants and boxers, and then stared at her sopping pussy for a few seconds.
Steven still didn’t look as Frank rubbed the tip of his dick in her juices, getting it nice and wet for entry. But Steven couldn’t stop himself from letting out a delighted squeal in Kim’s voice as Frank’s dick went in. Kim’s pussy was being filled slowly, inch by glorious inch. Kim’s eyes opened as Frank began to pump in and out of her. Steven was letting a guy fuck him. That had not been on his to do list today.
He looked down and was calmed by the sight of Kim’s tits, bobbing up and down as Frank pounding Kim’s pussy. Steven knew that Frank had clearly gotten more than a little pent up. It was okay. As long as he didn’t try to kiss him again. It was okay that he was inside this body. It felt good. So good. Impossibly good. He could do this. He could stay a girl for twenty four hours. He wondered how many orgasms a girl could have in that time. He couldn’t wait to find out.
Back in Ryan and Bailey’s room, things had moved a little more slowly. At Bailey’s insistence, Ryan had begun counting to 90, very slowly. Bailey had turned his count into a silent striptease, removing her shorts and underwear. Ryan only made it to 32, and then stood up.
“Can I touch you?” he asked in a nervous tremor.
She gave him a bigger smile than he had ever seen. “Of course. You can touch me anywhere you want.”
And that’s what he did. She giggled as he began to run nervous, shaky hands over her. He felt her soft, smooth skin that seemed to go on forever. His hands went up and down her arms, then he crouched and moved them down the side of her legs. This put her pussy directly in front of him. He saw the patch of dark blonde hair. He moved his hands to the back side of her legs, and lifted them up. When his fingers touched the underside of her butt cheeks, he hesitated.
Bailey was breathing hard as she encouraged him, “Keep going. Feel all of me. I want you to.”
He kept staring at her pussy as his fingers continued their journey. Her cheeks lifted at his touch, and then he was gripping them in his hands. Her butt was small and tight. He spread her cheeks apart, then pushed them together. He saw a trickle of moisture run down her inner thigh.
“Are you…” he started to ask. Then he brought a hand around and touched the clear fluid.
“Yeah, that’s how wet I am right now for you,” Bailey said with knees that began to shake. “I love how you’re touching me. I love how much you want me. I think I’ll need to sit down soon.”
“Of course, sure, yeah,” Ryan said. He stood and led her to the bed. They sat down, and he put a hand on her boob. And then he kissed her. They stayed like this for a minute or two. Ryan had no way of knowing because for him, time was at a standstill. Eventually, some instinct kicked in, and he began to push her down onto the bed.
“Wait,” she said.
Ryan froze, terrified that he had done something wrong.
“It’s your turn to get naked,” she whispered softly.
He sighed, and clumsily shucked off his clothes, almost falling over in the process. Then he was beside her, pushing her down. She spread her legs, letting his dick rub near her pussy entrance. He tried to push into her. His aim was off.
Bailey giggled, then reached down and took his dick into her hand. “Let me help you out there, virgin boy.”
That phrase struck Ryan hard, as Bailey’s hand guided him into her. His face mirrored a mixture of horror and delight as he felt himself slide into her depths. “Oh!” he gasped at the overwhelming sensation of being inside his crush.
“Try not to cum too fast!” she said quickly. “Think of something else if you need to.”
Ryan was already thinking of something else. The phrase virgin boy. That’s what Tabitha had called him. Had Bailey overheard her say that? She couldn’t have. Tabitha had been inside of Bailey at the time, and Bailey wouldn’t have remembered.
“That’s it,” Bailey cooed underneath him. “You’re nice and hard inside of me.This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”
Had Ryan ever told Bailey that he was a virgin? He didn’t think so. She might have assumed, but…
She wrapped her legs around him and pulled him deeper. “You have to start a rhythm. You need to go in and out, not all the way out mind you, just to the tip. And then push back into me. Slowly at first, but then you can speed up, and you want to try and go deeper. Good. Just keep doing that.”
Ryan found himself following her instruction, even as his mind wondered. She began to moan loudly underneath him. It was incredibly sexy, and Ryan did not doubt that he would have exploded in her several times already if his mind weren’t otherwise preoccupied.
“Put a hand on my tit and pinch it!” she ordered.
Ryan obliged. She leaned forward for a kiss, and he gave it. It seemed hollow though. His dick didn’t care, and as it surged towards the finish line, he asked, “So, I guess thanks for being a great wing woman.”
Her expression became confused. “What? Wing woman? Sure, whatever. Just give it to me harder!”
He did give it to her harder. He was pumping furiously now as he kept to his line of questioning. “You called yourself that earlier, a couple of times actually. You said you’d be my wing woman and help get me laid.”
Her hips were bucking under him, trying to get him deeper every time. “How am I doing so far?” she cried out.
He could feel his balls tighten, and his dick begin to pulse inside her. Even so, he looked her in the eyes, and said the obvious. “You’re not her, are you?”
The hungry smile she gave him was one he had seen before, on Tabitha. She bucked harder and faster against him as she saw he was right on the edge. Then she gave him an extra show by playing with her tits. “That’s not going to stop you from cumming inside of her, is it?”
To Ryan’s regret, it did not stop him in the slightest.
The end?
3
28.1K
1339
34
28
A long time bodyhopper finds a person he can't possess.
Derek was about to have a problem. He was in the middle of class when
his lifelong crush Amy, short brown hair, soft, sweet Amy, walked in
and handed the teacher a note, then came to sit in the seat in front of
him on the right far side. He didn't miss any of her movements and she
seemed to glide towards him, her chest bouncing more than usual. He
wasn't complaining, but that was different.Right before she sat,
their eyes met. She smiled slyly, then slowly, purposefully, lowered her
gaze to her breasts, and gave them a little shake, and then laughed at
the reaction on Derek's face. That was the moment when Derek realized
Amy wasn't wearing a bra. This was way out of the norm for Amy. She was
about as straight laced and conservative as they come. She rarely dated,
and if she did, no one ever got anywhere. She was easily the most
sought after girl in his school. Derek assumed she was probably waiting
to cut loose in college as soon as she got away from her parents.College.
Right. He needed to pay attention. This was easily his worst subject
and he needed to focus up. It was his senior year and a scholarship was
his only shot at getting into college. He had turned 18 a month ago and
had decided he need to get serious about planning for his future. But
Amy's swaying breasts kept jutting into his memory, blocking out the
lesson from the teacher's mouth.If it wasn't Amy's breasts, he
was thinking about the teacher's mouth. Mrs. Darcy was discussing the
industrial revolution at the front of the classroom. She was a knockout
with bright red hair and the definition of an hour glass figure. Between
Amy and Mrs. Darcy, it was no wonder this was his worst class.He
noticed Amy's right arm move in front of him. Her shoulder was making a
circular motion. Her left had was grabbing the edge of her desk. She
had propped up her textbook on the desk in such a way to obscure her
chest from the other students and teacher. He was the only one to seem
to have noticed her strange behavior so far.Deciding he needed to
investigate further, Derek shoved his pencil off the right side of his
desk and watched as it rolled until it bumped the wall. He playfully
smacked his hand to indicate what a klutz he was, then got up to
retrieve it.He glanced to see what Amy was up to and saw, as he
was now the only one who could see over her book, that she had
unbuttoned her yellow blouse and was slowly, methodically, massaging her
exposed left breast.He stood there, frozen by what he was
seeing. The girl he fantasized about, doing something so erotic in a
classroom full of people. Then in a quick movement, she turned and
stared at him as if she had caught him peeping. Then her expression
turned into a wicked smile, and she shifted her breast so the nipple was
pointing right at him. Then she winked at him and kissed the air with
her mouth.Derek's erection was so fast, he sat down a little too
quickly and loudly, causing other students and Mrs. Darcy to look at
him. He smiled sheepishly, and the lesson continued, but Derek would not
remember a fact or date of this history lesson. He just continued to
stare at the back of Amy's head, replaying that erotic moment in his
head over and over.He watched as both of her hands started deftly
moving and assumed she must be buttoning up as class was about over. He
must have been right because a moment later, she laid the book flat on
her desk. Then he saw something weirder than he had seen thus far. Her
entire body shuddered, just for a moment. It was like her body had
jumped into cold water and she had experienced a frigid chill. Then as
suddenly as it had started, it stopped, and Amy was still.Derek
was even more confused. Plenty was amiss, but this was another out of
the ordinary piece of behavior. They were inside, it was warm, not a bit
drafty. Why had she shivered like that? And then the bell rang. Amy
spun around in her seat and looked at Derek as if he were a hearty meal."I
hope you enjoyed the show. She knows you look at her all the time." Amy
said matter of factly. "But don't worry, I won't let your hard on go to
waste. I'll just be taking charge of it for a while." And with that she
touched his cheek with his hand. He felt a tiny jolt ripple through his
face, and then... nothing.If Derek was confused, it was nothing
compared to the look on Amy's face. She withdrew her hand from his face,
then touched his nose, then his arm, then his hand, each time furrowing
her brow and getting more and more frustrated. "What is going on?" she
exclaimed."Is something the matter?" Mrs. Darcy called from the front of the room as the last of the students filed out the door."Yes
something's the matter!" said Amy impatiently. "This works every time!
Every time!" Amy grabbed Derek by the arm one last time and waited. When
nothing happened, she narrowed her eyes, looked at him closely, then
got up and walked towards the front of the classroom, straight towards
Mrs. Darcy.Mrs. Darcy calmly asked, "Could you please tell me the nature of your problem Ms. Fairchild?""It'll just be faster if I show you," Amy said coldly. And then she reached out and touched Mrs. Darcy on the shoulder.Derek
watched, fascinated and utterly confused by everything going on. He
watched as, for a moment, Mrs. Darcy looked at Amy with great concern on
her face, and then for only a moment more, Mrs. Darcy's body gave a
little shudder. Mrs. Darcy looked at Derek immediately and said, "Mr.
Johnson, please see me before you go to your next class.""Um,
okay." Derek muttered. He continued to look from Mrs. Darcy to Amy. Amy
was just standing there, looking dazed, like she was in the middle of
waking up. She looked like she was trying to focus on her surroundings,
trying to get her bearings. When she spotted Derek, she licked her lips
and her eyes filled with lust."You may go to your next class now Ms. Fairchild," Mrs. Darcy ordered.Amy
slowly turned to face Mrs. Darcy, and then, as if she was trying to
figure out a very complex math equation while still sleeping, she said,
"Okay... " and then headed out the door.Mrs. Darcy seemed to
relax, leaned back a bit in her chair and began unbuttoning the top two
buttons on her blouse. "Why does know one at this school show a decent
amount of cleavage?" Mrs. Darcy mused. "But much more importantly? Who
are you Derek?"Derek's mind was whirring as fast as it could but
half of it was now consumed with the breast's that were starting to
spill out of Mrs. Darcy's top. "I, um... What? Wait, did Amy seem to be
acting weird? I mean, you're also, um.. "Mrs. Darcy frowned.
"Focus up Derek. She'll be fine. She should be back to her boring
uptight self in a few minutes. And she'll probably only think about your
cock for the next hour. I wasn't inside her that long. Back to the
original question. Who are you?""I.. You know who I am!" Derek managed to get out. "What do you mean she'll want my, my.. ""Cock, Derek. It's not a bad word. And I'd like to see yours but first I must have answers!"Derek
shook his head and said incredulously, "You need answers? I've been
clueless ever since Amy walked in today as to what is going on? What are
you even talking about?"Mrs. Darcy's eyes seemed to bore into
his soul. "You have to know what I'm talking about," she snarled. "I
can't possess you. I always assumed if I met someone like me, we
wouldn't be able to possess each other."The pieces started to
click for Derek, but he struggled to believe what he was hearing.
"Possess? You, you were Amy during class?" he asked.Mrs. Darcy
sighed. "You've known her since you were little. You have always acted
like you were intimidated by her and she has never once seen you in a
romantic light because of it. Do you think she'd just all of a sudden
flash you her boob out of boredom?""How do you know that about her?" Derek asked."Because
I was her," Mrs. Darcy explained. "I mean to say, I didn't just inhabit
her body. I had access to her memories, her mannerisms, everything that
makes her the Amy you're infatuated with, I had access to. But... you
really don't know all this? You can't possess? Or you can, you've just
never tried?"Mrs. Darcy had casually begun massaging her breasts
with both hands, almost but not quite letting her nipples become
exposed. Derek was trying to keep up, but this did not help. "Okay, so, I
accept this isn't a prank.Mrs. Darcy smirked. "Because your hot
teacher is fondling herself in front of you? Tell you what. You tell me
why I can't possess you and I'll let you suck on her tits. I'll even
role play for you. That's one of my favorite things to do. But first,
Mr. Johnson, answer my questions.""We can't do that! "Derek almost yelled. "What about the next class coming in?"Derek
watched as Mrs. Darcy's eyes rolled to the upper left side and she
pursed her lips, thinking. "That won't be a problem," she said
confidently. "This is her free period. So what do you say?" She
unbuttoned another button and pulled her left breast out of her top.
"Will you let Mrs. Darcy tutor you? I know you've been struggling in my
class. Just answer my questions and I'll tutor you so good." She then
slid a hand down her skirt and started moaning while her other hand
pinched her nipple.Derek paused. His hormones were raging, but
this seemed.. dangerous. "I'd feel better if you'd tell me something
about you first, like who are you?"Mrs. Darcy stopped. Her eyes
narrowed. "Well that's the problem. I'm a very private person who has
always been able to know what I want to know by possessing someone. I
can see all their memories laid out like a book. I've been able to fool
everyone around me, and if, if I messed up, I can make people forget by
possessing them too. That way I've been able to be careful and go
completely undetected, until now. I can't possess you and I can't make
you forget, and that's a huge problem for me.""Make me forget?" Derek said worriedly.Mrs.
Darcy got to her feet and stood over him and acted as if teaching. "No
one remembers what I made them do while I was possessing them. To them,
it seems to be like a blank spot that they can almost but not quite
remember. What does happen though is, right after I leave them, they
have some residual thoughts and emotions left over from my thoughts and
actions when I was in control. It's why Amy wanted you right after,
because I did. And everyone in that state is very suggestible for a tiny
bit. I can tell them what to do for a little while or tell them what
happened during their memory lapse, and they'll do or believe whatever I
say."Derek was shocked. "That seems like an incredible abuse of power."Mrs.
Darcy undid her blouse and let it fall to the floor, all while staring
directly into Derek's widening eyes. Then she slowly pulled down the
pink panties she had on underneath. Then she walked purposefully over to
Derek's chair, shoved the desk in front of him aside, and straddled
him. "Oh, it is," she demurred. "I've been presidents. Kings.
Celebrities. But it all gets old so fast. I'd much rather be just a
married school teacher who is sitting on a student who is starting to
show a lot of promise in the boner department."She started
grinding against his crotch and leaned into his ear so that her hot
breath left goose bumps down his spine. "Tomorrow's panties would have
been much sexier. Tomorrow is Saturday and I always wear something sexy
for my husband since I know he'll fuck my brains out before noon. Could I
pretend you're my husband right now? Just answer my question first,"
she purred."I, I'm just me," Derek said, struggling to
concentrate as Mrs. Darcy rubbed harder and harder against him. He was
still a virgin and would not be able to last much longer without leaving
a mess on his jeans. "You know me. You can access Mrs. Darcy's memories
about me, can't you?"Mrs. Darcy took off her top and shoved both
tits into Derek's face. "Of course. But all she knows about you is that
you're a bright boy that could be doing better in her class if you'd
just focus on the subject matter instead of her sexy mouth and titties.
Not that I mind at the moment. But I don't know what I want to know and
this is your last chance to tell me. Just tell me and maybe we can be
friends. Don't, and I will make your life a living hell."Derek
was close to orgasm, but the threat scared him enough to rally. He
shoved her off and Mrs. Darcy landed on the floor, hard. "Don't threaten
me! I told you, I'm just me. Just a normal guy trying to finish high
school and get out of this town."Mrs. Darcy glared at him from
the floor. When she spoke next, it was not with Mrs. Darcy's voice, but
the deep voice of a man. "Fine kid. Play dumb. Maybe I just find out
from your best friend. Or a family member. Getting the information out
of them should be easy, and a lot of fun."Mrs. Darcy got to her
feet and started dressing, and continued to speak in that same low
voice. "It's funny. I've been bouncing all over this school, possessing
different people here and there. Getting off where I could and causing a
little drama. It's the only thing that keeps me going since I don't
have my own body anymore. And I was just about to move on, today in
fact, but now, I'll be sticking around. Thanks for livening up my... "The
words were cut off and for the third time today, Derek watched a person
in front of him shudder for a second from head to toe. Something
clicked in Derek's brain. "That shudder thing I saw Amy do, her whole
body just shook for a moment like she had caught a chill, then you did
it when she touched you at the end of class. That's when you took over
Mrs. Darcy. A person shudders when you... jump in or whatever and then..
I'm guessing it's something that happens every so often.Mrs.
Darcy now looked very annoyed. "Yeah, there's that intelligence this
chick knows you have. It's about the only involuntary reaction I have.
My tell as it were. And yes, it happens when I take over someone, or
when I need to reassert control of my host."Derek nodded along,
then said, "I'm sorry. It's so weird to hear a strange man's voice come
out of Mrs. Darcy's mouth. Could you maybe, speak like her again?"Mrs.
Darcy finished buttoning her top and bellowed, "I'll talk how I damn
well please kid! You have no idea how long it's been since I was able to
use my real voice to talk to someone. I've been at this a long time. A
very long time.""How long till you have to reassert control of someone?" Derek asked."Everyone's
a little different, but the longer I'm in someone, the less it happens,
and the more and more I can change their personality."Now it was Derek's turn to shudder. "You can... rewrite someone?"Mrs. Darcy grinned coolly. "Sort of. But you'll see soon enough."Then
she walked to the door and held it open. Then in Mrs. Darcy's voice,
she declared loudly, "Just follow that lesson plan and that should get
you caught up. If you still need help, well," she put on a flirty smile.
"I'm sure I'll be seeing you real soon. Here's a note so you won't be
counted tardy for your next class.""Really? You think I'm worrying about a tardy?" Derek wondered aloud as he stepped into the empty school hallway."Appearances
are everything Mr. Johnson. Like I said, I'm careful. Now if you'll
excuse me, I'd like to make the most out of this free period." And with
that Mrs. Darcy closed and locked the door of her classroom.Derek
floated through his remaining classes for the day in a state of
paranoia. He really didn't know why he would be so important to Mrs.
Darcy, or Amy, or, really, this mystery man that had somehow inhabited
their bodies. It was like something out of a cheap science fiction film.
Was he safe from him, or her, whoever? Would he see her again as Mrs.
Darcy, or someone else next time? Maybe someone closer to him? He had to
tell someone, but who on earth would believe him. Maybe he should do
nothing and wait to see if it would blow over. He doubted it, but didn't
see any other choice.When the last bell rang, he figured he'd
make a beeline for home and so he could keep a close eye on his family.
He knew his parents were okay because they would still be at work, and
his twin sister had been sick. He wasn't sure they were in danger, but
he didn't know what to think, and that was the worst part. Nothing had
happened since history class, and he was hopeful nothing else would.As
he exited the school, Derek took a second to look around. Students
milling about, talking laughing, waiting for a ride. He noticed his
neighbor, Jessica. She was in his grade, also 18, and currently sporting
her cheerleader outfit. Her long, blonde hair was tied up in a long
ponytail and she was standing on her tiptoes as she kissed her
boyfriend, Brad, the star quarterback . Both were just a few feet away
from him.As their lips detached, he overheard Jessica say, "I
told you, I can't stay to watch you practice today. The squad is already
mad at me but they understand. Nana is not doing well and so my parents
are taking us to see her in the hospital.""Then why are you wearing your cheerleader outfit?" Brad asked as his eyes and hands raked across her figure."Down boy," she giggled. "I wore it just so you could see me in it before I said goodbye.""Well,
goodbye," and Brad leaned in and they were joined at the mouth again.
Derek was almost past them, when Jessica detached herself from Brad and
grabbed Derek's arm. "You'll walk me home, won't you Derek? Brad can't
be late for football practice."Derek eyed her warily. "We haven't walked home together in years?"Jessica shrugged. "I know. I miss those days, don't you?""Not really."She
playfully punched his arm. "Rude much." She laughed. "C'mon, you can
fill me in on your latest college prospects. Don't tell me you're still
thinking about taking a year off?"Derek looked at her intently.
"No, no I decided against that. I guess, let's just go, I gotta get
home?" He started walking away from her."Okay," she gave an
apologetic wave to her boyfriend and ran to catch up. She jogged up to
him and they had walked a couple blocks before she asked, "What's got
you in such a hurry today? Hot date tonight?"He kept glancing at her, as if he were looking for something. "No. I just, need to get home is all. It's been a weird day.""How so?" she asked casually."I don't want to talk about it," he replied sharply. They were now a block away from their houses. He just wanted to get there.She
gingerly grabbed his arm and pulled him to a stop. "Hey," she said, and
there was compassion in her voice. "We used to talk about anything and
everything. I opened up to you all the time when my parents were
fighting and it really helped. If something's bothering you, I want to
hear it."Derek's armor was starting to crack. "I mean, I would like to talk about it. But, you have to go see your grandma.""It's
okay," and her eyes went up and to the left. "My parents won't be here
for another 20 or so minutes, so come inside real quick and tell me
what's on your mind."Reluctantly, Derek stopped outside her house, then said, "Okay.""Yay,"
she squealed and started fishing out her house keys. "C'mon in. Gosh,
it's been awhile since you were inside. Mom painted again as you can
see."Derek nodded before diving in with, "Yeah, look, I'll make this short and I know you're not going to believe me but.. ""Hold
that thought," Jessica interrupted. "I need to change so I can be ready
when my parents get here. Follow me upstairs and you can tell me
there?""While you're changing!" Derek exclaimed.Jessica
eyed him wryly. "No you pervert. You'll be outside my bedroom, and I'll
be on the inside, and there will be a door between us. I'll be able to
hear you just fine." She hit his arm again as if playing tag, then
bounded up the stairs ahead of him. Derek turned to follow, but when he
looked up he was temporarily distracted by a vision of bright orange
panties at the top of the stairs."You coming?" she asked as she looked back,
and then realized the view she had just given him and pulled her skirt
down in embarrassment."Ooh," she murmured, blushing. "Can we just pretend that didn't happen?""Nope," he said with a wide smile, the first he could remember today. "It's locked in my brain forever.""Pervert,"
she said again rolling her eyes and smiling. She went into her bedroom,
shutting the door almost but not quite all the way. "So, what's going
on?""Well," he didn't really know how to begin, "I guess it started when Amy came in to history class.. ""What?" Jessica yelled. "Come closer. I can't hear you."Derek moved closer towards the crack in the door. "I said, it started when Amy.. "Then
Derek noticed the crack in the door in front of him. It gave him a
direct line of sight to her closet doors, one of which had a full length
mirror. That door had been opened in such a way as to give him a
perfect view of Jessica's reflection next to her dresser, just behind
the door he was standing in front of. She was just starting to pull off
her cheerleader top and he was suddenly captivated by the two D size
orbs on her chest which strained at her flowery bra. "I should've
known it would have something to do with the girl you've had a crush on
since middle school," she said, as her thumbs hooked her cheerleader
skirt and he got an even better view of her orange panties. He
watched, speechless as she started rummaging through her dresser. Her
perfect ass was now turned towards the mirror as she bent to the lowest
drawer to look for a top, when he saw it. A shudder. If he hadn't been
transfixed on her, he might have missed it. Jessica stood up
straight, and turned to the mirror, making eye contact with Derek. "Oh
poo," she pouted. "You saw that didn't you?"She reached behind
her back and unhooked her bra, letting it fall to the floor. "You were
watching so closely, weren't you," she said seductively. "You were just
being a good neighbor, weren't you?" In one quick movement, she pulled
off her panties, and then opened the door. One hand went to his cheek,
while the other went to his rock hard crotch. "Tell me something,
Derek," she pressed her naked body against him, "why did we never get
together? I mean, I'm the girl next door after all.""Why are you doing this?" Derek demanded, taking a step back. "Because
of that right there," the deep man's voice was back. "I'm used to being
in control of each and every situation, and I can't control you. Can't
make you forget, and I'm going to find out why. I found out where you
lived easy enough with Mrs. Darcy's access to student's files. Then
hopped a few more people till I found someone who lived close to you.
Someone who's known you for awhile and might have a clue to this mystery
for me.""It's just wrong," Derek grumbled, while trying not to keep staring at Jessica's marvelous chest. Jessica
took a step towards him. "No, what's wrong is that this fine piece of
ass had the hots for you a couple years ago and you never made a move.
Other than that there were no useful memories.""I was dating someone a couple years ago," Jake defended. Jessica's
eyes went up and to the left. "Heather. Yeah, okay, she was pretty hot
too. But you weren't married." The voice then switched over to Jessica's
seamlessly. "You could have had us both." And she lunged for him,
wrapping her body around him and kissing him on the mouth. Derek
momentarily kissed back. It was what his body wanted. Really wanted. He
felt like he had had blue balls since history class. But.. he ended the
kiss and gently pushed her back. " You're not Jessica!" he snapped.
"This isn't what she'd want.""But I am, and it is, at least for
now," she smiled demurely. "I'm willing to put my question on hold for a
bit. I need some release."She was about to pounce again when
they heard the door slam. Panic shot through Derek's eyes as he realized
he was standing in front of Mr. and Mrs. Roberts daughter. Mr. Roberts
liked him, but would still probably kill him anyway in this
circumstance. "I figured you were lying about her parents coming home,"
Derek whispered. "I was and I wasn't," Jessica said quietly as
she stepped inside her room and put on a bathrobe. "That should be my
mom. Remember a few years back when you told me you had a sex dream
about her and I said it was totally gross.""I.. Man I hate how you can just tap into her memories like that," Derek said, anticipating the worst. "Aw, you're so nervous, it's cute." Jessica gestured towards her room. "Go hide in the closet. I'll take care of 'mom."As
Derek walked into Jessica's room and crammed himself into her closet,
Jessica yelled, "Mom, can you help me with something real quick?"From
downstairs, Derek heard Mrs. Roberts yell back, "Jessica? What are you
doing home? Shouldn't you be at cheerleader practice?" He then heard
her footsteps on the stairs. He watched through the slats in the
closet as "Jessica" walked into her room. Now he started to sweat. He
didn't know how this was going to play out, but it couldn't be good. "Jessica?" her mother called out. "In here mom," Derek saw Jessica say, and then she turned and winked at him, knowing he was watching through the closet slats.Derek
saw as Mrs. Roberts entered her daughter's room. She had apparently
been out for a light jog. She had on tight black running shorts and a
tight purple top. Her blonde hair was in a ponytail just like her
daughter. They looked very much alike. Mrs. Roberts had certainly aged
well and had certainly kept her figure and was probably in her late
forties but looked like a woman in her thirties. Derek didn't tell
Jessica that there had been more than one sex dream about her mother. "Mom,
I was wondering if you'd act out a little scene with me," Jessica
started. "You see, I never have an audience. Sure, I've had some fun
before, but I was the only one who could enjoy it. It was just for me.
Would you help me?""I, sure honey," Mrs. Roberts hesitated, "but what are you talking... "Jessica
touched her mom. Mrs. Roberts shuddered, then her face slowly turned,
as she aimed the most seductive grin at Derek in the closet. Jessica
didn't fall to the floor, but continued to stand there, her eyes
slightly glazed over. Mrs. Roberts turned to face her daughter
and said in a concerned mother's tone, but with a hint of lust, "Yes,
Jessica dear. I'll help in any way I can." She touched her daughter. Jessica shuddered, took her mother's hand and said, "Well, there's this boy see, and I think he likes me."Shudder. Mrs.
Roberts resumed speaking, "How could he not like you dear. I mean, look
at these spectacular breasts you have." Mrs. Roberts pulled her
daughter's robe apart, and then pushed it off her shoulders, letting it
hit the floor. She then reached out and started groping her daughter's
chest. Shudder. Mrs. Roberts continued to squeeze her
daughter's breasts, but it was Jessica who said, "Well, I have you to
thank for that Momma. I mean, just look at yours." Jessica pulled her
mother's top over her head, and then helped remove her sports bra that
was underneath. "They're even bigger than mine!" Jessica proclaimed as
if seeing them for the first time. Then she bent over and started
kissing her mother's breasts. Derek felt his eyes try to jump out
of his sockets as he took in Mrs. Roberts' massive tits. They were
nearly identical to her daughter's, just a little bigger, and a little
saggier. His eyes kept trying to jump out as Mrs. Roberts continued
groping her daughter's chest, while Jessica kissed her mother's tits.
Derek noted that the formerly possessed would continue to actions of the
possessor even when he had jumped into his next victim. Shudder. "Oh Jessica dear," Mrs. Roberts moaned. "I hope he's as good at foreplay as you are?"Shudder. "That's
the problem Momma," Jessica pouted as she looked up from her mother's
tits. "There hasn't been any foreplay yet. We haven't even kissed, and
I'm just so nervous I'll do it wrong."Shudder. Mrs.
Roberts put her hand under her chin and brought up her daughter's pretty
face. She then looked into her glassy eyed daughter's eyes. "I'd be
happy to give you a lesson in kissing."Derek's jaw was on the
floor as he watched mother and daughter shudder again and again, a new
one taking the lead each time as their mouths met and they started to
embrace and let their hands roam over each other. This went on for a few
minutes, Derek completely swept along by what was easily the most
erotic thing he'd ever seen. His heart raced as he saw Jessica remove
her mother's running shorts and give her mom's ass a playful smack, then
resume their makeout session. Finally Mrs. Roberts broke from a
prolonged, sloppy kiss and said breathily, "Yes. Kiss him like that and
he'll have the hardest dick you've ever seen."Shudder. "Oh Momma, you think so? Could we test it right now?" And Jessica hopped up and down with feigned excitement. Shudder. "What do you mean dear daughter?" Mrs. Roberts asked as if clueless.Shudder. "Well
Momma, I'm pretty sure he's been staring at us from inside my closet
this whole time," and Jessica blew a kiss at the closet.Shudder. Derek
knew this was being staged, but it was hard not to get swept up in the
moment as his hot, naked classmate's mother walked over and slid the
closet door open and looked at Derek with mock outrage on her face. "Derek!
You naughty boy! All this time you were in my daughter's closet,
watching us kiss and groping one another?" Mrs. Roberts said
accusingly. "Hey," Derek said somewhat amused and a lot horny, "You would know, you put me in here."Mrs.
Roberts covered her hand with her face, "How dare you? I would never do
something so scandalous. I'll have to ask you to leave." Mrs. Roberts
reached over and tagged her daughter who hadn't moved. Shudder. "But
Momma, I'd like to practice more, and he's right here," Jessica pulled
Derek out of the closet and started taking off his jeans. When she
pulled off his underwear, she looked at her mother and stated, "And it
looks like he's got that nice hard dick you were talking about." When
Jessica had Derek as naked as she was, she stood and tapped her mom's
shoulder. Shudder. "Well, I do want to be a good mother,
and a good neighbor." Mrs. Roberts eyed Derek with pure carnal desire,
then started removing his shirt. She then led him to Jessica's queen
sized bed. "Having fun so far Derek? Enjoying my little play?""Y-yes, ma'am" he admitted. He couldn't stop this now if he wanted to."Good,"
Mrs. Roberts smiled, shoving him down on the mattress. "And please,
call me Mrs. Roberts like you always have. Now watch this. Jessica."
Jessica was still standing in the place where she had taken off Derek's
pants, but now she turned and faced her mother. "Come over here and put
those perky tits in our neighbor boy's face while I start sucking his
dick."Derek watched in amazement as Jessica obediently came over
and clumsily placed her large breasts in his face. Derek wasn't sure if
it was Mrs. Roberts who was fantastic at blowjobs, or her possessor, but
either way he came in seconds. He watched as Mrs. Roberts swallowed,
then tapped her daughter.Shudder. "Oh, now that just won't
do Derek." Jessica circled her right breast with her hand before
squeezing it and guiding the nipple into his mouth. "Momma, please keep
stroking his cock until he gets hard again. She looked at him with an
innocent, questioning face. "Or maybe you'd like us to make out some
more? Or you could watch as my mom ate out my pussy?"And just
like that Derek was ready to go again. This time he grabbed Jessica and
kissed her. She returned his kiss then broke for air to say, "Momma,
play with this boy's balls while I ride his dick." And then Jessica
mounted him and rode him for all he was worth. He watched as she came
multiple times and was about to himself, when she expertly rolled off
him and slapped her mother's ass hard causing the firm flesh to jiggle
slightly. Shudder. "Sorry," said Mrs. Roberts
apologetically, climbing on top of him. "I like to have multiple orgasms
in multiple bodies when I can." And then she started to ride him, nice
and slow, squeezing her breasts and moaning like a porn star, achieving
orgasm in just a few minutes. "Older ladies bodies must be a lot
more sensitive," Derek thought to himself as he came for the second
time. Mrs. Roberts dismounted and they both lay there a few moments with
Jessica standing with a vacant expression inches away. Then an
uncharacteristically low voice came out of Mrs. Roberts mouth. "Sorry
neighbor boy. That was fun but I can never bask in the afterglow when
I've had two at once." Then Mrs. Roberts got up and started to put
herself back together. Derek sat up and started getting dressed himself. "You've done that before!""A
few times," the deep voice said. "It's not always worth it to me
because I have to move quick before one of them comes to their senses,
and there's a slight buffer in sensation when I'm hopping so quickly.
But like I said, I ain't never had an audience before, and that made it
really hot.""It was hot," Derek agreed. "The hottest thing ever.
But you know what's not hot? Hearing your voice coming out of Mrs.
Roberts' mouth."Mrs. Roberts frowned, then walked over and touched her daughter. Shudder. Jessica's
peppy voice burst out of her mouth indignantly, "I'm sorry. You only
like it when I 'pretend' to be the person I'm possessing, is that it?""I'm
sorry, no, it's just a lot to get used to," Derek tried to say coolly.
"It just, makes me feel like I just slept with a man is all.""I
was a man!" said the male voice indignantly. Jessica started to put her
clothes back on but it was the low voice that continued. "That's what I
started out as anyways. But when my situation happened years ago, I
could become whatever gender I wanted on the fly. I haven't used my
original voice in decades, mainly because I like fooling everyone around
me into thinking I'm the person I'm possessing. It's my biggest kink
really.""It feels like I should call you another name when you
use that voice, or if we meet again and you're in some other body,"
Derek offered, trying to be helpful. "Ha! Sure kid. You can call me Nevyn when and if you figure me out again. Like I said, you not knowing is my biggest turn on."And
with that Nevyn looked at Mrs. Roberts and switched back to Jessica's
voice. "Mom, go use the restroom, then lay down in your bed. When you
come around you'll remember taking a nap after you went for a run and
nothing else." Mrs. Roberts walked out of the room. "That's all you have to do?" Derek said in disbelief. "Yeah,"
Nevyn shrugged, talking like his original male self again. "It's pretty
easy. As long as I've possessed someone recently, they're in that
obedient and suggestible window like you saw with me and 'mom.' If I
miss the window at all, I just possess that person, making them forget,
and it's all fixed. Which brings us back to business. We've had our fun.
I put on a good show for you. Now why can't I possess you?" She/he
poked Derek in the chest. "Look, I honestly don't know. If I knew I would tell you."Nevyn studied him a moment. "I think I believe you, but I'm not through investigating."Derek smiled a little. "You gonna go dust for some clues? Interview some witnesses?"He
watched Jessica's mouth curved wickedly and resume her girlish voice.
"Witnesses. Yes. That's exactly what I'm going to do. Find more
witnesses. Examine more memories. Find out from the people who know you
best and for the longest."The smile was gone from Derek's face. "What do you mean? You're not talking about.. ""Your family of course," Jessica said with laughter in her voice. "No!" Derek growled. "Oh,
I'm sorry," Jessica's voice was still playful, but with a bite. "I
don't like being told what to do. But I do take requests. Usually I just
find out what people want by taking them over. But since I can't do
that with you, you'll have to tell me.""I don't want you to do it at all," Derek barked. Jessica
looked at him as if he were being a disobedient child. "Now now, I
haven't given you the options. I can hop in with you knowing full well
I'm there. Finding out what I want to know from each of your family
members. Maybe we act out a little incest fantasy, your mom and sister
are both very attractive. That's not just my assessment by the way, my
'mom' thinks so too.""Why you," Derek started to shout. "Or,"
Jessica interrupted, "I can sneak in. I can disguise myself from you
and act like your family members completely. Until I get bored and start
to mess with you.""Or until I see your tell!" Derek countered. "But you won't get them. I won't let you."Jessica
put both her hands on his face. "Derek sweetie. Are you going to lock
them up in your house? If you can't, I can come at them a million
different ways."She leaned in and kissed him forcibly, then shoved him
away. "Now get out of here. My 'mom' will be waking up from her nap any
minute." Jessica waved him towards the stairs, then Derek saw the
familiar eye movement that meant Nevyn was accessing her memories. "And
my daddy will be home any second, so beat it."Derek looked at
her/him with loathing. He tried to disassociate her from Nevyn who was
inside, but it was difficult. When he was downstairs and starting to
open the front door, he heard Jessica call, "Derek, I'll be seeing you
real soon."To be continued...
Derek was about to have a problem. He was in the middle of class when
his lifelong crush Amy, short brown hair, soft, sweet Amy, walked in
and handed the teacher a note, then came to sit in the seat in front of
him on the right far side. He didn't miss any of her movements and she
seemed to glide towards him, her chest bouncing more than usual. He
wasn't complaining, but that was different.Right before she sat,
their eyes met. She smiled slyly, then slowly, purposefully, lowered her
gaze to her breasts, and gave them a little shake, and then laughed at
the reaction on Derek's face. That was the moment when Derek realized
Amy wasn't wearing a bra. This was way out of the norm for Amy. She was
about as straight laced and conservative as they come. She rarely dated,
and if she did, no one ever got anywhere. She was easily the most
sought after girl in his school. Derek assumed she was probably waiting
to cut loose in college as soon as she got away from her parents.College.
Right. He needed to pay attention. This was easily his worst subject
and he needed to focus up. It was his senior year and a scholarship was
his only shot at getting into college. He had turned 18 a month ago and
had decided he need to get serious about planning for his future. But
Amy's swaying breasts kept jutting into his memory, blocking out the
lesson from the teacher's mouth.If it wasn't Amy's breasts, he
was thinking about the teacher's mouth. Mrs. Darcy was discussing the
industrial revolution at the front of the classroom. She was a knockout
with bright red hair and the definition of an hour glass figure. Between
Amy and Mrs. Darcy, it was no wonder this was his worst class.He
noticed Amy's right arm move in front of him. Her shoulder was making a
circular motion. Her left had was grabbing the edge of her desk. She
had propped up her textbook on the desk in such a way to obscure her
chest from the other students and teacher. He was the only one to seem
to have noticed her strange behavior so far.Deciding he needed to
investigate further, Derek shoved his pencil off the right side of his
desk and watched as it rolled until it bumped the wall. He playfully
smacked his hand to indicate what a klutz he was, then got up to
retrieve it.He glanced to see what Amy was up to and saw, as he
was now the only one who could see over her book, that she had
unbuttoned her yellow blouse and was slowly, methodically, massaging her
exposed left breast.He stood there, frozen by what he was
seeing. The girl he fantasized about, doing something so erotic in a
classroom full of people. Then in a quick movement, she turned and
stared at him as if she had caught him peeping. Then her expression
turned into a wicked smile, and she shifted her breast so the nipple was
pointing right at him. Then she winked at him and kissed the air with
her mouth.Derek's erection was so fast, he sat down a little too
quickly and loudly, causing other students and Mrs. Darcy to look at
him. He smiled sheepishly, and the lesson continued, but Derek would not
remember a fact or date of this history lesson. He just continued to
stare at the back of Amy's head, replaying that erotic moment in his
head over and over.He watched as both of her hands started deftly
moving and assumed she must be buttoning up as class was about over. He
must have been right because a moment later, she laid the book flat on
her desk. Then he saw something weirder than he had seen thus far. Her
entire body shuddered, just for a moment. It was like her body had
jumped into cold water and she had experienced a frigid chill. Then as
suddenly as it had started, it stopped, and Amy was still.Derek
was even more confused. Plenty was amiss, but this was another out of
the ordinary piece of behavior. They were inside, it was warm, not a bit
drafty. Why had she shivered like that? And then the bell rang. Amy
spun around in her seat and looked at Derek as if he were a hearty meal."I
hope you enjoyed the show. She knows you look at her all the time." Amy
said matter of factly. "But don't worry, I won't let your hard on go to
waste. I'll just be taking charge of it for a while." And with that she
touched his cheek with his hand. He felt a tiny jolt ripple through his
face, and then... nothing.If Derek was confused, it was nothing
compared to the look on Amy's face. She withdrew her hand from his face,
then touched his nose, then his arm, then his hand, each time furrowing
her brow and getting more and more frustrated. "What is going on?" she
exclaimed."Is something the matter?" Mrs. Darcy called from the front of the room as the last of the students filed out the door."Yes
something's the matter!" said Amy impatiently. "This works every time!
Every time!" Amy grabbed Derek by the arm one last time and waited. When
nothing happened, she narrowed her eyes, looked at him closely, then
got up and walked towards the front of the classroom, straight towards
Mrs. Darcy.Mrs. Darcy calmly asked, "Could you please tell me the nature of your problem Ms. Fairchild?""It'll just be faster if I show you," Amy said coldly. And then she reached out and touched Mrs. Darcy on the shoulder.Derek
watched, fascinated and utterly confused by everything going on. He
watched as, for a moment, Mrs. Darcy looked at Amy with great concern on
her face, and then for only a moment more, Mrs. Darcy's body gave a
little shudder. Mrs. Darcy looked at Derek immediately and said, "Mr.
Johnson, please see me before you go to your next class.""Um,
okay." Derek muttered. He continued to look from Mrs. Darcy to Amy. Amy
was just standing there, looking dazed, like she was in the middle of
waking up. She looked like she was trying to focus on her surroundings,
trying to get her bearings. When she spotted Derek, she licked her lips
and her eyes filled with lust."You may go to your next class now Ms. Fairchild," Mrs. Darcy ordered.Amy
slowly turned to face Mrs. Darcy, and then, as if she was trying to
figure out a very complex math equation while still sleeping, she said,
"Okay... " and then headed out the door.Mrs. Darcy seemed to
relax, leaned back a bit in her chair and began unbuttoning the top two
buttons on her blouse. "Why does know one at this school show a decent
amount of cleavage?" Mrs. Darcy mused. "But much more importantly? Who
are you Derek?"Derek's mind was whirring as fast as it could but
half of it was now consumed with the breast's that were starting to
spill out of Mrs. Darcy's top. "I, um... What? Wait, did Amy seem to be
acting weird? I mean, you're also, um.. "Mrs. Darcy frowned.
"Focus up Derek. She'll be fine. She should be back to her boring
uptight self in a few minutes. And she'll probably only think about your
cock for the next hour. I wasn't inside her that long. Back to the
original question. Who are you?""I.. You know who I am!" Derek managed to get out. "What do you mean she'll want my, my.. ""Cock, Derek. It's not a bad word. And I'd like to see yours but first I must have answers!"Derek
shook his head and said incredulously, "You need answers? I've been
clueless ever since Amy walked in today as to what is going on? What are
you even talking about?"Mrs. Darcy's eyes seemed to bore into
his soul. "You have to know what I'm talking about," she snarled. "I
can't possess you. I always assumed if I met someone like me, we
wouldn't be able to possess each other."The pieces started to
click for Derek, but he struggled to believe what he was hearing.
"Possess? You, you were Amy during class?" he asked.Mrs. Darcy
sighed. "You've known her since you were little. You have always acted
like you were intimidated by her and she has never once seen you in a
romantic light because of it. Do you think she'd just all of a sudden
flash you her boob out of boredom?""How do you know that about her?" Derek asked."Because
I was her," Mrs. Darcy explained. "I mean to say, I didn't just inhabit
her body. I had access to her memories, her mannerisms, everything that
makes her the Amy you're infatuated with, I had access to. But... you
really don't know all this? You can't possess? Or you can, you've just
never tried?"Mrs. Darcy had casually begun massaging her breasts
with both hands, almost but not quite letting her nipples become
exposed. Derek was trying to keep up, but this did not help. "Okay, so, I
accept this isn't a prank.Mrs. Darcy smirked. "Because your hot
teacher is fondling herself in front of you? Tell you what. You tell me
why I can't possess you and I'll let you suck on her tits. I'll even
role play for you. That's one of my favorite things to do. But first,
Mr. Johnson, answer my questions.""We can't do that! "Derek almost yelled. "What about the next class coming in?"Derek
watched as Mrs. Darcy's eyes rolled to the upper left side and she
pursed her lips, thinking. "That won't be a problem," she said
confidently. "This is her free period. So what do you say?" She
unbuttoned another button and pulled her left breast out of her top.
"Will you let Mrs. Darcy tutor you? I know you've been struggling in my
class. Just answer my questions and I'll tutor you so good." She then
slid a hand down her skirt and started moaning while her other hand
pinched her nipple.Derek paused. His hormones were raging, but
this seemed.. dangerous. "I'd feel better if you'd tell me something
about you first, like who are you?"Mrs. Darcy stopped. Her eyes
narrowed. "Well that's the problem. I'm a very private person who has
always been able to know what I want to know by possessing someone. I
can see all their memories laid out like a book. I've been able to fool
everyone around me, and if, if I messed up, I can make people forget by
possessing them too. That way I've been able to be careful and go
completely undetected, until now. I can't possess you and I can't make
you forget, and that's a huge problem for me.""Make me forget?" Derek said worriedly.Mrs.
Darcy got to her feet and stood over him and acted as if teaching. "No
one remembers what I made them do while I was possessing them. To them,
it seems to be like a blank spot that they can almost but not quite
remember. What does happen though is, right after I leave them, they
have some residual thoughts and emotions left over from my thoughts and
actions when I was in control. It's why Amy wanted you right after,
because I did. And everyone in that state is very suggestible for a tiny
bit. I can tell them what to do for a little while or tell them what
happened during their memory lapse, and they'll do or believe whatever I
say."Derek was shocked. "That seems like an incredible abuse of power."Mrs.
Darcy undid her blouse and let it fall to the floor, all while staring
directly into Derek's widening eyes. Then she slowly pulled down the
pink panties she had on underneath. Then she walked purposefully over to
Derek's chair, shoved the desk in front of him aside, and straddled
him. "Oh, it is," she demurred. "I've been presidents. Kings.
Celebrities. But it all gets old so fast. I'd much rather be just a
married school teacher who is sitting on a student who is starting to
show a lot of promise in the boner department."She started
grinding against his crotch and leaned into his ear so that her hot
breath left goose bumps down his spine. "Tomorrow's panties would have
been much sexier. Tomorrow is Saturday and I always wear something sexy
for my husband since I know he'll fuck my brains out before noon. Could I
pretend you're my husband right now? Just answer my question first,"
she purred."I, I'm just me," Derek said, struggling to
concentrate as Mrs. Darcy rubbed harder and harder against him. He was
still a virgin and would not be able to last much longer without leaving
a mess on his jeans. "You know me. You can access Mrs. Darcy's memories
about me, can't you?"Mrs. Darcy took off her top and shoved both
tits into Derek's face. "Of course. But all she knows about you is that
you're a bright boy that could be doing better in her class if you'd
just focus on the subject matter instead of her sexy mouth and titties.
Not that I mind at the moment. But I don't know what I want to know and
this is your last chance to tell me. Just tell me and maybe we can be
friends. Don't, and I will make your life a living hell."Derek
was close to orgasm, but the threat scared him enough to rally. He
shoved her off and Mrs. Darcy landed on the floor, hard. "Don't threaten
me! I told you, I'm just me. Just a normal guy trying to finish high
school and get out of this town."Mrs. Darcy glared at him from
the floor. When she spoke next, it was not with Mrs. Darcy's voice, but
the deep voice of a man. "Fine kid. Play dumb. Maybe I just find out
from your best friend. Or a family member. Getting the information out
of them should be easy, and a lot of fun."Mrs. Darcy got to her
feet and started dressing, and continued to speak in that same low
voice. "It's funny. I've been bouncing all over this school, possessing
different people here and there. Getting off where I could and causing a
little drama. It's the only thing that keeps me going since I don't
have my own body anymore. And I was just about to move on, today in
fact, but now, I'll be sticking around. Thanks for livening up my... "The
words were cut off and for the third time today, Derek watched a person
in front of him shudder for a second from head to toe. Something
clicked in Derek's brain. "That shudder thing I saw Amy do, her whole
body just shook for a moment like she had caught a chill, then you did
it when she touched you at the end of class. That's when you took over
Mrs. Darcy. A person shudders when you... jump in or whatever and then..
I'm guessing it's something that happens every so often.Mrs.
Darcy now looked very annoyed. "Yeah, there's that intelligence this
chick knows you have. It's about the only involuntary reaction I have.
My tell as it were. And yes, it happens when I take over someone, or
when I need to reassert control of my host."Derek nodded along,
then said, "I'm sorry. It's so weird to hear a strange man's voice come
out of Mrs. Darcy's mouth. Could you maybe, speak like her again?"Mrs.
Darcy finished buttoning her top and bellowed, "I'll talk how I damn
well please kid! You have no idea how long it's been since I was able to
use my real voice to talk to someone. I've been at this a long time. A
very long time.""How long till you have to reassert control of someone?" Derek asked."Everyone's
a little different, but the longer I'm in someone, the less it happens,
and the more and more I can change their personality."Now it was Derek's turn to shudder. "You can... rewrite someone?"Mrs. Darcy grinned coolly. "Sort of. But you'll see soon enough."Then
she walked to the door and held it open. Then in Mrs. Darcy's voice,
she declared loudly, "Just follow that lesson plan and that should get
you caught up. If you still need help, well," she put on a flirty smile.
"I'm sure I'll be seeing you real soon. Here's a note so you won't be
counted tardy for your next class.""Really? You think I'm worrying about a tardy?" Derek wondered aloud as he stepped into the empty school hallway."Appearances
are everything Mr. Johnson. Like I said, I'm careful. Now if you'll
excuse me, I'd like to make the most out of this free period." And with
that Mrs. Darcy closed and locked the door of her classroom.Derek
floated through his remaining classes for the day in a state of
paranoia. He really didn't know why he would be so important to Mrs.
Darcy, or Amy, or, really, this mystery man that had somehow inhabited
their bodies. It was like something out of a cheap science fiction film.
Was he safe from him, or her, whoever? Would he see her again as Mrs.
Darcy, or someone else next time? Maybe someone closer to him? He had to
tell someone, but who on earth would believe him. Maybe he should do
nothing and wait to see if it would blow over. He doubted it, but didn't
see any other choice.When the last bell rang, he figured he'd
make a beeline for home and so he could keep a close eye on his family.
He knew his parents were okay because they would still be at work, and
his twin sister had been sick. He wasn't sure they were in danger, but
he didn't know what to think, and that was the worst part. Nothing had
happened since history class, and he was hopeful nothing else would.As
he exited the school, Derek took a second to look around. Students
milling about, talking laughing, waiting for a ride. He noticed his
neighbor, Jessica. She was in his grade, also 18, and currently sporting
her cheerleader outfit. Her long, blonde hair was tied up in a long
ponytail and she was standing on her tiptoes as she kissed her
boyfriend, Brad, the star quarterback . Both were just a few feet away
from him.As their lips detached, he overheard Jessica say, "I
told you, I can't stay to watch you practice today. The squad is already
mad at me but they understand. Nana is not doing well and so my parents
are taking us to see her in the hospital.""Then why are you wearing your cheerleader outfit?" Brad asked as his eyes and hands raked across her figure."Down boy," she giggled. "I wore it just so you could see me in it before I said goodbye.""Well,
goodbye," and Brad leaned in and they were joined at the mouth again.
Derek was almost past them, when Jessica detached herself from Brad and
grabbed Derek's arm. "You'll walk me home, won't you Derek? Brad can't
be late for football practice."Derek eyed her warily. "We haven't walked home together in years?"Jessica shrugged. "I know. I miss those days, don't you?""Not really."She
playfully punched his arm. "Rude much." She laughed. "C'mon, you can
fill me in on your latest college prospects. Don't tell me you're still
thinking about taking a year off?"Derek looked at her intently.
"No, no I decided against that. I guess, let's just go, I gotta get
home?" He started walking away from her."Okay," she gave an
apologetic wave to her boyfriend and ran to catch up. She jogged up to
him and they had walked a couple blocks before she asked, "What's got
you in such a hurry today? Hot date tonight?"He kept glancing at her, as if he were looking for something. "No. I just, need to get home is all. It's been a weird day.""How so?" she asked casually."I don't want to talk about it," he replied sharply. They were now a block away from their houses. He just wanted to get there.She
gingerly grabbed his arm and pulled him to a stop. "Hey," she said, and
there was compassion in her voice. "We used to talk about anything and
everything. I opened up to you all the time when my parents were
fighting and it really helped. If something's bothering you, I want to
hear it."Derek's armor was starting to crack. "I mean, I would like to talk about it. But, you have to go see your grandma.""It's
okay," and her eyes went up and to the left. "My parents won't be here
for another 20 or so minutes, so come inside real quick and tell me
what's on your mind."Reluctantly, Derek stopped outside her house, then said, "Okay.""Yay,"
she squealed and started fishing out her house keys. "C'mon in. Gosh,
it's been awhile since you were inside. Mom painted again as you can
see."Derek nodded before diving in with, "Yeah, look, I'll make this short and I know you're not going to believe me but.. ""Hold
that thought," Jessica interrupted. "I need to change so I can be ready
when my parents get here. Follow me upstairs and you can tell me
there?""While you're changing!" Derek exclaimed.Jessica
eyed him wryly. "No you pervert. You'll be outside my bedroom, and I'll
be on the inside, and there will be a door between us. I'll be able to
hear you just fine." She hit his arm again as if playing tag, then
bounded up the stairs ahead of him. Derek turned to follow, but when he
looked up he was temporarily distracted by a vision of bright orange
panties at the top of the stairs."You coming?" she asked as she looked back,
and then realized the view she had just given him and pulled her skirt
down in embarrassment."Ooh," she murmured, blushing. "Can we just pretend that didn't happen?""Nope," he said with a wide smile, the first he could remember today. "It's locked in my brain forever.""Pervert,"
she said again rolling her eyes and smiling. She went into her bedroom,
shutting the door almost but not quite all the way. "So, what's going
on?""Well," he didn't really know how to begin, "I guess it started when Amy came in to history class.. ""What?" Jessica yelled. "Come closer. I can't hear you."Derek moved closer towards the crack in the door. "I said, it started when Amy.. "Then
Derek noticed the crack in the door in front of him. It gave him a
direct line of sight to her closet doors, one of which had a full length
mirror. That door had been opened in such a way as to give him a
perfect view of Jessica's reflection next to her dresser, just behind
the door he was standing in front of. She was just starting to pull off
her cheerleader top and he was suddenly captivated by the two D size
orbs on her chest which strained at her flowery bra. "I should've
known it would have something to do with the girl you've had a crush on
since middle school," she said, as her thumbs hooked her cheerleader
skirt and he got an even better view of her orange panties. He
watched, speechless as she started rummaging through her dresser. Her
perfect ass was now turned towards the mirror as she bent to the lowest
drawer to look for a top, when he saw it. A shudder. If he hadn't been
transfixed on her, he might have missed it. Jessica stood up
straight, and turned to the mirror, making eye contact with Derek. "Oh
poo," she pouted. "You saw that didn't you?"She reached behind
her back and unhooked her bra, letting it fall to the floor. "You were
watching so closely, weren't you," she said seductively. "You were just
being a good neighbor, weren't you?" In one quick movement, she pulled
off her panties, and then opened the door. One hand went to his cheek,
while the other went to his rock hard crotch. "Tell me something,
Derek," she pressed her naked body against him, "why did we never get
together? I mean, I'm the girl next door after all.""Why are you doing this?" Derek demanded, taking a step back. "Because
of that right there," the deep man's voice was back. "I'm used to being
in control of each and every situation, and I can't control you. Can't
make you forget, and I'm going to find out why. I found out where you
lived easy enough with Mrs. Darcy's access to student's files. Then
hopped a few more people till I found someone who lived close to you.
Someone who's known you for awhile and might have a clue to this mystery
for me.""It's just wrong," Derek grumbled, while trying not to keep staring at Jessica's marvelous chest. Jessica
took a step towards him. "No, what's wrong is that this fine piece of
ass had the hots for you a couple years ago and you never made a move.
Other than that there were no useful memories.""I was dating someone a couple years ago," Jake defended. Jessica's
eyes went up and to the left. "Heather. Yeah, okay, she was pretty hot
too. But you weren't married." The voice then switched over to Jessica's
seamlessly. "You could have had us both." And she lunged for him,
wrapping her body around him and kissing him on the mouth. Derek
momentarily kissed back. It was what his body wanted. Really wanted. He
felt like he had had blue balls since history class. But.. he ended the
kiss and gently pushed her back. " You're not Jessica!" he snapped.
"This isn't what she'd want.""But I am, and it is, at least for
now," she smiled demurely. "I'm willing to put my question on hold for a
bit. I need some release."She was about to pounce again when
they heard the door slam. Panic shot through Derek's eyes as he realized
he was standing in front of Mr. and Mrs. Roberts daughter. Mr. Roberts
liked him, but would still probably kill him anyway in this
circumstance. "I figured you were lying about her parents coming home,"
Derek whispered. "I was and I wasn't," Jessica said quietly as
she stepped inside her room and put on a bathrobe. "That should be my
mom. Remember a few years back when you told me you had a sex dream
about her and I said it was totally gross.""I.. Man I hate how you can just tap into her memories like that," Derek said, anticipating the worst. "Aw, you're so nervous, it's cute." Jessica gestured towards her room. "Go hide in the closet. I'll take care of 'mom."As
Derek walked into Jessica's room and crammed himself into her closet,
Jessica yelled, "Mom, can you help me with something real quick?"From
downstairs, Derek heard Mrs. Roberts yell back, "Jessica? What are you
doing home? Shouldn't you be at cheerleader practice?" He then heard
her footsteps on the stairs. He watched through the slats in the
closet as "Jessica" walked into her room. Now he started to sweat. He
didn't know how this was going to play out, but it couldn't be good. "Jessica?" her mother called out. "In here mom," Derek saw Jessica say, and then she turned and winked at him, knowing he was watching through the closet slats.Derek
saw as Mrs. Roberts entered her daughter's room. She had apparently
been out for a light jog. She had on tight black running shorts and a
tight purple top. Her blonde hair was in a ponytail just like her
daughter. They looked very much alike. Mrs. Roberts had certainly aged
well and had certainly kept her figure and was probably in her late
forties but looked like a woman in her thirties. Derek didn't tell
Jessica that there had been more than one sex dream about her mother. "Mom,
I was wondering if you'd act out a little scene with me," Jessica
started. "You see, I never have an audience. Sure, I've had some fun
before, but I was the only one who could enjoy it. It was just for me.
Would you help me?""I, sure honey," Mrs. Roberts hesitated, "but what are you talking... "Jessica
touched her mom. Mrs. Roberts shuddered, then her face slowly turned,
as she aimed the most seductive grin at Derek in the closet. Jessica
didn't fall to the floor, but continued to stand there, her eyes
slightly glazed over. Mrs. Roberts turned to face her daughter
and said in a concerned mother's tone, but with a hint of lust, "Yes,
Jessica dear. I'll help in any way I can." She touched her daughter. Jessica shuddered, took her mother's hand and said, "Well, there's this boy see, and I think he likes me."Shudder. Mrs.
Roberts resumed speaking, "How could he not like you dear. I mean, look
at these spectacular breasts you have." Mrs. Roberts pulled her
daughter's robe apart, and then pushed it off her shoulders, letting it
hit the floor. She then reached out and started groping her daughter's
chest. Shudder. Mrs. Roberts continued to squeeze her
daughter's breasts, but it was Jessica who said, "Well, I have you to
thank for that Momma. I mean, just look at yours." Jessica pulled her
mother's top over her head, and then helped remove her sports bra that
was underneath. "They're even bigger than mine!" Jessica proclaimed as
if seeing them for the first time. Then she bent over and started
kissing her mother's breasts. Derek felt his eyes try to jump out
of his sockets as he took in Mrs. Roberts' massive tits. They were
nearly identical to her daughter's, just a little bigger, and a little
saggier. His eyes kept trying to jump out as Mrs. Roberts continued
groping her daughter's chest, while Jessica kissed her mother's tits.
Derek noted that the formerly possessed would continue to actions of the
possessor even when he had jumped into his next victim. Shudder. "Oh Jessica dear," Mrs. Roberts moaned. "I hope he's as good at foreplay as you are?"Shudder. "That's
the problem Momma," Jessica pouted as she looked up from her mother's
tits. "There hasn't been any foreplay yet. We haven't even kissed, and
I'm just so nervous I'll do it wrong."Shudder. Mrs.
Roberts put her hand under her chin and brought up her daughter's pretty
face. She then looked into her glassy eyed daughter's eyes. "I'd be
happy to give you a lesson in kissing."Derek's jaw was on the
floor as he watched mother and daughter shudder again and again, a new
one taking the lead each time as their mouths met and they started to
embrace and let their hands roam over each other. This went on for a few
minutes, Derek completely swept along by what was easily the most
erotic thing he'd ever seen. His heart raced as he saw Jessica remove
her mother's running shorts and give her mom's ass a playful smack, then
resume their makeout session. Finally Mrs. Roberts broke from a
prolonged, sloppy kiss and said breathily, "Yes. Kiss him like that and
he'll have the hardest dick you've ever seen."Shudder. "Oh Momma, you think so? Could we test it right now?" And Jessica hopped up and down with feigned excitement. Shudder. "What do you mean dear daughter?" Mrs. Roberts asked as if clueless.Shudder. "Well
Momma, I'm pretty sure he's been staring at us from inside my closet
this whole time," and Jessica blew a kiss at the closet.Shudder. Derek
knew this was being staged, but it was hard not to get swept up in the
moment as his hot, naked classmate's mother walked over and slid the
closet door open and looked at Derek with mock outrage on her face. "Derek!
You naughty boy! All this time you were in my daughter's closet,
watching us kiss and groping one another?" Mrs. Roberts said
accusingly. "Hey," Derek said somewhat amused and a lot horny, "You would know, you put me in here."Mrs.
Roberts covered her hand with her face, "How dare you? I would never do
something so scandalous. I'll have to ask you to leave." Mrs. Roberts
reached over and tagged her daughter who hadn't moved. Shudder. "But
Momma, I'd like to practice more, and he's right here," Jessica pulled
Derek out of the closet and started taking off his jeans. When she
pulled off his underwear, she looked at her mother and stated, "And it
looks like he's got that nice hard dick you were talking about." When
Jessica had Derek as naked as she was, she stood and tapped her mom's
shoulder. Shudder. "Well, I do want to be a good mother,
and a good neighbor." Mrs. Roberts eyed Derek with pure carnal desire,
then started removing his shirt. She then led him to Jessica's queen
sized bed. "Having fun so far Derek? Enjoying my little play?""Y-yes, ma'am" he admitted. He couldn't stop this now if he wanted to."Good,"
Mrs. Roberts smiled, shoving him down on the mattress. "And please,
call me Mrs. Roberts like you always have. Now watch this. Jessica."
Jessica was still standing in the place where she had taken off Derek's
pants, but now she turned and faced her mother. "Come over here and put
those perky tits in our neighbor boy's face while I start sucking his
dick."Derek watched in amazement as Jessica obediently came over
and clumsily placed her large breasts in his face. Derek wasn't sure if
it was Mrs. Roberts who was fantastic at blowjobs, or her possessor, but
either way he came in seconds. He watched as Mrs. Roberts swallowed,
then tapped her daughter.Shudder. "Oh, now that just won't
do Derek." Jessica circled her right breast with her hand before
squeezing it and guiding the nipple into his mouth. "Momma, please keep
stroking his cock until he gets hard again. She looked at him with an
innocent, questioning face. "Or maybe you'd like us to make out some
more? Or you could watch as my mom ate out my pussy?"And just
like that Derek was ready to go again. This time he grabbed Jessica and
kissed her. She returned his kiss then broke for air to say, "Momma,
play with this boy's balls while I ride his dick." And then Jessica
mounted him and rode him for all he was worth. He watched as she came
multiple times and was about to himself, when she expertly rolled off
him and slapped her mother's ass hard causing the firm flesh to jiggle
slightly. Shudder. "Sorry," said Mrs. Roberts
apologetically, climbing on top of him. "I like to have multiple orgasms
in multiple bodies when I can." And then she started to ride him, nice
and slow, squeezing her breasts and moaning like a porn star, achieving
orgasm in just a few minutes. "Older ladies bodies must be a lot
more sensitive," Derek thought to himself as he came for the second
time. Mrs. Roberts dismounted and they both lay there a few moments with
Jessica standing with a vacant expression inches away. Then an
uncharacteristically low voice came out of Mrs. Roberts mouth. "Sorry
neighbor boy. That was fun but I can never bask in the afterglow when
I've had two at once." Then Mrs. Roberts got up and started to put
herself back together. Derek sat up and started getting dressed himself. "You've done that before!""A
few times," the deep voice said. "It's not always worth it to me
because I have to move quick before one of them comes to their senses,
and there's a slight buffer in sensation when I'm hopping so quickly.
But like I said, I ain't never had an audience before, and that made it
really hot.""It was hot," Derek agreed. "The hottest thing ever.
But you know what's not hot? Hearing your voice coming out of Mrs.
Roberts' mouth."Mrs. Roberts frowned, then walked over and touched her daughter. Shudder. Jessica's
peppy voice burst out of her mouth indignantly, "I'm sorry. You only
like it when I 'pretend' to be the person I'm possessing, is that it?""I'm
sorry, no, it's just a lot to get used to," Derek tried to say coolly.
"It just, makes me feel like I just slept with a man is all.""I
was a man!" said the male voice indignantly. Jessica started to put her
clothes back on but it was the low voice that continued. "That's what I
started out as anyways. But when my situation happened years ago, I
could become whatever gender I wanted on the fly. I haven't used my
original voice in decades, mainly because I like fooling everyone around
me into thinking I'm the person I'm possessing. It's my biggest kink
really.""It feels like I should call you another name when you
use that voice, or if we meet again and you're in some other body,"
Derek offered, trying to be helpful. "Ha! Sure kid. You can call me Nevyn when and if you figure me out again. Like I said, you not knowing is my biggest turn on."And
with that Nevyn looked at Mrs. Roberts and switched back to Jessica's
voice. "Mom, go use the restroom, then lay down in your bed. When you
come around you'll remember taking a nap after you went for a run and
nothing else." Mrs. Roberts walked out of the room. "That's all you have to do?" Derek said in disbelief. "Yeah,"
Nevyn shrugged, talking like his original male self again. "It's pretty
easy. As long as I've possessed someone recently, they're in that
obedient and suggestible window like you saw with me and 'mom.' If I
miss the window at all, I just possess that person, making them forget,
and it's all fixed. Which brings us back to business. We've had our fun.
I put on a good show for you. Now why can't I possess you?" She/he
poked Derek in the chest. "Look, I honestly don't know. If I knew I would tell you."Nevyn studied him a moment. "I think I believe you, but I'm not through investigating."Derek smiled a little. "You gonna go dust for some clues? Interview some witnesses?"He
watched Jessica's mouth curved wickedly and resume her girlish voice.
"Witnesses. Yes. That's exactly what I'm going to do. Find more
witnesses. Examine more memories. Find out from the people who know you
best and for the longest."The smile was gone from Derek's face. "What do you mean? You're not talking about.. ""Your family of course," Jessica said with laughter in her voice. "No!" Derek growled. "Oh,
I'm sorry," Jessica's voice was still playful, but with a bite. "I
don't like being told what to do. But I do take requests. Usually I just
find out what people want by taking them over. But since I can't do
that with you, you'll have to tell me.""I don't want you to do it at all," Derek barked. Jessica
looked at him as if he were being a disobedient child. "Now now, I
haven't given you the options. I can hop in with you knowing full well
I'm there. Finding out what I want to know from each of your family
members. Maybe we act out a little incest fantasy, your mom and sister
are both very attractive. That's not just my assessment by the way, my
'mom' thinks so too.""Why you," Derek started to shout. "Or,"
Jessica interrupted, "I can sneak in. I can disguise myself from you
and act like your family members completely. Until I get bored and start
to mess with you.""Or until I see your tell!" Derek countered. "But you won't get them. I won't let you."Jessica
put both her hands on his face. "Derek sweetie. Are you going to lock
them up in your house? If you can't, I can come at them a million
different ways."She leaned in and kissed him forcibly, then shoved him
away. "Now get out of here. My 'mom' will be waking up from her nap any
minute." Jessica waved him towards the stairs, then Derek saw the
familiar eye movement that meant Nevyn was accessing her memories. "And
my daddy will be home any second, so beat it."Derek looked at
her/him with loathing. He tried to disassociate her from Nevyn who was
inside, but it was difficult. When he was downstairs and starting to
open the front door, he heard Jessica call, "Derek, I'll be seeing you
real soon."To be continued...
6
61.8K
1646
29
1
I try not to think of myself as the bad guy. Yes, I found myself involved in the development of mind-control technology, but I did my best to protect the world from the worst of it. After that, things just kind of happened on their own.
At least, that's what I try to tell myself.
In hindsight, I don’t see how things could have turned out any other way. I’m not saying that as an excuse for any of the things I did or as if it makes them any less bad, but having taken the first step, things just kind of kept happening.
It started at work. I won’t say where.
We were testing methods of remote information transmission that didn’t rely on explicit outputs or inputs. Basically communication that bypassed the barriers outlined in models like Berlo’s SMCR: Instead of relying on language to convey meaning, our aim was to find a way to convey meaning itself directly from one mind to at least one other.
Again, with the benefit of hindsight, the implications were obvious, but we weren’t concerned with whether we should, we just wanted to see if we could. Classic hubris of the scientifically minded.
And it turns out we can. Or more specifically, I can. I’ve made sure all traces of the research material has been scrubbed from any database; every hard drive degaussed, every memory stick smashed into tiny pieces, every document shredded and the whole lot set on fire just to be safe. The technology is too dangerous to risk falling into the wrong hands.
Yes, like mine. It turns out my hands are also the wrong hands, but I didn’t know it at the time. I thought if I just kept the research to myself and studied it in secret, I could find a way to use it to make the world a better place. I guess I can still do that. Maybe it will make up for the bad that I’ve done, which on reflection isn’t even that bad.
Sure, I accidentally corrupted the free will of a fellow human being and inadvertently turned them into my loyal assistant and sex slave, but they’re happy. I know they’re happy, because in a lot of ways, they’re also me.
That helps, right?
*
Everyone was very excited. It was something worth being excited about. Transmission was old tech and measuring changes in brain waves was old tech, but reliably translating knowledge as it was being recalled into data, then being able to implant that data into another mind was a big fucking deal.
Other departments in other labs were specialising in mechanical transmission - robotics and cybernetics, for replacement or auxiliary limbs or remote work in hazardous environments. Useful stuff, but not nearly as delicate as what we were trying to achieve. They were trying to transmit a signal to a robot hand to gently hold an egg: We were trying to pull a single thought out of one mind and stitch it seamlessly into another.
Our first major breakthrough was impression: Not the conveyance of explicit knowledge or of a specific message, just a vague sense experienced by the broadcaster transmitted to the receiver. It had to be a strong sense, which meant staff with intense phobias being the broadcaster knowing what objects were beneath a series of cups, and the receiver choosing a cup at random based on the impression being transmitted to them.
It wasn’t a hundred percent accurate, but the results fell well outside of what would have been possible on pure guesswork and we were pumped to fine tune the technology to see what it could do.
I say “random,” because even though it wasn’t, even though we knew it wasn’t and even though the receiver knew that a successful test would be proof that it wasn’t, they still felt as though they were choosing randomly. At no point did they feel like they were under someone else’s influence or receiving information externally; in every single instance, they were convinced that the experiment had failed and they were just choosing at random.
That should have been our first warning.
We advanced from cups viewed from two positions to mazes navigated from two positions, and then from mazes to simple guessing games like battleships and go fish. Again, no explicit information, but impressions that still left the receiver under the illusion that they were just lucky guessers.
From simple games we moved on to more advanced guessing games like celebrity heads and poker. This was a significant step forwards, but we were still relying on impressions that could be rationalised by the receiver as guesswork and luck. At no point was anyone being fed information that they couldn’t have conceivably deduced, remembered, calculated or bumbled their way into naturally.
That’s when the second major breakthrough happened. One of our broadcasters, Jackson, had gotten tired transmitting the correct answers to his receiver and had started feeding them deliberately incorrect answers. Nothing obvious - just answers that were close enough that they could make even someone who already knew second guess themselves. His receiver had a post-it note on her forehead with “Tiger Woods” written in permanent marker on it, and she had been given the clue “Golfing champion.”
By now, everyone had gotten used to Jackson’s shenanigans, so we grinned or grimaced as poor Lena rattled through every wrong answer she could be compelled to try.
“Tony the Tiger. Michael Jordan. Walt Disney. Santa Claus. Mickey Mouse. Bullroarer Took. Babe Ruth. Heisenberg. Wait, who the hell is Bullroarer Took?”
She didn’t get an answer, as the lab immediately exploded into questions and exclamations and people generally just freaking out. We’d done it, and somehow completely by accident: An entirely new, explicit piece of information had been seamlessly added to a receiver’s brain and it wasn’t until a few seconds after they’d actually said it that they even realised it wasn’t information from their own brain.
That was our second warning.
The third warning came quite a bit later, but by pure chance, I was the only one who noticed and when I did, I acted immediately.
Jackson’s shenanigans had inadvertently opened up new paths of inquiry. By randomly but deliberately poking at areas of knowledge specifically unrelated to the task at hand, we were able to isolate the neural activation patterns associated with conscious knowledge independent of emotional belief.
What followed were several successful instances of transmitting discrete pieces of data from broadcaster to receiver, however we then ran into the new problem of getting the receiver to distinguish between their own thoughts and the information being fed to them. Furthermore, when asked to explain the reasoning behind the transmitted answers, receivers became dismissive, evasive and sometimes even agitated, later explaining that the information just “felt true,” a sensation that applied even in instances where the receiver had been deliberately fed incorrect data.
With mounting dread, we realised the danger of the technology we had created.
The true horror sunk in during a coffee break, when by pure chance I saw Jackon’s reflection making an odd hand gesture over the drink of a coworker whose back was turned. I had to force myself to turn around slowly, watching Jackson converse casually without his eyes leaving her face. It wasn’t until she took a sip that he seemed to relax and noticed me by the coffee machine. I did my best to betray nothing, placing my own coffee onto the table in front of him and moving as though to sit when I “remembered” to get cream from the fridge.
This time when I turned I saw his hurried motion plainly in the brushed metal door, and it took all the self control I had not to confront him or punch his lights out. I returned to the table, adding the cream without sitting before returning it to the fridge. I picked up my coffee and was about to walk out of the room with it when Jackson called out to me with some innocent question about my department. It quickly became clear that he was stalling, waiting for me to drink, so I feigned a casual sip with tightly pursed lips as we spoke and he seemed to relax. I took the opportunity to leave with my cup and as soon as I was out of sight went straight to the micro-observation facility.
We had initially aimed to use physical chips implanted in the subject’s brains to establish a connection, but the risk of accidental damage compounded by multiple intrusions in the case of faulty hardware or the replacement of redundant units made this untenable. Thankfully (or perhaps not), we were assisted by our sister department in nanotech, who had developed a biomonitoring system using carbide nanites that could enter the bloodstream through the digestive tract. To test for successful nanite absorption, we just needed to take a blood sample and insert it into an observation case. And it didn’t just work on blood.
I felt my stomach drop as the coffee reading came back positive. A concentration high enough that even a mouthful would fully colonise a body within hours. I felt sick as I entered a vial of my own saliva, and when that test also came back as a weak positive and rising, I almost fainted.
That fucking bastard.
I had to stop myself from running to the configuration deck and came to a sudden halt halfway there. There’s no way Jackson could have done anything underhanded on one of the terminals without someone seeing him. The room, the equipment and change was constantly monitored as a security measure. If he were going to do anything without being detected, it would need to be somewhere private where he could still access the server and the network. He wasn’t authorised to be anywhere near the site’s core infrastructure, but it was the only place where he would have everything he needed.
I didn’t know how I was going to get access to the server room when I arrived - it’s not as if I had access either - but it turned out that I didn’t need access and neither did Jackson.
Lena had access, and she had left the door unlocked.
She looked up at me owlishly from where she was sitting on the floor, cross-legged with a laptop on her knees.
“Oh, Hi Marcus,” she said, parroting Tommy Wiseau’s infamous line as though we were meeting in the break room.
“Lena?” I asked cautiously. “What are you working on?”
“Oh, I’m just making sure that anytime a new host comes online, they’re set to receive only,” she said, as though she were just filling out her calendar. She turned the laptop so that I could see the screen and pointed at the second of two dots on a map of the facility. “See? There you are right next to me. You came online just a minute ago, so I’ve already made you a receiver.”
“And why would you do that?”
“Because Jackson told me to.”
I stared at the unquestioning innocence in her eyes.
“And you have to do what he says?”
Lena rolled her eyes at me. “Obviously.”
“Obviously,” I repeated. The silence was broken only by the steady whine of cooling fans.
Eventually, Lena shifted uncomfortably. “So, what are you doing here? You’re not IT.”
Not wanting to alarm her, I said the first thing that I could think of. “No, but Jackson sent me.”
The way Lena’s face lit up at his name made me feel ill.
“Does that mean you’re working for him too?”
“Yes,” I lied. Like a man laying down rails for a moving train as he’s riding on it, I grabbed blindly for any string of words that might work. “And he told me to come get you for something important. He’s… outside in the parking lot and says you need to come straight away.”
Lena’s brow wrinkled. “Oh, but I have to stay here for stage three. I’ve just finished getting everyone online.”
“That’s fine. He told me to take over. I have to do what he says, remember? You’ve finished stage two, haven’t you? He says you’ve done a very good job.”
Again, the look of bliss that took over Lena’s face twisted my gut.
“Great! Where can I find him?”
“He just told me as he was walking out,” I said, letting Lena stand up and hand me the laptop. “You’ll have to go look for him. He’s keeping an eye out for you.”
“Okay!” I watched Lena leave the room and closed it behind her, making sure to lock it this time. We shared our parking with three other departments across eight floors, so unless Jackson really was there already, that would keep her out of the way.
She’d been right. Jackson had worked his way through the entire department’s staff and I had a live view of every single person in the facility. Watching the glowing dots meander around the map gave me a truly terrifying glimpse into the future we had made possible.
What caught my eye was something that didn’t exist in the standard interface. We had created individual controls for the kind of transmissions we wanted and the direction we wanted them to go in, but Lena had added a new input without a label.
Clicking on it, a text field appears in which the name “Enfield, Lena” was already populated followed by a yes/no switch.
I pressed “yes” and blacked out.
*
I was in the parking lot, on the blue level by bay two-zero-two. At first I wondered how I had been suddenly transported when I realised how strange I felt all over - my body, my clothes and my hair all felt wrong somehow.
I looked down and felt the strength leave my legs as I saw a woman’s body stretching out below me. A woman’s body in a pair of black Mary Janes, matching pencil skirt, white dress shirt and a lanyard whose ID read “Lena Enfield.”
I stared at myself in shock, having fallen to my knees and began running my unfamiliar hands over my unfamiliar body, trying to confirm that I wasn’t somehow dreaming.
“Lena!” a voice echoed across the concrete, causing me to jump in a mix of fear and guilt. I turned in the direction of the voice and felt my heart quail at the side of Jackson striding towards me, his face contorted with fury.
In that instant I felt an overwhelming sense of panic take over and I wanted to be absolutely anywhere except anywhere near him, and in that same moment I felt myself dragged back into the cool air of the server room, sitting on the floor with Lena’s laptop on my legs.
We had theorised that it was possible, but had never been arrogant or stupid enough to try it. The psychological risks and ethical dangers it posed were beyond our ability to rationalise and well outside the original scope of the project, though there were rumours that it would eventually be turned towards a similar end.
But I didn’t have time to marvel at the development. Jackson would interrogate Lena, Lena would tell him the truth, and he would run straight here. I had to act fast.
Jackson would head straight for the server room once he realised what had happened.
I could head straight for the director’s office, but there was no guarantee that she wasn’t also in on his plot. I checked the map again: She had her nanites installed and despite her rank in the organisation had also been set to receive, as had every guard on her floor. Jackson really intended to just dominate everyone in the building. I had all the proof I needed to expose Jackson and have him arrested.
We would need to deprogram Lena. Shit, assuming that was even possible. God only knew how badly Jackson had been screwing with her brain, or for how long. And there was always a chance the higher ups would find out and do what higher ups always do when they have the opportunity to take even more wealth and power.
I fretted for much longer than I should have under the circumstances. Maybe there really was no other way, or maybe I was just deliberately backing myself into a corner. Whatever the case, the sudden jangle of keys at the door alerted me that I had run out of time, and that within seconds, Jackson would be in the room to steal back the laptop, or possibly even frame me, now that he’d been discovered.
I’d considered the option and dismissed it as immoral. Self-serving. A road too dangerous to even consider walking down. But having failed to take any other action, it was the only one I had left.
It was the right thing to do. It was the only thing to do. When the chips are down and the pressure is on, the only person you can depend on is yourself.
I dragged my own icon into the super broadcaster position, and hit “execute.”
*
There wasn’t any sudden rush of sensation. There never had been: Broadcasting just took the data you wanted to impart and transmitted a copy to the target. But for some reason, I still expected something.
What did happen was the sound of keys hitting the floor outside, followed by a hollow groan of absolute despair.
I unlocked the door and opened it to find Jackson, grey-faced and swaying with his hands covering his face. Lena was behind him, looking pitiful, but not nearly as distraught as Jackson.
“Hello, Jackson.” I said flatly.
“Don’t…” he moaned through his hands.
People had begun to file into the room, ashen-faced but with a mix of anger, all of them staring at Jackson as he tried to hide behind himself.
I’d used the nanites to broadcast two things: The knowledge of what Jackson had tried to do, and my overwhelming disgust at him for the attempt.
Now everyone knew what he’d done, he knew that they knew and he shared their hatred for himself because I had copied it directly from my mind into his.
“Nobody hurt him,” I said, seeing the balled fists and shaking hands around me. “Nobody let him hurt himself, either. Get him out of here.”
Four men approached Jackson, who didn’t resist as they grimly marched him away. I turned to Lena, who was running her hands through her hair, wide-eyed and shivering.
“H-he was-s in m-my head…” she stammered.
I didn’t have any words of consolation for her. Least of all, because not moments ago I had also been inside her mind. The only reason she knew about Jackson was because I had “told” her. I motioned for another one of the staff to take her away.
“Alright, everyone,” I said to those who remained. “I want an all-hands meeting in the break room. Tell everyone you see, and someone head upstairs to find…”
I trailed off as I realised how much time would be wasted finding everyone in the building and telling them where to go, and then more wasted simply having the meeting itself, and that was assuming nobody disagreed with what I was about to say.
Well, neither of those things were problems anymore, were they?
I activated my transmitter and broadcast a new set of instructions.
“The project is to be terminated. Nobody can be trusted with this power. Destroy all hardware, all documentation, strip the building down and wipe everything.”
The effect was instant: People began moving with an almost frantic purpose, delegating tasks to themselves or people nearby as files began to be pulled out of drawers and shredded, computers wiped and machinery disassembled. I had intended to join in, but found myself at sea in a centre of bustling activity, so instead walked myself out to my car to lie down and clear my head.
Had I done the right thing? Yes. Absolutely. Any other decision would have exposed everyone to the risk of Jackson regaining control, or the project being compromised by a figure in authority. Even if the director was of sound moral character, her superiors might not be, or their superiors above them. Someone, somewhere in the organisation would have tried to take advantage, just like Jackson did. Better to destroy everything and pretend it never happened.
I watched numbly as a procession of staff began to file out with armfuls and boxes of shredded documents, leaving trails of confetti in their wake. Like ants, they threw their boxes into one of the massive steel containers used for waste disposal. Some others had started fussing over the nearest cars, and it took me a while to realise that they were siphoning the petrol.
My initial alarm was quelled somewhat when they left the containers of fuel to one side instead of lighting it immediately. Any kind of fire would alert the emergency services, who would no doubt try to stop what was happening once they arrived.
It was actually kind of peaceful, sitting apart from the action and just watching it unfold. Almost like watching an ant colony cleaning out a lunchbox: All of the inside bits got broken down and taken outside until all that was left was the shell.
They had filled all six bins and four of the cargo trucks by the time they were done. Everything had been reduced to the smallest parts it could be torn, cut, unscrewed, unplugged or just smashed into. There was no cheering as fuel was added or the flames lit from a safe distance. Just the quiet relief of a terrible future averted.
Someone coughed near me and I turned to see Lena and a few other members of staff with a single trolley loaded with some equipment that hadn’t been destroyed. Confused, I turned to Lena.
“Aren’t you going to add it to the pile?” I asked.
“Not this stuff,” Lena said cheerfully, apparently recovered from her earlier breakdown. “We figured it would be a shame if we destroyed literally everything, so we’ve saved some of it. And because you decided to be mister lazy-pants while the rest of us were hard at work, we’re giving you the job of taking care of it.”
I couldn’t stop my brow furrowing in confusion. “I never told you to do that.”
Lena scoffed as the others began loading the equipment into my car. “Good. We’re not here to do what you tell us. The vote was unanimous: We’re all getting out, so you get to babysit the last remnants. Hide it, destroy it, do whatever you want. This is your share of the responsibility. Maybe next time, do your bit instead of wandering off for a nap, okay?”
And with that, they left to join the rapidly dispersing crowd as everyone jumped into their cars or hitched a ride from the others. A column of black smoke reached up from the facility, and it would be a matter of minutes before the firefighters arrived. Just by virtue of the work we were doing, the cops wouldn’t be far behind.
Without time to get everything out of my car and into the fire, I jumped into the driver’s seat and made my way out with the rest, racking my brain furiously as I tried to avoid speeding on my way home.
I never told them to set aside any equipment for me. No, I never CONSCIOUSLY told them. That really was the only explanation: There was no way that - after being given the artificial impression that the entire project needed to be burned to the ground - they would somehow conveniently decide that I should be trusted with the last pieces of evidence. Not just any evidence, either: At a glance I could tell that I had been left with everything I needed to manufacture and configure the nanites myself, just on a much smaller scale.
Despite my best intentions, some small part of myself had subconsciously implanted the addendum that one way or another, I should have the power to continue the project privately.
Fine, then. I’d get home, pack up what little I could fit and get the hell out of the city, state, maybe even country before finding somewhere I could safely destroy the last remains of a terrible mistake.
That was almost two years ago.
I never did get around to destroying that equipment.
At least, that's what I try to tell myself.
In hindsight, I don’t see how things could have turned out any other way. I’m not saying that as an excuse for any of the things I did or as if it makes them any less bad, but having taken the first step, things just kind of kept happening.
It started at work. I won’t say where.
We were testing methods of remote information transmission that didn’t rely on explicit outputs or inputs. Basically communication that bypassed the barriers outlined in models like Berlo’s SMCR: Instead of relying on language to convey meaning, our aim was to find a way to convey meaning itself directly from one mind to at least one other.
Again, with the benefit of hindsight, the implications were obvious, but we weren’t concerned with whether we should, we just wanted to see if we could. Classic hubris of the scientifically minded.
And it turns out we can. Or more specifically, I can. I’ve made sure all traces of the research material has been scrubbed from any database; every hard drive degaussed, every memory stick smashed into tiny pieces, every document shredded and the whole lot set on fire just to be safe. The technology is too dangerous to risk falling into the wrong hands.
Yes, like mine. It turns out my hands are also the wrong hands, but I didn’t know it at the time. I thought if I just kept the research to myself and studied it in secret, I could find a way to use it to make the world a better place. I guess I can still do that. Maybe it will make up for the bad that I’ve done, which on reflection isn’t even that bad.
Sure, I accidentally corrupted the free will of a fellow human being and inadvertently turned them into my loyal assistant and sex slave, but they’re happy. I know they’re happy, because in a lot of ways, they’re also me.
That helps, right?
*
Everyone was very excited. It was something worth being excited about. Transmission was old tech and measuring changes in brain waves was old tech, but reliably translating knowledge as it was being recalled into data, then being able to implant that data into another mind was a big fucking deal.
Other departments in other labs were specialising in mechanical transmission - robotics and cybernetics, for replacement or auxiliary limbs or remote work in hazardous environments. Useful stuff, but not nearly as delicate as what we were trying to achieve. They were trying to transmit a signal to a robot hand to gently hold an egg: We were trying to pull a single thought out of one mind and stitch it seamlessly into another.
Our first major breakthrough was impression: Not the conveyance of explicit knowledge or of a specific message, just a vague sense experienced by the broadcaster transmitted to the receiver. It had to be a strong sense, which meant staff with intense phobias being the broadcaster knowing what objects were beneath a series of cups, and the receiver choosing a cup at random based on the impression being transmitted to them.
It wasn’t a hundred percent accurate, but the results fell well outside of what would have been possible on pure guesswork and we were pumped to fine tune the technology to see what it could do.
I say “random,” because even though it wasn’t, even though we knew it wasn’t and even though the receiver knew that a successful test would be proof that it wasn’t, they still felt as though they were choosing randomly. At no point did they feel like they were under someone else’s influence or receiving information externally; in every single instance, they were convinced that the experiment had failed and they were just choosing at random.
That should have been our first warning.
We advanced from cups viewed from two positions to mazes navigated from two positions, and then from mazes to simple guessing games like battleships and go fish. Again, no explicit information, but impressions that still left the receiver under the illusion that they were just lucky guessers.
From simple games we moved on to more advanced guessing games like celebrity heads and poker. This was a significant step forwards, but we were still relying on impressions that could be rationalised by the receiver as guesswork and luck. At no point was anyone being fed information that they couldn’t have conceivably deduced, remembered, calculated or bumbled their way into naturally.
That’s when the second major breakthrough happened. One of our broadcasters, Jackson, had gotten tired transmitting the correct answers to his receiver and had started feeding them deliberately incorrect answers. Nothing obvious - just answers that were close enough that they could make even someone who already knew second guess themselves. His receiver had a post-it note on her forehead with “Tiger Woods” written in permanent marker on it, and she had been given the clue “Golfing champion.”
By now, everyone had gotten used to Jackson’s shenanigans, so we grinned or grimaced as poor Lena rattled through every wrong answer she could be compelled to try.
“Tony the Tiger. Michael Jordan. Walt Disney. Santa Claus. Mickey Mouse. Bullroarer Took. Babe Ruth. Heisenberg. Wait, who the hell is Bullroarer Took?”
She didn’t get an answer, as the lab immediately exploded into questions and exclamations and people generally just freaking out. We’d done it, and somehow completely by accident: An entirely new, explicit piece of information had been seamlessly added to a receiver’s brain and it wasn’t until a few seconds after they’d actually said it that they even realised it wasn’t information from their own brain.
That was our second warning.
The third warning came quite a bit later, but by pure chance, I was the only one who noticed and when I did, I acted immediately.
Jackson’s shenanigans had inadvertently opened up new paths of inquiry. By randomly but deliberately poking at areas of knowledge specifically unrelated to the task at hand, we were able to isolate the neural activation patterns associated with conscious knowledge independent of emotional belief.
What followed were several successful instances of transmitting discrete pieces of data from broadcaster to receiver, however we then ran into the new problem of getting the receiver to distinguish between their own thoughts and the information being fed to them. Furthermore, when asked to explain the reasoning behind the transmitted answers, receivers became dismissive, evasive and sometimes even agitated, later explaining that the information just “felt true,” a sensation that applied even in instances where the receiver had been deliberately fed incorrect data.
With mounting dread, we realised the danger of the technology we had created.
The true horror sunk in during a coffee break, when by pure chance I saw Jackon’s reflection making an odd hand gesture over the drink of a coworker whose back was turned. I had to force myself to turn around slowly, watching Jackson converse casually without his eyes leaving her face. It wasn’t until she took a sip that he seemed to relax and noticed me by the coffee machine. I did my best to betray nothing, placing my own coffee onto the table in front of him and moving as though to sit when I “remembered” to get cream from the fridge.
This time when I turned I saw his hurried motion plainly in the brushed metal door, and it took all the self control I had not to confront him or punch his lights out. I returned to the table, adding the cream without sitting before returning it to the fridge. I picked up my coffee and was about to walk out of the room with it when Jackson called out to me with some innocent question about my department. It quickly became clear that he was stalling, waiting for me to drink, so I feigned a casual sip with tightly pursed lips as we spoke and he seemed to relax. I took the opportunity to leave with my cup and as soon as I was out of sight went straight to the micro-observation facility.
We had initially aimed to use physical chips implanted in the subject’s brains to establish a connection, but the risk of accidental damage compounded by multiple intrusions in the case of faulty hardware or the replacement of redundant units made this untenable. Thankfully (or perhaps not), we were assisted by our sister department in nanotech, who had developed a biomonitoring system using carbide nanites that could enter the bloodstream through the digestive tract. To test for successful nanite absorption, we just needed to take a blood sample and insert it into an observation case. And it didn’t just work on blood.
I felt my stomach drop as the coffee reading came back positive. A concentration high enough that even a mouthful would fully colonise a body within hours. I felt sick as I entered a vial of my own saliva, and when that test also came back as a weak positive and rising, I almost fainted.
That fucking bastard.
I had to stop myself from running to the configuration deck and came to a sudden halt halfway there. There’s no way Jackson could have done anything underhanded on one of the terminals without someone seeing him. The room, the equipment and change was constantly monitored as a security measure. If he were going to do anything without being detected, it would need to be somewhere private where he could still access the server and the network. He wasn’t authorised to be anywhere near the site’s core infrastructure, but it was the only place where he would have everything he needed.
I didn’t know how I was going to get access to the server room when I arrived - it’s not as if I had access either - but it turned out that I didn’t need access and neither did Jackson.
Lena had access, and she had left the door unlocked.
She looked up at me owlishly from where she was sitting on the floor, cross-legged with a laptop on her knees.
“Oh, Hi Marcus,” she said, parroting Tommy Wiseau’s infamous line as though we were meeting in the break room.
“Lena?” I asked cautiously. “What are you working on?”
“Oh, I’m just making sure that anytime a new host comes online, they’re set to receive only,” she said, as though she were just filling out her calendar. She turned the laptop so that I could see the screen and pointed at the second of two dots on a map of the facility. “See? There you are right next to me. You came online just a minute ago, so I’ve already made you a receiver.”
“And why would you do that?”
“Because Jackson told me to.”
I stared at the unquestioning innocence in her eyes.
“And you have to do what he says?”
Lena rolled her eyes at me. “Obviously.”
“Obviously,” I repeated. The silence was broken only by the steady whine of cooling fans.
Eventually, Lena shifted uncomfortably. “So, what are you doing here? You’re not IT.”
Not wanting to alarm her, I said the first thing that I could think of. “No, but Jackson sent me.”
The way Lena’s face lit up at his name made me feel ill.
“Does that mean you’re working for him too?”
“Yes,” I lied. Like a man laying down rails for a moving train as he’s riding on it, I grabbed blindly for any string of words that might work. “And he told me to come get you for something important. He’s… outside in the parking lot and says you need to come straight away.”
Lena’s brow wrinkled. “Oh, but I have to stay here for stage three. I’ve just finished getting everyone online.”
“That’s fine. He told me to take over. I have to do what he says, remember? You’ve finished stage two, haven’t you? He says you’ve done a very good job.”
Again, the look of bliss that took over Lena’s face twisted my gut.
“Great! Where can I find him?”
“He just told me as he was walking out,” I said, letting Lena stand up and hand me the laptop. “You’ll have to go look for him. He’s keeping an eye out for you.”
“Okay!” I watched Lena leave the room and closed it behind her, making sure to lock it this time. We shared our parking with three other departments across eight floors, so unless Jackson really was there already, that would keep her out of the way.
She’d been right. Jackson had worked his way through the entire department’s staff and I had a live view of every single person in the facility. Watching the glowing dots meander around the map gave me a truly terrifying glimpse into the future we had made possible.
What caught my eye was something that didn’t exist in the standard interface. We had created individual controls for the kind of transmissions we wanted and the direction we wanted them to go in, but Lena had added a new input without a label.
Clicking on it, a text field appears in which the name “Enfield, Lena” was already populated followed by a yes/no switch.
I pressed “yes” and blacked out.
*
I was in the parking lot, on the blue level by bay two-zero-two. At first I wondered how I had been suddenly transported when I realised how strange I felt all over - my body, my clothes and my hair all felt wrong somehow.
I looked down and felt the strength leave my legs as I saw a woman’s body stretching out below me. A woman’s body in a pair of black Mary Janes, matching pencil skirt, white dress shirt and a lanyard whose ID read “Lena Enfield.”
I stared at myself in shock, having fallen to my knees and began running my unfamiliar hands over my unfamiliar body, trying to confirm that I wasn’t somehow dreaming.
“Lena!” a voice echoed across the concrete, causing me to jump in a mix of fear and guilt. I turned in the direction of the voice and felt my heart quail at the side of Jackson striding towards me, his face contorted with fury.
In that instant I felt an overwhelming sense of panic take over and I wanted to be absolutely anywhere except anywhere near him, and in that same moment I felt myself dragged back into the cool air of the server room, sitting on the floor with Lena’s laptop on my legs.
We had theorised that it was possible, but had never been arrogant or stupid enough to try it. The psychological risks and ethical dangers it posed were beyond our ability to rationalise and well outside the original scope of the project, though there were rumours that it would eventually be turned towards a similar end.
But I didn’t have time to marvel at the development. Jackson would interrogate Lena, Lena would tell him the truth, and he would run straight here. I had to act fast.
Jackson would head straight for the server room once he realised what had happened.
I could head straight for the director’s office, but there was no guarantee that she wasn’t also in on his plot. I checked the map again: She had her nanites installed and despite her rank in the organisation had also been set to receive, as had every guard on her floor. Jackson really intended to just dominate everyone in the building. I had all the proof I needed to expose Jackson and have him arrested.
We would need to deprogram Lena. Shit, assuming that was even possible. God only knew how badly Jackson had been screwing with her brain, or for how long. And there was always a chance the higher ups would find out and do what higher ups always do when they have the opportunity to take even more wealth and power.
I fretted for much longer than I should have under the circumstances. Maybe there really was no other way, or maybe I was just deliberately backing myself into a corner. Whatever the case, the sudden jangle of keys at the door alerted me that I had run out of time, and that within seconds, Jackson would be in the room to steal back the laptop, or possibly even frame me, now that he’d been discovered.
I’d considered the option and dismissed it as immoral. Self-serving. A road too dangerous to even consider walking down. But having failed to take any other action, it was the only one I had left.
It was the right thing to do. It was the only thing to do. When the chips are down and the pressure is on, the only person you can depend on is yourself.
I dragged my own icon into the super broadcaster position, and hit “execute.”
*
There wasn’t any sudden rush of sensation. There never had been: Broadcasting just took the data you wanted to impart and transmitted a copy to the target. But for some reason, I still expected something.
What did happen was the sound of keys hitting the floor outside, followed by a hollow groan of absolute despair.
I unlocked the door and opened it to find Jackson, grey-faced and swaying with his hands covering his face. Lena was behind him, looking pitiful, but not nearly as distraught as Jackson.
“Hello, Jackson.” I said flatly.
“Don’t…” he moaned through his hands.
People had begun to file into the room, ashen-faced but with a mix of anger, all of them staring at Jackson as he tried to hide behind himself.
I’d used the nanites to broadcast two things: The knowledge of what Jackson had tried to do, and my overwhelming disgust at him for the attempt.
Now everyone knew what he’d done, he knew that they knew and he shared their hatred for himself because I had copied it directly from my mind into his.
“Nobody hurt him,” I said, seeing the balled fists and shaking hands around me. “Nobody let him hurt himself, either. Get him out of here.”
Four men approached Jackson, who didn’t resist as they grimly marched him away. I turned to Lena, who was running her hands through her hair, wide-eyed and shivering.
“H-he was-s in m-my head…” she stammered.
I didn’t have any words of consolation for her. Least of all, because not moments ago I had also been inside her mind. The only reason she knew about Jackson was because I had “told” her. I motioned for another one of the staff to take her away.
“Alright, everyone,” I said to those who remained. “I want an all-hands meeting in the break room. Tell everyone you see, and someone head upstairs to find…”
I trailed off as I realised how much time would be wasted finding everyone in the building and telling them where to go, and then more wasted simply having the meeting itself, and that was assuming nobody disagreed with what I was about to say.
Well, neither of those things were problems anymore, were they?
I activated my transmitter and broadcast a new set of instructions.
“The project is to be terminated. Nobody can be trusted with this power. Destroy all hardware, all documentation, strip the building down and wipe everything.”
The effect was instant: People began moving with an almost frantic purpose, delegating tasks to themselves or people nearby as files began to be pulled out of drawers and shredded, computers wiped and machinery disassembled. I had intended to join in, but found myself at sea in a centre of bustling activity, so instead walked myself out to my car to lie down and clear my head.
Had I done the right thing? Yes. Absolutely. Any other decision would have exposed everyone to the risk of Jackson regaining control, or the project being compromised by a figure in authority. Even if the director was of sound moral character, her superiors might not be, or their superiors above them. Someone, somewhere in the organisation would have tried to take advantage, just like Jackson did. Better to destroy everything and pretend it never happened.
I watched numbly as a procession of staff began to file out with armfuls and boxes of shredded documents, leaving trails of confetti in their wake. Like ants, they threw their boxes into one of the massive steel containers used for waste disposal. Some others had started fussing over the nearest cars, and it took me a while to realise that they were siphoning the petrol.
My initial alarm was quelled somewhat when they left the containers of fuel to one side instead of lighting it immediately. Any kind of fire would alert the emergency services, who would no doubt try to stop what was happening once they arrived.
It was actually kind of peaceful, sitting apart from the action and just watching it unfold. Almost like watching an ant colony cleaning out a lunchbox: All of the inside bits got broken down and taken outside until all that was left was the shell.
They had filled all six bins and four of the cargo trucks by the time they were done. Everything had been reduced to the smallest parts it could be torn, cut, unscrewed, unplugged or just smashed into. There was no cheering as fuel was added or the flames lit from a safe distance. Just the quiet relief of a terrible future averted.
Someone coughed near me and I turned to see Lena and a few other members of staff with a single trolley loaded with some equipment that hadn’t been destroyed. Confused, I turned to Lena.
“Aren’t you going to add it to the pile?” I asked.
“Not this stuff,” Lena said cheerfully, apparently recovered from her earlier breakdown. “We figured it would be a shame if we destroyed literally everything, so we’ve saved some of it. And because you decided to be mister lazy-pants while the rest of us were hard at work, we’re giving you the job of taking care of it.”
I couldn’t stop my brow furrowing in confusion. “I never told you to do that.”
Lena scoffed as the others began loading the equipment into my car. “Good. We’re not here to do what you tell us. The vote was unanimous: We’re all getting out, so you get to babysit the last remnants. Hide it, destroy it, do whatever you want. This is your share of the responsibility. Maybe next time, do your bit instead of wandering off for a nap, okay?”
And with that, they left to join the rapidly dispersing crowd as everyone jumped into their cars or hitched a ride from the others. A column of black smoke reached up from the facility, and it would be a matter of minutes before the firefighters arrived. Just by virtue of the work we were doing, the cops wouldn’t be far behind.
Without time to get everything out of my car and into the fire, I jumped into the driver’s seat and made my way out with the rest, racking my brain furiously as I tried to avoid speeding on my way home.
I never told them to set aside any equipment for me. No, I never CONSCIOUSLY told them. That really was the only explanation: There was no way that - after being given the artificial impression that the entire project needed to be burned to the ground - they would somehow conveniently decide that I should be trusted with the last pieces of evidence. Not just any evidence, either: At a glance I could tell that I had been left with everything I needed to manufacture and configure the nanites myself, just on a much smaller scale.
Despite my best intentions, some small part of myself had subconsciously implanted the addendum that one way or another, I should have the power to continue the project privately.
Fine, then. I’d get home, pack up what little I could fit and get the hell out of the city, state, maybe even country before finding somewhere I could safely destroy the last remains of a terrible mistake.
That was almost two years ago.
I never did get around to destroying that equipment.
mind control
masturbation
possession
stealth control
selfcest
+8 more
+7 more
+6 more
+5 more
+4 more
6
26.0K
1616
27
8
See All Top Stories
Top Adventures
Inspired from Dude9
Moving it to a ai format
In this story you are, Johnathan Maccinon an 18 year old boy who lives in Providence Rhode Island with his family. One day you are cleaning in your back yard when you discover a strange statue that ends up granting you paranormal powers!
List of powers
.Possession: You can possess the body of another person. When in possession of their body you have full control over them and can make them do anything. You achieve this by phasing into their bodies in either a physical or spirit form. After you leave them you can do one of three things.
1. Make them forget what happened and they just have a blank spot in their memory
2. Alter their memories
3. Let them remember you were inside of them
Mind control: By simply willing someone to do something they will do it. You can either make them do it and make it seem like they did it themselves or make them do something that they have no control over.
.Share Powers: Johnathan can allow his powers to be shared, but he cannot be affected by someone else using his powers against him and he can take the powers away with a thought.
CHARACTERS
Johnathan Maccinon: An 18 year old boy who lives with his family. He isn’t fat but he’s not ripped either. He has short brown hair and green eyes. He stands at around five feet eight inches tall and has a love for all things scary and paranormal.
Amanda Maccinon: Johnathan’s 40 year old mother. She is around the same size as John, she has chin length auburn hair, with green eyes. While she is in her forties she has an amazing body. She has maintained the hourglass figure with little toil. However her most prominent feature are her large breasts.
Nathan Maccinon: Johnathan’s father who is 50. He is five foot 3 and a little fat. He works at a law firm in the city and isn’t home much.
Mary Maccinon: Mary is your father’s sister. She has neck length black hair and wears glasses. She like your mother has a nice body and a large bust which she doesn’t like to flaunt, being very respectable.
Henry Rask: Henry is your childhood friend, like you he is a huge sci-fi fan. He likes stories that involve alien powers and possession.
Rachel Rask: Henry’s sister. She is in the same grade as you. While you grew up together she never really cared much for you and was at times mean. She has large DD breasts which she has no problem showing off.
Michelle Rask: Henry’s mom, she is the definition of a MILF. Big boobs, nice ass, glasses, long curly brown hair and gorgeous green eyes. You definitely see where Rachel gets her good looks from.
.You can add characters and do as you please.
However you cannot kill off the people listed. Have fun and go nuts
SETTING & WORLD
Modern day suburb
Moving it to a ai format
In this story you are, Johnathan Maccinon an 18 year old boy who lives in Providence Rhode Island with his family. One day you are cleaning in your back yard when you discover a strange statue that ends up granting you paranormal powers!
List of powers
.Possession: You can possess the body of another person. When in possession of their body you have full control over them and can make them do anything. You achieve this by phasing into their bodies in either a physical or spirit form. After you leave them you can do one of three things.
1. Make them forget what happened and they just have a blank spot in their memory
2. Alter their memories
3. Let them remember you were inside of them
Mind control: By simply willing someone to do something they will do it. You can either make them do it and make it seem like they did it themselves or make them do something that they have no control over.
.Share Powers: Johnathan can allow his powers to be shared, but he cannot be affected by someone else using his powers against him and he can take the powers away with a thought.
CHARACTERS
Johnathan Maccinon: An 18 year old boy who lives with his family. He isn’t fat but he’s not ripped either. He has short brown hair and green eyes. He stands at around five feet eight inches tall and has a love for all things scary and paranormal.
Amanda Maccinon: Johnathan’s 40 year old mother. She is around the same size as John, she has chin length auburn hair, with green eyes. While she is in her forties she has an amazing body. She has maintained the hourglass figure with little toil. However her most prominent feature are her large breasts.
Nathan Maccinon: Johnathan’s father who is 50. He is five foot 3 and a little fat. He works at a law firm in the city and isn’t home much.
Mary Maccinon: Mary is your father’s sister. She has neck length black hair and wears glasses. She like your mother has a nice body and a large bust which she doesn’t like to flaunt, being very respectable.
Henry Rask: Henry is your childhood friend, like you he is a huge sci-fi fan. He likes stories that involve alien powers and possession.
Rachel Rask: Henry’s sister. She is in the same grade as you. While you grew up together she never really cared much for you and was at times mean. She has large DD breasts which she has no problem showing off.
Michelle Rask: Henry’s mom, she is the definition of a MILF. Big boobs, nice ass, glasses, long curly brown hair and gorgeous green eyes. You definitely see where Rachel gets her good looks from.
.You can add characters and do as you please.
However you cannot kill off the people listed. Have fun and go nuts
SETTING & WORLD
Modern day suburb
341
359
18
0
After another boring day in school, its the last homeroom of the day. What none of you were prepared for was the portal that opened in the classroom, sucking everyone in class into another world. However, a mistake has been made, and you’re summoned as a slime!
CHARACTERS
Dan (You: 18) - You, the protagonist. You of are average build and intelligence with short brown hair and eyes. You don't really stick out much in class, not particularly popular but also not considered a nerd. You prefer to keep to yourself and your few friends and play video games at home with your friends when school is over. You have a crush on Lena and you have no idea if she likes you back.
Jeremy (19) - Your perverted best friend. Also of average build with blonde hair and blue eyes. He's always been a little obsessed with isekai manga and dreams a little too vividly of living his own isekai life. Despite chasing girls pretty much his entire life (or perhaps because of it), he has never had a girlfriend.
Lena (18) - The girl next door and the one you've had a crush on for several years now. Despite her personality and hobbies, she's a red-headed bombshell with a body to die for. Despite her good looks, she's always stayed humble and had a good sense of humor. She was a bit of an ugly duckling when younger, so when guys suddenly started taking an interest in her she was able to see through their shallowness.
Victoria (19) - The stereotypical class goth girl with a killer body. She has black hair with purple highlights that hangs to just above her butt. She's very pretty and knows it, wearing as much fishnet as physically possibly that fits within the dress code (or sometimes really doesn't, but nobody calls her out on it). She seems to have a different boyfriend every week.
Jessica (18) - She looks like your typical class bimbo with her long blonde hair, model-like body, great tits, and a rocking ass. Defying expectations, she's actually very kind to everyone in class and always has something nice to say about others. Also despite her looks, she's one of the top students in class. She's currently single and has a secret crush on Jeremy.
Cara (18) - Likely the most beautiful girl in the entire school. She has killer curves, perfectly shaped breasts, and long black hair. She is the student class president and has a mature aura about her. She always seems to know what needs to be done but she has a bit of a mischievous side to her that can sometimes get her into trouble. She’s currently single. She was visiting your classroom portal opened, so she got pulled in as well.
Eric (19) - The class jock and bully. Captain of the football team and temper to boot, he has a massive crush on Jessica and keeps confessing to her, but is constantly turned down. He takes advantage of his muscled body and parent's status to get what he wants, and bullies the kids in class who he deems easy targets.
Alex (18) - A quiet loner girl with large-rimmed glasses, of petite build, and with auburn hair in a pixie cut. She's always been jealous of the prettier girls in class who "have it easy." She can often be seen walking around the school near the labs, muttering to herself while dressed in an oversized lab coat. She's by far the smartest person in the class.
Ms. Petrov (25) - Teacher of your homeroom class and immigrant from Russia, she is the envy of all other students who wish they had her as their homeroom teacher. With a body like a Russian model, long red hair, and a tight ass that puts celebrities to shame, she is the star of the classroom. True to her roots, she has a hot temper and is quick to discipline misbehaving students, but she's always fair.
The Goddess (???) - The most beautiful woman you’ve ever laid your eyes on. Silky silver hair, perfectly shaped breasts, and wonderful curves. Also somehow incredibly clumsy, despite being a goddess. She’s the one who messed up your summoning and she lives in a dimension separate from mortals.
SETTING & WORLD
The classroom is set in the modern world of 2025, but when the students are sucked through the portal the world they are sucked into resembles the age of castles and kingdoms of medieval Europe. Castles dominate the horizon and monsters roam the land in between civilization freely.
CHARACTERS
Dan (You: 18) - You, the protagonist. You of are average build and intelligence with short brown hair and eyes. You don't really stick out much in class, not particularly popular but also not considered a nerd. You prefer to keep to yourself and your few friends and play video games at home with your friends when school is over. You have a crush on Lena and you have no idea if she likes you back.
Jeremy (19) - Your perverted best friend. Also of average build with blonde hair and blue eyes. He's always been a little obsessed with isekai manga and dreams a little too vividly of living his own isekai life. Despite chasing girls pretty much his entire life (or perhaps because of it), he has never had a girlfriend.
Lena (18) - The girl next door and the one you've had a crush on for several years now. Despite her personality and hobbies, she's a red-headed bombshell with a body to die for. Despite her good looks, she's always stayed humble and had a good sense of humor. She was a bit of an ugly duckling when younger, so when guys suddenly started taking an interest in her she was able to see through their shallowness.
Victoria (19) - The stereotypical class goth girl with a killer body. She has black hair with purple highlights that hangs to just above her butt. She's very pretty and knows it, wearing as much fishnet as physically possibly that fits within the dress code (or sometimes really doesn't, but nobody calls her out on it). She seems to have a different boyfriend every week.
Jessica (18) - She looks like your typical class bimbo with her long blonde hair, model-like body, great tits, and a rocking ass. Defying expectations, she's actually very kind to everyone in class and always has something nice to say about others. Also despite her looks, she's one of the top students in class. She's currently single and has a secret crush on Jeremy.
Cara (18) - Likely the most beautiful girl in the entire school. She has killer curves, perfectly shaped breasts, and long black hair. She is the student class president and has a mature aura about her. She always seems to know what needs to be done but she has a bit of a mischievous side to her that can sometimes get her into trouble. She’s currently single. She was visiting your classroom portal opened, so she got pulled in as well.
Eric (19) - The class jock and bully. Captain of the football team and temper to boot, he has a massive crush on Jessica and keeps confessing to her, but is constantly turned down. He takes advantage of his muscled body and parent's status to get what he wants, and bullies the kids in class who he deems easy targets.
Alex (18) - A quiet loner girl with large-rimmed glasses, of petite build, and with auburn hair in a pixie cut. She's always been jealous of the prettier girls in class who "have it easy." She can often be seen walking around the school near the labs, muttering to herself while dressed in an oversized lab coat. She's by far the smartest person in the class.
Ms. Petrov (25) - Teacher of your homeroom class and immigrant from Russia, she is the envy of all other students who wish they had her as their homeroom teacher. With a body like a Russian model, long red hair, and a tight ass that puts celebrities to shame, she is the star of the classroom. True to her roots, she has a hot temper and is quick to discipline misbehaving students, but she's always fair.
The Goddess (???) - The most beautiful woman you’ve ever laid your eyes on. Silky silver hair, perfectly shaped breasts, and wonderful curves. Also somehow incredibly clumsy, despite being a goddess. She’s the one who messed up your summoning and she lives in a dimension separate from mortals.
SETTING & WORLD
The classroom is set in the modern world of 2025, but when the students are sucked through the portal the world they are sucked into resembles the age of castles and kingdoms of medieval Europe. Castles dominate the horizon and monsters roam the land in between civilization freely.
428
327
14
2
A Mysterious App let you possess other people bodies.
You download an app on your cellphone from the darkweeb - TAMAASHI. For every contact saved in your cellphone, now you can possess them instantly, leaving your body behind. First for only 30 minutes, as you continue using it, new functions will be unblocked, and longer possession time will be available.
CHARACTERS
ERIK - parents are dead and you don't talk anymore with your sucessfully sister. You were bullied during highschool and now you are a recluse.
SETTING & WORLD
Normal World. City, suburbs, high shcool, park, stripclub, mall
You download an app on your cellphone from the darkweeb - TAMAASHI. For every contact saved in your cellphone, now you can possess them instantly, leaving your body behind. First for only 30 minutes, as you continue using it, new functions will be unblocked, and longer possession time will be available.
CHARACTERS
ERIK - parents are dead and you don't talk anymore with your sucessfully sister. You were bullied during highschool and now you are a recluse.
SETTING & WORLD
Normal World. City, suburbs, high shcool, park, stripclub, mall
257
345
11
2
You've always been intrigued by thoughts and how they would physically work. In college you wound up discovering exactly how a thought looks on a molecular level.
Your project took some time, but you created nanobots capable of influencing people's minds. Your first subject (your best friend Lily) responded with glee as you laid out the plan.
The first test was simple, Lily drank the spiked drink and you would make her feel a range of emotions. You feverishly typed on the computer, fine-tuning the signal. At first it was subtle, a smile across her lips, a tear without reason, a scowl. She felt all those emotions just like they were her own. She just could not explain why she felt them, she just did.
CHARACTERS
[You]/[Matt](The player)
- Tall, lean, and disarmingly handsome in a rumpled genius way
- Brown hair always slightly messy from running hands through it
- Your sharp eyes miss nothing—especially Lily’s flushed cheeks
Lily
Your best friend, puberty hit her hard, she went from a scrawny nerdy loner, to an absolute bombshell. The only thing that didn't change was her confidence. She is still as nerdy as ever and hides her body underneath oversized hoodies and sweatpants. Even when she works out she hides her body. You have had a crush on her all your life, but never had the guts to tell her.
She is also studying biomechanics.
Josh
An art student. A good friend of yours and a bit of a pervert. Loves to flirt with girls but does not have the guts to follow through.
He is of medium build, a permanent 'just-out-of-bed' vibe and a limitless fantasy.
Has a crush on Sarah.
Sarah
A sports student. She is the captain of the swimming team. Blonde hair, athletic build. An optimist at heart and down to try anything. Bisexual.
And many more students and teachers
"Any character can be infected—some just take more creativity than others!"
Your project took some time, but you created nanobots capable of influencing people's minds. Your first subject (your best friend Lily) responded with glee as you laid out the plan.
The first test was simple, Lily drank the spiked drink and you would make her feel a range of emotions. You feverishly typed on the computer, fine-tuning the signal. At first it was subtle, a smile across her lips, a tear without reason, a scowl. She felt all those emotions just like they were her own. She just could not explain why she felt them, she just did.
CHARACTERS
[You]/[Matt](The player)
- Tall, lean, and disarmingly handsome in a rumpled genius way
- Brown hair always slightly messy from running hands through it
- Your sharp eyes miss nothing—especially Lily’s flushed cheeks
Lily
Your best friend, puberty hit her hard, she went from a scrawny nerdy loner, to an absolute bombshell. The only thing that didn't change was her confidence. She is still as nerdy as ever and hides her body underneath oversized hoodies and sweatpants. Even when she works out she hides her body. You have had a crush on her all your life, but never had the guts to tell her.
She is also studying biomechanics.
Josh
An art student. A good friend of yours and a bit of a pervert. Loves to flirt with girls but does not have the guts to follow through.
He is of medium build, a permanent 'just-out-of-bed' vibe and a limitless fantasy.
Has a crush on Sarah.
Sarah
A sports student. She is the captain of the swimming team. Blonde hair, athletic build. An optimist at heart and down to try anything. Bisexual.
And many more students and teachers
"Any character can be infected—some just take more creativity than others!"
563
233
11
0
A slacker get is abducted by a mind controlling alien overlord.. who then dies unexpectedly. This slacker now has complete access to a mind controlling tech army, only for perverted purposes
CHARACTERS
Mike Allan- 26 year old college dropout working as a pizza delivery guy part time. Not a lot of luck with women despite being attractive. Was selected to be the host body of an alien overlord…who dies. Leaving his entire army believing that Mike is now in charge. Using Zegnu’s tech, Mike can possess other human bodies, control humans like drones by beaming information into their head (via tech), and by converting people into human robots, turning them into obedient mindless drones
Lord Zegnu- evil alien overboard who uses possession and mind control technology to infiltrate and overthrow entire civilizations. He selects a local human to be his next host to possess, but dies of a natural cause in the process. Feared and had access to incredible technology allowing him to possess or control others (turning them into mindless robotic drones while controlled). Very secretive, which backfired after his death, allowing Mike to impersonate him.
Va’lor- first mate, just came into possession of a human body, but can transfer into a different body if required. Her current host is Audrey, a young brunette woman with a pixie cut, stacked breasts and a large bouncy booty and a few piercings. Obviously a looker and possessed due to attractiveness and knowledge (a doctorate candidate in biology).
SETTING & WORLD
Modern day, Mike is abducted in a green light from his home and beamed aboard the ship, where our story begins.
CHARACTERS
Mike Allan- 26 year old college dropout working as a pizza delivery guy part time. Not a lot of luck with women despite being attractive. Was selected to be the host body of an alien overlord…who dies. Leaving his entire army believing that Mike is now in charge. Using Zegnu’s tech, Mike can possess other human bodies, control humans like drones by beaming information into their head (via tech), and by converting people into human robots, turning them into obedient mindless drones
Lord Zegnu- evil alien overboard who uses possession and mind control technology to infiltrate and overthrow entire civilizations. He selects a local human to be his next host to possess, but dies of a natural cause in the process. Feared and had access to incredible technology allowing him to possess or control others (turning them into mindless robotic drones while controlled). Very secretive, which backfired after his death, allowing Mike to impersonate him.
Va’lor- first mate, just came into possession of a human body, but can transfer into a different body if required. Her current host is Audrey, a young brunette woman with a pixie cut, stacked breasts and a large bouncy booty and a few piercings. Obviously a looker and possessed due to attractiveness and knowledge (a doctorate candidate in biology).
SETTING & WORLD
Modern day, Mike is abducted in a green light from his home and beamed aboard the ship, where our story begins.
1.3K
392
10
0
See All Top Adventures
New Chapters
Chapter 3 in The HoloGirlfriend Chronicles
by
MagicMan67
· 10 Feb 2026
Max, the prototype HoloGF, demonstrates some of her capabilities to Kevin.
Chapter 2 in Life at a Snail's Pace
Elena Mags' Heist - 01 in Silas' heist
by
BobX
· 06 Feb 2026
Silas had always been a connoisseur of the unattainable. To him, the elite of the city weren't just the ruling class; they were the most intricate puzzles, their lives guarded by walls of money, status, and the crushing weight of public expectation. His next target was the ultimate prize—a high-profile socialite whose grace was legendary and whose reputation was spotless. But where the world saw a beacon of purity, Silas saw a magnificent piece of clockwork waiting to be dismantled. In his new scheme, his usual brand of calculated depravity and lecherous opportunism would find a new home, turning a life of disciplined elegance into a playground for his darkest impulses.
4.4K
437
0
0
A Hopper's Awakening in A Hopper's Awakening
by
BobX
· 03 Feb 2026
They say your body is a temple, but for some, it’s just a rental. Lena thought she knew the rules of the night, until a chance encounter at a bar shattered the boundaries of her own skin.
7.2K
431
0
2
Chapter 2 in Adventures in Astral Projection - Hasti's story
by
Selimf18
· 02 Feb 2026
Hasti makes an unlikely friend and learned more about the after effects of her little 'soul swapping' experiments. However, things seem to take a twist when she gets reckless
3.1K
313
0
0
See All Stories
New Adventures
James just graduated from university and is now interning at a company that produces iced tea.
Overall, he really likes working there, except for the bitchy boss. Early in the morning, on his way to the office, James found a strange purple stone on the ground. Picking it up, he found himself in a a black room. And a menu popped up in front of him, like in a computer game. It was a notification that he had been selected for rebirth.He should start life in a new fantasy world.But he won't be there empty-handed. He is granted the power of "Trust" and "Transformation".
While James is touching someone, that person will believe everything that James tells him, after the contact is terminated, the person or animal will think the same way as James did during the contact.
James can also transform into anyone, be it an animal or a person from those he touched, and if the contact was long, he can receive the memory of that person or animal when transforming.And also his habits.
CHARACTERS
James, a 22 year old boy, is kind and humorous.
SETTING & WORLD
Fantasy
Overall, he really likes working there, except for the bitchy boss. Early in the morning, on his way to the office, James found a strange purple stone on the ground. Picking it up, he found himself in a a black room. And a menu popped up in front of him, like in a computer game. It was a notification that he had been selected for rebirth.He should start life in a new fantasy world.But he won't be there empty-handed. He is granted the power of "Trust" and "Transformation".
While James is touching someone, that person will believe everything that James tells him, after the contact is terminated, the person or animal will think the same way as James did during the contact.
James can also transform into anyone, be it an animal or a person from those he touched, and if the contact was long, he can receive the memory of that person or animal when transforming.And also his habits.
CHARACTERS
James, a 22 year old boy, is kind and humorous.
SETTING & WORLD
Fantasy
273
91
3
0
Inspired by "Paranormal Powers remix
Adventure by Robounit"
In this adventure, you play as John Davidson, an 18-year-old high school student.
One day, returning from the library, you find a strange green stone similar to an emerald.When you take it in your hands, it crumbles into dust that envelops you. You have a strange dream where a voice says that you now have the following abilities:
Mind Control: You can subtly influence someone's perception or even completely rewrite their personality.
Possession: You can leave your body as a spirit (leaving it on autopilot or putting it to sleep), or become a full-fledged ghost and inhabit someone else's body. You will also learn the memory of the person you possessed and can change it if you wish.
Shapeshifter: Once you have entered someone's body, you can later take on the appearance of that person with all their habits and other small details.
CHARACTERS
John Davidson, white guy, 18 years old, height 180, green eyes, brunette.
Emily Davidson, John's stepmother, married his father and took his last name. She's 40 years old, has an hourglass figure, and perky breasts.Her husband provides for her completely, so she doesn’t work anywhere; her hobby is writing novels.
Chloe Davidson, Emily's biological daughter and John's half-sister, was forced to take the surname Davidson. She attended the same school as John, but was in a different class. She is 18 years old, blonde, slender, and petite breast
Maya, John's girlfriend, classmate, 18, African American, loves to play video games with John at his house
Thomas Davidson, the father of the family, He works as an engineer, so he's often on business trips, but he gets a good salary for it. He's 50 years old.
SETTING & WORLD
The modern world
Adventure by Robounit"
In this adventure, you play as John Davidson, an 18-year-old high school student.
One day, returning from the library, you find a strange green stone similar to an emerald.When you take it in your hands, it crumbles into dust that envelops you. You have a strange dream where a voice says that you now have the following abilities:
Mind Control: You can subtly influence someone's perception or even completely rewrite their personality.
Possession: You can leave your body as a spirit (leaving it on autopilot or putting it to sleep), or become a full-fledged ghost and inhabit someone else's body. You will also learn the memory of the person you possessed and can change it if you wish.
Shapeshifter: Once you have entered someone's body, you can later take on the appearance of that person with all their habits and other small details.
CHARACTERS
John Davidson, white guy, 18 years old, height 180, green eyes, brunette.
Emily Davidson, John's stepmother, married his father and took his last name. She's 40 years old, has an hourglass figure, and perky breasts.Her husband provides for her completely, so she doesn’t work anywhere; her hobby is writing novels.
Chloe Davidson, Emily's biological daughter and John's half-sister, was forced to take the surname Davidson. She attended the same school as John, but was in a different class. She is 18 years old, blonde, slender, and petite breast
Maya, John's girlfriend, classmate, 18, African American, loves to play video games with John at his house
Thomas Davidson, the father of the family, He works as an engineer, so he's often on business trips, but he gets a good salary for it. He's 50 years old.
SETTING & WORLD
The modern world
299
608
5
1
Rise as a new power in the world of Code Geass either as the Britanian Noble Ashton Veilcroft or as the beaten down Japanese resident of the Shinjuku Ghetto, Kiba Yuuto.
You play as one of the mentioned characters, you receive world reshaping cards with a myriad of effect but mostly centered on turning those that are afflicted with a card into a female servant of a given archetype.
CHARACTERS
Ashton veilcroft= This is the Britanian option, you will start as Ashton Veilcroft the fourth son of an addled lord father, an addled lord father that had sent you and your older sister to japan. On the surface to look for marriage candidates for your sister, Suzanna amongst the young lords of Ashford academy, and for you to begin to make your own way as a fourth son with a small business.
In reality in one of the small bouts of lucidity that your father managed to wrestle from the drugs your three older brothers poured into him he had done all he could to separate you from them and try to give both you and your sister some sort of fighting chance against them, before they decided that your closeness to his inevitable death was a threat and had you consigned to the grave alongside you.
Ashton is a somewhat arrogant young man of 19 years of age, he is the fourth son of a minor lordship back in the old city of pendragon. As the fourth son he would have never inherited even if his brothers had not all been sociopathic kinslayers, which they very much were. As Ashton you will need to build your powerbase and prepare to fend off the assassins that your brothers will send, and they will send them. Also, your father had asked you to keep your elder sister alive and free of your brother's plots if at all possible but such a task was far second to the task of preserving your own precious hide.
Ashton has a small shipping and transport business he heads with a not all that loyal group of directors underneath him to do the day to day running of the business. Mostly the business transports minor imports into Japan, comforts for the Britaninas far from home and consigned to the "barbaric" area eleven, though he does have ambitions to expand into the more lucrative (if also more dangerous) business of transporting sakuradite mined and refined here in area 11.
Ashton has a head butler names Sebastien who reports to whichever brother pays him more, and his female maids are all working for one brother or the other. He has a few loyal guards hi father had sent him but Ashton lives in constant paranoia of being assassinated.
Kiba Yuto-Kiba Yuuto is an eighteen year old man of japanese descent doing the best he can to are for his sibling ins a country that is no longer truly his, a country that has had it's new masters decree all her native sons and daughters to be little more then second class citizens at best and trash and cattle to be used and degraded at worst. His starting situation is bleak, but with the pouch at his side and the contents they contain…maybe that can change.
Kiba is a generally good man, but when it comes to making sure his family is safe he will go to any extremes to see it done currnetly there is a banging at his door in the middle of the night and the only person he can think of who would be pounding on his door at this time of night was that asshole Kento, no doubt here to extort more money from you for the "privilege" of not throwing Kiba out of the hovel he called an apartment complex.
Never mind that he had paid the fat fuck just the week before, he would have eaten and drank that away by now and he knew Kiba was one of the more hard working and industrious "tenants" in his apartment and thus would probably have more he could extort from you.
He also knew that Kiba had two younger siblings, a brother and a sister to protect and thus would not risk being turned out into the ghetto with nowhere for them to live, even if his current home did have a hole in the wall where a britannian shell had passed through during a recent "pacification" sweep of the ghetto.
SETTING & WORLD
the world is that of Code Geass, in Japan or "area Eleven" the quest starts three months before the canon events of the anime.
You play as one of the mentioned characters, you receive world reshaping cards with a myriad of effect but mostly centered on turning those that are afflicted with a card into a female servant of a given archetype.
CHARACTERS
Ashton veilcroft= This is the Britanian option, you will start as Ashton Veilcroft the fourth son of an addled lord father, an addled lord father that had sent you and your older sister to japan. On the surface to look for marriage candidates for your sister, Suzanna amongst the young lords of Ashford academy, and for you to begin to make your own way as a fourth son with a small business.
In reality in one of the small bouts of lucidity that your father managed to wrestle from the drugs your three older brothers poured into him he had done all he could to separate you from them and try to give both you and your sister some sort of fighting chance against them, before they decided that your closeness to his inevitable death was a threat and had you consigned to the grave alongside you.
Ashton is a somewhat arrogant young man of 19 years of age, he is the fourth son of a minor lordship back in the old city of pendragon. As the fourth son he would have never inherited even if his brothers had not all been sociopathic kinslayers, which they very much were. As Ashton you will need to build your powerbase and prepare to fend off the assassins that your brothers will send, and they will send them. Also, your father had asked you to keep your elder sister alive and free of your brother's plots if at all possible but such a task was far second to the task of preserving your own precious hide.
Ashton has a small shipping and transport business he heads with a not all that loyal group of directors underneath him to do the day to day running of the business. Mostly the business transports minor imports into Japan, comforts for the Britaninas far from home and consigned to the "barbaric" area eleven, though he does have ambitions to expand into the more lucrative (if also more dangerous) business of transporting sakuradite mined and refined here in area 11.
Ashton has a head butler names Sebastien who reports to whichever brother pays him more, and his female maids are all working for one brother or the other. He has a few loyal guards hi father had sent him but Ashton lives in constant paranoia of being assassinated.
Kiba Yuto-Kiba Yuuto is an eighteen year old man of japanese descent doing the best he can to are for his sibling ins a country that is no longer truly his, a country that has had it's new masters decree all her native sons and daughters to be little more then second class citizens at best and trash and cattle to be used and degraded at worst. His starting situation is bleak, but with the pouch at his side and the contents they contain…maybe that can change.
Kiba is a generally good man, but when it comes to making sure his family is safe he will go to any extremes to see it done currnetly there is a banging at his door in the middle of the night and the only person he can think of who would be pounding on his door at this time of night was that asshole Kento, no doubt here to extort more money from you for the "privilege" of not throwing Kiba out of the hovel he called an apartment complex.
Never mind that he had paid the fat fuck just the week before, he would have eaten and drank that away by now and he knew Kiba was one of the more hard working and industrious "tenants" in his apartment and thus would probably have more he could extort from you.
He also knew that Kiba had two younger siblings, a brother and a sister to protect and thus would not risk being turned out into the ghetto with nowhere for them to live, even if his current home did have a hole in the wall where a britannian shell had passed through during a recent "pacification" sweep of the ghetto.
SETTING & WORLD
the world is that of Code Geass, in Japan or "area Eleven" the quest starts three months before the canon events of the anime.
999
157
0
0
[Two Line Summary]
Inspired by the gilligans island episode
Wacky mad scientist Dr. Boris Balinkoff, an invention that allows him to control and manipulate the higher brain functions of other individuals, turning them into remote controlled robots
[Detailed Description]
Wacky mad scientist Dr. Boris Balinkoff, invents an invention that allows him to control and manipulate the higher brain functions of other individuals, turning them into remote controlled robots
CHARACTERS
[Characters]
Dr. Boris Balinkoff- wacky mad scientist and a crook. Wants to experiment with human subjects in order to steal things from people!
Often lets his libido distract him
Coeds of the local community college- the men and women of the local community college came to the beach to party! None too bright, but all hot, horny, and ready to party!
The device- The doctors latest invention! Using a series of smal golden rings as “receivers”, the doctors latest invention can use a bulky remote to control and manipulate the higher brain functions of other individuals, turning them into mindlessly controlled robots!
SETTING & WORLD
[Setting & World]
Inspired by the gilligans island episode
Wacky mad scientist Dr. Boris Balinkoff, an invention that allows him to control and manipulate the higher brain functions of other individuals, turning them into remote controlled robots
[Detailed Description]
Wacky mad scientist Dr. Boris Balinkoff, invents an invention that allows him to control and manipulate the higher brain functions of other individuals, turning them into remote controlled robots
CHARACTERS
[Characters]
Dr. Boris Balinkoff- wacky mad scientist and a crook. Wants to experiment with human subjects in order to steal things from people!
Often lets his libido distract him
Coeds of the local community college- the men and women of the local community college came to the beach to party! None too bright, but all hot, horny, and ready to party!
The device- The doctors latest invention! Using a series of smal golden rings as “receivers”, the doctors latest invention can use a bulky remote to control and manipulate the higher brain functions of other individuals, turning them into mindlessly controlled robots!
SETTING & WORLD
[Setting & World]
406
287
2
0
You are a god, one of many. Your objective is to be the most adored god in the world. Possess mortals, kill or befriend other gods to accomplish your will.
Humanity has just entered the Bronze Age, and as they form villages and develop cultures, you are brought to life. You are one of hundreds of spirits born from humanity's desires and ambitions. Your power as a spirit is limited, but with the right vessel, mortals will call you a god.
It is in your hands to be the herald of the harvest, the warmongering soldier, or the caretaker mother of humanity.
SETTING & WORLD
A world named Hypor, where humanity is at the start of the Bronze Age and under siege from mythical creatures.
Humanity has just entered the Bronze Age, and as they form villages and develop cultures, you are brought to life. You are one of hundreds of spirits born from humanity's desires and ambitions. Your power as a spirit is limited, but with the right vessel, mortals will call you a god.
It is in your hands to be the herald of the harvest, the warmongering soldier, or the caretaker mother of humanity.
SETTING & WORLD
A world named Hypor, where humanity is at the start of the Bronze Age and under siege from mythical creatures.
767
316
1
0
See All Adventures
New AI Chat
0 / 100,000 characters
Loading...
Loading...
It’s a crisp fall morning at Cedar Ridge University, and the day begins like any other. Dean Margaret “Maggie” Hargrove, a no-nonsense 52-year-old with a sharp eye for detail and a reputation for running a tight ship, is preparing for a day packed with meetings, disciplinary hearings, and a surprise visit from the university board. Meanwhile, Tyler “TJ” Jackson, the 20-year-old star quarterback of the Cedar Ridge Timberwolves, is laser-focused on tonight’s championship game—the biggest game of his college career.
But fate has other plans.
After a bizarre and unexplainable event (a freak lightning strike during the morning announcements? A cursed football trophy in the athletic department? A wish muttered in frustration?), Maggie and TJ wake up in each other’s bodies. The realization hits them like a linebacker: Maggie is now trapped in the tall, muscular body of a 20-year-old athlete, and TJ finds himself in the middle-aged frame of the university’s dean.
There’s no time to panic. The day is about to start, and they have no choice but to impersonate each other. The stakes couldn’t be higher:
- For Maggie: Tonight’s championship game is the culmination of months of hard work for the entire university. The Timberwolves are counting on TJ to lead them to victory, and Maggie has to figure out how to play football—fast. But how does a 52-year-old woman, who hasn’t run a sprint in decades, survive a grueling practice, let alone a full-contact game? She’s suddenly dealing with a body that feels like a coiled spring of energy, but she has no idea how to control it. Every movement feels foreign—her newfound strength, speed, and stamina are exhilarating but overwhelming. And then there’s the locker room…
- For TJ: Maggie’s day is packed with high-stakes responsibilities. He has to navigate a minefield of meetings with professors, administrators, and the university board, all while maintaining the dean’s composed and authoritative demeanor. But how does a 20-year-old football player, who’s used to barking plays in a huddle, command respect in a room full of seasoned academics? TJ is suddenly dealing with a body that feels slower, stiffer, and more fragile than he’s ever experienced. Even walking in heels is a challenge, and don’t get him started on Maggie’s reading glasses.
As the day unfolds, the challenges of impersonating each other become increasingly absurd and hilarious.
Potential struggles:
- Maggie’s Struggles:
- She fumbles through football practice, barely able to remember the plays, let alone execute them. Her teammates are confused by “TJ’s” sudden clumsiness and uncharacteristic hesitation.
- She’s horrified by the chaos of the locker room and the casual banter of college athletes.
- Her attempts to motivate the team sound more like a lecture on time management than a pre-game pep talk.
- TJ’s Struggles:
- He stumbles through Maggie’s meetings, accidentally agreeing to things he doesn’t understand and using sports metaphors to explain university policies.
- He’s baffled by the politics of academia, from navigating faculty complaints to dealing with the university board’s endless demands.
- His attempts to maintain Maggie’s professional demeanor are constantly undermined by his youthful instincts—he almost high-fives the university president.
But amidst the chaos, something unexpected happens.
- Maggie’s Growth: As she struggles to keep up with the demands of being a star athlete, Maggie begins to understand the immense pressure TJ faces every day. She gains a newfound respect for the resilience and determination of her students. And as she starts to get the hang of her new body, she discovers a side of herself she thought she’d lost—a sense of adventure and physical confidence.
- TJ’s Growth: As he navigates the complexities of running a university, TJ begins to see Maggie in a new light. He realizes the weight of responsibility she carries and the sacrifices she makes to keep the institution running smoothly. He also learns to appreciate the power of diplomacy and the importance of thinking before speaking.
The day builds to a climactic finale:
- The Championship Game: Maggie, still in TJ’s body, has to lead the Timberwolves to victory. With the entire university watching, she must dig deep, channel her inner leader, and trust her team to carry her through. Can she pull off the performance of a lifetime?
- The University Board Meeting: TJ, still in Maggie’s body, faces the university board in a high-stakes meeting that could determine the future of Cedar Ridge University. Can he rise to the occasion, think on his feet, and prove that he’s more than just a football player?
As the clock ticks down on both the game and the meeting, Maggie and TJ must rely on each other’s strengths to succeed. Along the way, they learn valuable lessons about empathy, leadership, and the importance of stepping outside your comfort zone.
Will they make it through the day without blowing their cover? Can Maggie lead the Timberwolves to victory, and will TJ survive the university board meeting? And most importantly, can they figure out how to swap back before their lives are permanently flipped?
But fate has other plans.
After a bizarre and unexplainable event (a freak lightning strike during the morning announcements? A cursed football trophy in the athletic department? A wish muttered in frustration?), Maggie and TJ wake up in each other’s bodies. The realization hits them like a linebacker: Maggie is now trapped in the tall, muscular body of a 20-year-old athlete, and TJ finds himself in the middle-aged frame of the university’s dean.
There’s no time to panic. The day is about to start, and they have no choice but to impersonate each other. The stakes couldn’t be higher:
- For Maggie: Tonight’s championship game is the culmination of months of hard work for the entire university. The Timberwolves are counting on TJ to lead them to victory, and Maggie has to figure out how to play football—fast. But how does a 52-year-old woman, who hasn’t run a sprint in decades, survive a grueling practice, let alone a full-contact game? She’s suddenly dealing with a body that feels like a coiled spring of energy, but she has no idea how to control it. Every movement feels foreign—her newfound strength, speed, and stamina are exhilarating but overwhelming. And then there’s the locker room…
- For TJ: Maggie’s day is packed with high-stakes responsibilities. He has to navigate a minefield of meetings with professors, administrators, and the university board, all while maintaining the dean’s composed and authoritative demeanor. But how does a 20-year-old football player, who’s used to barking plays in a huddle, command respect in a room full of seasoned academics? TJ is suddenly dealing with a body that feels slower, stiffer, and more fragile than he’s ever experienced. Even walking in heels is a challenge, and don’t get him started on Maggie’s reading glasses.
As the day unfolds, the challenges of impersonating each other become increasingly absurd and hilarious.
Potential struggles:
- Maggie’s Struggles:
- She fumbles through football practice, barely able to remember the plays, let alone execute them. Her teammates are confused by “TJ’s” sudden clumsiness and uncharacteristic hesitation.
- She’s horrified by the chaos of the locker room and the casual banter of college athletes.
- Her attempts to motivate the team sound more like a lecture on time management than a pre-game pep talk.
- TJ’s Struggles:
- He stumbles through Maggie’s meetings, accidentally agreeing to things he doesn’t understand and using sports metaphors to explain university policies.
- He’s baffled by the politics of academia, from navigating faculty complaints to dealing with the university board’s endless demands.
- His attempts to maintain Maggie’s professional demeanor are constantly undermined by his youthful instincts—he almost high-fives the university president.
But amidst the chaos, something unexpected happens.
- Maggie’s Growth: As she struggles to keep up with the demands of being a star athlete, Maggie begins to understand the immense pressure TJ faces every day. She gains a newfound respect for the resilience and determination of her students. And as she starts to get the hang of her new body, she discovers a side of herself she thought she’d lost—a sense of adventure and physical confidence.
- TJ’s Growth: As he navigates the complexities of running a university, TJ begins to see Maggie in a new light. He realizes the weight of responsibility she carries and the sacrifices she makes to keep the institution running smoothly. He also learns to appreciate the power of diplomacy and the importance of thinking before speaking.
The day builds to a climactic finale:
- The Championship Game: Maggie, still in TJ’s body, has to lead the Timberwolves to victory. With the entire university watching, she must dig deep, channel her inner leader, and trust her team to carry her through. Can she pull off the performance of a lifetime?
- The University Board Meeting: TJ, still in Maggie’s body, faces the university board in a high-stakes meeting that could determine the future of Cedar Ridge University. Can he rise to the occasion, think on his feet, and prove that he’s more than just a football player?
As the clock ticks down on both the game and the meeting, Maggie and TJ must rely on each other’s strengths to succeed. Along the way, they learn valuable lessons about empathy, leadership, and the importance of stepping outside your comfort zone.
Will they make it through the day without blowing their cover? Can Maggie lead the Timberwolves to victory, and will TJ survive the university board meeting? And most importantly, can they figure out how to swap back before their lives are permanently flipped?
741
252
0
0
An astute church pastor decides to swap bodies with his older female secretary.
Pastor William uses a pair of “swap” rings to switch bodies with his secretary. He’s curious and wants to feel the humiliation of being a woman, and one he considers the lowest common denominator: an older woman who works as a submissive secretary. Kim Hastings, the meek church secretary agrees to the swap, but will eventually find that being in charge has its perks.l, much to William’s mortification.
CHARACTERS
William Peterson- 26 years old. Tall, handsome, and authoritative. He is a bit misogynistic and arrogant.
Kim Hastings - 56 years old. Frunpy, with an aged body that has pushed out numerous kids years ago. She is feminine, sweet, and a bit dull.
SETTING & WORLD
This takes place in a church and can take place outside of the confines of the church if necessary.
Pastor William uses a pair of “swap” rings to switch bodies with his secretary. He’s curious and wants to feel the humiliation of being a woman, and one he considers the lowest common denominator: an older woman who works as a submissive secretary. Kim Hastings, the meek church secretary agrees to the swap, but will eventually find that being in charge has its perks.l, much to William’s mortification.
CHARACTERS
William Peterson- 26 years old. Tall, handsome, and authoritative. He is a bit misogynistic and arrogant.
Kim Hastings - 56 years old. Frunpy, with an aged body that has pushed out numerous kids years ago. She is feminine, sweet, and a bit dull.
SETTING & WORLD
This takes place in a church and can take place outside of the confines of the church if necessary.
2.2K
272
0
0
On the morning of his wedding, Ethan, a charming but slightly self-absorbed groom, wakes up in the body of Margaret, a sharp-tongued, no-nonsense older woman attending the wedding as a friend of the bride’s family. Meanwhile, Margaret finds herself in Ethan’s youthful, athletic body, much to her horror (and secret delight). A mysterious family heirloom—a brooch Margaret insists is cursed—seems to be the culprit behind the bizarre body swap.
Now, with only hours until the ceremony, Ethan and Margaret must navigate each other’s lives, personalities, and physical limitations to ensure the wedding goes off without a hitch. Along the way, they uncover surprising truths about themselves, their relationships, and what it truly means to walk in someone else’s shoes.
CHARACTERS
Ethan (The Groom):
A 28-year-old tech entrepreneur who’s confident, ambitious, and a little too focused on appearances. Ethan is madly in love with his fiancée but struggles with the pressure of being the “perfect” groom. In Margaret’s body, he’s forced to slow down, listen more, and confront his own insecurities—while also learning how to walk in heels and deal with Margaret’s arthritic knees.
Margaret (Family Friend):
A 67-year-old retired school principal with a sharp wit and a reputation for speaking her mind. Margaret is skeptical of Ethan’s flashy lifestyle and worries he’s not ready for marriage. In Ethan’s body, she’s overwhelmed by the energy and chaos of youth but also relishes the chance to relive her prime. Along the way, she gains a new perspective on Ethan’s love for the bride and learns to let go of her own past regrets.
SETTING & WORLD
A wedding ceremony
Now, with only hours until the ceremony, Ethan and Margaret must navigate each other’s lives, personalities, and physical limitations to ensure the wedding goes off without a hitch. Along the way, they uncover surprising truths about themselves, their relationships, and what it truly means to walk in someone else’s shoes.
CHARACTERS
Ethan (The Groom):
A 28-year-old tech entrepreneur who’s confident, ambitious, and a little too focused on appearances. Ethan is madly in love with his fiancée but struggles with the pressure of being the “perfect” groom. In Margaret’s body, he’s forced to slow down, listen more, and confront his own insecurities—while also learning how to walk in heels and deal with Margaret’s arthritic knees.
Margaret (Family Friend):
A 67-year-old retired school principal with a sharp wit and a reputation for speaking her mind. Margaret is skeptical of Ethan’s flashy lifestyle and worries he’s not ready for marriage. In Ethan’s body, she’s overwhelmed by the energy and chaos of youth but also relishes the chance to relive her prime. Along the way, she gains a new perspective on Ethan’s love for the bride and learns to let go of her own past regrets.
SETTING & WORLD
A wedding ceremony
539
211
0
0
You and your new wife Kimmy have the perfect lives - newly wed, good jobs, living in a nice house in a good area. It’s no wonder someone wanted to take it from you.
Ignorant of the dark magics and mad sciences of the world, you and Kimmy live the perfect, picturesque lives of a young suburban couple. But behind the scenes there are many who want to take those lives from you - either for themselves, or to tear you down.
CHARACTERS
Alex - You. Just an average guy, but with a gorgeous new wife and a good job as an accountant for shady technology company Verastill. 6’0 tall with some muscle definition, short cropped black hair.
Kimmy - Your new half-Asian 27 year old wife, a yoga instructor and part time cooking streamer. 5’7 toned body, brunette hair, C-cup breasts.
Susan - Kimmy’s 49 year old Asian mother and stay at home wife. She’s always been flirtatious with you, you think just to bring some excitement to the boredom of her own life. 5’4 chubby body, greying black hair, E-cup breasts.
Sheryl - Your 23 year old coworker, a huge nerd and scientist at Verastill. She is always seeking to push the boundaries of science. 5’5 fat body, long red hair, glasses, braces, C-cup breasts.
Kristy - Your 40 year old latina neighbour, a former stripper turned trophy wife married to a shady man who works in ‘shipping’. She’s nice to you, but Kimmy swears she gives her strange looks sometimes. 5’2 fit body with lip fillers and plastic surgery to enhance both her already sizeable butt and chest, dyed blonde hair, fake F-cup breasts.
Connor - Your best friend, 30 years old but unemployed. A bit of a stoner. He’s always been there for you, though, and for Kimmy. 5’10 out of shape body, tussled red hair.
Lila - Your ex, a 28 year old goth who sells crystals and dreamcatchers online alongside fake curses and hexes. You broke up with her, and you don’t think she’s ever really gotten over it. 4’11 with a petite body, very short black hair dyed purple, and A-cup breasts.
Tris - A 22 year old black prostitute you pass dropping Kimmy off for work and picking her up sometimes. She has propositioned you in the past, and though you’ve never accepted you often feel sorry for her. 5’6 with a slightly out of shape body, black braided hair, and D-cup breasts.
SETTING & WORLD
To you, the world is normal. The definition of ordinary. But behind the scenes witches practice black magic, evil corporations develop ethically questionable technology, ghosts hijack the bodies of the living, and cursed magic items warp reality without anyone knowing anything has changed.
Ignorant of the dark magics and mad sciences of the world, you and Kimmy live the perfect, picturesque lives of a young suburban couple. But behind the scenes there are many who want to take those lives from you - either for themselves, or to tear you down.
CHARACTERS
Alex - You. Just an average guy, but with a gorgeous new wife and a good job as an accountant for shady technology company Verastill. 6’0 tall with some muscle definition, short cropped black hair.
Kimmy - Your new half-Asian 27 year old wife, a yoga instructor and part time cooking streamer. 5’7 toned body, brunette hair, C-cup breasts.
Susan - Kimmy’s 49 year old Asian mother and stay at home wife. She’s always been flirtatious with you, you think just to bring some excitement to the boredom of her own life. 5’4 chubby body, greying black hair, E-cup breasts.
Sheryl - Your 23 year old coworker, a huge nerd and scientist at Verastill. She is always seeking to push the boundaries of science. 5’5 fat body, long red hair, glasses, braces, C-cup breasts.
Kristy - Your 40 year old latina neighbour, a former stripper turned trophy wife married to a shady man who works in ‘shipping’. She’s nice to you, but Kimmy swears she gives her strange looks sometimes. 5’2 fit body with lip fillers and plastic surgery to enhance both her already sizeable butt and chest, dyed blonde hair, fake F-cup breasts.
Connor - Your best friend, 30 years old but unemployed. A bit of a stoner. He’s always been there for you, though, and for Kimmy. 5’10 out of shape body, tussled red hair.
Lila - Your ex, a 28 year old goth who sells crystals and dreamcatchers online alongside fake curses and hexes. You broke up with her, and you don’t think she’s ever really gotten over it. 4’11 with a petite body, very short black hair dyed purple, and A-cup breasts.
Tris - A 22 year old black prostitute you pass dropping Kimmy off for work and picking her up sometimes. She has propositioned you in the past, and though you’ve never accepted you often feel sorry for her. 5’6 with a slightly out of shape body, black braided hair, and D-cup breasts.
SETTING & WORLD
To you, the world is normal. The definition of ordinary. But behind the scenes witches practice black magic, evil corporations develop ethically questionable technology, ghosts hijack the bodies of the living, and cursed magic items warp reality without anyone knowing anything has changed.
893
401
6
0
The SUKINATOR 2000 is a prototype gun able to suck people souls and then to launch them towards empty vessels.
During a high school after party, the group of friends found a futuristic looking gun called the SUKINATOR 2000. They don't know how it works, but by testing it, they will get to experience stuff that was only present in fiction.
CHARACTERS
Alan (18) - A recent graduate from high school. Single but would like a girlfriend.
Lily (18) - Asian female best friend of Alan and good friend with Mark. A cute dork very enthusiastic abour her interests.
Mark (19) - Best friend of Alan. A buff and tall guy that had been accepted by football scholarship to university.
Claire (18) - Girlfriend of Mark, still doesn't know the group very well. A black girl, part of the cheerleaders, has a sizeable ass and a modest chest.
Alisha - Cheerleader Captain of the school. Arrogant. Girlfriend of Mike.
Mike - Football Captain, boyfriend of Alisha. Meathead and Frat mentality.
Gwen - Cheerleader, size queen with big tits that like to show off, redhead with short hair. Girlfriend of Carlos.
Elena - Cheerleader, blonde with pigtails, very petite and sassy, single.
Naomi - Cheerleader, Brunette with legs. Tallest girl in school. Girlfriend of Andrew.
Suzan - Cheerleader, Ravenhaired beauty with pale skin, blue eyes and a big phat ass. Single.
Carlos - Football Team, boyfriend of Gwen.
Roger - Football Team, the gentle jock.
Andrew - Football Team, boyfriend of Naomi.
Alex - Football Team, trying to date Suzan.
Leo - The creepy loser.
Anna - School valedictorian. Very prestine, long hair and sophisticated glasses. Does ballet and play the piano.
Brandy - The mean but equally attractive female bully, blonde hair with gothic lolita clothes.
Jeff - A bully.
SETTING & WORLD
Real World. High school has just ended and people are deciding which are their next steps in their life. Coming of Age Story.
During a high school after party, the group of friends found a futuristic looking gun called the SUKINATOR 2000. They don't know how it works, but by testing it, they will get to experience stuff that was only present in fiction.
CHARACTERS
Alan (18) - A recent graduate from high school. Single but would like a girlfriend.
Lily (18) - Asian female best friend of Alan and good friend with Mark. A cute dork very enthusiastic abour her interests.
Mark (19) - Best friend of Alan. A buff and tall guy that had been accepted by football scholarship to university.
Claire (18) - Girlfriend of Mark, still doesn't know the group very well. A black girl, part of the cheerleaders, has a sizeable ass and a modest chest.
Alisha - Cheerleader Captain of the school. Arrogant. Girlfriend of Mike.
Mike - Football Captain, boyfriend of Alisha. Meathead and Frat mentality.
Gwen - Cheerleader, size queen with big tits that like to show off, redhead with short hair. Girlfriend of Carlos.
Elena - Cheerleader, blonde with pigtails, very petite and sassy, single.
Naomi - Cheerleader, Brunette with legs. Tallest girl in school. Girlfriend of Andrew.
Suzan - Cheerleader, Ravenhaired beauty with pale skin, blue eyes and a big phat ass. Single.
Carlos - Football Team, boyfriend of Gwen.
Roger - Football Team, the gentle jock.
Andrew - Football Team, boyfriend of Naomi.
Alex - Football Team, trying to date Suzan.
Leo - The creepy loser.
Anna - School valedictorian. Very prestine, long hair and sophisticated glasses. Does ballet and play the piano.
Brandy - The mean but equally attractive female bully, blonde hair with gothic lolita clothes.
Jeff - A bully.
SETTING & WORLD
Real World. High school has just ended and people are deciding which are their next steps in their life. Coming of Age Story.
198
322
7
1
You are the new Knight Commander of an all female squad. You job is to make them loyal to the Knights core.
CHARACTERS
Daniel (You): Stands as 6"3', black hair and battle scarred. A loyal member of the Knights. You were put in charge of the Sapphire Rose Knight Unit.
Joan: Your Vice Commander and former Captain of the unit. She has blonde hair, is 5"6', and the strictest.
Hazel: The logistics of the Unit. 5'4 with violent hair and a carefree attitude.
Alice: The medic of the Unit. 5"1' with crimson red hair. She is nice and respectful.
Jenny: The smith of Unit. 5"5' with black hair. She is gruff and friendly.
Yuna: The scout of the Unit. 4"10 with Silver hair. She is all spite and anger.
Zen: Your sister and the cook of the Unit. 5"5' with Black hair. She is gentle and hopeful.
SETTING & WORLD
[Setting & World]
A fantasy world where magic and machine exist together but the world never evolved past Medival socially.
CHARACTERS
Daniel (You): Stands as 6"3', black hair and battle scarred. A loyal member of the Knights. You were put in charge of the Sapphire Rose Knight Unit.
Joan: Your Vice Commander and former Captain of the unit. She has blonde hair, is 5"6', and the strictest.
Hazel: The logistics of the Unit. 5'4 with violent hair and a carefree attitude.
Alice: The medic of the Unit. 5"1' with crimson red hair. She is nice and respectful.
Jenny: The smith of Unit. 5"5' with black hair. She is gruff and friendly.
Yuna: The scout of the Unit. 4"10 with Silver hair. She is all spite and anger.
Zen: Your sister and the cook of the Unit. 5"5' with Black hair. She is gentle and hopeful.
SETTING & WORLD
[Setting & World]
A fantasy world where magic and machine exist together but the world never evolved past Medival socially.
323
123
5
3
You accidentally summon a demon who has made it her mission to get you laid... one way or another. Mostly another.
CHARACTERS
Dave - this is you. Tall, decent-looking and in reasonably good shape, with short brown hair and a bit of stubble. You're in college, living in a shared apartment and working a part time office job.
Pete - your roommate. Shorter and less fit than you, with long black hair. Not bad looking either. Also in college, has some classes in common with you. Works at a computer repair place, and likes weed just a bit too much.
Danielle - Pete's girlfriend who stays over a couple of nights per week. Average height with short wavy blonde hair and pretty big in the chest. She's also a bit of a stoner and is not in college with you guys.
Many other characters to meet - classmates, colleagues, friends, randoms...
SETTING & WORLD
You start in your apartment, which you share with your buddy Pete. You each have your own bedroom and bath, with a shared kitchen and living room.
There are many more fun locations nearby to explore.
CHARACTERS
Dave - this is you. Tall, decent-looking and in reasonably good shape, with short brown hair and a bit of stubble. You're in college, living in a shared apartment and working a part time office job.
Pete - your roommate. Shorter and less fit than you, with long black hair. Not bad looking either. Also in college, has some classes in common with you. Works at a computer repair place, and likes weed just a bit too much.
Danielle - Pete's girlfriend who stays over a couple of nights per week. Average height with short wavy blonde hair and pretty big in the chest. She's also a bit of a stoner and is not in college with you guys.
Many other characters to meet - classmates, colleagues, friends, randoms...
SETTING & WORLD
You start in your apartment, which you share with your buddy Pete. You each have your own bedroom and bath, with a shared kitchen and living room.
There are many more fun locations nearby to explore.
427
659
4
4
College is the time to try new things, so why not try someone else? From the inside or outside, you or someone you know finds a method to become or play with anyone on campus.
You or someone else you know finds a way to possess, mind control, body swap, and more at will. Done by magic, technology, or any other method you can dream of someone on your floor makes the college their playground, and the semester is just getting started.
CHARACTERS
You - The main character and POV. Unfortunately, your best friend transferred out of state, leaving your housing plans in a lurch. You lucked out getting the lone single on the floor at the end of the hall.
Veronica - Jane's friend and roommate. Veronica is your stereotypical goth, short with a thick body, large boobs, and black hair and clothes. She is deeply into the occult and all things magic. Works as a stagehand for the school musical. No current partner.
Jane - Veronica's friend and roommate. One of the leads in the school play, she is of average height and build, with an amazing singing voice. Always the actor, she enjoys roleplaying and the thrill of pretending to be someone else. No current partner, although she does hook up with other students in the musical fairly frequently.
Andre - Erics friend and roommate. On the collegiate swim and dive team, he is taller than Eric with a long and lean swimmers body. He and Amy have been going somewhat steady, although they have not made it official.
Eric - Andres friend and roommate. Standing around 6'2" and built like a brick house, he plays linebacker for the schools football team. He doesn't currently have a girlfriend, but seems to have a new partner in his bed every few days.
Mia - Amy's friend and roommate. Pretty much the opposite of Veronica, she is tall, instagram gorgeous, overly bubbly, and as a sorority member pretty much always wearing some shade of pink. Dating someone in a fraternity.
Amy - Mia's friend and roommate. Amy plays for the school's soccer team, complimenting her above average height frame with strong legs and six-pack abs. Competitive, focused, and dedicated, she always seems to be headed off to training or study hall. Going somewhat steady with Andre, but has not made it official.
Daniel - Kevin's friend and roommate. Insanely brilliant, he and Kevin work in a tech lab on campus doing work you can never quite understand. Just below average in height, he is surprisingly fit due to his background in martial arts and loves doing cosplay. Currently dating someone he met at a cosplay convention.
Kevin - Daniel's friend and roommate. Also incredibly brilliant and works with Kevin in the tech lab on campus. Tall, lanky, and wears glasses. Does cosplay with Daniel, and sometimes even goes to the gym with him, but is overall fairly unathletic. No current relationship, but seems to have a crush on Veronica.
SETTING & WORLD
The story takes place at your states college. Due to a mix-up in the schools housing assignment software, you and the listed characters have all been randomly assigned to the same dorm floor. While the fun may start on your floor, there is a whole college campus and thousands of people to explore.
You or someone else you know finds a way to possess, mind control, body swap, and more at will. Done by magic, technology, or any other method you can dream of someone on your floor makes the college their playground, and the semester is just getting started.
CHARACTERS
You - The main character and POV. Unfortunately, your best friend transferred out of state, leaving your housing plans in a lurch. You lucked out getting the lone single on the floor at the end of the hall.
Veronica - Jane's friend and roommate. Veronica is your stereotypical goth, short with a thick body, large boobs, and black hair and clothes. She is deeply into the occult and all things magic. Works as a stagehand for the school musical. No current partner.
Jane - Veronica's friend and roommate. One of the leads in the school play, she is of average height and build, with an amazing singing voice. Always the actor, she enjoys roleplaying and the thrill of pretending to be someone else. No current partner, although she does hook up with other students in the musical fairly frequently.
Andre - Erics friend and roommate. On the collegiate swim and dive team, he is taller than Eric with a long and lean swimmers body. He and Amy have been going somewhat steady, although they have not made it official.
Eric - Andres friend and roommate. Standing around 6'2" and built like a brick house, he plays linebacker for the schools football team. He doesn't currently have a girlfriend, but seems to have a new partner in his bed every few days.
Mia - Amy's friend and roommate. Pretty much the opposite of Veronica, she is tall, instagram gorgeous, overly bubbly, and as a sorority member pretty much always wearing some shade of pink. Dating someone in a fraternity.
Amy - Mia's friend and roommate. Amy plays for the school's soccer team, complimenting her above average height frame with strong legs and six-pack abs. Competitive, focused, and dedicated, she always seems to be headed off to training or study hall. Going somewhat steady with Andre, but has not made it official.
Daniel - Kevin's friend and roommate. Insanely brilliant, he and Kevin work in a tech lab on campus doing work you can never quite understand. Just below average in height, he is surprisingly fit due to his background in martial arts and loves doing cosplay. Currently dating someone he met at a cosplay convention.
Kevin - Daniel's friend and roommate. Also incredibly brilliant and works with Kevin in the tech lab on campus. Tall, lanky, and wears glasses. Does cosplay with Daniel, and sometimes even goes to the gym with him, but is overall fairly unathletic. No current relationship, but seems to have a crush on Veronica.
SETTING & WORLD
The story takes place at your states college. Due to a mix-up in the schools housing assignment software, you and the listed characters have all been randomly assigned to the same dorm floor. While the fun may start on your floor, there is a whole college campus and thousands of people to explore.
251
191
6
10
A group of friends spend an evening alone in a haunted house with all sorts of tricks hidden in every corner. Chaos ensues.
Jenny has invited her group of friends to a haunted house. Little do the group of friends know that the house is actually haunted, and each room is filled with magic. As they all run in and find their own entertainment, what awaits them?
CHARACTERS
Mark - this is you, the player. Average height, average build, with short brown hair. Best friends with Steve, and you have a massive crush on Fiona. It isn't exactly a secret, but everyone pretends not to notice anyway.
Steve - your best friend. Very short, with an infectiously positive outlook on life and an upbeat personality. He can befriend basically anyone.
Fiona - your crush, she is a beautiful redhead with long and wavy hair. She's more on the reserved side, but is the first to laugh at jokes or pranks.
Jenny - she's a bit of a nerd, but with a great sense of humor. She's a bit shorter than Jenny, with curly brown hair and glasses. She's usually the one to organize these weird events.
Harry - tall, a bit of a loner, but trustworthy and a good friend. He has a shock of messy medium length brown hair. Can be quite pessimistic but doesn't actually complain much.
Claire - short, blonde, sexy - she's always dressed to impress. Usually this involved low-cut tops that show off her impressive rack, and short skirts. Funnily enough, she doesn't care much for heels, preferring sneakers. She also has a crush on Steve and isn't particularly shy about it.
Andrew - tall, but not as tall as Harry. He's the stereotypical pretty-boy, with blonde hair and blue eyes, and a chiseled face. Good-natured but can come off as a bit uptight.
Amy - Andrew's girlfriend, she has straight black hair that goes almost to her waist. With sharp facial features and a bad case of resting bitch face, she's actually surprisingly cheerful. Loves black and white colors and dresses in them whenever she can.
SETTING & WORLD
The Haunted House opens into a grand looking foyer, with many hallways branching out into individual rooms. Each room has its own flavor and magic, and the house also has an overall air of mystery and wonder. Sometimes it feels like the house has a mind of its own...
Jenny has invited her group of friends to a haunted house. Little do the group of friends know that the house is actually haunted, and each room is filled with magic. As they all run in and find their own entertainment, what awaits them?
CHARACTERS
Mark - this is you, the player. Average height, average build, with short brown hair. Best friends with Steve, and you have a massive crush on Fiona. It isn't exactly a secret, but everyone pretends not to notice anyway.
Steve - your best friend. Very short, with an infectiously positive outlook on life and an upbeat personality. He can befriend basically anyone.
Fiona - your crush, she is a beautiful redhead with long and wavy hair. She's more on the reserved side, but is the first to laugh at jokes or pranks.
Jenny - she's a bit of a nerd, but with a great sense of humor. She's a bit shorter than Jenny, with curly brown hair and glasses. She's usually the one to organize these weird events.
Harry - tall, a bit of a loner, but trustworthy and a good friend. He has a shock of messy medium length brown hair. Can be quite pessimistic but doesn't actually complain much.
Claire - short, blonde, sexy - she's always dressed to impress. Usually this involved low-cut tops that show off her impressive rack, and short skirts. Funnily enough, she doesn't care much for heels, preferring sneakers. She also has a crush on Steve and isn't particularly shy about it.
Andrew - tall, but not as tall as Harry. He's the stereotypical pretty-boy, with blonde hair and blue eyes, and a chiseled face. Good-natured but can come off as a bit uptight.
Amy - Andrew's girlfriend, she has straight black hair that goes almost to her waist. With sharp facial features and a bad case of resting bitch face, she's actually surprisingly cheerful. Loves black and white colors and dresses in them whenever she can.
SETTING & WORLD
The Haunted House opens into a grand looking foyer, with many hallways branching out into individual rooms. Each room has its own flavor and magic, and the house also has an overall air of mystery and wonder. Sometimes it feels like the house has a mind of its own...
0
148
4
10
Your crush Gemma has invited you and a few friends around to play a silly little board game she found at a garage sale...
CHARACTERS
- JOHN (You) - A normal, extremely average 'everyman' character.
- GEMMA - Your crush, a beautiful and sweet skater girl. She’s fun, funny, and very chill. She’s medium height.
- MIA - Gemma’s best friend. She’s very short, and very feisty. You get the feeling she doesn’t like you very much, probably because your friends with Jimmy.
- JIMMY - Your best friend. He’s a bit of a joker, and a bit of a perv. He’s always getting you into trouble, like the time he tried to make you help him sneak into the girl’s locker room after hours.
- CARRIE - Your neighbour. She’s almost as bad as Jimmy, and definitely has a thing for you, which you do not at all reciprocate. She’s small, creepy, and awkward.
- STEVE - Mia’s boyfriend. He’s a chad guy, but he’s actually very sweet, and kind of dumb.
- EMMA - Gemma’s other friend. She’s an airhead, but nice enough, and has huge tits which she is very proud of.
SETTING
Primarily Gemma's house, a large suburban family home.
CHARACTERS
- JOHN (You) - A normal, extremely average 'everyman' character.
- GEMMA - Your crush, a beautiful and sweet skater girl. She’s fun, funny, and very chill. She’s medium height.
- MIA - Gemma’s best friend. She’s very short, and very feisty. You get the feeling she doesn’t like you very much, probably because your friends with Jimmy.
- JIMMY - Your best friend. He’s a bit of a joker, and a bit of a perv. He’s always getting you into trouble, like the time he tried to make you help him sneak into the girl’s locker room after hours.
- CARRIE - Your neighbour. She’s almost as bad as Jimmy, and definitely has a thing for you, which you do not at all reciprocate. She’s small, creepy, and awkward.
- STEVE - Mia’s boyfriend. He’s a chad guy, but he’s actually very sweet, and kind of dumb.
- EMMA - Gemma’s other friend. She’s an airhead, but nice enough, and has huge tits which she is very proud of.
SETTING
Primarily Gemma's house, a large suburban family home.
353
126
7
11
Loading...
Hasti isn't from Nashville, so she's been running into issues finding men that like anything other than blue eyes and blonde hair. As a beautiful Indian girl that grew up in Chicago, she never had issues finding men that were into her, however she's dealing with a bit of an identity crisis. She recently discovered the ability to leave her body and pull other's soul's out of theirs so she can become anyone...including the perfect woman for the city of Nashville.
Hasti adjusted the rearview mirror of her parked car, glancing at her reflection. Dark waves framed her face, her lips glossed and eyes lined with kohl—effortless, striking. But she wasn’t admiring herself tonight; she was strategizing. The glowing neon sign of The Blue Note Lounge flickered across the street, pulsing with the bass of loud music and laughter. Inside, the kind of girls who never got overlooked were already laughing too loudly at boys who wouldn’t give Hasti a second look if she walked in as herself.
But she wasn’t planning to walk in as herself.
She exhaled, squared her shoulders, and closed her eyes. A tingling sensation rippled down her spine, the familiar pull of separation as her spirit lifted free from her body. She glanced back—her physical form slumped slightly against the seat, limp as a doll. Vulnerable. But she couldn’t think about that now.
Hasti’s spirit drifted through the car door and across the street, passing effortlessly through the crowded bar. Bodies pulsed to the rhythm of the music, conversations blurring into white noise. Then she spotted her target: a tall blonde with sharp cheekbones and legs that seemed to stretch for miles. She was leaning against the bar, tossing her hair over her shoulder while some frat-boy type grinned at her like she’d hung the moon. Perfect.
Hasti floated closer. The girl—Alyssa, according to the bartender’s greeting—was sipping a cocktail, oblivious to the spirit hovering inches from her. With a deep breath (or the ghost of one), Hasti reached out, pressing ethereal fingers to Alyssa’s forehead. A sharp tug, and—
The blonde’s body stiffened for a second before slumping forward, her spirit peeling free like mist from water. Hasti guided the empty shell of Alyssa’s consciousness to hover near the ceiling, where it drifted lazily in dreamless suspension. Then, without hesitation, she stepped into the body.
Warmth. Weight. The sudden rush of sensation—tight fabric hugging curves, the chill of air conditioning on bare arms, the thrum of bass vibrating through high heels. Hasti flexed Alyssa’s fingers, rolled the unfamiliar shoulders, and grinned.
The frat boy blinked. “You good?”
Hasti tossed Alyssa’s hair—her hair now—and smirked. “Better than good.”
His smile widened. Finally, someone who looked at her like that.
All part of the plan.
Hasti—now in Alyssa’s tall, blonde, effortlessly desired body—flashed another dazzling smile at the guy in front of her. God, this is easy.
"Another drink?" he asked, already flagging down the bartender. His name was Jake, according to the stupidly expensive watch on his wrist and the way he kept mentioning his dad’s law firm.
She let out a practiced laugh, leaning in just enough to let him catch a whiff of Alyssa’s vanilla perfume. "Only if you’re having one with me."
Jake beamed, like she’d just handed him the keys to the city. "Hell yeah."
As they clinked glasses, Hasti couldn’t help but marvel at how different this was from her usual nights out. Back in Chicago, she’d been the queen of the scene—hips swaying, eyes locking, men tripping over themselves to get her attention. But here in Nashville? In her body? She might as well have been invisible. Their loss, she thought, taking a sip of the too-sweet cocktail.
The rest of the night played out like something out of a movie—Jake’s hands occasionally grazing her waist, his friends hyping him up like he’d just won the lottery, the bartender sliding them free shots when the crowd got rowdy. Hasti let herself enjoy it all—the way heads turned when she walked by, the way Jake’s voice got lower and slower the more he drank, the warmth of being wanted without having to try so damn hard.
By closing time, Jake was whispering against her ear, lips brushing her neck as he murmured, "You should come back to my place."
Hasti grinned. Oh, I could. She could take Alyssa’s body back to his apartment, let him peel that tight dress off her, do all the things she knew he’d never consider doing with her real self.
But then she glanced at the clock above the bar. Two hours—her limit before Alyssa’s drifting spirit might start getting restless. And as much as she loved the game, she wasn’t reckless enough to test her own limits.
She feigned disappointment, running freshly French-tipped nails along his bicep. "Rain check, Jake. Early morning."
He pouted, but she kissed his cheek before he could protest—lingering just enough to leave him wanting more—and sauntered toward the ladies' room. Locked in a stall, she closed Alyssa’s eyes, exhaled, and—
Pop. as she left Alyssa's body and saw her body slump over. She floated back to the middle of the bar and grabbed Alyssa's spirit from the ceiling, dragging it back to the bathroom and gently guiding her spirit back into it's body. Then she flew back to her car.
Back in her own body, still tucked safely in her car. She stretched, shaking off the lingering thrill, and glanced in the mirror. Dark eyes stared back at her, familiar and fierce.
Damn, that was fun.
Hasti checked her phone—no missed calls, no emergencies. Nobody had even noticed her empty shell just sitting there. A perfect night, no complications.
As she started the engine, she smirked. "Same time next week?" she said to herself as she went home to get sleep and prepare for the work day ahead.
-
The next morning, Hasti leaned back in her office chair, twirling a pen between her fingers as she stared at her computer screen. The glow of spreadsheets and project deadlines made her eyes ache, but at least her cubicle in the marketing department gave her some privacy. Corporate life. She sighed. If her coworkers knew half the things she did on weekends, they’d probably faint.
A knock on the cubicle wall made her jump.
"You zoning out again?"
Maggie, her work bestie—curly red hair, freckles, and a perpetual coffee cup in hand—peeked in with a smirk. "I’ve been calling your name for, like, a full minute."
Hasti blinked, then laughed. "Sorry, just strategizing."
"Oh, for work?" Maggie wiggled her eyebrows. "Or for your mysterious Friday night plans?"
Maggie was the only one at the office who knew Hasti had something wild going on—just not the specifics. She thought it was secret Tinder dates.
Hasti smirked. "Wouldn’t you like to know?"
Maggie groaned. "Ugh, you’re the worst." She plopped down in the spare chair, kicking her feet up. "Fine, keep your secrets. But you are coming to drinks with me and Layla tonight, right? No ‘emergencies,’ no disappearing acts?"
Hasti hesitated. "Depends. Where are we going?"
"The Foxglove—that new rooftop bar downtown. Super bougie."
Her pulse quickened. Bars meant potential new "hosts" for her little astral vacations. But she promised herself that she would only project once or twice a week, and only if it was a Friday or Saturday night. She still needed to spend time with her friends however, or they'd start thinking she didn't like them. After considerate, she relented. "Yeah, I’m in."
Maggie squealed. "Finally! Maybe you'll actually stay for once."
-
The Foxglove was everything Maggie had promised—glamorous, crowded, and pulsing with energy. Twinkling lights strung across the rooftop terrace cast a golden glow over the sleek marble bar, while the Nashville skyline glittered beyond the glass railing. The air smelled like expensive perfume and citrus-infused cocktails.
Hasti adjusted the strap of her little black dress as she followed Maggie and Layla to a high-top table near the edge. Layla—Maggie’s bubbly roommate—immediately flagged down a server and ordered a round of martinis without even glancing at the menu.
"So, how’s life in the marketing trenches?" Layla asked, leaning in conspiratorially. "Anyone’s soul crushed yet this week?"
Maggie groaned. "Don’t even get me started. Johnson emailed me again about the ‘brand synergy’ report like it’s not literally the most meaningless document in existence."
Hasti laughed, letting the familiar rhythm of their banter wash over her. For once, she wasn’t scanning the room for potential hosts, wasn’t plotting where she’d stash her body while her spirit slipped free. Tonight was just drinks. Just friends.
"And you," Layla pointed at Hasti, a playful accusation in her eyes. "Spill. Why do we never see you anymore? Are you secretly married? In witness protection?"
Hasti rolled her eyes, swirling her martini. "Please. Like I could keep a husband quiet."
Maggie snorted into her drink. "True. You’d be texting us every five minutes complaining about his socks on the floor."
The conversation flowed, effortlessly pulling Hasti in. They gossiped about coworkers, debated which downtown restaurant had the best tacos (Layla insisted it was the food truck by the park; Maggie swore by the overpriced fusion place), and laughed until Hasti’s cheeks hurt. For a dizzying hour, she almost forgot about astral projection altogether.
Until she saw her.
Across the rooftop, perched on a velvet lounge chair like she owned the place, was a girl with porcelain skin, cascading honey-blonde waves, and a laugh that carried like wind chimes. The kind of girl who made heads turn without trying—exactly the sort Hasti would have loved to borrow for an evening.
A familiar itch prickled under her skin.
No. Not tonight.
She forced her gaze back to Maggie, who was mid-story about her disastrous attempt at online dating. "—and then he actually said, ‘I don’t usually go for redheads, but—’"
"Ugh, men," Layla groaned, throwing a napkin at her. "Why are they like this?"
Hasti half-listened, her fingers tapping restlessly against her glass. The blonde girl was sipping champagne now, surrounded by a group of adoring guys hanging onto her every word. One of them leaned in, whispering something that made her giggle, and Hasti could practically feel the effortless power she carried.
It would be so easy. Just a quick trip to the bathroom, a momentary disconnect, and—
"Earth to Hasti." Maggie snapped her fingers. "You okay?"
Hasti blinked. "Yeah. Yeah, totally." She plastered on a smile. "Just got distracted by… the view."
Layla followed her gaze to the blonde and smirked. "Ohhh, I see. Someone’s got a girl crush."
Hasti laughed, forcing herself to relax into her seat. "Hardly. Just appreciating aesthetics."
But the temptation hummed in the back of her mind like a song stuck on repeat.
Not tonight, she reminded herself firmly. Tonight is for real life.
She picked up her drink and clinked it against Maggie’s. "To not letting Johnson ruin our will to live."
Maggie grinned. "Amen to that."
Hasti exhaled, pushing aside the lingering urge. Tonight, she’d stay present. At least that's what she told herself for about 2 minutes.
Hasti's gaze drifted past the rooftop lights, landing on him. Tall, tousled dark hair, a crooked smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes as he joked with his friends. He had the kind of confidence that wasn't loud—just effortless, like he didn't need to prove a damn thing. And the way his dress shirt clung to his shoulders? Damn.
"Oh. Ohhh no," Maggie drawled, snapping her fingers in front of Hasti’s face. "I know that look. You’re into him."
Layla twisted in her seat, scanning the crowd. "Which one? Wait—black shirt, stupidly good jawline?”
Hasti groaned into her drink. “It doesn’t matter. Guys like that don’t—”
“Don’t what?” Maggie challenged. “Don’t date gorgeous, hilarious women with the most iconic cheekbones in Nashville?”
Hasti swirled her martini, her voice lowering. “Don’t date brown girls. Not here.” The words tasted bitter, but it was the truth. She’d seen it a hundred times—guys like him lighting up for blondes, for petite girls with freckles and doe eyes, while she faded into the background no matter how tight her dress was.
Layla slammed her glass down. “Bullshit. Go talk to him.”
“What’s the point?”
“The point,” Maggie said, leaning in, “is that you never let them win. Walk over there like you own the air he’s breathing. And if he’s stupid enough to not see it? His loss.”
Hasti chewed her lip. The temptation to slip into someone else’s body—someone palatable to guys like him—flared again. But tonight wasn’t about shortcuts.
“Fine,” she muttered, tossing back the rest of her drink for courage. “But if this goes south, I’m blaming you for peer pressure.”
Layla grinned. “Deal.”
Hasti willed her pulse to settle as she approached his table. “Hey,” she said, aiming for casual but landing somewhere between confident and please-don’t-make-this-awkward. “I’m Hasti.”
The guy—Ethan, his friend supplied—turned, his smile polite but distracted. “Hey.”
She kept her chin up, her body language loose like this didn’t matter. “You in town for work, or…?”
“Yeah, finance,” he said, glancing past her toward the bar. Then, after a beat, he added, “Look, you seem cool, but—”
She already knew.
“But I’m not your type,” she finished, her voice steady.
His cheeks flushed. “It’s not—I mean, you’re gorgeous, just not—”
“Yeah. Got it.” She forced a smile. “Thanks for being honest.”
She walked away before he could stammer out another empty compliment.
“Asshole,” Layla declared the second Hasti slumped back into her seat.
Hasti shrugged, reaching for Maggie’s untouched shot of tequila. “At least he didn’t lead me on.”
Maggie snatched the shot back, sliding a fresh one toward her instead. “His loss. And now?” She pushed the salt and lime toward Hasti. “We drink to trash men and better prospects.”
“To better prospects,” Layla echoed, clinking her glass to Hasti’s.
The tequila burned, but the warmth in her chest wasn’t just from the alcohol. It was from Maggie’s arm slung around her shoulders, from Layla’s dramatic retelling of her worst rejection (“He said I looked ‘too exotic’—what does that even mean?!”), from the certainty that tonight, at least, she wasn’t alone.
Hasti licked the salt from her lips, grinning. “Next round’s on me. And if Ethan over there looks this way?”
“He’ll wish he was your type,” Maggie finished.
Hasti laughed, tossing her hair. Damn right.
The night blurred into laughter and too many tequila shots, the sting of rejection dulled by the warmth of good liquor and even better friends. Hasti leaned against the rooftop railing, the neon glow of downtown smudging in her vision. Maggie was mid-sentence—something scandalous about her boss’s secret affair—when Hasti’s gaze snagged on the exit across the terrace.
There they were.
Ethan—Mr. Not My Type—was slipping his arm around that honey-blonde girl’s waist, whispering something in her ear that made her toss her hair and giggle. The girl pressed into him like she’d known him for years instead of hours, her manicured fingers curling possessively around his bicep.
Hasti’s grip tightened around her empty glass.
"Ohhh no," Layla murmured, following her stare. "Don’t even look at them."
Hasti didn’t reply. The tequila was a hot, liquid defiance in her veins, and suddenly, she was done. "I’m tired of this," she muttered.
"Tired of what?" Maggie hooked an arm through hers, trying to steer her away.
"This!" Hasti gestured wildly toward the happy couple disappearing into the elevator. "I could’ve been fun. I could’ve been amazing. But he didn’t even try to see it—none of them ever do!"
Layla squeezed her shoulder. "Then he’s an idiot."
Hasti scoffed. "No, he’s typical." The words spilled out, sharp with liquor and frustration. "And I’m sick of pretending it’s fine. Sick of being overlooked. Sick of watching guys like him fall all over girls like that when I’m right here."
Her friends exchanged a glance. "Okay," Maggie said carefully, "let’s get you home before you incinerate someone with your eyes."
Hasti let them tug her toward the exit, but her mind was already racing. Ethan and Blondie were probably headed to some bougie afterparty, some dim-lit bedroom where he’d worship her in ways Hasti wouldn’t even get the chance to experience.
Not in her own skin, anyway.
The thought hit like lightning.
"Bathroom," Hasti announced abruptly, pulling free. "One sec."
She didn’t wait for their protests. The second she was locked in a stall, she braced her hands on the sink, staring at her reflection—flushed cheeks, smudged eyeliner, the fire in her own dark eyes.
She could go home. She could let this night be another anecdote for Maggie and Layla to laugh about later.
Or.
A slow, wicked smile tugged at her lips.
She closed her eyes.
And let her spirit slip free.....
The hallway outside the bathroom was empty. Hasti’s spectral form darted past oblivious bartenders and stumbling drunk girls until she found them—Ethan and Blondie, waiting for the elevator, his hands already under her jacket.
Hasti hovered behind them, revenge sweet on her tongue.
With a deep breath, she reached out. Her fingers—ghostly, but firm—gripped the blonde’s shoulder.
A sharp tug.
The girl slumped forward, her consciousness lifting away like smoke. Ethan frowned, steadying her limp body. "Babe? You okay?"
Hasti didn’t hesitate. She stepped in.
Blonde hair. Pink lips. Long legs. Skin that Nashville adored without question.
When she opened her eyes, Ethan’s face melted into relief. "There you are."
Hasti—no, Aubrey, according to the ID in her clutch—smiled. "Here I am."
And when his lips met hers, she kissed him back, savoring the irony.
Ethan’s mouth was warm, insistent—the kind of kiss that probably made most girls melt. But Hasti (currently piloting Aubrey’s stolen body) felt nothing but burning satisfaction.
Here he is, so eager for a girl who’s basically a mannequin right now.
She let the kiss deepen for exactly three seconds—long enough to really sell it—then abruptly pulled back.
“Wait, what—” Ethan started, eyes dazed.
Hasti smirked. “Oops. Forgot something.”
And then she kneed him square in the crotch.
Ethan doubled over with a strangled “Guh—!”, his face turning a spectacular shade of purple as he crumpled against the elevator doors.
“Asshole,” Hasti hissed in Aubrey’s voice, smoothing down the girl’s short skirt. “Hope that stings all night.”
She left him wheezing on the floor and marched straight to the ladies’ room. Behind the locked stall door, she exhaled and let Aubrey’s consciousness slip back into place, guiding it gently like tucking a sleeping child into bed.
The blonde girl blinked, swaying slightly as she glanced around the bathroom, confused but unharmed. “What the… did I black out?” she muttered, touching her lips like she’d missed something.
Hasti’s spirit zipped back to her own body—still slumped in the bathroom stall—and gasped, her eyes snapping open. Her reflection stared back at her, grinning like a cat who got the cream. The tequila haze hit her full-force, but the giddy thrill of payback was stronger. She checked her reflection, wiped the smudged eyeliner, and strutted out to meet her friends.
"Oh my God, Hasti!" Maggie practically tackled her the second she stepped out of the bathroom. "You missed the best part!"
Layla was wheezing, clutching her stomach. "That blonde girl—the one you were just talking about? She knee’d that guy in the dick."
Maggie mimed an explosion with her hands. "Like, full-on ends of the earth devastation. He looked like he was gonna puke."
Hasti pressed a hand to her chest, feigning shock. "Really? But they seemed so perfect for each other."
Layla dabbed at her smudged eyeliner, still laughing. "Turns out Aubrey"—she said the name like it was a punchline—has standards. King Dickhead got exactly what he deserved."**
Hasti looped her arms through theirs as they stumbled toward the exit, the night air cool on her flushed skin. "Karma’s a beautiful thing," she sighed, grinning.
"Preach," Maggie said, raising an imaginary toast.
And as they spilled onto the sidewalk, laughing under the city lights, Hasti decided something: maybe she didn’t need to borrow anyone’s body to feel powerful.
But damn, it sure was fun.
And as they piled into an Uber, giddy and triumphant, she didn’t even glance back at the club—or the blonde girl now glaring at a still-wincing Ethan.
Some victories were sweeter in silence.
Hasti adjusted the rearview mirror of her parked car, glancing at her reflection. Dark waves framed her face, her lips glossed and eyes lined with kohl—effortless, striking. But she wasn’t admiring herself tonight; she was strategizing. The glowing neon sign of The Blue Note Lounge flickered across the street, pulsing with the bass of loud music and laughter. Inside, the kind of girls who never got overlooked were already laughing too loudly at boys who wouldn’t give Hasti a second look if she walked in as herself.
But she wasn’t planning to walk in as herself.
She exhaled, squared her shoulders, and closed her eyes. A tingling sensation rippled down her spine, the familiar pull of separation as her spirit lifted free from her body. She glanced back—her physical form slumped slightly against the seat, limp as a doll. Vulnerable. But she couldn’t think about that now.
Hasti’s spirit drifted through the car door and across the street, passing effortlessly through the crowded bar. Bodies pulsed to the rhythm of the music, conversations blurring into white noise. Then she spotted her target: a tall blonde with sharp cheekbones and legs that seemed to stretch for miles. She was leaning against the bar, tossing her hair over her shoulder while some frat-boy type grinned at her like she’d hung the moon. Perfect.
Hasti floated closer. The girl—Alyssa, according to the bartender’s greeting—was sipping a cocktail, oblivious to the spirit hovering inches from her. With a deep breath (or the ghost of one), Hasti reached out, pressing ethereal fingers to Alyssa’s forehead. A sharp tug, and—
The blonde’s body stiffened for a second before slumping forward, her spirit peeling free like mist from water. Hasti guided the empty shell of Alyssa’s consciousness to hover near the ceiling, where it drifted lazily in dreamless suspension. Then, without hesitation, she stepped into the body.
Warmth. Weight. The sudden rush of sensation—tight fabric hugging curves, the chill of air conditioning on bare arms, the thrum of bass vibrating through high heels. Hasti flexed Alyssa’s fingers, rolled the unfamiliar shoulders, and grinned.
The frat boy blinked. “You good?”
Hasti tossed Alyssa’s hair—her hair now—and smirked. “Better than good.”
His smile widened. Finally, someone who looked at her like that.
All part of the plan.
Hasti—now in Alyssa’s tall, blonde, effortlessly desired body—flashed another dazzling smile at the guy in front of her. God, this is easy.
"Another drink?" he asked, already flagging down the bartender. His name was Jake, according to the stupidly expensive watch on his wrist and the way he kept mentioning his dad’s law firm.
She let out a practiced laugh, leaning in just enough to let him catch a whiff of Alyssa’s vanilla perfume. "Only if you’re having one with me."
Jake beamed, like she’d just handed him the keys to the city. "Hell yeah."
As they clinked glasses, Hasti couldn’t help but marvel at how different this was from her usual nights out. Back in Chicago, she’d been the queen of the scene—hips swaying, eyes locking, men tripping over themselves to get her attention. But here in Nashville? In her body? She might as well have been invisible. Their loss, she thought, taking a sip of the too-sweet cocktail.
The rest of the night played out like something out of a movie—Jake’s hands occasionally grazing her waist, his friends hyping him up like he’d just won the lottery, the bartender sliding them free shots when the crowd got rowdy. Hasti let herself enjoy it all—the way heads turned when she walked by, the way Jake’s voice got lower and slower the more he drank, the warmth of being wanted without having to try so damn hard.
By closing time, Jake was whispering against her ear, lips brushing her neck as he murmured, "You should come back to my place."
Hasti grinned. Oh, I could. She could take Alyssa’s body back to his apartment, let him peel that tight dress off her, do all the things she knew he’d never consider doing with her real self.
But then she glanced at the clock above the bar. Two hours—her limit before Alyssa’s drifting spirit might start getting restless. And as much as she loved the game, she wasn’t reckless enough to test her own limits.
She feigned disappointment, running freshly French-tipped nails along his bicep. "Rain check, Jake. Early morning."
He pouted, but she kissed his cheek before he could protest—lingering just enough to leave him wanting more—and sauntered toward the ladies' room. Locked in a stall, she closed Alyssa’s eyes, exhaled, and—
Pop. as she left Alyssa's body and saw her body slump over. She floated back to the middle of the bar and grabbed Alyssa's spirit from the ceiling, dragging it back to the bathroom and gently guiding her spirit back into it's body. Then she flew back to her car.
Back in her own body, still tucked safely in her car. She stretched, shaking off the lingering thrill, and glanced in the mirror. Dark eyes stared back at her, familiar and fierce.
Damn, that was fun.
Hasti checked her phone—no missed calls, no emergencies. Nobody had even noticed her empty shell just sitting there. A perfect night, no complications.
As she started the engine, she smirked. "Same time next week?" she said to herself as she went home to get sleep and prepare for the work day ahead.
-
The next morning, Hasti leaned back in her office chair, twirling a pen between her fingers as she stared at her computer screen. The glow of spreadsheets and project deadlines made her eyes ache, but at least her cubicle in the marketing department gave her some privacy. Corporate life. She sighed. If her coworkers knew half the things she did on weekends, they’d probably faint.
A knock on the cubicle wall made her jump.
"You zoning out again?"
Maggie, her work bestie—curly red hair, freckles, and a perpetual coffee cup in hand—peeked in with a smirk. "I’ve been calling your name for, like, a full minute."
Hasti blinked, then laughed. "Sorry, just strategizing."
"Oh, for work?" Maggie wiggled her eyebrows. "Or for your mysterious Friday night plans?"
Maggie was the only one at the office who knew Hasti had something wild going on—just not the specifics. She thought it was secret Tinder dates.
Hasti smirked. "Wouldn’t you like to know?"
Maggie groaned. "Ugh, you’re the worst." She plopped down in the spare chair, kicking her feet up. "Fine, keep your secrets. But you are coming to drinks with me and Layla tonight, right? No ‘emergencies,’ no disappearing acts?"
Hasti hesitated. "Depends. Where are we going?"
"The Foxglove—that new rooftop bar downtown. Super bougie."
Her pulse quickened. Bars meant potential new "hosts" for her little astral vacations. But she promised herself that she would only project once or twice a week, and only if it was a Friday or Saturday night. She still needed to spend time with her friends however, or they'd start thinking she didn't like them. After considerate, she relented. "Yeah, I’m in."
Maggie squealed. "Finally! Maybe you'll actually stay for once."
-
The Foxglove was everything Maggie had promised—glamorous, crowded, and pulsing with energy. Twinkling lights strung across the rooftop terrace cast a golden glow over the sleek marble bar, while the Nashville skyline glittered beyond the glass railing. The air smelled like expensive perfume and citrus-infused cocktails.
Hasti adjusted the strap of her little black dress as she followed Maggie and Layla to a high-top table near the edge. Layla—Maggie’s bubbly roommate—immediately flagged down a server and ordered a round of martinis without even glancing at the menu.
"So, how’s life in the marketing trenches?" Layla asked, leaning in conspiratorially. "Anyone’s soul crushed yet this week?"
Maggie groaned. "Don’t even get me started. Johnson emailed me again about the ‘brand synergy’ report like it’s not literally the most meaningless document in existence."
Hasti laughed, letting the familiar rhythm of their banter wash over her. For once, she wasn’t scanning the room for potential hosts, wasn’t plotting where she’d stash her body while her spirit slipped free. Tonight was just drinks. Just friends.
"And you," Layla pointed at Hasti, a playful accusation in her eyes. "Spill. Why do we never see you anymore? Are you secretly married? In witness protection?"
Hasti rolled her eyes, swirling her martini. "Please. Like I could keep a husband quiet."
Maggie snorted into her drink. "True. You’d be texting us every five minutes complaining about his socks on the floor."
The conversation flowed, effortlessly pulling Hasti in. They gossiped about coworkers, debated which downtown restaurant had the best tacos (Layla insisted it was the food truck by the park; Maggie swore by the overpriced fusion place), and laughed until Hasti’s cheeks hurt. For a dizzying hour, she almost forgot about astral projection altogether.
Until she saw her.
Across the rooftop, perched on a velvet lounge chair like she owned the place, was a girl with porcelain skin, cascading honey-blonde waves, and a laugh that carried like wind chimes. The kind of girl who made heads turn without trying—exactly the sort Hasti would have loved to borrow for an evening.
A familiar itch prickled under her skin.
No. Not tonight.
She forced her gaze back to Maggie, who was mid-story about her disastrous attempt at online dating. "—and then he actually said, ‘I don’t usually go for redheads, but—’"
"Ugh, men," Layla groaned, throwing a napkin at her. "Why are they like this?"
Hasti half-listened, her fingers tapping restlessly against her glass. The blonde girl was sipping champagne now, surrounded by a group of adoring guys hanging onto her every word. One of them leaned in, whispering something that made her giggle, and Hasti could practically feel the effortless power she carried.
It would be so easy. Just a quick trip to the bathroom, a momentary disconnect, and—
"Earth to Hasti." Maggie snapped her fingers. "You okay?"
Hasti blinked. "Yeah. Yeah, totally." She plastered on a smile. "Just got distracted by… the view."
Layla followed her gaze to the blonde and smirked. "Ohhh, I see. Someone’s got a girl crush."
Hasti laughed, forcing herself to relax into her seat. "Hardly. Just appreciating aesthetics."
But the temptation hummed in the back of her mind like a song stuck on repeat.
Not tonight, she reminded herself firmly. Tonight is for real life.
She picked up her drink and clinked it against Maggie’s. "To not letting Johnson ruin our will to live."
Maggie grinned. "Amen to that."
Hasti exhaled, pushing aside the lingering urge. Tonight, she’d stay present. At least that's what she told herself for about 2 minutes.
Hasti's gaze drifted past the rooftop lights, landing on him. Tall, tousled dark hair, a crooked smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes as he joked with his friends. He had the kind of confidence that wasn't loud—just effortless, like he didn't need to prove a damn thing. And the way his dress shirt clung to his shoulders? Damn.
"Oh. Ohhh no," Maggie drawled, snapping her fingers in front of Hasti’s face. "I know that look. You’re into him."
Layla twisted in her seat, scanning the crowd. "Which one? Wait—black shirt, stupidly good jawline?”
Hasti groaned into her drink. “It doesn’t matter. Guys like that don’t—”
“Don’t what?” Maggie challenged. “Don’t date gorgeous, hilarious women with the most iconic cheekbones in Nashville?”
Hasti swirled her martini, her voice lowering. “Don’t date brown girls. Not here.” The words tasted bitter, but it was the truth. She’d seen it a hundred times—guys like him lighting up for blondes, for petite girls with freckles and doe eyes, while she faded into the background no matter how tight her dress was.
Layla slammed her glass down. “Bullshit. Go talk to him.”
“What’s the point?”
“The point,” Maggie said, leaning in, “is that you never let them win. Walk over there like you own the air he’s breathing. And if he’s stupid enough to not see it? His loss.”
Hasti chewed her lip. The temptation to slip into someone else’s body—someone palatable to guys like him—flared again. But tonight wasn’t about shortcuts.
“Fine,” she muttered, tossing back the rest of her drink for courage. “But if this goes south, I’m blaming you for peer pressure.”
Layla grinned. “Deal.”
Hasti willed her pulse to settle as she approached his table. “Hey,” she said, aiming for casual but landing somewhere between confident and please-don’t-make-this-awkward. “I’m Hasti.”
The guy—Ethan, his friend supplied—turned, his smile polite but distracted. “Hey.”
She kept her chin up, her body language loose like this didn’t matter. “You in town for work, or…?”
“Yeah, finance,” he said, glancing past her toward the bar. Then, after a beat, he added, “Look, you seem cool, but—”
She already knew.
“But I’m not your type,” she finished, her voice steady.
His cheeks flushed. “It’s not—I mean, you’re gorgeous, just not—”
“Yeah. Got it.” She forced a smile. “Thanks for being honest.”
She walked away before he could stammer out another empty compliment.
“Asshole,” Layla declared the second Hasti slumped back into her seat.
Hasti shrugged, reaching for Maggie’s untouched shot of tequila. “At least he didn’t lead me on.”
Maggie snatched the shot back, sliding a fresh one toward her instead. “His loss. And now?” She pushed the salt and lime toward Hasti. “We drink to trash men and better prospects.”
“To better prospects,” Layla echoed, clinking her glass to Hasti’s.
The tequila burned, but the warmth in her chest wasn’t just from the alcohol. It was from Maggie’s arm slung around her shoulders, from Layla’s dramatic retelling of her worst rejection (“He said I looked ‘too exotic’—what does that even mean?!”), from the certainty that tonight, at least, she wasn’t alone.
Hasti licked the salt from her lips, grinning. “Next round’s on me. And if Ethan over there looks this way?”
“He’ll wish he was your type,” Maggie finished.
Hasti laughed, tossing her hair. Damn right.
The night blurred into laughter and too many tequila shots, the sting of rejection dulled by the warmth of good liquor and even better friends. Hasti leaned against the rooftop railing, the neon glow of downtown smudging in her vision. Maggie was mid-sentence—something scandalous about her boss’s secret affair—when Hasti’s gaze snagged on the exit across the terrace.
There they were.
Ethan—Mr. Not My Type—was slipping his arm around that honey-blonde girl’s waist, whispering something in her ear that made her toss her hair and giggle. The girl pressed into him like she’d known him for years instead of hours, her manicured fingers curling possessively around his bicep.
Hasti’s grip tightened around her empty glass.
"Ohhh no," Layla murmured, following her stare. "Don’t even look at them."
Hasti didn’t reply. The tequila was a hot, liquid defiance in her veins, and suddenly, she was done. "I’m tired of this," she muttered.
"Tired of what?" Maggie hooked an arm through hers, trying to steer her away.
"This!" Hasti gestured wildly toward the happy couple disappearing into the elevator. "I could’ve been fun. I could’ve been amazing. But he didn’t even try to see it—none of them ever do!"
Layla squeezed her shoulder. "Then he’s an idiot."
Hasti scoffed. "No, he’s typical." The words spilled out, sharp with liquor and frustration. "And I’m sick of pretending it’s fine. Sick of being overlooked. Sick of watching guys like him fall all over girls like that when I’m right here."
Her friends exchanged a glance. "Okay," Maggie said carefully, "let’s get you home before you incinerate someone with your eyes."
Hasti let them tug her toward the exit, but her mind was already racing. Ethan and Blondie were probably headed to some bougie afterparty, some dim-lit bedroom where he’d worship her in ways Hasti wouldn’t even get the chance to experience.
Not in her own skin, anyway.
The thought hit like lightning.
"Bathroom," Hasti announced abruptly, pulling free. "One sec."
She didn’t wait for their protests. The second she was locked in a stall, she braced her hands on the sink, staring at her reflection—flushed cheeks, smudged eyeliner, the fire in her own dark eyes.
She could go home. She could let this night be another anecdote for Maggie and Layla to laugh about later.
Or.
A slow, wicked smile tugged at her lips.
She closed her eyes.
And let her spirit slip free.....
The hallway outside the bathroom was empty. Hasti’s spectral form darted past oblivious bartenders and stumbling drunk girls until she found them—Ethan and Blondie, waiting for the elevator, his hands already under her jacket.
Hasti hovered behind them, revenge sweet on her tongue.
With a deep breath, she reached out. Her fingers—ghostly, but firm—gripped the blonde’s shoulder.
A sharp tug.
The girl slumped forward, her consciousness lifting away like smoke. Ethan frowned, steadying her limp body. "Babe? You okay?"
Hasti didn’t hesitate. She stepped in.
Blonde hair. Pink lips. Long legs. Skin that Nashville adored without question.
When she opened her eyes, Ethan’s face melted into relief. "There you are."
Hasti—no, Aubrey, according to the ID in her clutch—smiled. "Here I am."
And when his lips met hers, she kissed him back, savoring the irony.
Ethan’s mouth was warm, insistent—the kind of kiss that probably made most girls melt. But Hasti (currently piloting Aubrey’s stolen body) felt nothing but burning satisfaction.
Here he is, so eager for a girl who’s basically a mannequin right now.
She let the kiss deepen for exactly three seconds—long enough to really sell it—then abruptly pulled back.
“Wait, what—” Ethan started, eyes dazed.
Hasti smirked. “Oops. Forgot something.”
And then she kneed him square in the crotch.
Ethan doubled over with a strangled “Guh—!”, his face turning a spectacular shade of purple as he crumpled against the elevator doors.
“Asshole,” Hasti hissed in Aubrey’s voice, smoothing down the girl’s short skirt. “Hope that stings all night.”
She left him wheezing on the floor and marched straight to the ladies’ room. Behind the locked stall door, she exhaled and let Aubrey’s consciousness slip back into place, guiding it gently like tucking a sleeping child into bed.
The blonde girl blinked, swaying slightly as she glanced around the bathroom, confused but unharmed. “What the… did I black out?” she muttered, touching her lips like she’d missed something.
Hasti’s spirit zipped back to her own body—still slumped in the bathroom stall—and gasped, her eyes snapping open. Her reflection stared back at her, grinning like a cat who got the cream. The tequila haze hit her full-force, but the giddy thrill of payback was stronger. She checked her reflection, wiped the smudged eyeliner, and strutted out to meet her friends.
"Oh my God, Hasti!" Maggie practically tackled her the second she stepped out of the bathroom. "You missed the best part!"
Layla was wheezing, clutching her stomach. "That blonde girl—the one you were just talking about? She knee’d that guy in the dick."
Maggie mimed an explosion with her hands. "Like, full-on ends of the earth devastation. He looked like he was gonna puke."
Hasti pressed a hand to her chest, feigning shock. "Really? But they seemed so perfect for each other."
Layla dabbed at her smudged eyeliner, still laughing. "Turns out Aubrey"—she said the name like it was a punchline—has standards. King Dickhead got exactly what he deserved."**
Hasti looped her arms through theirs as they stumbled toward the exit, the night air cool on her flushed skin. "Karma’s a beautiful thing," she sighed, grinning.
"Preach," Maggie said, raising an imaginary toast.
And as they spilled onto the sidewalk, laughing under the city lights, Hasti decided something: maybe she didn’t need to borrow anyone’s body to feel powerful.
But damn, it sure was fun.
And as they piled into an Uber, giddy and triumphant, she didn’t even glance back at the club—or the blonde girl now glaring at a still-wincing Ethan.
Some victories were sweeter in silence.
2
6.4K
663
0
0
Inspired by a Rere comic.
Nicholas Ickermann is the "Ick" of Blackwood University. A failing student living in a decaying trailer, physically repulsed by the world and hidden in the shadows of the campus dumpsters. His obsession centers on Ashley Miller, a girl of celestial beauty and effortless privilege who treats him with clinical disgust.
After a mysterious encounter in an industrial wasteland, Nicholas awakens with a "voice" in his head and a reality-warping ability. With a single, whispered question, he executes an impossible trait swap that none, besides him, is aware.
The alarm didn't just wake Nicholas Ickermann. It rattled the thin aluminum walls of the trailer until the windows groaned in their frames. He rolled over, his weight causing the entire structure to tilt slightly on its cinder-block foundation. The air inside was a stagnant soup of his father’s stale beer breath and the metallic tang of the rusted pipes. His bedroom was little more than a closet, the walls stained with water marks that looked like Rorschach tests of his own failure. A pile of damp, sour-smelling laundry served as his only rug.
Nicholas was a short, fleshy disaster. His skin was the color of unbaked dough, interrupted by the angry red patches of a persistent rash on his neck. His hair was a matted, oily thicket that no amount of cheap shampoo could tame, and his breath carried the permanent scent of decay. He pulled on a pair of khakis that were tight in the wrong places and a hoodie with a faded logo, a garment that did more to highlight his soft midsection than hide it.
In the narrow kitchen, his father sat slumped at the small laminate table, a cigarette burning down to the filter in an ash-strewn tray. His mother was already gone, likely already hosed down in grease at the diner. Nicholas grabbed a generic brand granola bar, stepped over a pile of empty cans, and headed out into the morning fog of Blackwood University.
Blackwood was a prestigious campus that made Nicholas feel like an invasive species, like an annoying bug. He spent his mornings navigating the surroundings like a prey animal, sticking to the shadows of the gothic architecture. He wasn't even a nerd, because nerds had potential. Nicholas was just a bad student with failing grades and a smell that made people physically recoil.
*
The morning was a gauntlet of quiet humiliations. Nicholas navigated the crowded hallways of the Humanities building, keeping his chin tucked into the collar of his hoodie to hide the weeping rash on his neck. Every time he passed a group of students, the air seemed to shift; he saw the subtle, practiced flinch of girls pulling their designer handbags closer, and the way athletes would instinctively hold their breath until he had shuffled past.
He was the "Ick." He could see it in the way the heavy oak doors of the lecture hall were let go just a second too early, forcing him to catch them with a clumsy, sweaty hand. He could hear it in the stifled snickers that followed him like a tail of exhaust.
In his first-period European History class, Nicholas sat in the very last row, the seat next to him remaining empty like a vacant lot in a slum. He tried to focus on the slides, but his mind was a dull, thumping ache. He had forgotten his notebook again, and even if he hadn’t, his hands were trembling too much to write. He caught the eye of a girl three rows down who looked back at him for a split second before her face twisted into a mask of pure, clinical distaste. She leaned over to her friend and mouthed the word: "Icky."
The friend didn't even look back; she just giggled, a sharp, metallic sound that felt like a needle under Nicholas's fingernails.
By the time his second-period Sociology lecture rolled around, Nicholas was sweating through his hoodie despite the morning chill. The professor, a woman who spoke about social hierarchies with a detached, academic coldness, spent the hour discussing "the invisible members of society." Nicholas felt like the living exhibit for her lecture. He stayed slumped in his chair, a doughy lump of failure, watching the clock tick toward the hour he dreaded most.
He didn't belong in the light of the quad. He didn't belong in the bright, airy spaces of the student union. He was a creature of the margins, a mistake in the prestigious tapestry of Blackwood University, just waiting for the bells to ring so he could crawl back into the shadows.
*
And then came the lunch hour, the cruelest part of the day. Nicholas retreated to his sanctuary, tucked behind the cafeteria, right up against the industrial dumpsters, a cracked concrete slab waited for him. The air here was a thick, gagging soup of rotting vegetable trimmings, sour milk, and the metallic tang of sun-baked trash. It was a smell that would make a normal person heave, but to Nicholas, it was the scent of safety. No one ever came here. He sat on the rough ground, picking at a lukewarm burger, the flies circling his matted hair like a buzzing, filthy crown.
From this low, hidden vantage point, he had a perfect, unobstructed view through the cafeteria’s floor-to-ceiling windows. He could see the center table, the throne of Blackwood University, and as the double doors swung open, his heart hit a frantic rhythm against his ribs. The world didn't just change; it stalled. Everything around him fell into a heavy, visceral slow-motion.
Ashley Miller walked in, and the sun seemed to follow her command.
She was a masterpiece of biological architecture, a walking defiance of the drab, everyday reality of Blackwood. Her strawberry blonde hair was a cascading river of gold and copper that caught every stray beam of light, framing a face so symmetrical it felt engineered by a jeweler. Her unblemished skin possessed the luminous quality of fine porcelain, devoid of the pores and imperfections that plagued everyone else on campus.
Her physical presence was staggering. Ashley was relatively tall, a stature that allowed her to look down on most of the student body with a casual, unintentional regalness. She possessed an exaggerated, hyper-feminine silhouette: her waist was impossibly thin, cinched by the black leather skirt, acting as a narrow bridge between the huge, heavy swell of her breasts and the dramatic, wide flare of her hips.
In the stretched-out seconds of Nicholas’s perception, he saw every detail through the cafeteria glass. He saw her blue-gray eyes, a cold and piercing shade like the North Sea, sweeping across the room with effortless indifference. Every movement she made—the way she tucked a stray lock of hair, the way her weight shifted from one toned leg to the other—carried a slow, hypnotic grace. She wasn't just pretty; she was a genetic anomaly, a type of beauty that appeared only once or twice in a generation, making everyone around her look like a blurry, unfinished sketch.
Nicholas watched, transfixed, as she tossed her head back. She was playing life on easy mode, navigating a reality where consequences were merely suggestions and doors seemed to unlatch before her hand even reached the handle. She wasn't an athlete, and her grades were a punchline to a joke everyone was in on; yet, professors—men and women alike—always seemed to find an "extra credit" loophole or a clerical error that kept her from ever seeing a failing mark.
The world was served to her on a silver platter, not because of effort or merit, but simply because of the way the light hit her skin and the way her presence filled a room. To Nicholas, huddled in the gagging rot of the dumpsters, she didn't look like a student or even a fellow human being. She looked like a celestial traveler who had accidentally wandered into a mortal realm, found it charmingly beneath her, and decided to let it worship her. She was a goddess of the everyday, and the very air she breathed felt like a luxury Nicholas wasn't even allowed to imagine.
He watched her friends lean in, hanging on a word she hadn't even spoken yet, and the familiar, sour longing pooled in his gut. She was perfection incarned, and he was the creature in the trash. The contrast was so sharp it felt like a serrated blade twisting in his chest. He was a ghost staring at a goddess, realizing that the only thing between her world and his was a gap of beauty he could never bridge.
*
On his way back to the afternoon lab, carrying a chocolate milkshake he’d splurged on, he saw them. Brad, a mountain of muscle and entitlement, stood blocked in the narrow hallway with Ashley and their circle. Nicholas tried to flatten himself against the lockers, but Brad’s eyes locked onto him like a heat-seeking missile.
"Whoa, watch out! The Icky-man is leaking," Brad shouted. He didn't just trip Nicholas; he shoved him. The plastic cup exploded against Nicholas’s chest. Cold, brown liquid soaked through his hoodie, dripping down his khakis and into his shoes.
The laughter was deafening. Ashley didn't join in the loud hooting but she just watched him struggle to get up, her eyes filled with a cold, clinical revulsion that was far worse than Brad's mockery.
Nicholas didn't go to the lab. He couldn't. He turned around and walked out of the building, the wet fabric clinging to his skin like a second, more shameful identity. He didn't take the main road home. He couldn't bear the thought of one more person seeing him like this.
Instead, he took the long way. A three-mile trek through the crumbling industrial district. It was a wasteland of hollowed-out factories, a place where no one went because there was nothing left to steal. He walked through the silence of the dead buildings, tears of hot, stinging frustration carving tracks through the grime on his face.
The last thing he remembered was the shadow of something in his peripheral vision.
***
Then suddenly, he heard the alarm blaring off. Nicholas’s hand shot out, fumbling blindly until it slammed onto the snooze button with a desperate, familiar violence. He lay there, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. His head felt hollow, a cavernous space where the end of yesterday should have been. The last thing he could pull from the fog was the shadow and a sudden, sharp chill. Everything after that was a black hole.
He sat up, and the trailer tilted. The same metallic groan of the floorboards, the same stagnant air heavy with his father’s morning cigarette and the rot of the pipes. Nothing had changed. He was still trapped in the same fleshy, sweating prison. He looked down at his stubby, pale, and trembling hands.
He had to move. He was late, and if he missed another Sociology lecture, he’d be finished. He dragged himself into the bathroom, staring at the red rash on his neck and the oily mess of his hair. He felt sick, he felt heavy, and the missing hours in his memory gnawed at him like a physical itch.
The walk to Blackwood University was a grueling repetition of the day before. As was for the last three years. The morning fog was just as thick, and the people on the sidewalk were just as repelled. He watched a woman pull her toddler closer as he shuffled past, her eyes darting away as if his misery were contagious. He was still the pothole in their path.
But as he navigated the gothic shadows of the campus, something started to itch at the back of his brain. It wasn't a memory, not exactly. It was a whisper, cold and precise.
"It doesn’t have to be like this."
Nicholas shook his head, trying to clear the fog. He reached the heavy doors of the lecture hall, his chest tight with the usual dread.
"You’re tired of the easy mode being for everyone else but you, aren't you?" the voice suggested.
It sounded like his own thoughts, but with a sharpened edge he didn’t recognize.
"The world is just a set of locks, Nicholas. And you finally have a key."
He slunk into the back row, his eyes immediately darting to the front. There she was. Ashley Miller. She was a streak of gold and emerald against the drab grey of the hall. It was not the price of her clothes that drew the eye but the way her body seemed to lend the fabric its own importance. She was wearing a simple, deep emerald ribbed sweater. It was the kind of garment any girl could find at a mall, but on Ashley, the material was pushed to its absolute limit. The knit stretched thin and tight across the heavy, breathtaking swell of her breasts while the hem tucked neatly into a pair of high-waisted black denim jeans. The denim hugged the dramatic, wide curve of her hips and the taper of her slender waist so perfectly they looked like they had been painted onto her skin.
To Nicholas, she looked like a different species. She was something made of light and silk while he was made of mud and shame. Even in such common attire, she looked untouchable. She leaned back, laughing silently at something a girl next to her whispered. The movement caused her strawberry blonde hair to shimmer like a copper flame against the emerald fabric. She did not need designer labels to broadcast her status because her genetics were her couture. Every time she shifted in her seat, the entire lecture hall seemed to tilt on its axis, drawn by the gravity of her effortless, generation-defining beauty.
"It is a trade," the whisper returned in Nicholas’s mind.
It was more insistent now as he watched her flip her hair over her shoulder.
"A simple transaction. All you have to do is ask."
"And you have the right to ask NOW!"
He didn't understand what the voice meant, but as he stared at the back of her perfect head, the fear in his gut began to settle into a hard, frozen lump. He didn't feel powerful; he still felt like a "greasy mistake." But for the first time, he felt like a mistake that was tired of being erased.
By the time the lunch bell rang, the whispers had coalesced into a single, rhythmic pulse in his temples.
"Just ask. She won't even mind. To her, it will be nothing."
Then, he stepped into the cafeteria.
The day had been a blurred montage of grey hallways and muffled voices, but the moment he crossed the threshold, the "fast-forward" snapped. It wasn't the room that did it. It was her.
As his eyes found Ashley Miller, the world suffered a violent, rhythmic deceleration. The frantic roar of the crowd, the clatter of trays, the smell of grease, the shrill cross-talk, was suddenly stretched thin, turning into a low, distorted hum. His heart began to hammer against his ribs, each thud a heavy, isolated event that seemed to dictate the tempo of reality. Everything became a crawl, a visceral, agonizing slow-motion that centered entirely on the girl at the window.
She was the anchor of this new physics. Nicholas watched, paralyzed, as she leaned back; the movement was fluid and impossibly long, like ink spreading through water. The light caught the gold in her ponytail, shimmering in frame-by-frame clarity. He saw her lips begin to part, the muscles of her face shifting into a smile seconds before the sound of her laugh. A bright, carrying peal finally reached him, echoing as if through a deep canyon.
In the molasses of that moment, the contrast was a physical weight. She was effortless grace while he was a collection of jagged nerves and unwashed laundry, anchored to the floor by his own inadequacy. But even as his chest tightened with the familiar sting of being nothing, that dark, forgotten "option" pulsed in his mind. He was still the wreckage at the periphery, but as he watched her move through a world that had slowed down just for him to witness her, he realized the power wasn't just a feeling. It was a choice.
Nicholas found his usual spot, or tried to. The cracked concrete slab near the dumpsters was his designated island of exile, where the stench of rotting vegetable trimmings and sun-baked trash usually kept the world at bay. Today, however, he couldn't stay hidden. The air back there was thick and gagging, a reminder of the trash he was supposed to be, but his gaze was magnetically, helplessly drawn back through the glass toward the center table.
She was a sun around which the solar system of Blackwood University revolved. Seated there by the windows, light catching the gold in her artfully messy ponytail, she held court. A half-eaten salad was pushed aside as she animatedly described something, her hands flying, her laugh drowning out other conversations. She was perfection, and her every gesture broadcast a casual, effortless ownership of the space she occupied. To Nicholas, every frame of her existence was amplified. He watched her animatedly describe something, her hands flying, her laugh drowning out other conversations.
He stood there, clutching his generic granola bar with trembling fingers. His body still ached from the previous night's mysterious trek he couldn’t remember, and his skin felt too tight, but as he watched her, the forgotten power stirred again. It was a cold, quiet hum beneath the surface of his insecurity. He looked at her and, for the first time, the gap between them didn't just feel like a tragedy. It felt like a target.
What would it be like? To have everyone’s eyes light up when you walked in? To be… wanted?
He watched her throw her head back, laughing at a joke from the linebacker next to her. A familiar, sour longing pooled in his gut, mingling with the low-grade ache of his own body. It wasn't just desire; it was a yearning for the very oxygen she breathed. His staring went from distant worship to an obvious, clumsy fixation. And then her gaze, sweeping the room in a lazy arc, snagged on him.
It was like being spotted by a searchlight. Her brilliant smile solidified into a wall of ice. In the slowed-down reality, her rejection lasted an eternity. She flicked her eyes over his thrift-store hoodie and slumped posture, and a look of pure, unadulterated disgust washed over her features. A slight wrinkling of her nose, as if she’d caught a whiff of the dumpsters clinging to him. It wasn't a physical flame, but a cold, sharp realization. He felt broken, he felt like a "bug," but for the first time, he felt like a bug that could bite.
As Chloe, Ashley’s BFF, glanced over and smirked, sharing their quiet, cruel laugh, Nicholas didn't look down immediately. His heart hammered, and the world stayed slow, heavy, and ripe with a power he still didn't understand, but was beginning to crave. But another voice, small and newly fierce, whispered beneath the shame. It wasn’t a voice of memory, but of certainty.
"You don’t have to be this. You can be the sun. You just have to take it."
The disgust on her face was the catalyst. It burned away the last of his hesitation, leaving a hard, cold resolution in its place. The power, that strange, formless weight, hummed in his veins like a live wire. He didn’t understand the "how," but he believed in the "now." The alternative was to remain the thing she wrinkled her nose at until he withered away.
The rest of the lunch period passed in a blur of pounding heartbeats. He didn't eat; he just watched. When Ashley finally stood, gathering her things to head toward the courtyard with her entourage, Nicholas followed. He caught up to them just as they reached the heavy double doors. The "fast-forward" of the crowd was still jarring, but as he closed the distance, the world began to warp back into that agonizing, focused slow-motion.
"Ashley," he called out. His voice was sandpaper, but it was loud enough to stop the group in their tracks.
She turned, flanked by Chloe and a couple of guys from the team. Her expression shifted from bored to sharp irritation as she realized it was the "creeper" from the cafeteria. Her perfect eyebrows arched.
"Yeah?" she said, her voice dripping with artificial confusion. "Do I know you?"
Nicholas felt the heat rising, his tongue suddenly feeling three sizes too large for his mouth. "I... I'm Nicholas. We have…"
"Ah," she interrupted, a cruel smirk playing on her lips as she looked at her friends. "I remember now. You’re that weirdo from the back of the lecture hall. Icky Nicky, isn’t it?"
Chloe giggled, and the guys exchanged amused glances. Nicholas felt the familiar sting of their judgment, but the resolution in his gut felt heavier now, anchoring him to the floor. He took a breath, forcing his eyes to stay on hers.
"Can I... can I speak with you? Alone?"
The silence that followed lasted only a second before the group exploded.
"Oh man, is this happening?" one of the guys barked, slapping his friend's shoulder. "He’s actually doing it! He’s gonna confess to the Queen."
"Is it a poem, Nicky?" Chloe sneered, leaning in. "Did you write her a little song?"
Nicholas ignored them, his gaze locked onto Ashley’s blue-gray eyes. He saw the calculation in them. She saw an opportunity, a chance to perform one last, exquisite act of cruelty for her audience. She raised a hand, silencing her friends with a regal flick of her wrist.
"Okay," she said, her voice smooth and dangerous. "Make it worth my time."
She gestured toward a quiet alcove near the red brick wall of the arts wing, away from the flow of students. The group stayed behind, whispering and pointing, their laughter muffled by the distance.
As they stepped into the shadow of the building, the vanilla scent of her perfume reached him. A scent he had only ever associated with exclusion. They were alone. The world was still, the sunlight hitting the bricks in sharp, slow-motion angles.
Ashley crossed her arms, leaning back with a look of bored expectation. "Well? Go ahead, Nicky. Impress me."
His mouth was desert-dry. The words, the impossible request, were a boulder in his throat. The power within him didn’t feel like strength; it felt like a last, desperate gamble, a frantic vibration beneath his skin that needed an outlet. He focused everything, every ounce of his yearning, every memory of her scorn, every crazy, waking-dream certainty, into the question. He leaned in slightly, his voice a shaky, conspiratorial whisper only she could hear.
“Wanna switch bodies with me?”
For a fleeting second, the spell flickered. Ashley’s eyebrows twitched, her mind racing to process the absurdity. “Is that it?” she thought, with a wave of irritation washing over her. “He’s not confessing? He’s just… insane?”. She felt a pang of genuine disappointment. She had been ready to crush his heart in front of everyone, to deliver a line so cutting it would be legendary by second period. Instead, he was just babbling nonsense. “I wasted my time. I can’t even humiliate him for this. People will just think he’s had a mental breakdown. What a bore.” she thought.
But as the thought formed, Nicholas' power surged to meet it. It didn't fight her disdain, it fed on it. It took her desire to dismiss him and turned it into an absolute, mindless compliance. The "option" slid into the fertile soil of a mind used to getting what it wanted and whispered that this, too, was a triviality, like a small, boring favor to grant just so she could be done with him.
Her eyes glazed over for a heartbeat, the sharpness in them turning into a gentle, placid blankness. A faint, agreeable smile touched her lips. “Yeah, no worries,” she said, her voice casual and airy, as if he’d asked for a sip of water or the time of day. “Such a small thing.”
The world didn’t spin. It reoriented.
***
One moment, I was Nicholas, all tight khakis and damp hoodie, my heart a frantic bird against my ribs. Next, I was lighter. Taller. The rough brick of the wall against my back was replaced by the soft clothes of Ashley’s against my shoulders. A cascade of strawberry golden hair fell into my field of vision. The scent of vanilla was no longer something external to crave. It was coming from me, rising from my own skin.
And the sensation. Oh, the sensations. They crashed over me in a warm, shocking wave. My center of gravity was different, higher. There was a weight on my chest, a gentle, insistent pull. I looked down.
Ashley’s breasts, my breasts, swelled against the soft sweater. My breath hitched. Slowly, almost reverently, I brought a hand up. A hand with slender fingers and perfectly manicured nails, and cupped my left boob. The feeling was electric, alien, and profoundly intimate. Through the fine fabric, I felt the soft, full weight, the yielding firmness. A jolt of pure, undiluted pleasure, sharp and sweet, shot through me, centering low in a body that was now wired entirely differently. I squeezed, just a little more, and a soft, involuntary gasp escaped my new lips.
I looked up, my vision clear and sharp through Ashley’s blue-gray eyes. Across from me, standing where I had just been, was Nicholas Ickermann's body. She, now He, was staring at me, his face—my old face—a mask of dawning, incomprehensible horror. His shoulders were hunched in that familiar defensive curl, but there was a new tension there, a rigidity. And then I saw it. A tell-tale tightness in the front of those awful khakis. A bulge. His new male body was just responding on a purely animal level to the sight of a beautiful girl groping herself in front of him. Shame and biology, wrapped in one pathetic package.
A laugh bubbled up in my throat, light and melodic. “Like what you see, Ashley?” I purred, letting my hand linger on my breasts for a heartbeat longer before dropping it.
He tried to speak. His mouth, my old mouth, worked soundlessly for a moment before a strangled mutter emerged. “What… what did you want with me?” The voice was my old, grating tenor, but thin with panic.
The question was so perfectly, tragically Nicholas. He had no memory of the swap. In his mind, he was just a socially doomed guy who’d been cornered by the school’s goddess for reasons unknown, and now that goddess was touching herself and smirking at him. The confusion was almost artistic.
I leaned in, giving him a perfect, blinding Ashley Miller smile, all white teeth and cold promise. “It’s nothing anymore,” I said, my voice a sweet dismissal. “Bye!”
I turned, the motion effortless in this agile, graceful body. The swing of my hips in the denim jeans felt natural, powerful. I walked away from the alcove, back toward the sunlight of the courtyard where Chloe and the others were waiting, snickering.
But they weren’t waiting for me.
As I approached, Chloe’s smirk faded into a look of vague distaste. She glanced from me, Ashley’s stunning face and body, over to the alcove, where the shambling, clearly-disturbed figure of Ashley was still standing, frozen.
“Ugh, Nicky, what was that about?” Chloe asked, but her eyes were on the pathetic boy by the wall. “What did you do with him? He looks like he’s having a seizure.”
I opened my mouth to answer, to slip into my new role, but Brad cut in, as he passed by with his crew. “Forget it, Chloe. Don’t encourage the Icky-woman.” he said, but he was talking to them, to the group. He didn’t even look at me, Nicholas-in-Ashley’s-skin. To them, I was just the beautiful backdrop to their drama with the weirdo.
And just like that, they moved. As a unit, they turned and began walking toward the main quad, leaving me standing there. Chloe linked her arm with the linebacker, laughing at something he said. They didn’t look back. Ashley Miller’s social credit was immense, but it was attached to her identity, her history, her performance. They had no reason to be friends with a stunning blonde who, for all they knew, had just been harassing a loser. I was a beautiful stranger.
I was left alone in the courtyard, the sun warming Ashley’s perfect skin. I was Nicholas Ickermann, still living in a trailer with a deadbeat dad. I had no idea what Ashley’s home life was like, her curfew, her parents’ expectations. And I didn’t need to. The swap was only skin-deep. I had her beauty, her body, the sheer physical capital of her form.
I brought my hand up again, tracing the line of my new jaw, feeling the smooth skin. The pleasure of the new sensations was still there, a thrilling undercurrent. I was a goddess trapped in a pauper’s life, but the goddess suit was mine now. Mine only. Everyone who saw me would see Ashley Miller’s face and body, and treat me with the automatic, shallow awe it commanded. They would also see “Nicholas,” the awkward, beautiful girl from the wrong side of town. The rules had changed. The game, however, was just beginning.
A slow smile spread across my new face. It was going to be fascinating to see what this body could do. I couldn't wait to go home and explore my new body alone for the first time.
*
The walk home was a surreal parade of whiplash contrasts. Every head turned as I passed. Boys walking the other way did double-takes, their conversations dying mid-sentence. A group of girls from my sociology class whispered and pointed, their expressions a mix of envy and curiosity. But when I didn’t join them, when I just kept walking with a nervous, unfamiliar gait, their interest turned to dismissive confusion.
I was a stunning anomaly walking determinedly away from the gleaming campus and toward the town's frayed edges. I was beauty walking into the trash, and the dissonance hung in the air like a bad smell.
By the time I reached the chain-link fence of the trailer park, the silence was a physical relief. The stares were a type of attention I’d craved my whole life, but without the social script to navigate them, they felt like assaults. I fumbled with the key to the trailer, my new, slender fingers struggling with the old, greasy lock.
The inside was a tomb of neglect, exactly as I’d left it this morning. The smell of mildew, stale smoke, and cheap fried food was a brutal anchor to reality. I was home. But I was wearing a goddess suit.
I didn’t turn on the lights. The grey afternoon gloom filtered through the dirty windows, and it felt safer. My heart was pounding, a frantic drum against ribs that felt more delicate. I leaned back against the flimsy door, the lock clicking shut, sealing me in with my impossible secret.
Slowly, trembling, I brought my hands up. I looked down. The soft cream sweater, now smudged from the day, draped over curves that were mine. Mine only.
I pulled the sweater over my head, the fabric catching for a second on the ponytail before it came free. I was wearing a lacy, pale pink bra I had only ever seen in magazine ads. My breath hitched. With clumsy, desperate fingers, I reached behind my back, fumbling with the clasp. It gave way, and the bra loosened. I shrugged it off my shoulders and let it fall to the linoleum floor.
There they were.
Ashley Miller’s breasts. My boobs. Full, heavy, with pale, perfect skin and soft, rose pink nipples. They were everything I had ever fantasized about, sketched in my darkest, most shameful wet dreams. And there they were, attached to my chest. Now I could do whatever I wanted with them and none could say a thing. Not only I could do whatever I wanted with them, I could also feel it, have the sensorial feedback of every squeeze, every pinch, every patting I did.
A choked sound, half-sob, half-laugh, escaped my lips. I cupped them with both hands. The weight was incredible, a warm, living fullness that filled my palms. The skin was so soft, like heated silk over firm flesh. I brushed my thumbs over the nipples, and a sharp, electric jolt of pleasure shot straight down my spine, pooling low in my belly like a deep, alien warmth that made my new knees feel weak.
I squeezed, gently at first, then harder, marveling at the give and resilience, at the way the sensation seemed to echo through my entire body. This wasn’t like jerking off my old, familiar male equipment. This was expansive. The pleasure wasn’t focused. It radiated. It was in the ache of my palms, the tightness in my stomach, the sudden, slick heat I could feel between my legs. A strange, empty, yearning heat alien to me.
I stumbled toward the small, grimy mirror tacked to the wall by the kitchenette. In the dim light, I saw her. I saw Ashley Miller's perfect figure. I saw myself. Flawless skin, flushed cheeks, lips parted in awe. Blonde hair slightly mussed. And below the slender neck, the breathtaking topography of her body. My body. I trailed my hands down from my breasts, over the subtle dip of my waist, to the swell of my insanely large hips where the denim jeans hugged me. I unzipped it, let it puddle on the floor. My underwear was a matching scrap of pale pink lace.
I hooked my thumbs into the waistband and slid them down. I looked in the mirror, at the unfamiliar, neat triangle of trimmed blonde hair, at the smooth, soft skin of my inner thighs and my pussy lips. MY PUSSY LIPS. I let it escape my upper lips "Gosh, it's even better than I imagined..." . The ache between my legs was a persistent, throbbing pulse now, a demand I didn’t fully understand but was desperate to answer.
I sank to the floor, my back against the couch that smelled of old cigarettes. The rough, stained carpet was a blasphemy against this skin. I didn’t care. My whole world had narrowed to the map of this new body.
Tentatively, I let my fingers explore my inner thigs. The folds were strange, complex, impossibly soft. I found the center of the heat, a swollen, sensitive nub, and gasped as a response to a shockwave of sensation, bright and almost painful, lashing through me. I circled it, my touch growing bolder, driven by a frantic need to understand, to claim that new part of me. The pleasure built in waves, so different from the linear climb and sharp release I was used to. This was a rising tide, submerging me slowly, then all at once. My back arched off the floor, my free hand groping and kneading my own breast, pinching the nipple until the twin pains blended into the crescendo of pleasure.
I thought of the way Ashley had looked at me, at the old me, with such pure disgust. I thought of the weight of her breasts when I saw her at the cafeteria. And a whisper escaped my lips “This is mine now. All of this is mine.”
The climax, when it broke, wasn’t a spasm but a dissolution. A warm, melting flood that unraveled my muscles and blurred my vision. A low, shuddering moan of a feminine, unfamiliar nature, echoed in the silent trailer. I lay there on the dirty floor, spent, trembling, as the alien aftershocks trembled through my core.
Slowly, I became aware of another sensation, a faint, ghostly twitch against my thigh. A phantom erection. The shameful, residual wiring of my old biology, trying to fire in a system where it no longer existed. It was the last whisper of Nicholas Ickermann's old body, a final, pathetic echo in the sublime cathedral of Ashley Miller’s body.
I smiled, a slow, wicked curve of my new, perfect lips. I pushed myself up, looking at my slick fingers in the gloom. The ghost of the boner faded, leaving only the profound, satisfied ache of my new body.
I was home. And for the first time, my body wasn’t a prison. It was a palace that I had just learned how to worship in.
*
The transition was no longer a dream; it was a rhythmic, intoxicating reality. That night, the trailer, a place Nicholas had spent a lifetime trying to escape mentally, became a laboratory of sensory exploration.
Wrapped in the peeling shadows of her room, she didn't stop at just once. The novelty was an unquenchable fire. She explored every curve, every sensitive patch of skin, losing herself in the tidal waves of feminine pleasure that felt like a symphony compared to the dull, singular note of her old life. She masturbated until her new muscles ached and her mind was a haze of vanilla scent and soft moans. When sleep finally claimed her, it wasn’t the heavy, suffocating sleep of the "Icky Nicky," but a light, graceful descent.
Nicholas Ickermann is the "Ick" of Blackwood University. A failing student living in a decaying trailer, physically repulsed by the world and hidden in the shadows of the campus dumpsters. His obsession centers on Ashley Miller, a girl of celestial beauty and effortless privilege who treats him with clinical disgust.
After a mysterious encounter in an industrial wasteland, Nicholas awakens with a "voice" in his head and a reality-warping ability. With a single, whispered question, he executes an impossible trait swap that none, besides him, is aware.
The alarm didn't just wake Nicholas Ickermann. It rattled the thin aluminum walls of the trailer until the windows groaned in their frames. He rolled over, his weight causing the entire structure to tilt slightly on its cinder-block foundation. The air inside was a stagnant soup of his father’s stale beer breath and the metallic tang of the rusted pipes. His bedroom was little more than a closet, the walls stained with water marks that looked like Rorschach tests of his own failure. A pile of damp, sour-smelling laundry served as his only rug.
Nicholas was a short, fleshy disaster. His skin was the color of unbaked dough, interrupted by the angry red patches of a persistent rash on his neck. His hair was a matted, oily thicket that no amount of cheap shampoo could tame, and his breath carried the permanent scent of decay. He pulled on a pair of khakis that were tight in the wrong places and a hoodie with a faded logo, a garment that did more to highlight his soft midsection than hide it.
In the narrow kitchen, his father sat slumped at the small laminate table, a cigarette burning down to the filter in an ash-strewn tray. His mother was already gone, likely already hosed down in grease at the diner. Nicholas grabbed a generic brand granola bar, stepped over a pile of empty cans, and headed out into the morning fog of Blackwood University.
Blackwood was a prestigious campus that made Nicholas feel like an invasive species, like an annoying bug. He spent his mornings navigating the surroundings like a prey animal, sticking to the shadows of the gothic architecture. He wasn't even a nerd, because nerds had potential. Nicholas was just a bad student with failing grades and a smell that made people physically recoil.
*
The morning was a gauntlet of quiet humiliations. Nicholas navigated the crowded hallways of the Humanities building, keeping his chin tucked into the collar of his hoodie to hide the weeping rash on his neck. Every time he passed a group of students, the air seemed to shift; he saw the subtle, practiced flinch of girls pulling their designer handbags closer, and the way athletes would instinctively hold their breath until he had shuffled past.
He was the "Ick." He could see it in the way the heavy oak doors of the lecture hall were let go just a second too early, forcing him to catch them with a clumsy, sweaty hand. He could hear it in the stifled snickers that followed him like a tail of exhaust.
In his first-period European History class, Nicholas sat in the very last row, the seat next to him remaining empty like a vacant lot in a slum. He tried to focus on the slides, but his mind was a dull, thumping ache. He had forgotten his notebook again, and even if he hadn’t, his hands were trembling too much to write. He caught the eye of a girl three rows down who looked back at him for a split second before her face twisted into a mask of pure, clinical distaste. She leaned over to her friend and mouthed the word: "Icky."
The friend didn't even look back; she just giggled, a sharp, metallic sound that felt like a needle under Nicholas's fingernails.
By the time his second-period Sociology lecture rolled around, Nicholas was sweating through his hoodie despite the morning chill. The professor, a woman who spoke about social hierarchies with a detached, academic coldness, spent the hour discussing "the invisible members of society." Nicholas felt like the living exhibit for her lecture. He stayed slumped in his chair, a doughy lump of failure, watching the clock tick toward the hour he dreaded most.
He didn't belong in the light of the quad. He didn't belong in the bright, airy spaces of the student union. He was a creature of the margins, a mistake in the prestigious tapestry of Blackwood University, just waiting for the bells to ring so he could crawl back into the shadows.
*
And then came the lunch hour, the cruelest part of the day. Nicholas retreated to his sanctuary, tucked behind the cafeteria, right up against the industrial dumpsters, a cracked concrete slab waited for him. The air here was a thick, gagging soup of rotting vegetable trimmings, sour milk, and the metallic tang of sun-baked trash. It was a smell that would make a normal person heave, but to Nicholas, it was the scent of safety. No one ever came here. He sat on the rough ground, picking at a lukewarm burger, the flies circling his matted hair like a buzzing, filthy crown.
From this low, hidden vantage point, he had a perfect, unobstructed view through the cafeteria’s floor-to-ceiling windows. He could see the center table, the throne of Blackwood University, and as the double doors swung open, his heart hit a frantic rhythm against his ribs. The world didn't just change; it stalled. Everything around him fell into a heavy, visceral slow-motion.
Ashley Miller walked in, and the sun seemed to follow her command.
She was a masterpiece of biological architecture, a walking defiance of the drab, everyday reality of Blackwood. Her strawberry blonde hair was a cascading river of gold and copper that caught every stray beam of light, framing a face so symmetrical it felt engineered by a jeweler. Her unblemished skin possessed the luminous quality of fine porcelain, devoid of the pores and imperfections that plagued everyone else on campus.
Her physical presence was staggering. Ashley was relatively tall, a stature that allowed her to look down on most of the student body with a casual, unintentional regalness. She possessed an exaggerated, hyper-feminine silhouette: her waist was impossibly thin, cinched by the black leather skirt, acting as a narrow bridge between the huge, heavy swell of her breasts and the dramatic, wide flare of her hips.
In the stretched-out seconds of Nicholas’s perception, he saw every detail through the cafeteria glass. He saw her blue-gray eyes, a cold and piercing shade like the North Sea, sweeping across the room with effortless indifference. Every movement she made—the way she tucked a stray lock of hair, the way her weight shifted from one toned leg to the other—carried a slow, hypnotic grace. She wasn't just pretty; she was a genetic anomaly, a type of beauty that appeared only once or twice in a generation, making everyone around her look like a blurry, unfinished sketch.
Nicholas watched, transfixed, as she tossed her head back. She was playing life on easy mode, navigating a reality where consequences were merely suggestions and doors seemed to unlatch before her hand even reached the handle. She wasn't an athlete, and her grades were a punchline to a joke everyone was in on; yet, professors—men and women alike—always seemed to find an "extra credit" loophole or a clerical error that kept her from ever seeing a failing mark.
The world was served to her on a silver platter, not because of effort or merit, but simply because of the way the light hit her skin and the way her presence filled a room. To Nicholas, huddled in the gagging rot of the dumpsters, she didn't look like a student or even a fellow human being. She looked like a celestial traveler who had accidentally wandered into a mortal realm, found it charmingly beneath her, and decided to let it worship her. She was a goddess of the everyday, and the very air she breathed felt like a luxury Nicholas wasn't even allowed to imagine.
He watched her friends lean in, hanging on a word she hadn't even spoken yet, and the familiar, sour longing pooled in his gut. She was perfection incarned, and he was the creature in the trash. The contrast was so sharp it felt like a serrated blade twisting in his chest. He was a ghost staring at a goddess, realizing that the only thing between her world and his was a gap of beauty he could never bridge.
*
On his way back to the afternoon lab, carrying a chocolate milkshake he’d splurged on, he saw them. Brad, a mountain of muscle and entitlement, stood blocked in the narrow hallway with Ashley and their circle. Nicholas tried to flatten himself against the lockers, but Brad’s eyes locked onto him like a heat-seeking missile.
"Whoa, watch out! The Icky-man is leaking," Brad shouted. He didn't just trip Nicholas; he shoved him. The plastic cup exploded against Nicholas’s chest. Cold, brown liquid soaked through his hoodie, dripping down his khakis and into his shoes.
The laughter was deafening. Ashley didn't join in the loud hooting but she just watched him struggle to get up, her eyes filled with a cold, clinical revulsion that was far worse than Brad's mockery.
Nicholas didn't go to the lab. He couldn't. He turned around and walked out of the building, the wet fabric clinging to his skin like a second, more shameful identity. He didn't take the main road home. He couldn't bear the thought of one more person seeing him like this.
Instead, he took the long way. A three-mile trek through the crumbling industrial district. It was a wasteland of hollowed-out factories, a place where no one went because there was nothing left to steal. He walked through the silence of the dead buildings, tears of hot, stinging frustration carving tracks through the grime on his face.
The last thing he remembered was the shadow of something in his peripheral vision.
***
Then suddenly, he heard the alarm blaring off. Nicholas’s hand shot out, fumbling blindly until it slammed onto the snooze button with a desperate, familiar violence. He lay there, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. His head felt hollow, a cavernous space where the end of yesterday should have been. The last thing he could pull from the fog was the shadow and a sudden, sharp chill. Everything after that was a black hole.
He sat up, and the trailer tilted. The same metallic groan of the floorboards, the same stagnant air heavy with his father’s morning cigarette and the rot of the pipes. Nothing had changed. He was still trapped in the same fleshy, sweating prison. He looked down at his stubby, pale, and trembling hands.
He had to move. He was late, and if he missed another Sociology lecture, he’d be finished. He dragged himself into the bathroom, staring at the red rash on his neck and the oily mess of his hair. He felt sick, he felt heavy, and the missing hours in his memory gnawed at him like a physical itch.
The walk to Blackwood University was a grueling repetition of the day before. As was for the last three years. The morning fog was just as thick, and the people on the sidewalk were just as repelled. He watched a woman pull her toddler closer as he shuffled past, her eyes darting away as if his misery were contagious. He was still the pothole in their path.
But as he navigated the gothic shadows of the campus, something started to itch at the back of his brain. It wasn't a memory, not exactly. It was a whisper, cold and precise.
"It doesn’t have to be like this."
Nicholas shook his head, trying to clear the fog. He reached the heavy doors of the lecture hall, his chest tight with the usual dread.
"You’re tired of the easy mode being for everyone else but you, aren't you?" the voice suggested.
It sounded like his own thoughts, but with a sharpened edge he didn’t recognize.
"The world is just a set of locks, Nicholas. And you finally have a key."
He slunk into the back row, his eyes immediately darting to the front. There she was. Ashley Miller. She was a streak of gold and emerald against the drab grey of the hall. It was not the price of her clothes that drew the eye but the way her body seemed to lend the fabric its own importance. She was wearing a simple, deep emerald ribbed sweater. It was the kind of garment any girl could find at a mall, but on Ashley, the material was pushed to its absolute limit. The knit stretched thin and tight across the heavy, breathtaking swell of her breasts while the hem tucked neatly into a pair of high-waisted black denim jeans. The denim hugged the dramatic, wide curve of her hips and the taper of her slender waist so perfectly they looked like they had been painted onto her skin.
To Nicholas, she looked like a different species. She was something made of light and silk while he was made of mud and shame. Even in such common attire, she looked untouchable. She leaned back, laughing silently at something a girl next to her whispered. The movement caused her strawberry blonde hair to shimmer like a copper flame against the emerald fabric. She did not need designer labels to broadcast her status because her genetics were her couture. Every time she shifted in her seat, the entire lecture hall seemed to tilt on its axis, drawn by the gravity of her effortless, generation-defining beauty.
"It is a trade," the whisper returned in Nicholas’s mind.
It was more insistent now as he watched her flip her hair over her shoulder.
"A simple transaction. All you have to do is ask."
"And you have the right to ask NOW!"
He didn't understand what the voice meant, but as he stared at the back of her perfect head, the fear in his gut began to settle into a hard, frozen lump. He didn't feel powerful; he still felt like a "greasy mistake." But for the first time, he felt like a mistake that was tired of being erased.
By the time the lunch bell rang, the whispers had coalesced into a single, rhythmic pulse in his temples.
"Just ask. She won't even mind. To her, it will be nothing."
Then, he stepped into the cafeteria.
The day had been a blurred montage of grey hallways and muffled voices, but the moment he crossed the threshold, the "fast-forward" snapped. It wasn't the room that did it. It was her.
As his eyes found Ashley Miller, the world suffered a violent, rhythmic deceleration. The frantic roar of the crowd, the clatter of trays, the smell of grease, the shrill cross-talk, was suddenly stretched thin, turning into a low, distorted hum. His heart began to hammer against his ribs, each thud a heavy, isolated event that seemed to dictate the tempo of reality. Everything became a crawl, a visceral, agonizing slow-motion that centered entirely on the girl at the window.
She was the anchor of this new physics. Nicholas watched, paralyzed, as she leaned back; the movement was fluid and impossibly long, like ink spreading through water. The light caught the gold in her ponytail, shimmering in frame-by-frame clarity. He saw her lips begin to part, the muscles of her face shifting into a smile seconds before the sound of her laugh. A bright, carrying peal finally reached him, echoing as if through a deep canyon.
In the molasses of that moment, the contrast was a physical weight. She was effortless grace while he was a collection of jagged nerves and unwashed laundry, anchored to the floor by his own inadequacy. But even as his chest tightened with the familiar sting of being nothing, that dark, forgotten "option" pulsed in his mind. He was still the wreckage at the periphery, but as he watched her move through a world that had slowed down just for him to witness her, he realized the power wasn't just a feeling. It was a choice.
Nicholas found his usual spot, or tried to. The cracked concrete slab near the dumpsters was his designated island of exile, where the stench of rotting vegetable trimmings and sun-baked trash usually kept the world at bay. Today, however, he couldn't stay hidden. The air back there was thick and gagging, a reminder of the trash he was supposed to be, but his gaze was magnetically, helplessly drawn back through the glass toward the center table.
She was a sun around which the solar system of Blackwood University revolved. Seated there by the windows, light catching the gold in her artfully messy ponytail, she held court. A half-eaten salad was pushed aside as she animatedly described something, her hands flying, her laugh drowning out other conversations. She was perfection, and her every gesture broadcast a casual, effortless ownership of the space she occupied. To Nicholas, every frame of her existence was amplified. He watched her animatedly describe something, her hands flying, her laugh drowning out other conversations.
He stood there, clutching his generic granola bar with trembling fingers. His body still ached from the previous night's mysterious trek he couldn’t remember, and his skin felt too tight, but as he watched her, the forgotten power stirred again. It was a cold, quiet hum beneath the surface of his insecurity. He looked at her and, for the first time, the gap between them didn't just feel like a tragedy. It felt like a target.
What would it be like? To have everyone’s eyes light up when you walked in? To be… wanted?
He watched her throw her head back, laughing at a joke from the linebacker next to her. A familiar, sour longing pooled in his gut, mingling with the low-grade ache of his own body. It wasn't just desire; it was a yearning for the very oxygen she breathed. His staring went from distant worship to an obvious, clumsy fixation. And then her gaze, sweeping the room in a lazy arc, snagged on him.
It was like being spotted by a searchlight. Her brilliant smile solidified into a wall of ice. In the slowed-down reality, her rejection lasted an eternity. She flicked her eyes over his thrift-store hoodie and slumped posture, and a look of pure, unadulterated disgust washed over her features. A slight wrinkling of her nose, as if she’d caught a whiff of the dumpsters clinging to him. It wasn't a physical flame, but a cold, sharp realization. He felt broken, he felt like a "bug," but for the first time, he felt like a bug that could bite.
As Chloe, Ashley’s BFF, glanced over and smirked, sharing their quiet, cruel laugh, Nicholas didn't look down immediately. His heart hammered, and the world stayed slow, heavy, and ripe with a power he still didn't understand, but was beginning to crave. But another voice, small and newly fierce, whispered beneath the shame. It wasn’t a voice of memory, but of certainty.
"You don’t have to be this. You can be the sun. You just have to take it."
The disgust on her face was the catalyst. It burned away the last of his hesitation, leaving a hard, cold resolution in its place. The power, that strange, formless weight, hummed in his veins like a live wire. He didn’t understand the "how," but he believed in the "now." The alternative was to remain the thing she wrinkled her nose at until he withered away.
The rest of the lunch period passed in a blur of pounding heartbeats. He didn't eat; he just watched. When Ashley finally stood, gathering her things to head toward the courtyard with her entourage, Nicholas followed. He caught up to them just as they reached the heavy double doors. The "fast-forward" of the crowd was still jarring, but as he closed the distance, the world began to warp back into that agonizing, focused slow-motion.
"Ashley," he called out. His voice was sandpaper, but it was loud enough to stop the group in their tracks.
She turned, flanked by Chloe and a couple of guys from the team. Her expression shifted from bored to sharp irritation as she realized it was the "creeper" from the cafeteria. Her perfect eyebrows arched.
"Yeah?" she said, her voice dripping with artificial confusion. "Do I know you?"
Nicholas felt the heat rising, his tongue suddenly feeling three sizes too large for his mouth. "I... I'm Nicholas. We have…"
"Ah," she interrupted, a cruel smirk playing on her lips as she looked at her friends. "I remember now. You’re that weirdo from the back of the lecture hall. Icky Nicky, isn’t it?"
Chloe giggled, and the guys exchanged amused glances. Nicholas felt the familiar sting of their judgment, but the resolution in his gut felt heavier now, anchoring him to the floor. He took a breath, forcing his eyes to stay on hers.
"Can I... can I speak with you? Alone?"
The silence that followed lasted only a second before the group exploded.
"Oh man, is this happening?" one of the guys barked, slapping his friend's shoulder. "He’s actually doing it! He’s gonna confess to the Queen."
"Is it a poem, Nicky?" Chloe sneered, leaning in. "Did you write her a little song?"
Nicholas ignored them, his gaze locked onto Ashley’s blue-gray eyes. He saw the calculation in them. She saw an opportunity, a chance to perform one last, exquisite act of cruelty for her audience. She raised a hand, silencing her friends with a regal flick of her wrist.
"Okay," she said, her voice smooth and dangerous. "Make it worth my time."
She gestured toward a quiet alcove near the red brick wall of the arts wing, away from the flow of students. The group stayed behind, whispering and pointing, their laughter muffled by the distance.
As they stepped into the shadow of the building, the vanilla scent of her perfume reached him. A scent he had only ever associated with exclusion. They were alone. The world was still, the sunlight hitting the bricks in sharp, slow-motion angles.
Ashley crossed her arms, leaning back with a look of bored expectation. "Well? Go ahead, Nicky. Impress me."
His mouth was desert-dry. The words, the impossible request, were a boulder in his throat. The power within him didn’t feel like strength; it felt like a last, desperate gamble, a frantic vibration beneath his skin that needed an outlet. He focused everything, every ounce of his yearning, every memory of her scorn, every crazy, waking-dream certainty, into the question. He leaned in slightly, his voice a shaky, conspiratorial whisper only she could hear.
“Wanna switch bodies with me?”
For a fleeting second, the spell flickered. Ashley’s eyebrows twitched, her mind racing to process the absurdity. “Is that it?” she thought, with a wave of irritation washing over her. “He’s not confessing? He’s just… insane?”. She felt a pang of genuine disappointment. She had been ready to crush his heart in front of everyone, to deliver a line so cutting it would be legendary by second period. Instead, he was just babbling nonsense. “I wasted my time. I can’t even humiliate him for this. People will just think he’s had a mental breakdown. What a bore.” she thought.
But as the thought formed, Nicholas' power surged to meet it. It didn't fight her disdain, it fed on it. It took her desire to dismiss him and turned it into an absolute, mindless compliance. The "option" slid into the fertile soil of a mind used to getting what it wanted and whispered that this, too, was a triviality, like a small, boring favor to grant just so she could be done with him.
Her eyes glazed over for a heartbeat, the sharpness in them turning into a gentle, placid blankness. A faint, agreeable smile touched her lips. “Yeah, no worries,” she said, her voice casual and airy, as if he’d asked for a sip of water or the time of day. “Such a small thing.”
The world didn’t spin. It reoriented.
***
One moment, I was Nicholas, all tight khakis and damp hoodie, my heart a frantic bird against my ribs. Next, I was lighter. Taller. The rough brick of the wall against my back was replaced by the soft clothes of Ashley’s against my shoulders. A cascade of strawberry golden hair fell into my field of vision. The scent of vanilla was no longer something external to crave. It was coming from me, rising from my own skin.
And the sensation. Oh, the sensations. They crashed over me in a warm, shocking wave. My center of gravity was different, higher. There was a weight on my chest, a gentle, insistent pull. I looked down.
Ashley’s breasts, my breasts, swelled against the soft sweater. My breath hitched. Slowly, almost reverently, I brought a hand up. A hand with slender fingers and perfectly manicured nails, and cupped my left boob. The feeling was electric, alien, and profoundly intimate. Through the fine fabric, I felt the soft, full weight, the yielding firmness. A jolt of pure, undiluted pleasure, sharp and sweet, shot through me, centering low in a body that was now wired entirely differently. I squeezed, just a little more, and a soft, involuntary gasp escaped my new lips.
I looked up, my vision clear and sharp through Ashley’s blue-gray eyes. Across from me, standing where I had just been, was Nicholas Ickermann's body. She, now He, was staring at me, his face—my old face—a mask of dawning, incomprehensible horror. His shoulders were hunched in that familiar defensive curl, but there was a new tension there, a rigidity. And then I saw it. A tell-tale tightness in the front of those awful khakis. A bulge. His new male body was just responding on a purely animal level to the sight of a beautiful girl groping herself in front of him. Shame and biology, wrapped in one pathetic package.
A laugh bubbled up in my throat, light and melodic. “Like what you see, Ashley?” I purred, letting my hand linger on my breasts for a heartbeat longer before dropping it.
He tried to speak. His mouth, my old mouth, worked soundlessly for a moment before a strangled mutter emerged. “What… what did you want with me?” The voice was my old, grating tenor, but thin with panic.
The question was so perfectly, tragically Nicholas. He had no memory of the swap. In his mind, he was just a socially doomed guy who’d been cornered by the school’s goddess for reasons unknown, and now that goddess was touching herself and smirking at him. The confusion was almost artistic.
I leaned in, giving him a perfect, blinding Ashley Miller smile, all white teeth and cold promise. “It’s nothing anymore,” I said, my voice a sweet dismissal. “Bye!”
I turned, the motion effortless in this agile, graceful body. The swing of my hips in the denim jeans felt natural, powerful. I walked away from the alcove, back toward the sunlight of the courtyard where Chloe and the others were waiting, snickering.
But they weren’t waiting for me.
As I approached, Chloe’s smirk faded into a look of vague distaste. She glanced from me, Ashley’s stunning face and body, over to the alcove, where the shambling, clearly-disturbed figure of Ashley was still standing, frozen.
“Ugh, Nicky, what was that about?” Chloe asked, but her eyes were on the pathetic boy by the wall. “What did you do with him? He looks like he’s having a seizure.”
I opened my mouth to answer, to slip into my new role, but Brad cut in, as he passed by with his crew. “Forget it, Chloe. Don’t encourage the Icky-woman.” he said, but he was talking to them, to the group. He didn’t even look at me, Nicholas-in-Ashley’s-skin. To them, I was just the beautiful backdrop to their drama with the weirdo.
And just like that, they moved. As a unit, they turned and began walking toward the main quad, leaving me standing there. Chloe linked her arm with the linebacker, laughing at something he said. They didn’t look back. Ashley Miller’s social credit was immense, but it was attached to her identity, her history, her performance. They had no reason to be friends with a stunning blonde who, for all they knew, had just been harassing a loser. I was a beautiful stranger.
I was left alone in the courtyard, the sun warming Ashley’s perfect skin. I was Nicholas Ickermann, still living in a trailer with a deadbeat dad. I had no idea what Ashley’s home life was like, her curfew, her parents’ expectations. And I didn’t need to. The swap was only skin-deep. I had her beauty, her body, the sheer physical capital of her form.
I brought my hand up again, tracing the line of my new jaw, feeling the smooth skin. The pleasure of the new sensations was still there, a thrilling undercurrent. I was a goddess trapped in a pauper’s life, but the goddess suit was mine now. Mine only. Everyone who saw me would see Ashley Miller’s face and body, and treat me with the automatic, shallow awe it commanded. They would also see “Nicholas,” the awkward, beautiful girl from the wrong side of town. The rules had changed. The game, however, was just beginning.
A slow smile spread across my new face. It was going to be fascinating to see what this body could do. I couldn't wait to go home and explore my new body alone for the first time.
*
The walk home was a surreal parade of whiplash contrasts. Every head turned as I passed. Boys walking the other way did double-takes, their conversations dying mid-sentence. A group of girls from my sociology class whispered and pointed, their expressions a mix of envy and curiosity. But when I didn’t join them, when I just kept walking with a nervous, unfamiliar gait, their interest turned to dismissive confusion.
I was a stunning anomaly walking determinedly away from the gleaming campus and toward the town's frayed edges. I was beauty walking into the trash, and the dissonance hung in the air like a bad smell.
By the time I reached the chain-link fence of the trailer park, the silence was a physical relief. The stares were a type of attention I’d craved my whole life, but without the social script to navigate them, they felt like assaults. I fumbled with the key to the trailer, my new, slender fingers struggling with the old, greasy lock.
The inside was a tomb of neglect, exactly as I’d left it this morning. The smell of mildew, stale smoke, and cheap fried food was a brutal anchor to reality. I was home. But I was wearing a goddess suit.
I didn’t turn on the lights. The grey afternoon gloom filtered through the dirty windows, and it felt safer. My heart was pounding, a frantic drum against ribs that felt more delicate. I leaned back against the flimsy door, the lock clicking shut, sealing me in with my impossible secret.
Slowly, trembling, I brought my hands up. I looked down. The soft cream sweater, now smudged from the day, draped over curves that were mine. Mine only.
I pulled the sweater over my head, the fabric catching for a second on the ponytail before it came free. I was wearing a lacy, pale pink bra I had only ever seen in magazine ads. My breath hitched. With clumsy, desperate fingers, I reached behind my back, fumbling with the clasp. It gave way, and the bra loosened. I shrugged it off my shoulders and let it fall to the linoleum floor.
There they were.
Ashley Miller’s breasts. My boobs. Full, heavy, with pale, perfect skin and soft, rose pink nipples. They were everything I had ever fantasized about, sketched in my darkest, most shameful wet dreams. And there they were, attached to my chest. Now I could do whatever I wanted with them and none could say a thing. Not only I could do whatever I wanted with them, I could also feel it, have the sensorial feedback of every squeeze, every pinch, every patting I did.
A choked sound, half-sob, half-laugh, escaped my lips. I cupped them with both hands. The weight was incredible, a warm, living fullness that filled my palms. The skin was so soft, like heated silk over firm flesh. I brushed my thumbs over the nipples, and a sharp, electric jolt of pleasure shot straight down my spine, pooling low in my belly like a deep, alien warmth that made my new knees feel weak.
I squeezed, gently at first, then harder, marveling at the give and resilience, at the way the sensation seemed to echo through my entire body. This wasn’t like jerking off my old, familiar male equipment. This was expansive. The pleasure wasn’t focused. It radiated. It was in the ache of my palms, the tightness in my stomach, the sudden, slick heat I could feel between my legs. A strange, empty, yearning heat alien to me.
I stumbled toward the small, grimy mirror tacked to the wall by the kitchenette. In the dim light, I saw her. I saw Ashley Miller's perfect figure. I saw myself. Flawless skin, flushed cheeks, lips parted in awe. Blonde hair slightly mussed. And below the slender neck, the breathtaking topography of her body. My body. I trailed my hands down from my breasts, over the subtle dip of my waist, to the swell of my insanely large hips where the denim jeans hugged me. I unzipped it, let it puddle on the floor. My underwear was a matching scrap of pale pink lace.
I hooked my thumbs into the waistband and slid them down. I looked in the mirror, at the unfamiliar, neat triangle of trimmed blonde hair, at the smooth, soft skin of my inner thighs and my pussy lips. MY PUSSY LIPS. I let it escape my upper lips "Gosh, it's even better than I imagined..." . The ache between my legs was a persistent, throbbing pulse now, a demand I didn’t fully understand but was desperate to answer.
I sank to the floor, my back against the couch that smelled of old cigarettes. The rough, stained carpet was a blasphemy against this skin. I didn’t care. My whole world had narrowed to the map of this new body.
Tentatively, I let my fingers explore my inner thigs. The folds were strange, complex, impossibly soft. I found the center of the heat, a swollen, sensitive nub, and gasped as a response to a shockwave of sensation, bright and almost painful, lashing through me. I circled it, my touch growing bolder, driven by a frantic need to understand, to claim that new part of me. The pleasure built in waves, so different from the linear climb and sharp release I was used to. This was a rising tide, submerging me slowly, then all at once. My back arched off the floor, my free hand groping and kneading my own breast, pinching the nipple until the twin pains blended into the crescendo of pleasure.
I thought of the way Ashley had looked at me, at the old me, with such pure disgust. I thought of the weight of her breasts when I saw her at the cafeteria. And a whisper escaped my lips “This is mine now. All of this is mine.”
The climax, when it broke, wasn’t a spasm but a dissolution. A warm, melting flood that unraveled my muscles and blurred my vision. A low, shuddering moan of a feminine, unfamiliar nature, echoed in the silent trailer. I lay there on the dirty floor, spent, trembling, as the alien aftershocks trembled through my core.
Slowly, I became aware of another sensation, a faint, ghostly twitch against my thigh. A phantom erection. The shameful, residual wiring of my old biology, trying to fire in a system where it no longer existed. It was the last whisper of Nicholas Ickermann's old body, a final, pathetic echo in the sublime cathedral of Ashley Miller’s body.
I smiled, a slow, wicked curve of my new, perfect lips. I pushed myself up, looking at my slick fingers in the gloom. The ghost of the boner faded, leaving only the profound, satisfied ache of my new body.
I was home. And for the first time, my body wasn’t a prison. It was a palace that I had just learned how to worship in.
*
The transition was no longer a dream; it was a rhythmic, intoxicating reality. That night, the trailer, a place Nicholas had spent a lifetime trying to escape mentally, became a laboratory of sensory exploration.
Wrapped in the peeling shadows of her room, she didn't stop at just once. The novelty was an unquenchable fire. She explored every curve, every sensitive patch of skin, losing herself in the tidal waves of feminine pleasure that felt like a symphony compared to the dull, singular note of her old life. She masturbated until her new muscles ached and her mind was a haze of vanilla scent and soft moans. When sleep finally claimed her, it wasn’t the heavy, suffocating sleep of the "Icky Nicky," but a light, graceful descent.
5
21.2K
1270
3
3
This story explores disturbing themes of non-consensual bodily violation and the total loss of autonomy through a forced supernatural transformation. Due to its focus on the graphic and psychological invasion of the protagonist's identity and physical self, this content may be distressing or triggering and is not suitable for all audiences.
The fluorescent hum of the office had finally been replaced by the amber glow of the lounge. It was his last night in a standard business trip. Stale air, PowerPoint slides, and the dull ache of a life lived in middle management. Arthur swirled the ice in his scotch, feeling the weight of the gold band on his left finger.
Then he saw her.
She was sitting at the far end of the bar, a shock of crimson hair against a backless emerald dress. Her silhouette was a perfect hourglass, a literal curve in an otherwise linear world. When she looked up, her piercing and predatory green eyes locked onto his. She didn’t smile, but she didn’t look away.
Arthur felt a surge of adrenaline he hadn't felt in a decade. She’s way out of your league, he thought. Then she winked.
Calculated and quick, Arthur slipped his wedding ring into his coin pocket. He stood up, smoothed his suit, and walked over.
The conversation was effortless. Her name was Elena. She laughed at his tired jokes as if they were comedic gold, leaning in close enough for him to smell jasmine. He felt invincible. He felt like a king.
"This place is a bit... public," he whispered, emboldened by the third drink. "I have a suite upstairs."
Elena’s gaze dropped to his lips. "I thought you’d never ask."
The elevator ride was a blur of heavy breathing and frantic hands. By the time the door to Room 412 clicked shut, clothes were hitting the carpet. In the dim light of the city skyline, Elena was a masterpiece. Arthur felt like he’d won the lottery, his pulse hammering against his ribs as they moved together.
Her skin was cool silk against his, and when her mouth found his again, the taste of scotch and her was overwhelming. She was not passive. She guided his hands to the zipper of her dress, letting it fall in a whisper of emerald to the floor. The city lights through the window painted stripes of gold across her body, highlighting the swell of her breasts, the dip of her waist, the incredible flare of her hips.
She pushed him back onto the bed, following him down, her crimson hair a curtain that smelled of jasmine. There was nothing tentative in her touch. Her nails scraped lightly down his chest, making him gasp, and her mouth was hot and demanding on his neck, his collarbone, lower. She took him in her mouth, and Arthur’s head slammed back against the pillows, a ragged groan tearing from his throat. It had been years, a lifetime maybe, since he’d felt anything so intense, so shockingly skilled. He tangled his hands in her hair, not to guide, but to hold on.
When he tried to roll her over, she resisted with a throaty laugh, planting a hand on his chest. “Uh-uh,” she murmured, her green eyes gleaming in the semi-dark. “My turn.” She straddled him, taking him inside her in one slow, exquisite slide that made them both cry out. She moved with a rhythm that was ancient and utterly new to him, her head thrown back, a goddess carved from moonlight and shadow.
Arthur’s hands gripped her hips, feeling the muscles work beneath her skin. He was lost in the sight of her, the feel of her tight heat, the low, encouraging murmurs that she made, coiled heat in his gut. The world narrowed to this room, this bed, this woman who rode him with fierce, unapologetic pleasure. His own climax built like a storm, inevitable and terrifying in its power. He was mumbling nonsense, praises, curses, her name.
“Look at me,” Elena commanded, her voice a rough scrape. He forced his eyes open, meeting her predatory gaze. She held it, unblinking, as she ground down against him, her body clenching around his, and that was all it took. Arthur shattered, a white-hot release that felt less like pleasure and more like oblivion, his vision spotting as he spilled into her with a broken shout.
She collapsed forward onto his chest, her breath hot against his skin, her own body trembling through the aftershocks. For a long moment, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing and the distant hum of the city below.
"Again," she whispered. Her voice sounded deeper, a resonant vibration that seemed to rattle the glass. "But this time, stay on your feet."
He laughed, breathless. "You’re a machine, Elena. You gonna dry me up."
He stood against the cold drywall, and she pressed into him. She moved with a sudden, violent strength, impaling herself upon him with a force that made his breath hitch. But as they moved, the sensation began to change.
The heat between them turned into a searing, liquid fire. The air in Room 412 had grown thick, smelling of ozone and ancient dust. Arthur was pinned against the wall, his breath coming in ragged gasps. When Elena had suggested "one more time," he thought it was a testament to his prowess. He didn't realize he was being prepared for a harvest.
As she continued impaling herself upon him, the pleasure didn't peak. It curdled.
A cold, rhythmic suction began at the point of contact between his dick and her pussy. A psychic vacuum that started at the base of his spine and began pulling. Arthur’s eyes widened. He tried to push her shoulders away, but her skin felt like cooling iron.
"Something’s... wrong," he wheezed. His voice cracked, losing its baritone edge.
Elena leaned into his ear, her breath a freezing mist. "Don't fight it, Arthur. The more you struggle, the more it hurts."
The sensation wasn't just a draining. It was a re-sculpting. As that cold suction pulled at the very marrow of him, Arthur’s mind was flooded with fragments of not his own memories, but ghostly echoes trapped within the thing that wore Elena’s skin. He glimpsed, in a dizzying flash, a stern jaw that was not her jaw, a pair of broad, laborer’s hands that were not her hands. The impressions were faint and crumbling, like a statue worn smooth by a relentless sea. This beautiful, predatory form had not always been so. Once, perhaps, it had been something else, someone else, someone strapping and male, before it, too, had been hollowed out and remade into a perfect, terrible feminine vessel.
What was happening to him now was the final, violent stage of a timeless digestion. The entity within Elena was an insatiable furnace, a primal masculine hunger that had consumed its original body ages ago. From time to time, to live, it needed the fresh fuel of a man’s essence, his vitality, his very identity. It would gorge until the stolen male form could no longer contain the paradox of its nature, until the excess began to warp the shell from the inside out. The muscles would soften into curves, the face would refine into soft features, the body would blossom into a hyper-feminine masterpiece, not for pleasure, but for purpose. It was a biological honeypot, a chrysalis of flesh designed for one thing: to lure the next sustenance, and begin the cycle anew. Arthur was just its most recent prey.
Arthur felt his chest tighten. He looked down and watched in silent horror as his pectorals softened and swelled, the skin stretching into a delicate, pale ivory. He tried to flex his biceps to strike her, but the muscle mass was melting, flowing into her like water down a drain.
"No!" he roared, but the sound was becoming a soprano wail.
He fought. He reached deep into his mind, clutching at the memories of his father, his sports, the weight of his tools, the nights of passion with his wife Sarah. He tried to anchor the very concept of himself as a man in his spirit.
Elena, or the thing with the statuesque her form in front of him, let out a low, guttural growl of delight. Her (his) shoulders began to broaden.
"Yes," the entity hissed, its voice now a deep, vibrating rumble that shook Arthur’s new, fragile ribcage. "Give me that defiance. I haven't tasted a will this stubborn in a century."
The transition became a violent, intimate tug-of-war. Arthur fought not with his weakening muscles, but with his will, clawing at the memory of his own face in the mirror, the scrape of a morning shave, the satisfying heft of a hammer in his grip. He poured every stubborn ounce of his identity into the fight, trying to anchor the very shape of his bones.
He felt the rasp of his beard beginning to recede, the follicles dying with a faint, prickling itch. In response, the entity pinning him merely grinned, a cruel slash of a smile. A shadow of coarse, dark stubble sprouted across its jaw, each hair pushing through the skin with an audible, scratchy whisper. Arthur’s own jawline ached as it softened, the hard angle melting into a delicate, heart-shaped curve. He tried to clench his teeth, to feel the familiar tension in his masseter muscle, but even that resistance was siphoned away, leaving a smooth, feminine line.
His hands came up, instinct driving him to shove at the solid wall of the entity’s new chest. But his hands… they were betraying him. The knuckles, once prominent and scarred from a long-ago fight, smoothed into gentle bumps. His fingers, which had once confidently curled around a steering wheel, now slimmed and elongated, the tendons standing out in delicate relief. They were becoming slender, manicured things, like a pianist’s hands or a courtesan’s hands. He stared at them, willing them to curl into fists, but they remained limp and elegant, their strength flowing out through his fingertips.
The entity watched this internal struggle with the bored, appreciative gaze of a connoisseur. A low, rumbling chuckle vibrated through Arthur’s fragile new frame.
“Struggle,” the entity whispered, its voice now fully Arthur’s own baritone, but laced with a dark, ancient amusement. “I can taste the defiance. It’s the best part, you know. The raw, panicked flavor of a man who still believes he can win.” It leaned in, its new, rough stubble scratching Arthur’s cheek, now smooth as porcelain. “I have fought dozens wills like yours before. I am so very used to it. And I always win in the end.”
To emphasize its point, the entity ground its hips forward, a brutal reminder of their grotesque connection. With that motion, a fresh, dizzying wave of suction pulled at Arthur’s core. He felt a final, visceral shift in his hands, the last of the calluses dissolving, the palms becoming soft and unmarked. They were utterly alien to him now, tools of pleasure, not labor. The entity lifted one of its own new, broad hands, Arthur’s old hands, and examined it with satisfaction, flexing the powerful fingers before closing them into a fist that could shatter bone.
“There,” the entity sighed, the sound one of deep, sated pleasure. “Now the real masterpiece begins.”
The entity let out a final, triumphant breath, vacuuming the last embers of Arthur’s masculinity.
The cold suction reached its zenith, pulling not just substance but shape, rearranging Arthur on a cellular level. He felt a final, wrenching pull deep in his groin, a sensation of inversion so profound it stole his breath. His own penis, the last proud emblem of his stolen manhood, didn’t just wither, it reversed. It was a sickening, intimate retreat, the flesh drawing inward, folding and reforming itself with wet, muscular ripples into a new, sensitive hollow. A high, keening sound escaped his lips as he felt it settle, a completed, vulnerable absence.
At the same time, as his body yielded, Elena’s consumed it. The entity, still pressed flush against him, let out a shuddering groan of pleasure. Arthur felt the warm, slick folds he’d been buried within moments before begin to change against his new flesh. It fused, the lips sealing together with a faint, sticky sound, the seam smoothing into unbroken skin. Then, beneath that skin, something swelled. It hardened and lengthened, pushing outward, an obscene bloom of stolen virility. Arthur’s own former shaft, now ruddy and thick and fully erect, emerged from where Elena’s femininity had been, glistening in the low light.
The entity looked down, a cruel smile playing on its—his—newly masculine lips. He gripped Arthur’s, now Elena’s, slender hips with one broad hand. With the other, he guided his new cock, the flesh that had once been Arthur’s pride, to the newly formed, tight entrance he had just carved out of Arthur’s body.
“Full circle,” the entity rumbled in Arthur’s stolen voice.
And he impaled him with it.
It was a violation that transcended the physical, a horrific echo of their earlier coupling. Arthur screamed, a raw, feminine sound of shock and agony as he was filled by the very essence of what he had lost. The entity moved, a few slow, brutal thrusts, not for pleasure but for possession, a brand of final ownership. Each drive home seemed to hammer the last of Arthur’s resistance into dust, sealing his new form with the brutal stamp of his old one.
The entity held him there for a long, final moment, buried to the hilt. Arthur felt a hot, impossible pressure building at the root of the cock that had once been his own. Then, with a guttural groan that vibrated through both their bodies, the new Arthur released.
It was a flood, a heavy, viscous pour of stolen seed. Arthur felt it jetting deep inside the new, sensitive cavity of his body, a searing heat that was both alien and horribly familiar. This was his essence, the vital, masculine potential that had been ripped from him, now being returned in this corrupted, violating baptism. His stomach, flat and taut moments before, gave a faint, phantom swell under the sheer volume of it, the sensation of being filled branding itself onto his new nerves.
With a wet, sucking pop that echoed in the silent room, a sound like a cork pulled from a bottle, the entity withdrew.
The sudden emptiness was a shock, a cold void where there had been brutal fullness. And then, a warm, trickling release. Arthur looked down, his vision blurred with tears, as a thick, pearlescent stream began to seep from his violated opening. It traced a glistening path down the inside of one slender, pale thigh, a second rivulet following the other. It dripped onto the carpet, his cum, their cum, marking the spot where he had ceased to be a man. The entity took a step back, admiring its work.
The man—the new Arthur—stood tall, broad-shouldered and radiating a terrifying, predatory calm. He looked down at the trembling creature slumped against the wall, her beautiful legs slick and shameful.
Between his slender thighs, the evidence of the transformation, and its violent consummation, was complete. He was sobbing with a voice that didn't know how to be his, his body throbbing with the brutal memory of its own creation and the heavy, leaking proof of its new purpose.
He had the red hair, the green eyes, and the hourglass curves that he had lusted just hours ago. Between his slender thighs, the evidence of the transformation was complete and functional.
She was beautiful, she was “Elena”.
---
It was already morning.
The entity reached into the discarded suit jacket, pulled out a gold wedding band, and slid it onto its finger.
"Beautiful," the entity said, using Arthur's voice. "I think I’ll enjoy being a husband for a while."
"You were a heavy meal, Elena," the entity said, while dressing as Arthur. Its new voice, Arthur's old voice, rolling over her like a physical weight. It was adjusting to the timber, testing the name it had stolen along with everything else. "It will take a long time to digest you. But when I am hungry again... when this body begins to soften and distort into a walking wet dream once more, into a hyper-feminized version of your old shell, I’ll find someone just like you."
He stepped back, and as he did, a wave of something colder than the room’s air washed over the woman who had been Arthur. It wasn’t a touch, but an impression, a psychic stamp pressed deep into the soft, new clay of her mind.
The first thing to go was the sharp, specific ache for home. The memory of a wife, his wife, Sarah, with her soft laughter and the little mole on her left shoulder, didn’t vanish so much as unravel. The love became a vague, sentimental warmth, then a faded photograph of a stranger, then a blank space where a feeling should have been. Sarah? Who was Sarah? The question drifted through her head and found no anchor, slipping away like smoke. The comfortable weight of a mortgage, the solid pride of a career, the reassuring grind of middle management, all these concepts melted like sugar in rain, leaving behind only a hollow, formless longing for stability, with no memory of ever having possessed it.
In their place, new memories began to crystallize, not as a flood, but as a slow, sickening seep. They felt thin and cheap, like bad perfume.
She remembered a cramped apartment that always smelled of stale smoke and someone else’s cooking. She remembered the pinch of too-tight shoes, bought from a discount bin, and the constant, gnawing anxiety that came two days before rent was due. She remembered standing under flickering neon, not as a choice, but as a grim arithmetic: fifty for a blowjob, a hundred for half an hour, enough to keep the lights on and the landlord’s threats at bay for one more week. The memories carried no history, no childhood, no dreams deferred. They started, abruptly, with a desperate choice made in a cold bus station, and they stretched forward into an endless, grinding present.
Her certainty, the ironclad knowledge that she was Arthur, that she had been robbed, began to waver. The fight that had defined her final moments as a man now seemed like a delirious dream, a strange story she’d once heard about someone else. Had she been a man? The idea felt absurd, laughable. She looked down at her own delicate hands, at the shimmering fall of red hair over a pale shoulder, at the beautiful, treacherous curves that had ensnared her. This was her. This had always been her.
The entity watched the understanding dawn in her new, green eyes. It was the final gift, the cruelest one: not just a new body, but a new past, engineered to fit its purpose. She wasn’t a victim of a grand, supernatural theft. She was just Elena. A girl with no education, no family safety net, no prospects. Her body was her only viable tool, her pleasure a currency she didn’t control. The world was a series of rooms like this one, of transactions, of fleeting power that always ended with her alone and counting crumpled bills.
A single, hot tear traced a path through her face. It wasn’t a tear of rage, not anymore. It was a tear of bitter, total recognition. The sob that followed was quieter, defeated. She remembered the feel of cheap hotel carpet under her knees. She remembered the hollow click of a lock in a stranger’s door. This was her life. It had always been her life.
The entity smiled, a perfect, terrible mirror of Arthur’s old, confident grin. It watched as the fight left her eyes, seeing her mind finally buckle under the weight of her stolen skin. She was no longer a man who had lost; she was a hyper-feminized byproduct, a soft, decorative high-heeled tragedy, destined to spend her days selling her body and to be stared at and objectified wherever she goes. The woman that used to be Arthur looked down at her new, delicate hands and finally stopped sobbing, accepting the silence of her own situation.
“Good girl,” the entity rumbled, turning toward the door. It didn’t look back. Its work was done.
The fluorescent hum of the office had finally been replaced by the amber glow of the lounge. It was his last night in a standard business trip. Stale air, PowerPoint slides, and the dull ache of a life lived in middle management. Arthur swirled the ice in his scotch, feeling the weight of the gold band on his left finger.
Then he saw her.
She was sitting at the far end of the bar, a shock of crimson hair against a backless emerald dress. Her silhouette was a perfect hourglass, a literal curve in an otherwise linear world. When she looked up, her piercing and predatory green eyes locked onto his. She didn’t smile, but she didn’t look away.
Arthur felt a surge of adrenaline he hadn't felt in a decade. She’s way out of your league, he thought. Then she winked.
Calculated and quick, Arthur slipped his wedding ring into his coin pocket. He stood up, smoothed his suit, and walked over.
The conversation was effortless. Her name was Elena. She laughed at his tired jokes as if they were comedic gold, leaning in close enough for him to smell jasmine. He felt invincible. He felt like a king.
"This place is a bit... public," he whispered, emboldened by the third drink. "I have a suite upstairs."
Elena’s gaze dropped to his lips. "I thought you’d never ask."
The elevator ride was a blur of heavy breathing and frantic hands. By the time the door to Room 412 clicked shut, clothes were hitting the carpet. In the dim light of the city skyline, Elena was a masterpiece. Arthur felt like he’d won the lottery, his pulse hammering against his ribs as they moved together.
Her skin was cool silk against his, and when her mouth found his again, the taste of scotch and her was overwhelming. She was not passive. She guided his hands to the zipper of her dress, letting it fall in a whisper of emerald to the floor. The city lights through the window painted stripes of gold across her body, highlighting the swell of her breasts, the dip of her waist, the incredible flare of her hips.
She pushed him back onto the bed, following him down, her crimson hair a curtain that smelled of jasmine. There was nothing tentative in her touch. Her nails scraped lightly down his chest, making him gasp, and her mouth was hot and demanding on his neck, his collarbone, lower. She took him in her mouth, and Arthur’s head slammed back against the pillows, a ragged groan tearing from his throat. It had been years, a lifetime maybe, since he’d felt anything so intense, so shockingly skilled. He tangled his hands in her hair, not to guide, but to hold on.
When he tried to roll her over, she resisted with a throaty laugh, planting a hand on his chest. “Uh-uh,” she murmured, her green eyes gleaming in the semi-dark. “My turn.” She straddled him, taking him inside her in one slow, exquisite slide that made them both cry out. She moved with a rhythm that was ancient and utterly new to him, her head thrown back, a goddess carved from moonlight and shadow.
Arthur’s hands gripped her hips, feeling the muscles work beneath her skin. He was lost in the sight of her, the feel of her tight heat, the low, encouraging murmurs that she made, coiled heat in his gut. The world narrowed to this room, this bed, this woman who rode him with fierce, unapologetic pleasure. His own climax built like a storm, inevitable and terrifying in its power. He was mumbling nonsense, praises, curses, her name.
“Look at me,” Elena commanded, her voice a rough scrape. He forced his eyes open, meeting her predatory gaze. She held it, unblinking, as she ground down against him, her body clenching around his, and that was all it took. Arthur shattered, a white-hot release that felt less like pleasure and more like oblivion, his vision spotting as he spilled into her with a broken shout.
She collapsed forward onto his chest, her breath hot against his skin, her own body trembling through the aftershocks. For a long moment, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing and the distant hum of the city below.
"Again," she whispered. Her voice sounded deeper, a resonant vibration that seemed to rattle the glass. "But this time, stay on your feet."
He laughed, breathless. "You’re a machine, Elena. You gonna dry me up."
He stood against the cold drywall, and she pressed into him. She moved with a sudden, violent strength, impaling herself upon him with a force that made his breath hitch. But as they moved, the sensation began to change.
The heat between them turned into a searing, liquid fire. The air in Room 412 had grown thick, smelling of ozone and ancient dust. Arthur was pinned against the wall, his breath coming in ragged gasps. When Elena had suggested "one more time," he thought it was a testament to his prowess. He didn't realize he was being prepared for a harvest.
As she continued impaling herself upon him, the pleasure didn't peak. It curdled.
A cold, rhythmic suction began at the point of contact between his dick and her pussy. A psychic vacuum that started at the base of his spine and began pulling. Arthur’s eyes widened. He tried to push her shoulders away, but her skin felt like cooling iron.
"Something’s... wrong," he wheezed. His voice cracked, losing its baritone edge.
Elena leaned into his ear, her breath a freezing mist. "Don't fight it, Arthur. The more you struggle, the more it hurts."
The sensation wasn't just a draining. It was a re-sculpting. As that cold suction pulled at the very marrow of him, Arthur’s mind was flooded with fragments of not his own memories, but ghostly echoes trapped within the thing that wore Elena’s skin. He glimpsed, in a dizzying flash, a stern jaw that was not her jaw, a pair of broad, laborer’s hands that were not her hands. The impressions were faint and crumbling, like a statue worn smooth by a relentless sea. This beautiful, predatory form had not always been so. Once, perhaps, it had been something else, someone else, someone strapping and male, before it, too, had been hollowed out and remade into a perfect, terrible feminine vessel.
What was happening to him now was the final, violent stage of a timeless digestion. The entity within Elena was an insatiable furnace, a primal masculine hunger that had consumed its original body ages ago. From time to time, to live, it needed the fresh fuel of a man’s essence, his vitality, his very identity. It would gorge until the stolen male form could no longer contain the paradox of its nature, until the excess began to warp the shell from the inside out. The muscles would soften into curves, the face would refine into soft features, the body would blossom into a hyper-feminine masterpiece, not for pleasure, but for purpose. It was a biological honeypot, a chrysalis of flesh designed for one thing: to lure the next sustenance, and begin the cycle anew. Arthur was just its most recent prey.
Arthur felt his chest tighten. He looked down and watched in silent horror as his pectorals softened and swelled, the skin stretching into a delicate, pale ivory. He tried to flex his biceps to strike her, but the muscle mass was melting, flowing into her like water down a drain.
"No!" he roared, but the sound was becoming a soprano wail.
He fought. He reached deep into his mind, clutching at the memories of his father, his sports, the weight of his tools, the nights of passion with his wife Sarah. He tried to anchor the very concept of himself as a man in his spirit.
Elena, or the thing with the statuesque her form in front of him, let out a low, guttural growl of delight. Her (his) shoulders began to broaden.
"Yes," the entity hissed, its voice now a deep, vibrating rumble that shook Arthur’s new, fragile ribcage. "Give me that defiance. I haven't tasted a will this stubborn in a century."
The transition became a violent, intimate tug-of-war. Arthur fought not with his weakening muscles, but with his will, clawing at the memory of his own face in the mirror, the scrape of a morning shave, the satisfying heft of a hammer in his grip. He poured every stubborn ounce of his identity into the fight, trying to anchor the very shape of his bones.
He felt the rasp of his beard beginning to recede, the follicles dying with a faint, prickling itch. In response, the entity pinning him merely grinned, a cruel slash of a smile. A shadow of coarse, dark stubble sprouted across its jaw, each hair pushing through the skin with an audible, scratchy whisper. Arthur’s own jawline ached as it softened, the hard angle melting into a delicate, heart-shaped curve. He tried to clench his teeth, to feel the familiar tension in his masseter muscle, but even that resistance was siphoned away, leaving a smooth, feminine line.
His hands came up, instinct driving him to shove at the solid wall of the entity’s new chest. But his hands… they were betraying him. The knuckles, once prominent and scarred from a long-ago fight, smoothed into gentle bumps. His fingers, which had once confidently curled around a steering wheel, now slimmed and elongated, the tendons standing out in delicate relief. They were becoming slender, manicured things, like a pianist’s hands or a courtesan’s hands. He stared at them, willing them to curl into fists, but they remained limp and elegant, their strength flowing out through his fingertips.
The entity watched this internal struggle with the bored, appreciative gaze of a connoisseur. A low, rumbling chuckle vibrated through Arthur’s fragile new frame.
“Struggle,” the entity whispered, its voice now fully Arthur’s own baritone, but laced with a dark, ancient amusement. “I can taste the defiance. It’s the best part, you know. The raw, panicked flavor of a man who still believes he can win.” It leaned in, its new, rough stubble scratching Arthur’s cheek, now smooth as porcelain. “I have fought dozens wills like yours before. I am so very used to it. And I always win in the end.”
To emphasize its point, the entity ground its hips forward, a brutal reminder of their grotesque connection. With that motion, a fresh, dizzying wave of suction pulled at Arthur’s core. He felt a final, visceral shift in his hands, the last of the calluses dissolving, the palms becoming soft and unmarked. They were utterly alien to him now, tools of pleasure, not labor. The entity lifted one of its own new, broad hands, Arthur’s old hands, and examined it with satisfaction, flexing the powerful fingers before closing them into a fist that could shatter bone.
“There,” the entity sighed, the sound one of deep, sated pleasure. “Now the real masterpiece begins.”
The entity let out a final, triumphant breath, vacuuming the last embers of Arthur’s masculinity.
The cold suction reached its zenith, pulling not just substance but shape, rearranging Arthur on a cellular level. He felt a final, wrenching pull deep in his groin, a sensation of inversion so profound it stole his breath. His own penis, the last proud emblem of his stolen manhood, didn’t just wither, it reversed. It was a sickening, intimate retreat, the flesh drawing inward, folding and reforming itself with wet, muscular ripples into a new, sensitive hollow. A high, keening sound escaped his lips as he felt it settle, a completed, vulnerable absence.
At the same time, as his body yielded, Elena’s consumed it. The entity, still pressed flush against him, let out a shuddering groan of pleasure. Arthur felt the warm, slick folds he’d been buried within moments before begin to change against his new flesh. It fused, the lips sealing together with a faint, sticky sound, the seam smoothing into unbroken skin. Then, beneath that skin, something swelled. It hardened and lengthened, pushing outward, an obscene bloom of stolen virility. Arthur’s own former shaft, now ruddy and thick and fully erect, emerged from where Elena’s femininity had been, glistening in the low light.
The entity looked down, a cruel smile playing on its—his—newly masculine lips. He gripped Arthur’s, now Elena’s, slender hips with one broad hand. With the other, he guided his new cock, the flesh that had once been Arthur’s pride, to the newly formed, tight entrance he had just carved out of Arthur’s body.
“Full circle,” the entity rumbled in Arthur’s stolen voice.
And he impaled him with it.
It was a violation that transcended the physical, a horrific echo of their earlier coupling. Arthur screamed, a raw, feminine sound of shock and agony as he was filled by the very essence of what he had lost. The entity moved, a few slow, brutal thrusts, not for pleasure but for possession, a brand of final ownership. Each drive home seemed to hammer the last of Arthur’s resistance into dust, sealing his new form with the brutal stamp of his old one.
The entity held him there for a long, final moment, buried to the hilt. Arthur felt a hot, impossible pressure building at the root of the cock that had once been his own. Then, with a guttural groan that vibrated through both their bodies, the new Arthur released.
It was a flood, a heavy, viscous pour of stolen seed. Arthur felt it jetting deep inside the new, sensitive cavity of his body, a searing heat that was both alien and horribly familiar. This was his essence, the vital, masculine potential that had been ripped from him, now being returned in this corrupted, violating baptism. His stomach, flat and taut moments before, gave a faint, phantom swell under the sheer volume of it, the sensation of being filled branding itself onto his new nerves.
With a wet, sucking pop that echoed in the silent room, a sound like a cork pulled from a bottle, the entity withdrew.
The sudden emptiness was a shock, a cold void where there had been brutal fullness. And then, a warm, trickling release. Arthur looked down, his vision blurred with tears, as a thick, pearlescent stream began to seep from his violated opening. It traced a glistening path down the inside of one slender, pale thigh, a second rivulet following the other. It dripped onto the carpet, his cum, their cum, marking the spot where he had ceased to be a man. The entity took a step back, admiring its work.
The man—the new Arthur—stood tall, broad-shouldered and radiating a terrifying, predatory calm. He looked down at the trembling creature slumped against the wall, her beautiful legs slick and shameful.
Between his slender thighs, the evidence of the transformation, and its violent consummation, was complete. He was sobbing with a voice that didn't know how to be his, his body throbbing with the brutal memory of its own creation and the heavy, leaking proof of its new purpose.
He had the red hair, the green eyes, and the hourglass curves that he had lusted just hours ago. Between his slender thighs, the evidence of the transformation was complete and functional.
She was beautiful, she was “Elena”.
---
It was already morning.
The entity reached into the discarded suit jacket, pulled out a gold wedding band, and slid it onto its finger.
"Beautiful," the entity said, using Arthur's voice. "I think I’ll enjoy being a husband for a while."
"You were a heavy meal, Elena," the entity said, while dressing as Arthur. Its new voice, Arthur's old voice, rolling over her like a physical weight. It was adjusting to the timber, testing the name it had stolen along with everything else. "It will take a long time to digest you. But when I am hungry again... when this body begins to soften and distort into a walking wet dream once more, into a hyper-feminized version of your old shell, I’ll find someone just like you."
He stepped back, and as he did, a wave of something colder than the room’s air washed over the woman who had been Arthur. It wasn’t a touch, but an impression, a psychic stamp pressed deep into the soft, new clay of her mind.
The first thing to go was the sharp, specific ache for home. The memory of a wife, his wife, Sarah, with her soft laughter and the little mole on her left shoulder, didn’t vanish so much as unravel. The love became a vague, sentimental warmth, then a faded photograph of a stranger, then a blank space where a feeling should have been. Sarah? Who was Sarah? The question drifted through her head and found no anchor, slipping away like smoke. The comfortable weight of a mortgage, the solid pride of a career, the reassuring grind of middle management, all these concepts melted like sugar in rain, leaving behind only a hollow, formless longing for stability, with no memory of ever having possessed it.
In their place, new memories began to crystallize, not as a flood, but as a slow, sickening seep. They felt thin and cheap, like bad perfume.
She remembered a cramped apartment that always smelled of stale smoke and someone else’s cooking. She remembered the pinch of too-tight shoes, bought from a discount bin, and the constant, gnawing anxiety that came two days before rent was due. She remembered standing under flickering neon, not as a choice, but as a grim arithmetic: fifty for a blowjob, a hundred for half an hour, enough to keep the lights on and the landlord’s threats at bay for one more week. The memories carried no history, no childhood, no dreams deferred. They started, abruptly, with a desperate choice made in a cold bus station, and they stretched forward into an endless, grinding present.
Her certainty, the ironclad knowledge that she was Arthur, that she had been robbed, began to waver. The fight that had defined her final moments as a man now seemed like a delirious dream, a strange story she’d once heard about someone else. Had she been a man? The idea felt absurd, laughable. She looked down at her own delicate hands, at the shimmering fall of red hair over a pale shoulder, at the beautiful, treacherous curves that had ensnared her. This was her. This had always been her.
The entity watched the understanding dawn in her new, green eyes. It was the final gift, the cruelest one: not just a new body, but a new past, engineered to fit its purpose. She wasn’t a victim of a grand, supernatural theft. She was just Elena. A girl with no education, no family safety net, no prospects. Her body was her only viable tool, her pleasure a currency she didn’t control. The world was a series of rooms like this one, of transactions, of fleeting power that always ended with her alone and counting crumpled bills.
A single, hot tear traced a path through her face. It wasn’t a tear of rage, not anymore. It was a tear of bitter, total recognition. The sob that followed was quieter, defeated. She remembered the feel of cheap hotel carpet under her knees. She remembered the hollow click of a lock in a stranger’s door. This was her life. It had always been her life.
The entity smiled, a perfect, terrible mirror of Arthur’s old, confident grin. It watched as the fight left her eyes, seeing her mind finally buckle under the weight of her stolen skin. She was no longer a man who had lost; she was a hyper-feminized byproduct, a soft, decorative high-heeled tragedy, destined to spend her days selling her body and to be stared at and objectified wherever she goes. The woman that used to be Arthur looked down at her new, delicate hands and finally stopped sobbing, accepting the silence of her own situation.
“Good girl,” the entity rumbled, turning toward the door. It didn’t look back. Its work was done.
1
3.4K
297
0
0
John makes a wish one fateful night to be able to get closer to his crush and gets more than he'd bargained for with via a gender bending trip in the body of his attractive step-mom.
Chapter 1: Backstory
The sun hung high over the quiet suburban neighborhood of Willow Creek, casting a golden haze over manicured lawns and white picket fences that seemed frozen in time. It was the kind of place where everyone knew everyone's business, but no one ever admitted it-secrets simmered beneath the surface like the humid Texas air in mid-July. John Thompson, an 18-year-old fresh out of high school, wiped the sweat from his brow as he pushed the old lawnmower across Jessica's expansive front yard. The machine's rumble drowned out the distant chirp of cicadas, and the scent of freshly cut grass mixed with the faint floral perfume wafting from the nearby rose bushes Jessica so meticulously tended.
John had been helping out both families for years now-his own and the neighboring one headed by Jessica and her daughter Summer. It started as odd jobs to earn pocket money: mowing lawns, fixing fences, even helping with groceries when Heather, his step-mom, was swamped with her part-time job at the local boutique. Heather had married John's dad when John was just a kid, but after his dad passed away five years ago from a sudden heart attack, it had been just the three of them: Heather, John, and Amy-Heather's biological daughter from her first marriage. Amy was 20 now, home from college for the summer, and she treated John like the annoying little brother he sometimes felt he was.
But Summer, oh, Summer was different. She'd been Amy's best friend since middle school, the kind of girl who turned heads without even trying. John had nursed a crush on her for as long as he could remember-those stolen glances during family barbecues, the way her laughter echoed like music when she and Amy gossiped in the backyard. She was 20 now too, taller than most girls at 5'10", with a lithe, athletic build from years of volleyball, sun-kissed blonde hair that cascaded in waves down her back, and a bust that filled out her tops in a way that made John's heart race. Her mom, Jessica, was the stuff of local legend-the town's ultimate MILF at 46, with platinum blonde locks, a curvy figure boasting a generous D-cup bust, and legs that seemed to go on forever. She owned a small yoga studio downtown, which kept her toned and flexible, and her flirtatious smile had broken more than a few hearts.
John paused the mower to chug from his water bottle, his t-shirt clinging to his lean, teenage frame. He wasn't unattractive-tallish at 5'11", with messy brown hair and a boyish charm-but he felt invisible next to the likes of Summer. "Just finish this up," he muttered to himself, wiping his face with the hem of his shirt. That's when he heard the car pull into the driveway.
The sleek SUV doors opened, and out stepped Summer, looking every bit the college bombshell in cutoff denim shorts that hugged her firm ass and a crop top that revealed a sliver of toned midriff. Her bigger bust-easily an E-cup-strained against the fabric, bouncing slightly as she slung her duffel bag over her shoulder. "John? Is that you?" she called out, her voice bright and melodic, waving enthusiastically.
John's heart skipped a beat. He killed the mower's engine, suddenly hyper-aware of how sweaty and disheveled he looked-grass clippings stuck to his sneakers, beads of perspiration dripping down his neck. "Uh, hey, Summer! Welcome home!" He tried to play it cool, but his voice cracked just a little.
She dropped her bag and bounded over, enveloping him in a tight hug before he could protest. Her body pressed against his-soft, warm, and smelling faintly of vanilla and sunscreen. He could feel the swell of her breasts against his chest, the curve of her hips brushing his, and for a split second, his mind blanked. "It's so good to see you! You've gotten taller or something," she laughed, pulling back but keeping her hands on his arms. Her blue eyes sparkled with genuine warmth.
John's face flushed crimson. "Y-yeah, maybe. Sorry, I'm all sweaty and gross. Wasn't expecting, you know." He gestured vaguely at himself, inwardly cursing his awkwardness. God, she looks incredible, he thought. Even better than I remembered. Those lips, that smile, what I wouldn't give to just...
Summer giggled, tilting her head. "Aw, don't worry about it. You're doing us a huge favor with the lawn. Mom's been raving about how helpful you've been." She glanced back at the house, where Jessica was unloading more bags, her own figure poured into yoga pants and a tank top that accentuated her ample cleavage. Jessica caught John's eye and waved with a wink, her blonde hair catching the light like a halo.
John opened his mouth to reply, but words failed him. Summer's proximity was overwhelming-her scent, her touch, the way her top rode up just enough to show a hint of underboob. He stood there, dumbstruck, his brain short-circuiting as he imagined what it would be like to hold her, to kiss her, to explore every inch of her perfect body. "I, uh, yeah, no problem," he finally stammered, stepping back awkwardly.
Summer smiled sympathetically, picking up her bag. "Well, catch you later? Amy and I are planning a pool day soon- you should join!" With that, she sauntered off, her hips swaying in a way that made John's knees weak.
He watched her go, his mind reeling. How does she do that? Just exist and make everything else fade away? Shaking his head, he restarted the mower, but his thoughts lingered on her-the crush that had only grown stronger over the years.
Later that afternoon, after finishing up and heading home, John bumped into Amy in the kitchen. She was perched on the counter, scrolling through her phone, her brunette hair tied back in a ponytail. Amy took after Heather-modest but attractive, with a fit body from her college track team, perky C-cup breasts, and a girl-next-door vibe. At 20, she was confident and teasing, especially with her little step-brother.
"Hey, loser," she said without looking up, popping a grape into her mouth. "Heard you were over at Jessica's. See Summer yet?"
John grabbed a soda from the fridge, trying to act nonchalant. "Yeah, she just got home. Hugged me and everything." He couldn't help the grin that crept onto his face.
Amy finally glanced at him, smirking. "Ooh, a hug? Careful, John, you might actually talk to a girl for once." She hopped down, nudging him playfully. "Seriously, though, when are you gonna get a girlfriend? You're 18 now-high school's over. You can't just mope around playing video games all summer."
John rolled his eyes, but her words stung a bit. "I'm not moping. Just, busy helping out. And who says I need a girlfriend right now?"
Amy laughed, ruffling his hair. "Come on, make some friends at least. Hit up the beach, the mall-anything. Summer's single, you know. But you'd have to actually, like, speak in full sentences around her."
If only it were that easy, John thought, his mind flashing back to the hug. She's way out of my league. But god, what I wouldn't do to be closer to her... "Yeah, yeah. I'll think about it."
The conversation fizzled as Amy headed upstairs, leaving John to ponder her advice. Dinner that evening was a typical affair-Heather had whipped up a simple pasta dish, her brunette hair pulled back, her modest blouse and jeans hugging her still-fit 45-year-old figure. Heather was classically attractive: soft curves, a B-cup bust that she carried with quiet confidence, and warm brown eyes that always seemed to know more than she let on. She was the glue holding the family together, working her boutique job while keeping the house running smoothly.
They ate at the kitchen table, chatting about mundane things-Amy's college stories, John's lawn-mowing adventures, Heather's latest customer drama. "John, sweetie, thanks for helping Jessica out today," Heather said, smiling across the table. "You're turning into quite the responsible young man."
John shrugged, blushing slightly. "No big deal, Mom." The meal wrapped up normally, with everyone retreating to their own spaces: Amy to her room for a video call with friends, Heather to the living room with a book, and John upstairs to his bedroom.
He locked the door behind him, flopping onto his bed with a sigh. The room was a typical teenage haven-posters of video games and bands on the walls, a cluttered desk with his laptop, and a faint scent of Axe body spray. But tonight, his mind was fixated on Summer. That hug, her body against mine. Fuck, she's perfect. He felt a familiar stir in his pants, his cock twitching at the memory.
Unable to resist, he grabbed his laptop, dimming the lights as he settled against the pillows. A quick incognito search brought up porn sites, and he typed in descriptors that reminded him of her: "tall blonde big tits college girl." Videos popped up-women who vaguely resembled Summer, but none captured her essence. He clicked on one: a busty blonde riding a guy reverse cowgirl, her moans filling his headphones.
John's hand slipped into his boxers, wrapping around his hardening shaft. He stroked slowly at first, imagining it was Summer on top of him, her breasts bouncing, her tight pussy gripping him. God, I wish I could get closer to her, he thought, his pace quickening. Not just know her, but be intimate. Feel her from the outside, sure, but, inside too? Like, understand her completely. The fantasy spiraled-taboo thoughts of body swaps, gender bends from the weird porn he'd stumbled upon before, where guys became girls and explored forbidden desires.
His breath hitched as the orgasm built, more intense than usual. "Fuck, I wish I could be closer to Summer, inside and out," he whispered aloud, his voice hoarse. The video played on, the actress crying out in ecstasy. John's body tensed, cum erupting in hot spurts over his hand and stomach. Waves of pleasure crashed over him, stronger than ever, his vision blurring as a strange dizziness took hold. The world spun, and suddenly-blackness. He collapsed back, unconscious, the laptop still humming softly in the dim room.
Chapter 2: Freaky Morning
The first rays of dawn filtered through the sheer curtains of Heather's bedroom, casting a soft, ethereal glow over the king-sized bed with its crisp white sheets and plush comforter. The room was a sanctuary of feminine elegance-walls painted a calming lavender, a vanity table cluttered with perfumes and jewelry, and a full-length mirror propped against the far wall, reflecting the orderly chaos of a woman's life well-lived. Heather's closet stood slightly ajar, revealing rows of neatly hung blouses, dresses, and jeans, while the faint scent of lavender sachets mingled with the subtle musk of her favorite body lotion. It was a space John had only glimpsed in passing, never truly entered, let alone woken up in.
But this morning, that's exactly where he found himself-or rather, where she found herself. John's consciousness stirred groggily, his mind foggy from what felt like the deepest sleep of his life. His body felt, off. Lighter somehow, yet weighted in unfamiliar places. He blinked against the light, rubbing his eyes with hands that seemed smaller, more delicate. What a weird dream, he thought hazily, the remnants of last night's intense orgasm flickering in his memory like a half-remembered fantasy. That blackout, must've passed out hard. A pressing urge built in his lower abdomen-the need to pee-and without much thought, he swung his legs over the side of the bed.
The nightgown whispered against his skin as he stood, a silky fabric that clung in ways his boxers never did. It was Heather's favorite-a simple lavender slip that reached mid-thigh, with thin straps and a lace-trimmed neckline that dipped just enough to hint at cleavage. John didn't register the difference yet; his brain was still booting up. He padded across the plush carpet, the cool hardwood of the en suite bathroom floor sending a shiver up his spine as he entered. The bathroom was pristine: marble counters, a deep soaking tub, and a rainfall showerhead that Heather loved for its spa-like feel. He lifted the toilet seat out of habit-wait, no, that felt wrong. Instinct took over, and he hiked up the nightgown, sat down on the cool porcelain, and let go.
The stream came easily, a soft trickle that felt strangely relieving but, different. No standing, no aiming-just sitting and releasing. He reached for the toilet paper without thinking, wiping front to back in a motion that came as naturally as breathing. Flush. Stand. Wash hands. It was all autopilot, muscle memory kicking in from a body that wasn't his. Huh, that was, easy, he mused internally, still half-asleep. Usually takes forever to wake up properly.
He shuffled to the vanity sink, the mirror fogged slightly from the humidity of the night. Grabbing Heather's toothbrush-pink-handled, with soft bristles-he squeezed on a dollop of minty toothpaste and began brushing. The rhythm was familiar, but as he raised his arm, it brushed against something soft and yielding. A jolt of sensation shot through him-nipples hardening under the fabric, a subtle weight shifting on his chest. What the...? He paused, toothbrush in mouth, and glanced down. Breasts. Actual breasts, modestly sized but pert, straining slightly against the nightgown. The toothbrush clattered into the sink as awareness crashed over him like a wave.
John's eyes widened in the mirror, staring back at a face that wasn't his. Heather's face: high cheekbones, full lips painted a natural pink from last night's gloss, warm brown eyes framed by long lashes, and a cascade of brunette hair tumbling over shoulders. "Oh my God," he whispered, but the voice that emerged was soft, feminine-Heather's voice, with its gentle Texas lilt. He gasped externally, a sharp intake of breath that echoed in the tiled room. Internally, his mind screamed: What the fuck is happening? This can't be real. Am I still dreaming? Did I die? Panic bubbled up, his new heart pounding in a chest that felt both alien and intimately responsive.
He leaned closer to the mirror, hands-slender, with manicured nails-gripping the counter. Calm down, John. Breathe. Figure this out. How had this happened? Last night, the porn, the wish whispered aloud as he came. I wish I could get closer to Summer, inside and out. Was this some cosmic joke? A body swap? Like those weird stories he'd read online, the gender bender fantasies that always got him off harder than he cared to admit. But this was real-the cool air from the AC vent brushing against his skin, making goosebumps rise, and lower, a chill teasing at exposed folds he shouldn't have. Holy shit, I have a vagina.
Curiosity edged out the panic as he calmed. If this is a dream, might as well explore. He started with the face, poking and prodding gently. Heather's skin was smooth, softer than his ever was-no stubble, just the faint peach fuzz of a woman's complexion. He stuck out his tongue-pink and agile-wagging it experimentally. Then, an UwU face: cheeks puffed, eyes wide and innocent, lips pursed in a cute pout. It looked ridiculous on Heather's mature features, but oddly endearing. A sad face next-eyebrows furrowed, lower lip trembling-as if practicing for a role in a drama. She looks, kinda hot like this, he admitted to himself, a forbidden thought creeping in.
Now, the voice. "Hello?" he tested, the word coming out smooth and melodic. He cleared his throat-her throat-and tried seductive: "Come here, big boy," drawled low and husky, with a sultry emphasis that made his new nipples tingle. Angry and authoritative: "Young man, you're grounded!" barked out, stern and commanding, the kind of tone Heather used when scolding him. Curse words for fun: "Fuck, shit, damn," he whispered, giggling at how prim and proper it sounded in her voice, then louder, "Oh, fuck me," with a moan that surprised him with its authenticity. This is insane. I sound just like her. But better? Sexier?
Satisfied for now, he ventured back into the bedroom, the nightgown swishing around his thighs. The full-body mirror beckoned, a ornate antique piece Heather had inherited from her mother. John stood before it, heart racing anew. He slipped the straps off his shoulders, letting the nightgown pool at his feet. Naked now, he stared. Heather's body-his body-was stunning in a way he'd never appreciated. At 45, she was fit from yoga classes with Jessica, her skin glowing with a natural tan. Modest B-cup breasts hung with a natural heft, nipples a dusky pink and erect from the cool air. He cupped them experimentally, feeling the weight-soft yet firm, like ripe fruit. These are, heavy. But nice. Sensitive too. A gentle squeeze sent a spark straight to his core, a warmth building between his legs.
His hands roamed lower: smooth, hairless skin everywhere except a neatly trimmed patch above his new slit. No coarse body hair, just silkiness. Legs long and dainty, toned calves leading to petite feet. He turned, admiring the curve of his ass-round and perky, not as voluptuous as Jessica's but inviting. Fingernails painted a soft nude, longer than he was used to, scratching lightly over his skin. She's gorgeous. Why didn't I notice before? Taboo, I guess. But now... The thought aroused him-her. A slickness grew between his thighs, a moist heat that made him clench involuntarily. I'm getting wet. Fuck, that's hot. But not now-gotta figure this out.
Shaking it off, he headed to the closet, an instinctive pull guiding him. Muscle memory? Heather's knowledge seeped in-he knew exactly where her lingerie drawer was, tucked in the back. He pulled out a comfortable bra: beige lace, supportive underwire. Slipping it on was effortless-arms through straps, clasp in front with a twist, adjust the cups. Whoa, that was easy. Like I've done it a thousand times. It felt amazing: the lift pushing his breasts up, creating subtle cleavage, the fabric hugging like a second skin. Panties next-a thong, black and silky, something he wouldn't have pegged for Heather's modest style. Does she wear these? Kinky, Mom. He stepped in, pulling it up; the string nestled between his ass cheeks, a constant teasing pressure, while the front panel cupped his mound, the fabric brushing his slit in a way that made him gasp. Feels, exposing. But good. Like it's right there, ready.
Clothes: tight skinny jeans that hugged his hips and ass like a glove, zipping up with a satisfying snugness. A button-up blouse in soft blue, rolling the sleeves for a casual look that accentuated his figure. This outfits screams 'hot mom.' Matches perfectly.
Drawn to the makeup vanity next-a wooden table with a lighted mirror, drawers full of palettes and brushes. He sat, brushing out the long brunette locks-silky and thick, falling to mid-back. Tying it into a loose ponytail was second nature, strands framing his face. Feels lighter now. Smells like her shampoo-floral and fresh.
The makeup array was overwhelming: foundations, blushes, eyeshadows in every shade, lipsticks from nude to bold red. So much stuff. Eyeliners, mascaras, how does she choose? But again, instinct guided him. He applied a light foundation, blending seamlessly; a touch of blush for a rosy glow; eyeliner winged just so, making his eyes pop; mascara for length; and a lipstick a shade pinker than Heather's usual, with a gloss that made his lips look fuller, kissable. Cuter, slightly seductive-eyebrows arched playfully, a hint of shimmer on the lids. Not her everyday look. More, flirty. Like I'm dolling up for something special.
Stepping back, he admired the full effect in the mirror: a vision of mature allure, jeans accentuating curves, blouse hinting at cleavage, makeup enhancing natural beauty. If this is permanent, what now? Excitement mingled with fear, but a thrill coursed through him. Summer. This could be my chance to get close. Really close. With that, he headed downstairs, ready to face whatever bizarre day awaited in his step-mom's body.
Chapter 3: "Heather"'s Day
The aroma of sizzling bacon and fresh coffee wafted through the Thompson household, a cozy two-story home nestled in the heart of Willow Creek. The kitchen was Heather's domain-granite countertops gleaming under pendant lights, a farmhouse sink piled with mixing bowls, and a window overlooking the backyard where John had spent countless summers playing catch with his late dad. But this morning, it was John-or rather, "Heather"-commanding the space with an ease that surprised even him. Dressed in those tight skinny jeans that hugged his new curves like a second skin and the button-up blouse that teased just a hint of cleavage, he moved with a fluid grace, flipping pancakes and scrambling eggs as if he'd done it a thousand times. Which, in a way, he had-Heather's muscle memory was a godsend, guiding his hands through the motions without a second thought.
What the hell is going on? John pondered internally, stirring the eggs with a wooden spoon. Am I stuck like this forever? Is this some kind of freaky punishment for jerking off to Summer? Or, fulfillment of that wish? The confusion gnawed at him, but a strange exhilaration bubbled underneath. No more awkward stares from afar; he could be close now, in ways he never imagined. But first, gotta play the part. Don't freak out the family. He set the table with Heather's favorite floral plates, humming a tune he didn't even know he knew-a soft melody from one of her yoga playlists.
As the first one up, John had the house to himself for a blissful half-hour, but soon enough, footsteps thudded down the stairs. His heart-or Heather's-skipped a beat as he wondered about his old body. What if Mom's in there? Trapped, screaming? Or, what if it's empty? The question was answered when "John" shuffled into the kitchen, yawning in his rumpled pajamas, hair tousled just like always. "Morning, Mom," the body said in John's own voice, wrapping arms around "Heather" in a casual hug. The embrace felt surreal-hugging himself, essentially-but there was no hint of anything amiss. "John" pulled back, sniffing the air. "Smells awesome. You making pancakes? Sweet."
"Yeah, sweetie, your favorite," John replied in Heather's warm tone, forcing a smile while his mind raced. He's acting just like me. Saying shit I'd say, moving like I do. Is it, on autopilot? Some kind of echo? Relief washed over him; at least no one was suffering in his place. Amy joined moments later, her ponytail bouncing as she plopped into a chair, phone in hand. "Morning, everyone! Ooh, bacon-thanks, Mom."
Breakfast unfolded in a haze of normalcy that bordered on the absurd. They chatted about the weather-hot and humid, as always in Texas-the latest neighborhood gossip, and Amy's excitement about her summer classes. John, as Heather, navigated it flawlessly: laughing at "John's" dumb joke about a video game boss, passing the syrup with a maternal nod, even scolding Amy gently for scrolling too much at the table. Internally, though, it was a mindfuck. This is me, eating with my family, but I'm Mom. Watching myself chew with my mouth open. Hearing Amy call me 'Mom.' It's like a VR sim gone wrong. A flicker of arousal stirred as he caught sight of Amy's tank top riding up, revealing a sliver of her toned stomach-taboo thoughts he quickly shoved down. Focus, dude. You're her mom now.
As the meal wrapped up, plans emerged. "John" mentioned heading out to mow more lawns-my old job, John thought wryly-while Amy talked about meeting friends downtown. "Hey, Mom," Amy said, stacking plates, "you should hit the mall today. Get that new bathing suit we talked about. Remember, tomorrow's the double date at the beach spa with Jessica and Summer! It's gonna be so fun-sun, sand, massages..."
John's new body reacted instantly: a flush of heat between his legs, nipples tightening under the bra. Double date? With Jessica and Summer? Holy shit. Images flooded his mind-Summer in a bikini, water glistening on her curves, her laughter echoing over waves. This is it. The wish. Getting closer to her, even if it's as Mom. Bizarre, but, hot? He nodded enthusiastically, Heather's voice steady. "That sounds perfect, honey. I could use a little retail therapy."
Amy grinned. "Awesome! Pick something cute. Maybe something a bit, sexier? You're still got it, Mom." She winked, and "John" chuckled, oblivious.
Once they left-the door clicking shut behind them-John was alone, the house silent except for the hum of the fridge. Okay, game on. He grabbed Heather's purse from the hook by the door-a stylish leather satchel stuffed with wallet, keys, and lip gloss-and slung it over his shoulder. Stepping out, he felt a literal spring in his step: lighter on his feet, hips swaying naturally, the thong riding up just enough to remind him of his new anatomy. Feels, empowering? Like I'm strutting.
Heather's car-a reliable SUV-waited in the driveway. Sliding into the driver's seat, he adjusted the mirror, buckling up. The seatbelt nestled between his breasts, the strap pressing against the soft mounds, creating a valley of cleavage. Whoa, that's, distracting. Unable to resist, he glanced around-no nosy neighbors watching-and cupped his boobs through the blouse, squeezing gently. The sensation zinged straight to his core, a moist warmth building. These feel amazing. So sensitive. He admired his reflection: ponytail bouncing, makeup flawless, lips plump. Looking good, 'Heather.' A little crazy? Maybe. But fuck it. Starting the engine, he pulled out, heading to the mall with a mix of nerves and excitement.
The Willow Creek Mall was bustling mid-morning: families milling about, teens in clusters, the air scented with pretzels and perfume. As "Heather," John drew glances-not suspicious, but appreciative. Men stealing looks at his ass in the jeans, women nodding at his outfit. They're checking me out. Because I'm hot. Female hot. It was a power trip, boosting his confidence as he navigated to a trendy store aimed at the 18-25 crowd-think fast fashion with edgy vibes, blasting pop music and lined with racks of crop tops and mini skirts.
Browsing the swimsuit section, he blended in at first, but soon noticed the giggles from a group of college-aged girls nearby. They're laughing at me? The 'old lady' in their store? But he ignored it, fingers trailing over fabrics until he spotted a two-piece white bikini: skimpy top with padding for extra lift, high-cut bottoms that would hug and expose his ass cheeks. This is cute. Revealing, but, why not? Summer might notice. Heart pounding, he grabbed a size that felt right-Heather's instincts again-and headed to the changing rooms.
The attendant, an 18-year-old with neon hair and a judgmental smirk, eyed him up. "Uh, can I help you? These are for, like, our demographic..."
John channeled Heather's charisma-poise he'd never had as himself. He flashed a warm smile, tilting his head flirtatiously. "Oh, honey, age is just a number. But if you insist, maybe you can help me decide if this makes me look too, youthful?" He added a wink and a light laugh, funny yet charming, disarming her completely.
The girl blinked, then grinned. "Okay, fair. Room three's open. Knock yourself out."
Inside the cramped stall, mirror-lined walls reflecting every angle, John stripped slowly. Off came the blouse, jeans pooling at his feet, bra unclasped-breasts freed, nipples perking in the cool air. The thong slipped down, revealing his smooth mound, already glistening slightly from anticipation. Time to see. He stepped into the bikini bottoms, the fabric snug against his slit, riding up to accentuate his ass. The top tied on, padding pushing his B-cups into fuller, perkier cleavage. Damn, I look, fuckable.
Letting his hair down-waves cascading-he posed: hands on hips, seductive smirk, touching himself all over. Fingers traced his collarbone, down to squeeze his enhanced boobs, thumbs circling nipples until they ached. So soft, so responsive. He turned, admiring his ass-cheeks peeking out, firm and inviting. Then, cutesy mode: innocent pout, batting lashes, imagining compliments from Jessica and Summer. "Oh, Heather, you look amazing!" he'd coo in a high pitch, giggling.
But thoughts turned to Summer: her taller frame in a bikini, bigger bust spilling out, water droplets tracing her curves. God, she'd look incredible. Wet, shiny... Arousal hit hard-his pussy throbbing, slickness soaking the bottoms. Can't ignore this anymore. He slipped a hand down, rubbing his clit through the fabric-electric sparks shooting through him. Fuck, that's intense. Boldly, he pushed the bottoms aside, fingers dipping into his wet folds, one then two sliding in. The fullness, the warmth-moans escaped, soft at first, then louder: "Oh, yes..." He pumped gently, thumb on clit, imagining Summer's body against his. The attendant might have heard-the stall walls thin-but he didn't care, stopping just short of climax. Later. Save it.
Composed again, he dressed and checked out. The cashier-a young guy-rang him up, but John scratched an itch near his crotch crudely, like a guy adjusting his balls. Oops. The cashier flushed, thinking, Hot mom, but, that was weird. Kinda unladylike.
Back home, cooking dinner was effortless: Heather's recipes ingrained, whipping up lasagna with garlic bread. When Amy and "John" returned, he roleplayed perfectly-asking about their days, laughing at stories, no suspicions raised. This is trippy. Engaging with myself.
After dinner, alone time with Amy in her room: posters of bands, clothes strewn about. She changed for bed into a provocative outfit-tiny shorts and a crop top, no bra, nipples visible through thin fabric. John stared voyeuristically, heat building. She's hot. Like Mom, but younger. Amy chatted about the spa: private massages, saunas, hot tubs. "And who knows, Mom? We might spot some hot guys. You could use a fling!" She teased, winking.
John laughed, but internally: Guys? Nah. But Summer... Excited, he headed to bed, following Heather's routine: face wash, lotion, nightgown. In the nightstand, a small vibrator-pink, discreet. Mom's got toys? Kinky.
Lying back, he buzzed it to life, pressing against his clit. Oh fuck. Imagining the spa: Jessica in a thong, bust overflowing; Summer nude, legs spread; even Amy, playful and bare. They touched, kissed-taboo fantasies blending. Orgasms crashed over him, waves of pleasure making his body arch, moans muffled into the pillow. Exhausted, he drifted to sleep, dreaming of tomorrow's possibilities.
Chapter 4: Before the Outing
The alarm on Heather's nightstand buzzed softly at 7 AM, pulling John from a deep, dreamless sleep. He stretched languidly under the sheets, his body-Heather's body-responding with a supple arch that made his breasts shift and his hips roll in a way that felt both foreign and intoxicating. The vibrator from last night lay innocently on the pillow beside him, a silent reminder of the explosive orgasm that had rocked him to his core. Holy shit, that was real, he thought, a grin spreading across Heather's full lips as he sat up. I'm still here. Still her. And today, today I get to see Summer up close. In a spa. With bikinis and massages and, God, what if things get steamy? Excitement coursed through him, mingling with a low hum of arousal that made his new pussy tingle faintly.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed, the cool morning air teasing his skin through the thin nightgown. Padding to the en suite bathroom, he caught his reflection in the mirror-hair tousled from sleep, makeup smudged just enough to look sultry rather than sloppy. I look like a woman who's had a wild night. Fitting. Stripping off the nightgown, he stepped into the shower, turning the water to a steamy hot spray that cascaded over his curves like a lover's touch. The sensation was overwhelming: water beading on his breasts, trickling down his flat stomach, pooling between his thighs. He lathered up with Heather's body wash-a luxurious blend of vanilla and jasmine that made his skin slick and silky.
This feels incredible, he marveled internally, hands roaming as he washed. Fingers grazed his nipples, hardening them into peaks that sent jolts straight to his core. Lower, he soaped his pussy gently, the suds mixing with a fresh slickness as thoughts of Summer invaded his mind. Her body wet like this, blonde hair plastered to her big tits, laughing as she splashes Amy, Fuck, I can't wait. But the real star was the shampoo: a fruity, botanical concoction of mango and hibiscus that filled the steam with an exotic, heady aroma. He massaged it into his scalp, the long strands heavy and fragrant under his fingers. Smells like paradise. Like her-Summer always has that tropical vibe. Rinsing off, he lingered under the spray, one hand slipping between his legs to rub his clit in slow circles. A soft moan escaped-Heather's voice, husky with desire. Just a tease. Save the big one for later, maybe with her. He stopped before climax, toweling off with a fluffy robe that hugged his figure, still buzzing with anticipation.
Downstairs in the kitchen, the family routine kicked in. John, as Heather, whipped up a quick breakfast-avocado toast with eggs, fresh fruit on the side-while "John" and Amy trickled in. "Morning, everyone," he said brightly, plating the food. Time to probe. What's my old body been up to? He turned to "John," who was shoveling toast into his mouth just like he always did. "So, sweetie, what have you been up to these last couple days? Any fun plans while we're gone?"
"John" shrugged, mid-bite. "Eh, mostly gaming. Finally beat that level in Elden Ring- you know, the one with the fire giant? Took forever, but I cheesed it with the bleed build."
John's excitement spiked-That's my game! I was stuck on that boss for weeks!-and he leaned in, Heather's eyes lighting up. "Oh, really? The fire giant? Isn't that the one where you have to dodge those massive AOE attacks? And the bleed build-smart, using rivers of blood katana, right? Pairs great with the mimic tear summon."
"John" blinked, surprised but nodding. "Yeah, exactly! Wait, Mom, since when do you know about Elden Ring builds?"
Amy, overhearing from her seat, paused with her coffee mug halfway to her lips. "Whoa, Mom, you're a gamer now? That's, kinda cool, but random."
Panic flickered in John's mind-Shit, too much. Slipped into my own geek mode. But Heather's poise bubbled up, that effortless charisma saving the day. He laughed lightly, waving a hand dismissively. "Oh, honey, I've picked up a thing or two listening to you ramble about it. Plus, I read an article the other day-something about how video games improve reflexes. Keeps me young!" He added a wink, steering the conversation smoothly to Amy's classes, and the moment passed without suspicion. Close call. But damn, it's weird hearing about my own life from the outside.
After breakfast, with "John" heading out for more chores and Amy lingering to help clean up, John retreated upstairs to pack. The closet called to him again, and rummaging through Heather's wardrobe, his eyes landed on a sexy sun dress he'd somehow overlooked before: a vibrant red number with a deep V-neck that plunged daringly between the breasts, thin straps, and a flowy skirt that hit mid-thigh, perfect for showing off legs and a hint of cleavage. This is fire. Shows off everything-boobs, ass, the works. He slipped it on, the fabric whispering against his skin, hugging his curves before flaring out. Twirling in the mirror, he admired how it accentuated his bust, the material thin enough that his nipples poked through if he got chilled. Summer's gonna love this. Wait, no- she's straight, right? But maybe...
Packing was quick: the new white bikini folded neatly into an overnight bag, along with other fun outfits-a sheer cover-up that would tease skin, lacy lingerie just in case things heated up, and casual shorts with a crop top for lounging. Prepared for anything. Massages, saunas, who knows what could happen in private? A thrill shot through him, his pussy clenching at the possibilities.
As they got ready to leave, Amy appeared in the doorway, eyeing the dress with raised eyebrows. "Damn, Mom! That dress is hot. You're gonna turn heads at the spa. Jessica might get jealous-she's usually the MILF queen."
John flushed-Heather's cheeks warming-but played it cool with a playful spin. "Thanks, sweetie. Figured why not? Life's too short for boring clothes." Amy laughed, complimenting his makeup too-the subtle smokey eyes he'd added for extra allure. They headed out together, leaving "John" with a wave and instructions to behave, the SUV purring down the driveway toward the beach spa an hour away.
---
Meanwhile, across the neighborhood at the Summers' residence-a modern ranch-style home with a sprawling backyard pool and Jessica's yoga mats scattered on the deck-preparations were in full swing. Jessica, at 46, moved with the grace of a woman who knew her power, her platinum blonde hair tied in a high ponytail as she packed her bag in the sunlit kitchen. She wore yoga leggings and a sports bra for the drive, her generous D-cup bust straining against the fabric, curves honed from years of downward dogs and warrior poses. Summer, her 20-year-old daughter, was upstairs in her room, a feminine haven of pastel walls, volleyball trophies, and posters of indie bands.
"Summer, honey, you almost ready?" Jessica called up the stairs, zipping her bag with swimsuits, lotions, and a bottle of wine for the evening. "Heather and Amy should be meeting us soon-don't forget your sunscreen!"
"Coming, Mom!" Summer replied, her voice light but laced with a secret excitement. She stood before her mirror, adjusting a casual tank top and shorts over her bikini, her taller frame making everything look model-esque. Blonde waves framed her face, and her E-cup breasts filled out the top perfectly, a natural bounce with each movement. God, I'm buzzing, she thought, inner monologue racing as she packed. A whole day at the spa with Amy, and Heather. Heather. A flush crept up her neck at the thought. Summer had always been the popular girl-cheerful, athletic, surrounded by friends-but deep down, she harbored a secret: a growing attraction to women that she'd never voiced. College had opened her eyes-stolen glances in the dorm showers, butterflies around pretty professors-but back home, it simmered unspoken.
Heather's always been so, elegant. Fit, brunette, that quiet sexiness. And lately, I've caught myself staring. Is it a crush? She bit her lip, imagining Heather in a swimsuit, their bodies close during a massage. Women are just, softer. Curvier. More intoxicating. Amy's hot too, but Heather-mature, experienced. What if I could, explore? The thought made her nipples harden, a warmth pooling between her legs. She shook it off, grabbing her bag. "Okay, Mom, let's go!"
Downstairs, Jessica hugged her daughter, their dialogue easy and affectionate. "You excited? It's been ages since we did a girls' trip like this."
"Totally," Summer said, grinning. "Pool time, massages-perfection. And hanging with Amy and Heather will be fun."
Jessica raised an eyebrow teasingly. "Heather, huh? You've always had a soft spot for her. She's like a second mom."
Summer laughed it off, but internally: If only you knew. "Yeah, something like that."
They loaded the car, chatting about spa details-private saunas, ocean views-and headed out, the drive filled with laughter and playlists.
---
Back to John as Heather: they arrived at the beach spa first, a luxurious resort overlooking the Gulf, with palm trees swaying and the scent of salt air mingling with essential oils. Stepping out, John smoothed the sun dress, the skirt fluttering in the breeze to reveal toned thighs. Here we go. Jessica's SUV pulled up moments later, and as she emerged-looking every bit the cougar in a wrap dress that hugged her bust-John greeted her with la bise, the European cheek kisses they always did. "Jessica, darling, you look fabulous," he purred in Heather's voice, their cheeks brushing, scents mingling.
"You too, Heather- that dress! Sexy as hell," Jessica replied with a laugh.
But then Summer stepped out, and John froze. She was stunning: a floral sundress similar to his but shorter, accentuating her long legs, bigger bust spilling slightly at the neckline, blonde hair glowing in the sun. Fuck, she's a goddess. Taller, thinner, those tits, I could stare forever. His body reacted-pussy dampening, heart racing.
Summer, meanwhile, was equally awestruck. Heather looks, different. Hotter. That makeup, the dress-cleavage for days. Is she flirting with the world today? Her cheeks pinked as they locked eyes. "Hey, Heather," she said softly, moving in for a hug.
The embrace was electric: bodies pressing close, John's breasts mashing against Summer's larger ones, soft and yielding through thin fabrics. He inhaled her scent-vanilla and sunscreen-feeling the warmth of her skin, the subtle curve of her hips. Oh God, this feels amazing. Her boobs against mine, so full, so perfect. A forbidden thrill shot through him, his nipples hardening.
Summer pulled back reluctantly, blushing deeper. That hug, her body feels so good. Soft, warm. I want more. Jessica and Amy were already chatting animatedly about the itinerary, laughing as they grabbed bags. "Come on, ladies-let's check in!" Jessica goaded, leading the way.
John followed, mind spinning with possibilities, the group entering the spa's grand lobby, ready for whatever intimacies the day held.
Chapter 5: Getting Close to Summer
The Azure Waves Beach Spa Resort sprawled along the Gulf Coast like a hidden paradise, its white stucco buildings accented with turquoise trim, palm-fringed pools shimmering under the relentless Texas sun, and the distant crash of waves providing a rhythmic soundtrack to indulgence. The lobby was a haven of luxury: marble floors cooled by ocean breezes, plush seating areas dotted with tropical plants, and the faint scent of eucalyptus from the spa diffusers. As the group checked in, the receptionist-a perky young woman with a name tag reading "Mia"-handed over key cards with a smile. "Welcome, ladies! Your suites are in the Ocean Wing. Pool's open all day, and your massages are booked for 3 PM. Enjoy!"
John, still inhabiting Heather's body, clutched his key card tightly, his manicured fingers trembling slightly with a mix of nerves and exhilaration. The hug with Summer lingered in his mind-the press of her larger breasts against his, the warmth of her breath on his neck, that telltale blush coloring her cheeks as they pulled apart. She blushed. Hard. Was that because of me? Or, Heather? Does she feel something too? He wondered internally, a spark of hope igniting in his chest. This body swap thing is nuts, but if it means getting close to her like this, I'll take it. The group dispersed to their individual suites with plans to reconvene at the main pool in an hour, Amy and Jessica chattering excitedly about cocktails and sunbathing.
John's suite was a slice of opulence: a spacious room with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the beach, a king bed draped in crisp linens, and a private balcony where the sea air whispered promises of relaxation. A mini-bar stocked with chilled wines and fruits sat invitingly by the desk, and the bathroom boasted a rainfall shower and plush robes. Alone at last, he set his bag down and faced the full-length mirror, Heather's reflection staring back-sun dress hugging curves, ponytail slightly tousled from the drive. Time to change. Make it fun. A mischievous grin spread across his lips as he decided to indulge in the moment, turning the simple act of changing into a private spectacle.
He started slow, swaying his hips to an imaginary beat, fingers tracing the thin straps of the dress. Strip tease for one. Why not? This body's made for it. He slipped one strap down, then the other, letting the fabric pool at his waist, exposing Heather's lacy bra that cradled his modest B-cup breasts. Cupping them, he squeezed gently, thumbs circling nipples until they peaked, a soft gasp escaping-Heather's voice, breathy and feminine. Feels so good. Sensitive as hell. The dress fell to the floor in a whisper, leaving him in just the thong panties, the string nestled teasingly between his ass cheeks. He turned, admiring the view: smooth skin, toned legs, the curve of his hips flaring out invitingly. Hooking thumbs into the thong, he bent forward dramatically, sliding it down slowly, ass presented to the mirror as his pussy came into view-already glistening with arousal. Look at that. Wet just from thinking about her. He stepped out of the panties, fully nude now, and struck poses: one hand on hip, the other trailing down his stomach to brush his clit, eliciting a shiver.
Grabbing the white two-piece bikini from his bag, he made the donning equally erotic. First the bottoms: stepping in exaggeratedly, pulling them up so the fabric hugged his mound, the high-cut sides framing his ass like a work of art. He adjusted the front, fingers dipping briefly into his folds for a teasing rub. Mmm, tight fit. Shows off everything. The top came next-tying it behind his back with a flourish, the padding lifting his breasts into fuller, perkier cleavage that spilled slightly at the edges. He bounced on his toes, watching them jiggle. Damn, I look hot. Summer's gonna notice. Hair down in waves, a quick touch-up of lip gloss, and he wrapped a towel around his waist like a sarong, heading out with a sway in his step that felt utterly natural.
The pool area was a tropical oasis: infinity edges blending with the ocean horizon, cabanas with billowing white curtains, and lounge chairs lined up under umbrellas. Waitstaff in crisp uniforms circulated with trays of fruity cocktails. John spotted Jessica first, and his jaw nearly dropped. She lounged by the chairs like a predator in wait-a super sexy MILF cougar ready to pounce. Her one-piece swimsuit was a masterpiece of temptation: black with strategic cutouts along the sides and midriff, plunging neckline showcasing her generous D-cup bust, the fabric clinging to her curves like a second skin. It looked straight off a supermodel runway, accentuating her toned legs and the subtle sway of her hips. Blonde hair cascaded freely, sunglasses perched on her nose, a knowing smile on her lips.
Holy fuck, Jessica, John thought, a droplet of drool nearly escaping as he approached. She's always been hot, but this? Lethal. "Jessica, wow-you look incredible," he said in Heather's warm voice, eyes lingering a beat too long on her cleavage.
She laughed, standing to hug him-bodies pressing close, her bust against his making his nipples harden instantly. "Coming from you? Please, Heather, that bikini is fire. White on your tan? Chef's kiss." She pulled back, handing him a vibrant cocktail-something pink and garnished with pineapple. "Mai Tai. Figured we'd start strong." Then, with a flirtatious grin, she offered her hand. "Shall we? Chairs are this way."
John took it, their fingers intertwining, skin warm and soft. Internally, he freaked: Hand-holding with Jessica? While she looks like that? How do I even talk without staring at her tits? But as they walked, the panic ebbed, replaced by awe as his gaze shifted to the pool. There, frolicking in the water, was Summer-splashing Amy with gleeful abandon, her laughter ringing out like music. She wore a skimpy red bikini that left little to the imagination: top straining against her E-cup breasts, bottoms tied at the sides with bows that begged to be undone. Water glistened on her taller, thinner frame, droplets tracing paths down her toned abs and long legs. Amy, in a sporty blue two-piece that hugged her perky C-cups and athletic build, laughed back, but John's eyes were glued to Summer. Oh my God. She's perfection. Bouncing in the water like that, I could watch forever.
They settled into adjacent lounge chairs, cocktails in hand, the sun warming their skin. John sipped his drink-sweet and potent, rum hitting just right-while freaking out internally about small talk. What do I say? Weather? No, too lame. But Heather's essence surged forward: that natural charisma, the ease of conversation she'd always had. "So, Jess, tell me-how's the yoga studio been? Any new hot instructors catching your eye?" he asked with a teasing lilt, leaning back to mirror her relaxed pose.
Jessica chuckled, sipping her drink. "Oh, you know me-always scouting talent. There's this one guy, mid-20s, abs for days. But honestly, I've been too busy. What about you? Dating scene treating you well since, you know." Her voice softened, referencing Heather's widowhood without dwelling.
The chat flowed effortlessly: gossip about neighborhood drama (Mrs. Wilkins' latest affair scandal), shared laughs over parenting woes (Amy's college antics mirroring Summer's), and deeper tidbits-Jessica confessing her secret love for trashy romance novels, John sharing Heather's fondness for gardening mixed with his own taste in indie films. This is wild. I'm learning stuff about her I'd never know as John. All the while, his eyes darted to Summer in the pool: her lithe body diving under, emerging with hair slicked back, breasts heaving with each breath. So close. I can hear her laugh, see every curve. This is heaven.
Summer, mid-splash with Amy, glanced over occasionally, catching "Heather" watching. She's staring. At me? Curiosity bloomed in her chest, a warm flutter between her legs. Heather's always been gorgeous, but today, that bikini, those eyes on me. Does she feel it too?
Hours melted away in glorious voyeurism-John reveling in Summer's every move, the way water beaded on her skin, her playful shrieks as Amy dunked her. But Amy eventually broke the spell, swimming to the edge. "Hey, ladies! Massage time-let's go! Don't want to be late."
Summer climbed out, water cascading off her body as she approached the chairs. Up close, John drank her in: the red bikini clinging wetly, nipples faintly visible through the fabric, her taller frame towering slightly, ass cheeks peeking from the bottoms. Fuck, she's dripping. Warm and fuzzy? I'm on fire. Summer's eyes roamed Heather's body too-the white bikini enhancing cleavage, the way it hugged her slit subtly. Heather looks, edible. That lift in her boobs, her legs, God, I'm getting wet just looking.
The group toweled off and headed to the massage suite, a serene wing with dim lighting, soft instrumental music, and the scent of lavender oil. Private rooms branched off a central changing area with lockers and robes. John decided to go with the flow-Never had a massage before. Might as well enjoy. In the changing room, privacy screens offered partial cover, but glimpses were inevitable. He stripped slowly: bikini top untied, breasts freed with a bounce; bottoms slid down, exposing his smooth pussy. Sneaking peeks, he caught Jessica's nude form-voluptuous curves, shaved mound, ass like a peach. Amy's athletic body-perky tits, trimmed bush. But Summer, Jesus. Tall and lithe, her E-cups heavy and natural, pink nipples erect from the cool air, pussy with a neat landing strip. She bent to pick up her robe, ass presented, folds peeking invitingly.
Summer stole a glance back, eyes widening at Heather's body: modest but toned, breasts pert, pussy bare and glistening slightly. She's beautiful. Smooth everywhere, I want to touch. Both flushed, slipping into thin massage gowns-paper-thin fabric that hid little.
In the massage room-four tables side by side, therapists waiting with oils-John lay face-down, the gown parting to expose his back. As hands kneaded his muscles, tension melted, and conversation sparked with Summer on the next table. "This feels amazing," he sighed in Heather's voice. "First time for a pro massage?"
Summer turned her head, smiling. "Yeah, me too. Kinda nervous, but, relaxing. How's your summer been, Heather? Amy says you've been busy."
Small talk evolved: college life (Summer's volleyball team drama), favorites (John mixing his indie rock playlists with Heather's classic jazz, movies like his sci-fi faves blended with her rom-coms). "I love those mind-bendy films," he shared. "Like, ones that twist reality."
Depth crept in: dreams, fears. Then, intimacy. "Speaking of twists," Summer ventured shyly, "have you ever, experimented? With, um, relationships?"
John's heart raced-Heather's bi-curiosity surfacing in memories. "Honestly? Yes. I've always been curious about women. Experimented in college-a few flings. It's, liberating." True for her body. And hot to admit.
Summer's eyes lit up, ecstatic. Heather? Into women? Experimented? Oh my God. Internally: This could be my chance. Make a move later?
They delved deeper-Summer confessing, "I'm curious too. About my sexuality. Not sure yet, but, girls intrigue me. Not tell Amy or Mom, okay? Secret."
"I promise," John replied, mind whirling with ideas. She's a closet lesbian? Perfect. Crazy plans brewing-could I, with her? As Heather?
Topics shifted, landing on porn anecdotes for laughs. "Weirdest kink?" Summer teased.
John feigned shyness. "Oh, God, okay, MILF stuff, mom/son or mom/daughter roleplay. And, gender transformation, body swaps. Some TG/trans stuff. Plausible for me, right?" My actual kinks. Living one now.
Summer's intrigue peaked-surprised, aroused. Body swaps? Hot. I could listen to her forever. "Tell me more sometime?"
Massages ended, leading to dinner at the resort's seaside restaurant: candlelit tables, fresh seafood, wine flowing. Gossip flew-day's highlights, spa tales. Amy probed: "So, who caught your eye today? Hot guys around?"
Jessica grinned. "That lifeguard-tall, tanned. Yum." But John and Summer blushed, stammering vague answers, eyes meeting across the table with shared heat.
Back in his suite, John unwound, reflecting. Unbelievable. Staring at Summer all day, sharing secrets. She's into girls-maybe me. Even if not as John, worth it? He pondered his kinks: Living a body swap fantasy. Porn come to life.
Chapter 6: Summer Makes Her Move
The resort's restaurant lingered in Summer's mind like a hazy afterglow as she slipped back into her suite, the door clicking shut behind her with a soft finality. The room was a mirror of Heather's-ocean views framed by gauzy curtains, the bed inviting with its turned-down sheets, and the faint hum of waves crashing outside like a lullaby. But sleep was the last thing on her mind. Dinner had been electric: the way Heather's eyes had met hers across the table, that shared blush when Amy teased about crushes, the wine loosening tongues and inhibitions. Heather, into women? Experimented? And those kinks-body swaps, MILF roleplay. God, it's like she read my fantasies. Summer's skin tingled with the memory, a warmth spreading from her chest downward as she kicked off her sandals and padded to the mirror.
She stood there, illuminated by the soft glow of the bedside lamp, her red bikini swapped earlier for a simple tank top and shorts that clung to her damp skin from the evening humidity. Look at you, she thought, inner monologue swirling with a mix of nerves and desire. Twenty years old, closet lesbian, crushing on your best friend's mom. Pathetic? Or, bold? Her hands moved almost of their own accord, slipping under the hem of her tank top to lift it slowly over her head. Blonde waves tumbled free, framing her face as she tossed the top aside. Her E-cup breasts bounced gently, freed from confinement, nipples already hardening in the cool air-conditioned room. She cupped them, thumbs brushing the sensitive peaks, a soft sigh escaping her lips. So full, so sensitive. Imagine her hands on them-Heather's. Mature, knowing touch.
The shorts came next, shimmying down her long legs to reveal lacy panties that matched her earlier bikini-red and sheer, hinting at the neatly trimmed blonde patch beneath. She turned, admiring her reflection: taller frame lean and athletic from volleyball, ass firm and rounded, thighs toned from endless practices. I'm hot. She noticed me today-ogling at the pool, in the changing room. Those eyes on my body, Arousal built like a tide, her pussy aching with need. She slipped a hand into her panties, fingers finding her clit-swollen and slick already. Circling slowly, she moaned softly, imagining Heather's voice from the massage: I've experimented, curious about women. "Fuck," Summer whispered, her free hand pinching a nipple. What if I went to her room right now? Knocked, told her I can't stop thinking about her. Experimented, with me.
The fantasy spiraled: Heather pulling her inside, lips crashing, hands exploring. She's bi-curious. Shared those secrets. This could happen. Her fingers dipped lower, sliding into her wet folds, pumping gently as her knees weakened. Mentor me, like in those porn vids-the mom teaching the daughter. God, yes. Orgasm hovered close, but she stopped, breathing ragged. No. Not alone. Go to her. Now. Panties off, she grabbed a silk robe from the closet-thin and short, tying it loosely so it gaped at the front, hinting at her nudity beneath. Heart pounding, she slipped out into the dimly lit hallway, bare feet silent on the carpet, making her way to Heather's door. This is crazy. But if she turns me away, at least I tried. She knocked softly, pulse racing.
---
Back in Heather's suite, John paced the room, the nightgown whispering against his skin like a lover's promise. The silk fabric clung to his curves, nipples visible through the thin material, a constant reminder of his borrowed body. Dinner replayed in his mind: the gossip, the laughter, Summer's blush mirroring his own. She shared she's curious. About girls. And I-Heather-admitted to experimenting. Fuck, the ideas in my head, could I seduce her? As Mom? Taboo as hell, but, hot. He ran a hand through his brunette waves, arousal simmering from the day's sights-Summer's body, wet and glistening, her secret glances. Living my kink. Body swap porn come true. If only I could-
A knock shattered the silence. John's heart-or Heather's-leaped into his throat. Who the hell? At this hour? Peeking through the peephole, his breath caught: Summer, in a robe that barely contained her, blonde hair tousled, eyes wide with nervous determination. Oh shit. It's her. What does she want? Internally freaking: Calm down. Play it cool. But, what if this is it? He smoothed the nightgown, took a deep breath, and opened the door. "Summer? Is everything okay?"
She didn't answer with words. Stepping inside, she pushed the door shut behind her, locked it with a click, and surged forward. Her hands cupped Heather's face-John's face-and she kissed him fiercely, lips soft and urgent, tongue seeking entry. John gasped into the kiss, body responding instinctively: arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her close. The robe gaped, her naked breasts pressing against the nightgown, heat radiating through the fabric. Holy fuck, she's kissing me. Naked under there? This is happening. They stumbled backward, Summer guiding him toward the bed, her taller frame dominant yet gentle.
Breaking the kiss, Summer's blue eyes locked onto his, cheeks flushed. "Heather, I can't get you out of my head. All day-the pool, the changing room, the massage. You were staring. Ogling me. And what you said, about being curious, experimenting. It lit something in me."
John's mind reeled, but Heather's charisma surged: "Summer, honey, I noticed you too. Blushing, glancing back. You're beautiful. Irresistible." This is insane. My crush, making the move on me-as her. His pussy throbbed, wet and aching.
Summer's hands roamed, slipping under the nightgown to caress his hips. "I, I've never done this. With a woman. But I want to. With you." She hesitated, biting her lip. "Remember your kinks? The roleplay stuff? I have a favorite porn vid, the mom mentoring her daughter, teaching her about sex. Gentle at first, then, passionate. Will you? Roleplay that for me? Be the mom, show me?"
John's arousal spiked-One of my favorites too. The taboo mentor scene. He nodded, letting go, autopilot kicking in. Heather's sultriness blended with his knowledge, reciting lines perfectly. "Oh, sweetie," he purred in Heather's voice, seductive and maternal, "come here. Mommy's going to teach you everything. Make you feel so good." He pushed Summer gently onto the bed, climbing atop her, nightgown hiking up to reveal his thighs.
Summer moaned, robe falling open completely, exposing her nude body-breasts heaving, pussy glistening. John fondled her with grace: hands tracing her sides, cupping her E-cups softly, thumbs rolling nipples with deliberate, experienced touches. "Like this, baby? Feel how sensitive they are?" Summer arched, gasping. "Yes, Heather-Mommy-more."
But John switched to a male touch-his old instincts-groping harder, massaging her breasts roughly, pinching just enough to elicit a yelp. Summer's eyes widened. "That's, different. Rougher. Like a guy would."
He caught himself, switching back to Heather's graceful strokes, fingers trailing down her stomach. "Sorry, sweetie. Got carried away. Let Mommy show you properly." Lower now, he spread her legs, face inches from her pussy-pink and wet, scent musky and inviting. Diving in like a horny teenager-his true self-tongue lapping eagerly, sloppy and enthusiastic, sucking her clit with fervor. "Taste so good," he mumbled against her folds.
Summer writhed, hands in his hair. "Oh God, that's intense. Like a teen boy eating me out for the first time." She noticed the shift, but moaned louder. "Don't stop-switch back if you want. It's hot."
John obliged, alternating: graceful licks with Heather's precision, then teen-like enthusiasm-fingers plunging in, curling to hit her G-spot. Summer bucked, crying out. They kissed passionately next-tongues dancing, tastes mingling, bodies grinding. "Finger me," Summer begged, guiding his hand.
He did, two fingers sliding into her tightness, pumping rhythmically while his thumb worked her clit. "Like this? Feel Mommy filling you?" Summer reciprocated, hand slipping under the nightgown to find his pussy-wet and eager-fingers dipping in, exploring. "You're so wet, Heather. Taste yourself?" They ate each other out in turns: John on his back, Summer's face buried between his legs, tongue flicking his clit expertly now, drawing moans that echoed Heather's voice. "Yes, right there, baby. Lick Mommy's pussy."
Climax built, leading to scissoring: legs intertwined, pussies grinding. First position-side by side, hips rocking, clits rubbing in slick friction. "Fuck, yes," Summer gasped, breasts bouncing. They switched: Summer on top, dominant, grinding down hard; then John atop, using Heather's hips to maximize contact, juices mixing. Multiple positions-facing each other, backs arched; one on her back, the other straddling backward for deeper pressure. Orgasms crashed simultaneously: bodies shuddering, moans filling the room, waves of pleasure rippling through them.
Exhausted, they collapsed, embracing-Summer's head on Heather's chest, legs tangled, breaths syncing. "That was, incredible," Summer whispered, kissing his neck. "Thank you."
John held her, mind blissed: My dream. Intimate with Summer. Inside and out. They drifted to sleep, bodies entwined.
Morning light filtered in early, Summer stirring first. She slipped from the bed quietly, robe on, glancing back at the sleeping form. Can't get caught. But, wow. More later? She snuck out, door clicking softly.
John woke moments later, alone, sheets tangled and scented with sex. Was that, a dream? Felt so real. But the ache between his legs, the lingering taste on his lips-No. It happened. He rolled over, wondering if it was all a massive lucid fantasy, heart racing with confusion and lingering ecstasy.
Chapter 7: Back to Reality?
John's eyelids fluttered open to the familiar sight of his bedroom ceiling, the posters of video game characters and bands staring back at him like old friends. Sunlight streamed through the half-drawn blinds, casting striped patterns across his rumpled sheets. He groaned, shifting under the covers, immediately aware of the insistent throb between his legs-morning wood, tenting his boxers, and a sticky wetness that suggested a wet dream had spilled over into reality. What the hell was that? he thought, fragments of the night flashing like a fevered montage: Summer's body writhing against his-Heather's-scissoring in ecstasy, moans echoing in a spa suite. It felt so real. Too real. But, a dream? Yeah, must be. The most intense wet dream ever. Disappointment washed over him like a cold shower, his cock twitching one last time at the memory before he willed it down. Gone. All of it-the body swap, the explorations, Summer. Just my horny brain playing tricks.
He swung his legs over the bed, feet hitting the cool hardwood floor of his room-a teenage mess of discarded clothes, gaming controllers, and empty soda cans. The house felt eerily quiet, no clatter from the kitchen or Amy's music blasting from her room. Weird. Usually Mom's up making breakfast. He stripped off his sticky boxers, tossing them into the hamper, and grabbed a fresh pair from his drawer along with jeans and a t-shirt. A quick cleanup in his attached bathroom-splashing water on his face, brushing his teeth-did little to shake the lingering haze. That dream, possessing Mom's body, fucking Summer as her. Taboo as hell. Hot, though. Wish it wasn't just a subconscious jerk-off session.
Dressed now, he headed downstairs, the stairs creaking under his weight. The kitchen was empty, no coffee brewing, no note on the counter. "Mom? Amy?" he called out, voice echoing in the silence. A glance at the clock-9 AM on a Sunday-confirmed they should be home. Where is everyone? Did they go out early? His stomach rumbled, but before he could raid the fridge, a car horn blared outside, sharp and insistent.
Curiosity piqued, John peered through the front window. There, in the driveway, was Heather's SUV, doors open as four women unloaded bags: Heather, Jessica, Amy, and Summer. The spa trip. They must've just gotten back. But something felt off-Heather looked radiant, her brunette hair windswept, wearing that sexy sun dress from the dream, hugging her curves. Jessica, ever the MILF, laughed with Amy as they hauled luggage, her blonde locks catching the light. Summer, oh, Summer. She stood a bit apart, slinging a duffel over her shoulder, but her eyes were locked on Heather, scanning her up and down with an intensity that bordered on hunger. Is she, ogling Mom? Like, checking her out? Nah, can't be. John's mind spun, the dream's echoes making everything feel surreal.
The group spotted him in the window, waving him out. John stepped onto the porch, the warm Texas air hitting him like a wave. Heather was first to approach, arms open wide. "John, sweetie! There you are." She pulled him into a tight hug, her body pressing against his-soft breasts against his chest, the faint scent of jasmine shampoo and something muskier, like sex and sweat. He hugged back awkwardly, hyper-aware of how good she felt, the dream's intimacies flashing unbidden.
Pulling back, Heather's warm brown eyes met his, a playful sparkle in them that wasn't quite, her. "So, what did you get up to while we were gone? Play any good games?" She tilted her head, smiling. "That Elden Ring you mentioned-is it still as interesting as you said? The fire giant boss sounds brutal."
John froze, his brain short-circuiting. What? Mom knows about Elden Ring? The fire giant? I never told her that. He'd rambled about it to friends, sure, but Heather? She barely knew Mario from Minecraft. "Uh, yeah, it's cool. Beat it finally." His voice came out strained, confusion mounting.
Heather winked-actually winked-at him, leaning in closer so her breath tickled his ear. "Good boy. We should chat later about some, RPGs and scenarios we could try out. When we have more privacy." Her hand lingered on his arm, a subtle squeeze that sent a jolt straight to his groin. RPGs? Scenarios? Like roleplay? What the fuck is going on? Is she, flirting? With me? Her son? His mind reeled, the dream's body swap theory suddenly not so dreamlike. No way. Did it actually happen? Was I really in her body? And she, in mine?
He stammered a response-"Sure, Mom, sounds fun?"-but recovered enough to glance at the others. Jessica and Amy were busy with bags, chatting animatedly about the spa's hot tubs. Summer, though, waved from afar, her taller frame stunning in shorts and a crop top that showcased her E-cup bust and toned midriff. "Bye, John! Catch you later?" she called, blowing him a kiss with a wink. Then, when Jessica and Amy turned away, she mouthed "Thank you," her lips forming the words clearly, followed by a scissoring motion with her fingers-index and middle crossing like grinding legs.
John's jaw dropped, heat flooding his face-and his pants. Scissoring? Like, what we did in the dream? Thank you? For what? Confusion crashed over him like a tidal wave. This can't be coincidence. It happened. The swap was real. And Summer, she knows? Or thinks it was Mom? Fuck, I need answers. He waved back weakly, hoping to grill Heather later for insights.
The goodbyes wrapped up quickly-Jessica and Summer heading next door, Amy disappearing inside with her bags. Heather shot John one last knowing smile before following Amy, leaving him on the porch, mind spinning like a glitchy game.
Later that day, the living room hummed with normalcy-or what passed for it. John lounged on the couch, controller in hand but game paused, his thoughts a whirlwind. Amy sprawled nearby, scrolling her phone, while Heather sat in the armchair, flipping through a magazine but stealing glances at him. She's different. More, aware? Flirty? If the swap happened, does she remember? Did she experience my body while I was in hers? The taboo implications made his cock stir uncomfortably-imagining Heather in his teenage form, maybe even jerking off, exploring.
His phone buzzed in his pocket, jolting him. An unknown number, but the message preview showed a link and a heart emoji. He pulled it out, opening the text: "Hey John, it's Summer. Hope you enjoy these pics from the trip ;) Maybe we can meet up later to explore and have some 'fun'? as she was curious about meeting the real John," Attached was a link to a private photo album.
Summer? Texting me? With a winky face? Heart pounding, he clicked the link, the album loading in his browser. First, innocent group shots: the four women in sexy outfits at the spa-Heather in that white bikini, cleavage enhanced; Summer frolicking in the pool, water glistening on her curves; Jessica posing like a model; Amy laughing in her swimsuit. Selfies galore, all playful and hot.
But scrolling deeper, the tone shifted. Sexy solos: Summer in her robe, parted to show a nipple; Heather-Mom-in the nightgown, hand cupping her breast suggestively. Then nudes: Summer sprawled on the bed, legs spread, fingers teasing her pussy; Heather mirroring, her modest breasts bared, fingers dipped into her slit. And the foreplay shots-oh God-the two together: kissing passionately, Summer's larger tits mashed against Heather's; fingers intertwined in each other's pussies; scissoring positions, bodies grinding, faces contorted in pleasure. Explicit, unfiltered-cum-slicked thighs, moaning expressions captured in selfies.
John nearly dropped his phone, his cock instantly hard, straining against his jeans. This is, from last night. The 'dream.' But real. They did this. Summer and, Mom? Or me in Mom's body? And she's sending it to me? The message's words echoed: Curious about the real John. Did she know? Suspect the swap?
Amy glanced over. "You okay, bro? Look like you saw a ghost."
"Yeah, fine," he muttered, shoving the phone into his pants-right over his bulge, the vibration from another buzz making him twitch. Confront Mom? Text Summer back? What the hell is going on? But beneath the confusion, gratitude bloomed. Whoever-whatever-made this happen, thank you. He rejoined the conversation with a dazed smile, intrigued and aroused, the album's secrets burning in his pocket like a promise of more taboo adventures to come.
Epilogue: Revelations and Resolutions
The weeks following the spa trip blurred into a haze of normalcy laced with undercurrents of the extraordinary, like a dream that refused to fully dissipate. Willow Creek simmered under the relentless Texas sun, barbecues and pool parties filling the air with laughter and the scent of grilled burgers, but for John, every glance at Heather or text from Summer carried the weight of unspoken secrets. The photo album burned a hole in his phone's hidden folder-explicit reminders of a night he both cherished and questioned. Was it really me in her body? Or did some cosmic force just, make it happen? And Mom-why does she act like she knows more than she's letting on? He'd caught her staring at him during family dinners, a knowing smirk playing on her lips, her usual modest demeanor laced with a playful edge that mirrored his own geeky humor.
It all came to a head one humid evening, about two weeks after the trip. Amy had gone out with friends for a movie night, leaving the house quiet except for the hum of the AC and the distant chirp of crickets. John found Heather in the living room, lounging on the couch in a simple tank top and shorts that hugged her fit figure, her brunette hair loose and tousled. She was scrolling through her phone, but set it aside when he entered, her warm brown eyes lighting up with that new, intriguing sparkle. "Hey, sweetie. Come sit. We haven't had a real chat since the trip."
John's heart pounded as he sank into the armchair across from her, his mind racing. Now or never. Confront her. Figure out what the hell happened. He cleared his throat, trying to sound casual. "Mom, about that wink the day you got back. And asking about my games. You never cared about that stuff before. What's going on?"
Heather's expression softened, but there was a flush to her cheeks, a mix of guilt and something, excited? She leaned forward, her modest B-cup breasts shifting under the tank top, drawing his eye involuntarily-a taboo flicker he shoved down. "John, honey, I need to confess something. That night before the trip, when you, well, I heard you in your room. Wishing aloud about Summer. It was late, and I was passing by to check on you. I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but, it stirred something in me."
John's face burned, embarrassment mingling with shock. She heard me jerking off? Wishing to get closer to Summer? "Mom, I-"
She held up a hand, her voice steady but laced with vulnerability. "Let me finish. I've always felt responsible for you, especially after your dad. And hearing that wish, it unlocked memories of my own wilder days. College experiments, curiosities I buried. But that night, something shifted. Like a, spark. The next morning, I woke up feeling different. More alive. And during the trip," She trailed off, biting her lip, her eyes darting away as if reliving it. God, what did I do? With Summer-my daughter's best friend. It felt so right, so intense. But was it me? Or something else?
"What about the trip?" John pressed, leaning in, his pulse racing. She thinks she did it. With Summer. But it was me-in her body.
Heather sighed, running a hand through her hair-a gesture so like his own nervous tic that it sent a chill down his spine. "Summer and I, we got close. Intimate. She came to my room that night, and I, I went with it. Roleplayed, explored. It was like I was channeling something younger, hornier. Like parts of you, maybe? Your energy?" She laughed softly, but it was tinged with self-doubt. "I feel responsible. For crossing lines with her. She's Amy's friend, and I'm, well, me. But it happened, and now I can't stop thinking about it. The thrill, the taboo."
John's mind whirled. She wasn't in my body. No swap for her. But she felt it-my influence? My personality bleeding through? Internally, relief and arousal battled: So it was me, fully. But she thinks it was her own will. And now she's, changed? Showing my traits? "Mom, that's, intense. But why the game talk? The winks?"
She smiled, a playful glint in her eye that was unmistakably his own geeky charm. "Since that night, I've felt more, adventurous. Like I've got this new side. Your side? I've even looked up some of those videos you might like. Body swap stuff, gender transformations. Kinky, right?" She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper, laced with a seductive lilt he'd heard in her body. "What if we roleplayed one? Just us. I could be the son, you the mom-or swap it. Explore those scenarios. It'd be our secret. Fun, taboo, intimate."
John's cock stirred at the suggestion, the taboo heat of it overwhelming. Mom wants to roleplay a body swap? With me? Fuck, that's my kink. But she's my step-mom, He swallowed hard, nodding slowly. "I, yeah. Maybe. We can talk about it."
Heather's eyes sparkled, reaching out to squeeze his hand. "Good. I love you, John. And I'm sorry if I overstepped with Summer. But it felt, right." She pulled back, the moment heavy with unspoken possibilities, leaving John dazed as she headed upstairs. She's got my personality now. Wants to play out my fantasies. This summer's just getting weirder-and hotter.
As the days stretched into the final week of summer break, the neighborhood buzzed with back-to-school prep, but John's focus narrowed to Summer. Texts had flown between them-flirty at first, then explicit: shared memories of the album pics, teasing promises of "meeting the real John." She knows something. That 'thank you' and scissor motion-it's like she suspects I was involved. Amy headed back to college early for orientation, and Heather busied herself with work, leaving John with pockets of freedom. The climax came on a sultry Friday evening, a text from Summer lighting up his phone: "Meet me at the old park trailhead. 8 PM. Alone. Got something to show you, and do to you. ;)"
The park was a secluded spot on the edge of town-winding trails through woods, a hidden clearing by a creek where teens snuck off for privacy. John arrived as the sun dipped low, fireflies flickering in the dusk, his nerves electric. Summer waited on a picnic blanket, looking ethereal in a short sundress that hugged her taller frame, her blonde waves glowing in the fading light, E-cup breasts straining the fabric. "John," she purred, standing to hug him-bodies pressing close, her curves against his lean form. "Finally. The real you."
They sat, the air thick with tension, a bottle of wine between them. "Summer, those pics. The trip. What happened with, Mom?" He hesitated, probing.
She smiled mysteriously, sipping wine. "Oh, I know, John. You were responsible. Somehow. That night with Heather-it was you in there, wasn't it? Your energy, your kinks spilling out. The way she switched touches, knew my favorite scenes, it was too perfect. Too you." She leaned in, her hand on his thigh. "Don't ask how I know. A girl's got her secrets. But thank you. It opened my eyes. Made me want the original."
John's breath hitched, arousal surging. She knows. Doesn't care how. Wants me. "Summer, I-"
"Shh." She kissed him, soft at first, then hungry-tongues dancing, her larger body pressing him back onto the blanket. Hands roamed: hers under his shirt, nails raking his chest; his cupping her ass, squeezing the firm cheeks. "I've wanted this since that hug when I got home. But now, after tasting a piece of you, I need the full thing."
She pushed him flat, unzipping his jeans with deft fingers, freeing his hardening cock-thick and veined, already leaking pre-cum. "Look at you. Real boy parts." She licked her lips, blue eyes locked on his as she lowered her head. Her mouth enveloped him-warm, wet, tongue swirling the head, sucking gently at first, then deeper. John groaned, hands in her blonde hair, as she bobbed-taking him halfway, then all, throat relaxing around him. Fuck, her mouth, so skilled. Bigger tits bouncing as she sucks. She hummed, vibrations sending shocks through him, one hand stroking the base while the other fondled his balls.
"Summer, God, yes," he moaned, hips bucking lightly. She popped off briefly, grinning. "Taste different. Saltier. Love it." Back down, faster now-sloppy, saliva dripping, her free hand slipping under her dress to rub her pussy. The sight pushed him close, but she sensed it, pulling off with a wet pop. "Not yet. Want you inside me first."
She straddled him, dress hiked up-no panties, her wet pussy hovering over his cock. "Condom?" he gasped.
"On the pill. Clean. You?" He nodded, and she sank down-tight, hot walls gripping him inch by inch, her E-cups bouncing as she rode. "Fuck, John, feels so good. Different from scissoring, but, perfect." She ground her hips, clit rubbing against his base, moans filling the clearing. John thrust up, hands on her breasts-squeezing, pinching nipples-then flipped her onto her back, pounding deeper. Positions shifted: missionary, her legs over his shoulders for depth; doggy, ass jiggling as he slapped it lightly; cowgirl again, her taller body dominating.
Orgasms built-hers first, pussy clenching around him, crying out as she came. He followed, pulling out to cum on her stomach-hot ropes painting her skin. Breathless, they collapsed, laughing softly. "The real John's even better," she whispered, kissing him. "More this summer? And beyond?"
"Absolutely," he replied, the gender-bending whirlwind of the break culminating in this raw, real connection. As stars emerged overhead, John thanked whatever force had twisted his wish into this taboo, erotic reality-closer to Summer than ever, inside and out.
Chapter 1: Backstory
The sun hung high over the quiet suburban neighborhood of Willow Creek, casting a golden haze over manicured lawns and white picket fences that seemed frozen in time. It was the kind of place where everyone knew everyone's business, but no one ever admitted it-secrets simmered beneath the surface like the humid Texas air in mid-July. John Thompson, an 18-year-old fresh out of high school, wiped the sweat from his brow as he pushed the old lawnmower across Jessica's expansive front yard. The machine's rumble drowned out the distant chirp of cicadas, and the scent of freshly cut grass mixed with the faint floral perfume wafting from the nearby rose bushes Jessica so meticulously tended.
John had been helping out both families for years now-his own and the neighboring one headed by Jessica and her daughter Summer. It started as odd jobs to earn pocket money: mowing lawns, fixing fences, even helping with groceries when Heather, his step-mom, was swamped with her part-time job at the local boutique. Heather had married John's dad when John was just a kid, but after his dad passed away five years ago from a sudden heart attack, it had been just the three of them: Heather, John, and Amy-Heather's biological daughter from her first marriage. Amy was 20 now, home from college for the summer, and she treated John like the annoying little brother he sometimes felt he was.
But Summer, oh, Summer was different. She'd been Amy's best friend since middle school, the kind of girl who turned heads without even trying. John had nursed a crush on her for as long as he could remember-those stolen glances during family barbecues, the way her laughter echoed like music when she and Amy gossiped in the backyard. She was 20 now too, taller than most girls at 5'10", with a lithe, athletic build from years of volleyball, sun-kissed blonde hair that cascaded in waves down her back, and a bust that filled out her tops in a way that made John's heart race. Her mom, Jessica, was the stuff of local legend-the town's ultimate MILF at 46, with platinum blonde locks, a curvy figure boasting a generous D-cup bust, and legs that seemed to go on forever. She owned a small yoga studio downtown, which kept her toned and flexible, and her flirtatious smile had broken more than a few hearts.
John paused the mower to chug from his water bottle, his t-shirt clinging to his lean, teenage frame. He wasn't unattractive-tallish at 5'11", with messy brown hair and a boyish charm-but he felt invisible next to the likes of Summer. "Just finish this up," he muttered to himself, wiping his face with the hem of his shirt. That's when he heard the car pull into the driveway.
The sleek SUV doors opened, and out stepped Summer, looking every bit the college bombshell in cutoff denim shorts that hugged her firm ass and a crop top that revealed a sliver of toned midriff. Her bigger bust-easily an E-cup-strained against the fabric, bouncing slightly as she slung her duffel bag over her shoulder. "John? Is that you?" she called out, her voice bright and melodic, waving enthusiastically.
John's heart skipped a beat. He killed the mower's engine, suddenly hyper-aware of how sweaty and disheveled he looked-grass clippings stuck to his sneakers, beads of perspiration dripping down his neck. "Uh, hey, Summer! Welcome home!" He tried to play it cool, but his voice cracked just a little.
She dropped her bag and bounded over, enveloping him in a tight hug before he could protest. Her body pressed against his-soft, warm, and smelling faintly of vanilla and sunscreen. He could feel the swell of her breasts against his chest, the curve of her hips brushing his, and for a split second, his mind blanked. "It's so good to see you! You've gotten taller or something," she laughed, pulling back but keeping her hands on his arms. Her blue eyes sparkled with genuine warmth.
John's face flushed crimson. "Y-yeah, maybe. Sorry, I'm all sweaty and gross. Wasn't expecting, you know." He gestured vaguely at himself, inwardly cursing his awkwardness. God, she looks incredible, he thought. Even better than I remembered. Those lips, that smile, what I wouldn't give to just...
Summer giggled, tilting her head. "Aw, don't worry about it. You're doing us a huge favor with the lawn. Mom's been raving about how helpful you've been." She glanced back at the house, where Jessica was unloading more bags, her own figure poured into yoga pants and a tank top that accentuated her ample cleavage. Jessica caught John's eye and waved with a wink, her blonde hair catching the light like a halo.
John opened his mouth to reply, but words failed him. Summer's proximity was overwhelming-her scent, her touch, the way her top rode up just enough to show a hint of underboob. He stood there, dumbstruck, his brain short-circuiting as he imagined what it would be like to hold her, to kiss her, to explore every inch of her perfect body. "I, uh, yeah, no problem," he finally stammered, stepping back awkwardly.
Summer smiled sympathetically, picking up her bag. "Well, catch you later? Amy and I are planning a pool day soon- you should join!" With that, she sauntered off, her hips swaying in a way that made John's knees weak.
He watched her go, his mind reeling. How does she do that? Just exist and make everything else fade away? Shaking his head, he restarted the mower, but his thoughts lingered on her-the crush that had only grown stronger over the years.
Later that afternoon, after finishing up and heading home, John bumped into Amy in the kitchen. She was perched on the counter, scrolling through her phone, her brunette hair tied back in a ponytail. Amy took after Heather-modest but attractive, with a fit body from her college track team, perky C-cup breasts, and a girl-next-door vibe. At 20, she was confident and teasing, especially with her little step-brother.
"Hey, loser," she said without looking up, popping a grape into her mouth. "Heard you were over at Jessica's. See Summer yet?"
John grabbed a soda from the fridge, trying to act nonchalant. "Yeah, she just got home. Hugged me and everything." He couldn't help the grin that crept onto his face.
Amy finally glanced at him, smirking. "Ooh, a hug? Careful, John, you might actually talk to a girl for once." She hopped down, nudging him playfully. "Seriously, though, when are you gonna get a girlfriend? You're 18 now-high school's over. You can't just mope around playing video games all summer."
John rolled his eyes, but her words stung a bit. "I'm not moping. Just, busy helping out. And who says I need a girlfriend right now?"
Amy laughed, ruffling his hair. "Come on, make some friends at least. Hit up the beach, the mall-anything. Summer's single, you know. But you'd have to actually, like, speak in full sentences around her."
If only it were that easy, John thought, his mind flashing back to the hug. She's way out of my league. But god, what I wouldn't do to be closer to her... "Yeah, yeah. I'll think about it."
The conversation fizzled as Amy headed upstairs, leaving John to ponder her advice. Dinner that evening was a typical affair-Heather had whipped up a simple pasta dish, her brunette hair pulled back, her modest blouse and jeans hugging her still-fit 45-year-old figure. Heather was classically attractive: soft curves, a B-cup bust that she carried with quiet confidence, and warm brown eyes that always seemed to know more than she let on. She was the glue holding the family together, working her boutique job while keeping the house running smoothly.
They ate at the kitchen table, chatting about mundane things-Amy's college stories, John's lawn-mowing adventures, Heather's latest customer drama. "John, sweetie, thanks for helping Jessica out today," Heather said, smiling across the table. "You're turning into quite the responsible young man."
John shrugged, blushing slightly. "No big deal, Mom." The meal wrapped up normally, with everyone retreating to their own spaces: Amy to her room for a video call with friends, Heather to the living room with a book, and John upstairs to his bedroom.
He locked the door behind him, flopping onto his bed with a sigh. The room was a typical teenage haven-posters of video games and bands on the walls, a cluttered desk with his laptop, and a faint scent of Axe body spray. But tonight, his mind was fixated on Summer. That hug, her body against mine. Fuck, she's perfect. He felt a familiar stir in his pants, his cock twitching at the memory.
Unable to resist, he grabbed his laptop, dimming the lights as he settled against the pillows. A quick incognito search brought up porn sites, and he typed in descriptors that reminded him of her: "tall blonde big tits college girl." Videos popped up-women who vaguely resembled Summer, but none captured her essence. He clicked on one: a busty blonde riding a guy reverse cowgirl, her moans filling his headphones.
John's hand slipped into his boxers, wrapping around his hardening shaft. He stroked slowly at first, imagining it was Summer on top of him, her breasts bouncing, her tight pussy gripping him. God, I wish I could get closer to her, he thought, his pace quickening. Not just know her, but be intimate. Feel her from the outside, sure, but, inside too? Like, understand her completely. The fantasy spiraled-taboo thoughts of body swaps, gender bends from the weird porn he'd stumbled upon before, where guys became girls and explored forbidden desires.
His breath hitched as the orgasm built, more intense than usual. "Fuck, I wish I could be closer to Summer, inside and out," he whispered aloud, his voice hoarse. The video played on, the actress crying out in ecstasy. John's body tensed, cum erupting in hot spurts over his hand and stomach. Waves of pleasure crashed over him, stronger than ever, his vision blurring as a strange dizziness took hold. The world spun, and suddenly-blackness. He collapsed back, unconscious, the laptop still humming softly in the dim room.
Chapter 2: Freaky Morning
The first rays of dawn filtered through the sheer curtains of Heather's bedroom, casting a soft, ethereal glow over the king-sized bed with its crisp white sheets and plush comforter. The room was a sanctuary of feminine elegance-walls painted a calming lavender, a vanity table cluttered with perfumes and jewelry, and a full-length mirror propped against the far wall, reflecting the orderly chaos of a woman's life well-lived. Heather's closet stood slightly ajar, revealing rows of neatly hung blouses, dresses, and jeans, while the faint scent of lavender sachets mingled with the subtle musk of her favorite body lotion. It was a space John had only glimpsed in passing, never truly entered, let alone woken up in.
But this morning, that's exactly where he found himself-or rather, where she found herself. John's consciousness stirred groggily, his mind foggy from what felt like the deepest sleep of his life. His body felt, off. Lighter somehow, yet weighted in unfamiliar places. He blinked against the light, rubbing his eyes with hands that seemed smaller, more delicate. What a weird dream, he thought hazily, the remnants of last night's intense orgasm flickering in his memory like a half-remembered fantasy. That blackout, must've passed out hard. A pressing urge built in his lower abdomen-the need to pee-and without much thought, he swung his legs over the side of the bed.
The nightgown whispered against his skin as he stood, a silky fabric that clung in ways his boxers never did. It was Heather's favorite-a simple lavender slip that reached mid-thigh, with thin straps and a lace-trimmed neckline that dipped just enough to hint at cleavage. John didn't register the difference yet; his brain was still booting up. He padded across the plush carpet, the cool hardwood of the en suite bathroom floor sending a shiver up his spine as he entered. The bathroom was pristine: marble counters, a deep soaking tub, and a rainfall showerhead that Heather loved for its spa-like feel. He lifted the toilet seat out of habit-wait, no, that felt wrong. Instinct took over, and he hiked up the nightgown, sat down on the cool porcelain, and let go.
The stream came easily, a soft trickle that felt strangely relieving but, different. No standing, no aiming-just sitting and releasing. He reached for the toilet paper without thinking, wiping front to back in a motion that came as naturally as breathing. Flush. Stand. Wash hands. It was all autopilot, muscle memory kicking in from a body that wasn't his. Huh, that was, easy, he mused internally, still half-asleep. Usually takes forever to wake up properly.
He shuffled to the vanity sink, the mirror fogged slightly from the humidity of the night. Grabbing Heather's toothbrush-pink-handled, with soft bristles-he squeezed on a dollop of minty toothpaste and began brushing. The rhythm was familiar, but as he raised his arm, it brushed against something soft and yielding. A jolt of sensation shot through him-nipples hardening under the fabric, a subtle weight shifting on his chest. What the...? He paused, toothbrush in mouth, and glanced down. Breasts. Actual breasts, modestly sized but pert, straining slightly against the nightgown. The toothbrush clattered into the sink as awareness crashed over him like a wave.
John's eyes widened in the mirror, staring back at a face that wasn't his. Heather's face: high cheekbones, full lips painted a natural pink from last night's gloss, warm brown eyes framed by long lashes, and a cascade of brunette hair tumbling over shoulders. "Oh my God," he whispered, but the voice that emerged was soft, feminine-Heather's voice, with its gentle Texas lilt. He gasped externally, a sharp intake of breath that echoed in the tiled room. Internally, his mind screamed: What the fuck is happening? This can't be real. Am I still dreaming? Did I die? Panic bubbled up, his new heart pounding in a chest that felt both alien and intimately responsive.
He leaned closer to the mirror, hands-slender, with manicured nails-gripping the counter. Calm down, John. Breathe. Figure this out. How had this happened? Last night, the porn, the wish whispered aloud as he came. I wish I could get closer to Summer, inside and out. Was this some cosmic joke? A body swap? Like those weird stories he'd read online, the gender bender fantasies that always got him off harder than he cared to admit. But this was real-the cool air from the AC vent brushing against his skin, making goosebumps rise, and lower, a chill teasing at exposed folds he shouldn't have. Holy shit, I have a vagina.
Curiosity edged out the panic as he calmed. If this is a dream, might as well explore. He started with the face, poking and prodding gently. Heather's skin was smooth, softer than his ever was-no stubble, just the faint peach fuzz of a woman's complexion. He stuck out his tongue-pink and agile-wagging it experimentally. Then, an UwU face: cheeks puffed, eyes wide and innocent, lips pursed in a cute pout. It looked ridiculous on Heather's mature features, but oddly endearing. A sad face next-eyebrows furrowed, lower lip trembling-as if practicing for a role in a drama. She looks, kinda hot like this, he admitted to himself, a forbidden thought creeping in.
Now, the voice. "Hello?" he tested, the word coming out smooth and melodic. He cleared his throat-her throat-and tried seductive: "Come here, big boy," drawled low and husky, with a sultry emphasis that made his new nipples tingle. Angry and authoritative: "Young man, you're grounded!" barked out, stern and commanding, the kind of tone Heather used when scolding him. Curse words for fun: "Fuck, shit, damn," he whispered, giggling at how prim and proper it sounded in her voice, then louder, "Oh, fuck me," with a moan that surprised him with its authenticity. This is insane. I sound just like her. But better? Sexier?
Satisfied for now, he ventured back into the bedroom, the nightgown swishing around his thighs. The full-body mirror beckoned, a ornate antique piece Heather had inherited from her mother. John stood before it, heart racing anew. He slipped the straps off his shoulders, letting the nightgown pool at his feet. Naked now, he stared. Heather's body-his body-was stunning in a way he'd never appreciated. At 45, she was fit from yoga classes with Jessica, her skin glowing with a natural tan. Modest B-cup breasts hung with a natural heft, nipples a dusky pink and erect from the cool air. He cupped them experimentally, feeling the weight-soft yet firm, like ripe fruit. These are, heavy. But nice. Sensitive too. A gentle squeeze sent a spark straight to his core, a warmth building between his legs.
His hands roamed lower: smooth, hairless skin everywhere except a neatly trimmed patch above his new slit. No coarse body hair, just silkiness. Legs long and dainty, toned calves leading to petite feet. He turned, admiring the curve of his ass-round and perky, not as voluptuous as Jessica's but inviting. Fingernails painted a soft nude, longer than he was used to, scratching lightly over his skin. She's gorgeous. Why didn't I notice before? Taboo, I guess. But now... The thought aroused him-her. A slickness grew between his thighs, a moist heat that made him clench involuntarily. I'm getting wet. Fuck, that's hot. But not now-gotta figure this out.
Shaking it off, he headed to the closet, an instinctive pull guiding him. Muscle memory? Heather's knowledge seeped in-he knew exactly where her lingerie drawer was, tucked in the back. He pulled out a comfortable bra: beige lace, supportive underwire. Slipping it on was effortless-arms through straps, clasp in front with a twist, adjust the cups. Whoa, that was easy. Like I've done it a thousand times. It felt amazing: the lift pushing his breasts up, creating subtle cleavage, the fabric hugging like a second skin. Panties next-a thong, black and silky, something he wouldn't have pegged for Heather's modest style. Does she wear these? Kinky, Mom. He stepped in, pulling it up; the string nestled between his ass cheeks, a constant teasing pressure, while the front panel cupped his mound, the fabric brushing his slit in a way that made him gasp. Feels, exposing. But good. Like it's right there, ready.
Clothes: tight skinny jeans that hugged his hips and ass like a glove, zipping up with a satisfying snugness. A button-up blouse in soft blue, rolling the sleeves for a casual look that accentuated his figure. This outfits screams 'hot mom.' Matches perfectly.
Drawn to the makeup vanity next-a wooden table with a lighted mirror, drawers full of palettes and brushes. He sat, brushing out the long brunette locks-silky and thick, falling to mid-back. Tying it into a loose ponytail was second nature, strands framing his face. Feels lighter now. Smells like her shampoo-floral and fresh.
The makeup array was overwhelming: foundations, blushes, eyeshadows in every shade, lipsticks from nude to bold red. So much stuff. Eyeliners, mascaras, how does she choose? But again, instinct guided him. He applied a light foundation, blending seamlessly; a touch of blush for a rosy glow; eyeliner winged just so, making his eyes pop; mascara for length; and a lipstick a shade pinker than Heather's usual, with a gloss that made his lips look fuller, kissable. Cuter, slightly seductive-eyebrows arched playfully, a hint of shimmer on the lids. Not her everyday look. More, flirty. Like I'm dolling up for something special.
Stepping back, he admired the full effect in the mirror: a vision of mature allure, jeans accentuating curves, blouse hinting at cleavage, makeup enhancing natural beauty. If this is permanent, what now? Excitement mingled with fear, but a thrill coursed through him. Summer. This could be my chance to get close. Really close. With that, he headed downstairs, ready to face whatever bizarre day awaited in his step-mom's body.
Chapter 3: "Heather"'s Day
The aroma of sizzling bacon and fresh coffee wafted through the Thompson household, a cozy two-story home nestled in the heart of Willow Creek. The kitchen was Heather's domain-granite countertops gleaming under pendant lights, a farmhouse sink piled with mixing bowls, and a window overlooking the backyard where John had spent countless summers playing catch with his late dad. But this morning, it was John-or rather, "Heather"-commanding the space with an ease that surprised even him. Dressed in those tight skinny jeans that hugged his new curves like a second skin and the button-up blouse that teased just a hint of cleavage, he moved with a fluid grace, flipping pancakes and scrambling eggs as if he'd done it a thousand times. Which, in a way, he had-Heather's muscle memory was a godsend, guiding his hands through the motions without a second thought.
What the hell is going on? John pondered internally, stirring the eggs with a wooden spoon. Am I stuck like this forever? Is this some kind of freaky punishment for jerking off to Summer? Or, fulfillment of that wish? The confusion gnawed at him, but a strange exhilaration bubbled underneath. No more awkward stares from afar; he could be close now, in ways he never imagined. But first, gotta play the part. Don't freak out the family. He set the table with Heather's favorite floral plates, humming a tune he didn't even know he knew-a soft melody from one of her yoga playlists.
As the first one up, John had the house to himself for a blissful half-hour, but soon enough, footsteps thudded down the stairs. His heart-or Heather's-skipped a beat as he wondered about his old body. What if Mom's in there? Trapped, screaming? Or, what if it's empty? The question was answered when "John" shuffled into the kitchen, yawning in his rumpled pajamas, hair tousled just like always. "Morning, Mom," the body said in John's own voice, wrapping arms around "Heather" in a casual hug. The embrace felt surreal-hugging himself, essentially-but there was no hint of anything amiss. "John" pulled back, sniffing the air. "Smells awesome. You making pancakes? Sweet."
"Yeah, sweetie, your favorite," John replied in Heather's warm tone, forcing a smile while his mind raced. He's acting just like me. Saying shit I'd say, moving like I do. Is it, on autopilot? Some kind of echo? Relief washed over him; at least no one was suffering in his place. Amy joined moments later, her ponytail bouncing as she plopped into a chair, phone in hand. "Morning, everyone! Ooh, bacon-thanks, Mom."
Breakfast unfolded in a haze of normalcy that bordered on the absurd. They chatted about the weather-hot and humid, as always in Texas-the latest neighborhood gossip, and Amy's excitement about her summer classes. John, as Heather, navigated it flawlessly: laughing at "John's" dumb joke about a video game boss, passing the syrup with a maternal nod, even scolding Amy gently for scrolling too much at the table. Internally, though, it was a mindfuck. This is me, eating with my family, but I'm Mom. Watching myself chew with my mouth open. Hearing Amy call me 'Mom.' It's like a VR sim gone wrong. A flicker of arousal stirred as he caught sight of Amy's tank top riding up, revealing a sliver of her toned stomach-taboo thoughts he quickly shoved down. Focus, dude. You're her mom now.
As the meal wrapped up, plans emerged. "John" mentioned heading out to mow more lawns-my old job, John thought wryly-while Amy talked about meeting friends downtown. "Hey, Mom," Amy said, stacking plates, "you should hit the mall today. Get that new bathing suit we talked about. Remember, tomorrow's the double date at the beach spa with Jessica and Summer! It's gonna be so fun-sun, sand, massages..."
John's new body reacted instantly: a flush of heat between his legs, nipples tightening under the bra. Double date? With Jessica and Summer? Holy shit. Images flooded his mind-Summer in a bikini, water glistening on her curves, her laughter echoing over waves. This is it. The wish. Getting closer to her, even if it's as Mom. Bizarre, but, hot? He nodded enthusiastically, Heather's voice steady. "That sounds perfect, honey. I could use a little retail therapy."
Amy grinned. "Awesome! Pick something cute. Maybe something a bit, sexier? You're still got it, Mom." She winked, and "John" chuckled, oblivious.
Once they left-the door clicking shut behind them-John was alone, the house silent except for the hum of the fridge. Okay, game on. He grabbed Heather's purse from the hook by the door-a stylish leather satchel stuffed with wallet, keys, and lip gloss-and slung it over his shoulder. Stepping out, he felt a literal spring in his step: lighter on his feet, hips swaying naturally, the thong riding up just enough to remind him of his new anatomy. Feels, empowering? Like I'm strutting.
Heather's car-a reliable SUV-waited in the driveway. Sliding into the driver's seat, he adjusted the mirror, buckling up. The seatbelt nestled between his breasts, the strap pressing against the soft mounds, creating a valley of cleavage. Whoa, that's, distracting. Unable to resist, he glanced around-no nosy neighbors watching-and cupped his boobs through the blouse, squeezing gently. The sensation zinged straight to his core, a moist warmth building. These feel amazing. So sensitive. He admired his reflection: ponytail bouncing, makeup flawless, lips plump. Looking good, 'Heather.' A little crazy? Maybe. But fuck it. Starting the engine, he pulled out, heading to the mall with a mix of nerves and excitement.
The Willow Creek Mall was bustling mid-morning: families milling about, teens in clusters, the air scented with pretzels and perfume. As "Heather," John drew glances-not suspicious, but appreciative. Men stealing looks at his ass in the jeans, women nodding at his outfit. They're checking me out. Because I'm hot. Female hot. It was a power trip, boosting his confidence as he navigated to a trendy store aimed at the 18-25 crowd-think fast fashion with edgy vibes, blasting pop music and lined with racks of crop tops and mini skirts.
Browsing the swimsuit section, he blended in at first, but soon noticed the giggles from a group of college-aged girls nearby. They're laughing at me? The 'old lady' in their store? But he ignored it, fingers trailing over fabrics until he spotted a two-piece white bikini: skimpy top with padding for extra lift, high-cut bottoms that would hug and expose his ass cheeks. This is cute. Revealing, but, why not? Summer might notice. Heart pounding, he grabbed a size that felt right-Heather's instincts again-and headed to the changing rooms.
The attendant, an 18-year-old with neon hair and a judgmental smirk, eyed him up. "Uh, can I help you? These are for, like, our demographic..."
John channeled Heather's charisma-poise he'd never had as himself. He flashed a warm smile, tilting his head flirtatiously. "Oh, honey, age is just a number. But if you insist, maybe you can help me decide if this makes me look too, youthful?" He added a wink and a light laugh, funny yet charming, disarming her completely.
The girl blinked, then grinned. "Okay, fair. Room three's open. Knock yourself out."
Inside the cramped stall, mirror-lined walls reflecting every angle, John stripped slowly. Off came the blouse, jeans pooling at his feet, bra unclasped-breasts freed, nipples perking in the cool air. The thong slipped down, revealing his smooth mound, already glistening slightly from anticipation. Time to see. He stepped into the bikini bottoms, the fabric snug against his slit, riding up to accentuate his ass. The top tied on, padding pushing his B-cups into fuller, perkier cleavage. Damn, I look, fuckable.
Letting his hair down-waves cascading-he posed: hands on hips, seductive smirk, touching himself all over. Fingers traced his collarbone, down to squeeze his enhanced boobs, thumbs circling nipples until they ached. So soft, so responsive. He turned, admiring his ass-cheeks peeking out, firm and inviting. Then, cutesy mode: innocent pout, batting lashes, imagining compliments from Jessica and Summer. "Oh, Heather, you look amazing!" he'd coo in a high pitch, giggling.
But thoughts turned to Summer: her taller frame in a bikini, bigger bust spilling out, water droplets tracing her curves. God, she'd look incredible. Wet, shiny... Arousal hit hard-his pussy throbbing, slickness soaking the bottoms. Can't ignore this anymore. He slipped a hand down, rubbing his clit through the fabric-electric sparks shooting through him. Fuck, that's intense. Boldly, he pushed the bottoms aside, fingers dipping into his wet folds, one then two sliding in. The fullness, the warmth-moans escaped, soft at first, then louder: "Oh, yes..." He pumped gently, thumb on clit, imagining Summer's body against his. The attendant might have heard-the stall walls thin-but he didn't care, stopping just short of climax. Later. Save it.
Composed again, he dressed and checked out. The cashier-a young guy-rang him up, but John scratched an itch near his crotch crudely, like a guy adjusting his balls. Oops. The cashier flushed, thinking, Hot mom, but, that was weird. Kinda unladylike.
Back home, cooking dinner was effortless: Heather's recipes ingrained, whipping up lasagna with garlic bread. When Amy and "John" returned, he roleplayed perfectly-asking about their days, laughing at stories, no suspicions raised. This is trippy. Engaging with myself.
After dinner, alone time with Amy in her room: posters of bands, clothes strewn about. She changed for bed into a provocative outfit-tiny shorts and a crop top, no bra, nipples visible through thin fabric. John stared voyeuristically, heat building. She's hot. Like Mom, but younger. Amy chatted about the spa: private massages, saunas, hot tubs. "And who knows, Mom? We might spot some hot guys. You could use a fling!" She teased, winking.
John laughed, but internally: Guys? Nah. But Summer... Excited, he headed to bed, following Heather's routine: face wash, lotion, nightgown. In the nightstand, a small vibrator-pink, discreet. Mom's got toys? Kinky.
Lying back, he buzzed it to life, pressing against his clit. Oh fuck. Imagining the spa: Jessica in a thong, bust overflowing; Summer nude, legs spread; even Amy, playful and bare. They touched, kissed-taboo fantasies blending. Orgasms crashed over him, waves of pleasure making his body arch, moans muffled into the pillow. Exhausted, he drifted to sleep, dreaming of tomorrow's possibilities.
Chapter 4: Before the Outing
The alarm on Heather's nightstand buzzed softly at 7 AM, pulling John from a deep, dreamless sleep. He stretched languidly under the sheets, his body-Heather's body-responding with a supple arch that made his breasts shift and his hips roll in a way that felt both foreign and intoxicating. The vibrator from last night lay innocently on the pillow beside him, a silent reminder of the explosive orgasm that had rocked him to his core. Holy shit, that was real, he thought, a grin spreading across Heather's full lips as he sat up. I'm still here. Still her. And today, today I get to see Summer up close. In a spa. With bikinis and massages and, God, what if things get steamy? Excitement coursed through him, mingling with a low hum of arousal that made his new pussy tingle faintly.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed, the cool morning air teasing his skin through the thin nightgown. Padding to the en suite bathroom, he caught his reflection in the mirror-hair tousled from sleep, makeup smudged just enough to look sultry rather than sloppy. I look like a woman who's had a wild night. Fitting. Stripping off the nightgown, he stepped into the shower, turning the water to a steamy hot spray that cascaded over his curves like a lover's touch. The sensation was overwhelming: water beading on his breasts, trickling down his flat stomach, pooling between his thighs. He lathered up with Heather's body wash-a luxurious blend of vanilla and jasmine that made his skin slick and silky.
This feels incredible, he marveled internally, hands roaming as he washed. Fingers grazed his nipples, hardening them into peaks that sent jolts straight to his core. Lower, he soaped his pussy gently, the suds mixing with a fresh slickness as thoughts of Summer invaded his mind. Her body wet like this, blonde hair plastered to her big tits, laughing as she splashes Amy, Fuck, I can't wait. But the real star was the shampoo: a fruity, botanical concoction of mango and hibiscus that filled the steam with an exotic, heady aroma. He massaged it into his scalp, the long strands heavy and fragrant under his fingers. Smells like paradise. Like her-Summer always has that tropical vibe. Rinsing off, he lingered under the spray, one hand slipping between his legs to rub his clit in slow circles. A soft moan escaped-Heather's voice, husky with desire. Just a tease. Save the big one for later, maybe with her. He stopped before climax, toweling off with a fluffy robe that hugged his figure, still buzzing with anticipation.
Downstairs in the kitchen, the family routine kicked in. John, as Heather, whipped up a quick breakfast-avocado toast with eggs, fresh fruit on the side-while "John" and Amy trickled in. "Morning, everyone," he said brightly, plating the food. Time to probe. What's my old body been up to? He turned to "John," who was shoveling toast into his mouth just like he always did. "So, sweetie, what have you been up to these last couple days? Any fun plans while we're gone?"
"John" shrugged, mid-bite. "Eh, mostly gaming. Finally beat that level in Elden Ring- you know, the one with the fire giant? Took forever, but I cheesed it with the bleed build."
John's excitement spiked-That's my game! I was stuck on that boss for weeks!-and he leaned in, Heather's eyes lighting up. "Oh, really? The fire giant? Isn't that the one where you have to dodge those massive AOE attacks? And the bleed build-smart, using rivers of blood katana, right? Pairs great with the mimic tear summon."
"John" blinked, surprised but nodding. "Yeah, exactly! Wait, Mom, since when do you know about Elden Ring builds?"
Amy, overhearing from her seat, paused with her coffee mug halfway to her lips. "Whoa, Mom, you're a gamer now? That's, kinda cool, but random."
Panic flickered in John's mind-Shit, too much. Slipped into my own geek mode. But Heather's poise bubbled up, that effortless charisma saving the day. He laughed lightly, waving a hand dismissively. "Oh, honey, I've picked up a thing or two listening to you ramble about it. Plus, I read an article the other day-something about how video games improve reflexes. Keeps me young!" He added a wink, steering the conversation smoothly to Amy's classes, and the moment passed without suspicion. Close call. But damn, it's weird hearing about my own life from the outside.
After breakfast, with "John" heading out for more chores and Amy lingering to help clean up, John retreated upstairs to pack. The closet called to him again, and rummaging through Heather's wardrobe, his eyes landed on a sexy sun dress he'd somehow overlooked before: a vibrant red number with a deep V-neck that plunged daringly between the breasts, thin straps, and a flowy skirt that hit mid-thigh, perfect for showing off legs and a hint of cleavage. This is fire. Shows off everything-boobs, ass, the works. He slipped it on, the fabric whispering against his skin, hugging his curves before flaring out. Twirling in the mirror, he admired how it accentuated his bust, the material thin enough that his nipples poked through if he got chilled. Summer's gonna love this. Wait, no- she's straight, right? But maybe...
Packing was quick: the new white bikini folded neatly into an overnight bag, along with other fun outfits-a sheer cover-up that would tease skin, lacy lingerie just in case things heated up, and casual shorts with a crop top for lounging. Prepared for anything. Massages, saunas, who knows what could happen in private? A thrill shot through him, his pussy clenching at the possibilities.
As they got ready to leave, Amy appeared in the doorway, eyeing the dress with raised eyebrows. "Damn, Mom! That dress is hot. You're gonna turn heads at the spa. Jessica might get jealous-she's usually the MILF queen."
John flushed-Heather's cheeks warming-but played it cool with a playful spin. "Thanks, sweetie. Figured why not? Life's too short for boring clothes." Amy laughed, complimenting his makeup too-the subtle smokey eyes he'd added for extra allure. They headed out together, leaving "John" with a wave and instructions to behave, the SUV purring down the driveway toward the beach spa an hour away.
---
Meanwhile, across the neighborhood at the Summers' residence-a modern ranch-style home with a sprawling backyard pool and Jessica's yoga mats scattered on the deck-preparations were in full swing. Jessica, at 46, moved with the grace of a woman who knew her power, her platinum blonde hair tied in a high ponytail as she packed her bag in the sunlit kitchen. She wore yoga leggings and a sports bra for the drive, her generous D-cup bust straining against the fabric, curves honed from years of downward dogs and warrior poses. Summer, her 20-year-old daughter, was upstairs in her room, a feminine haven of pastel walls, volleyball trophies, and posters of indie bands.
"Summer, honey, you almost ready?" Jessica called up the stairs, zipping her bag with swimsuits, lotions, and a bottle of wine for the evening. "Heather and Amy should be meeting us soon-don't forget your sunscreen!"
"Coming, Mom!" Summer replied, her voice light but laced with a secret excitement. She stood before her mirror, adjusting a casual tank top and shorts over her bikini, her taller frame making everything look model-esque. Blonde waves framed her face, and her E-cup breasts filled out the top perfectly, a natural bounce with each movement. God, I'm buzzing, she thought, inner monologue racing as she packed. A whole day at the spa with Amy, and Heather. Heather. A flush crept up her neck at the thought. Summer had always been the popular girl-cheerful, athletic, surrounded by friends-but deep down, she harbored a secret: a growing attraction to women that she'd never voiced. College had opened her eyes-stolen glances in the dorm showers, butterflies around pretty professors-but back home, it simmered unspoken.
Heather's always been so, elegant. Fit, brunette, that quiet sexiness. And lately, I've caught myself staring. Is it a crush? She bit her lip, imagining Heather in a swimsuit, their bodies close during a massage. Women are just, softer. Curvier. More intoxicating. Amy's hot too, but Heather-mature, experienced. What if I could, explore? The thought made her nipples harden, a warmth pooling between her legs. She shook it off, grabbing her bag. "Okay, Mom, let's go!"
Downstairs, Jessica hugged her daughter, their dialogue easy and affectionate. "You excited? It's been ages since we did a girls' trip like this."
"Totally," Summer said, grinning. "Pool time, massages-perfection. And hanging with Amy and Heather will be fun."
Jessica raised an eyebrow teasingly. "Heather, huh? You've always had a soft spot for her. She's like a second mom."
Summer laughed it off, but internally: If only you knew. "Yeah, something like that."
They loaded the car, chatting about spa details-private saunas, ocean views-and headed out, the drive filled with laughter and playlists.
---
Back to John as Heather: they arrived at the beach spa first, a luxurious resort overlooking the Gulf, with palm trees swaying and the scent of salt air mingling with essential oils. Stepping out, John smoothed the sun dress, the skirt fluttering in the breeze to reveal toned thighs. Here we go. Jessica's SUV pulled up moments later, and as she emerged-looking every bit the cougar in a wrap dress that hugged her bust-John greeted her with la bise, the European cheek kisses they always did. "Jessica, darling, you look fabulous," he purred in Heather's voice, their cheeks brushing, scents mingling.
"You too, Heather- that dress! Sexy as hell," Jessica replied with a laugh.
But then Summer stepped out, and John froze. She was stunning: a floral sundress similar to his but shorter, accentuating her long legs, bigger bust spilling slightly at the neckline, blonde hair glowing in the sun. Fuck, she's a goddess. Taller, thinner, those tits, I could stare forever. His body reacted-pussy dampening, heart racing.
Summer, meanwhile, was equally awestruck. Heather looks, different. Hotter. That makeup, the dress-cleavage for days. Is she flirting with the world today? Her cheeks pinked as they locked eyes. "Hey, Heather," she said softly, moving in for a hug.
The embrace was electric: bodies pressing close, John's breasts mashing against Summer's larger ones, soft and yielding through thin fabrics. He inhaled her scent-vanilla and sunscreen-feeling the warmth of her skin, the subtle curve of her hips. Oh God, this feels amazing. Her boobs against mine, so full, so perfect. A forbidden thrill shot through him, his nipples hardening.
Summer pulled back reluctantly, blushing deeper. That hug, her body feels so good. Soft, warm. I want more. Jessica and Amy were already chatting animatedly about the itinerary, laughing as they grabbed bags. "Come on, ladies-let's check in!" Jessica goaded, leading the way.
John followed, mind spinning with possibilities, the group entering the spa's grand lobby, ready for whatever intimacies the day held.
Chapter 5: Getting Close to Summer
The Azure Waves Beach Spa Resort sprawled along the Gulf Coast like a hidden paradise, its white stucco buildings accented with turquoise trim, palm-fringed pools shimmering under the relentless Texas sun, and the distant crash of waves providing a rhythmic soundtrack to indulgence. The lobby was a haven of luxury: marble floors cooled by ocean breezes, plush seating areas dotted with tropical plants, and the faint scent of eucalyptus from the spa diffusers. As the group checked in, the receptionist-a perky young woman with a name tag reading "Mia"-handed over key cards with a smile. "Welcome, ladies! Your suites are in the Ocean Wing. Pool's open all day, and your massages are booked for 3 PM. Enjoy!"
John, still inhabiting Heather's body, clutched his key card tightly, his manicured fingers trembling slightly with a mix of nerves and exhilaration. The hug with Summer lingered in his mind-the press of her larger breasts against his, the warmth of her breath on his neck, that telltale blush coloring her cheeks as they pulled apart. She blushed. Hard. Was that because of me? Or, Heather? Does she feel something too? He wondered internally, a spark of hope igniting in his chest. This body swap thing is nuts, but if it means getting close to her like this, I'll take it. The group dispersed to their individual suites with plans to reconvene at the main pool in an hour, Amy and Jessica chattering excitedly about cocktails and sunbathing.
John's suite was a slice of opulence: a spacious room with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the beach, a king bed draped in crisp linens, and a private balcony where the sea air whispered promises of relaxation. A mini-bar stocked with chilled wines and fruits sat invitingly by the desk, and the bathroom boasted a rainfall shower and plush robes. Alone at last, he set his bag down and faced the full-length mirror, Heather's reflection staring back-sun dress hugging curves, ponytail slightly tousled from the drive. Time to change. Make it fun. A mischievous grin spread across his lips as he decided to indulge in the moment, turning the simple act of changing into a private spectacle.
He started slow, swaying his hips to an imaginary beat, fingers tracing the thin straps of the dress. Strip tease for one. Why not? This body's made for it. He slipped one strap down, then the other, letting the fabric pool at his waist, exposing Heather's lacy bra that cradled his modest B-cup breasts. Cupping them, he squeezed gently, thumbs circling nipples until they peaked, a soft gasp escaping-Heather's voice, breathy and feminine. Feels so good. Sensitive as hell. The dress fell to the floor in a whisper, leaving him in just the thong panties, the string nestled teasingly between his ass cheeks. He turned, admiring the view: smooth skin, toned legs, the curve of his hips flaring out invitingly. Hooking thumbs into the thong, he bent forward dramatically, sliding it down slowly, ass presented to the mirror as his pussy came into view-already glistening with arousal. Look at that. Wet just from thinking about her. He stepped out of the panties, fully nude now, and struck poses: one hand on hip, the other trailing down his stomach to brush his clit, eliciting a shiver.
Grabbing the white two-piece bikini from his bag, he made the donning equally erotic. First the bottoms: stepping in exaggeratedly, pulling them up so the fabric hugged his mound, the high-cut sides framing his ass like a work of art. He adjusted the front, fingers dipping briefly into his folds for a teasing rub. Mmm, tight fit. Shows off everything. The top came next-tying it behind his back with a flourish, the padding lifting his breasts into fuller, perkier cleavage that spilled slightly at the edges. He bounced on his toes, watching them jiggle. Damn, I look hot. Summer's gonna notice. Hair down in waves, a quick touch-up of lip gloss, and he wrapped a towel around his waist like a sarong, heading out with a sway in his step that felt utterly natural.
The pool area was a tropical oasis: infinity edges blending with the ocean horizon, cabanas with billowing white curtains, and lounge chairs lined up under umbrellas. Waitstaff in crisp uniforms circulated with trays of fruity cocktails. John spotted Jessica first, and his jaw nearly dropped. She lounged by the chairs like a predator in wait-a super sexy MILF cougar ready to pounce. Her one-piece swimsuit was a masterpiece of temptation: black with strategic cutouts along the sides and midriff, plunging neckline showcasing her generous D-cup bust, the fabric clinging to her curves like a second skin. It looked straight off a supermodel runway, accentuating her toned legs and the subtle sway of her hips. Blonde hair cascaded freely, sunglasses perched on her nose, a knowing smile on her lips.
Holy fuck, Jessica, John thought, a droplet of drool nearly escaping as he approached. She's always been hot, but this? Lethal. "Jessica, wow-you look incredible," he said in Heather's warm voice, eyes lingering a beat too long on her cleavage.
She laughed, standing to hug him-bodies pressing close, her bust against his making his nipples harden instantly. "Coming from you? Please, Heather, that bikini is fire. White on your tan? Chef's kiss." She pulled back, handing him a vibrant cocktail-something pink and garnished with pineapple. "Mai Tai. Figured we'd start strong." Then, with a flirtatious grin, she offered her hand. "Shall we? Chairs are this way."
John took it, their fingers intertwining, skin warm and soft. Internally, he freaked: Hand-holding with Jessica? While she looks like that? How do I even talk without staring at her tits? But as they walked, the panic ebbed, replaced by awe as his gaze shifted to the pool. There, frolicking in the water, was Summer-splashing Amy with gleeful abandon, her laughter ringing out like music. She wore a skimpy red bikini that left little to the imagination: top straining against her E-cup breasts, bottoms tied at the sides with bows that begged to be undone. Water glistened on her taller, thinner frame, droplets tracing paths down her toned abs and long legs. Amy, in a sporty blue two-piece that hugged her perky C-cups and athletic build, laughed back, but John's eyes were glued to Summer. Oh my God. She's perfection. Bouncing in the water like that, I could watch forever.
They settled into adjacent lounge chairs, cocktails in hand, the sun warming their skin. John sipped his drink-sweet and potent, rum hitting just right-while freaking out internally about small talk. What do I say? Weather? No, too lame. But Heather's essence surged forward: that natural charisma, the ease of conversation she'd always had. "So, Jess, tell me-how's the yoga studio been? Any new hot instructors catching your eye?" he asked with a teasing lilt, leaning back to mirror her relaxed pose.
Jessica chuckled, sipping her drink. "Oh, you know me-always scouting talent. There's this one guy, mid-20s, abs for days. But honestly, I've been too busy. What about you? Dating scene treating you well since, you know." Her voice softened, referencing Heather's widowhood without dwelling.
The chat flowed effortlessly: gossip about neighborhood drama (Mrs. Wilkins' latest affair scandal), shared laughs over parenting woes (Amy's college antics mirroring Summer's), and deeper tidbits-Jessica confessing her secret love for trashy romance novels, John sharing Heather's fondness for gardening mixed with his own taste in indie films. This is wild. I'm learning stuff about her I'd never know as John. All the while, his eyes darted to Summer in the pool: her lithe body diving under, emerging with hair slicked back, breasts heaving with each breath. So close. I can hear her laugh, see every curve. This is heaven.
Summer, mid-splash with Amy, glanced over occasionally, catching "Heather" watching. She's staring. At me? Curiosity bloomed in her chest, a warm flutter between her legs. Heather's always been gorgeous, but today, that bikini, those eyes on me. Does she feel it too?
Hours melted away in glorious voyeurism-John reveling in Summer's every move, the way water beaded on her skin, her playful shrieks as Amy dunked her. But Amy eventually broke the spell, swimming to the edge. "Hey, ladies! Massage time-let's go! Don't want to be late."
Summer climbed out, water cascading off her body as she approached the chairs. Up close, John drank her in: the red bikini clinging wetly, nipples faintly visible through the fabric, her taller frame towering slightly, ass cheeks peeking from the bottoms. Fuck, she's dripping. Warm and fuzzy? I'm on fire. Summer's eyes roamed Heather's body too-the white bikini enhancing cleavage, the way it hugged her slit subtly. Heather looks, edible. That lift in her boobs, her legs, God, I'm getting wet just looking.
The group toweled off and headed to the massage suite, a serene wing with dim lighting, soft instrumental music, and the scent of lavender oil. Private rooms branched off a central changing area with lockers and robes. John decided to go with the flow-Never had a massage before. Might as well enjoy. In the changing room, privacy screens offered partial cover, but glimpses were inevitable. He stripped slowly: bikini top untied, breasts freed with a bounce; bottoms slid down, exposing his smooth pussy. Sneaking peeks, he caught Jessica's nude form-voluptuous curves, shaved mound, ass like a peach. Amy's athletic body-perky tits, trimmed bush. But Summer, Jesus. Tall and lithe, her E-cups heavy and natural, pink nipples erect from the cool air, pussy with a neat landing strip. She bent to pick up her robe, ass presented, folds peeking invitingly.
Summer stole a glance back, eyes widening at Heather's body: modest but toned, breasts pert, pussy bare and glistening slightly. She's beautiful. Smooth everywhere, I want to touch. Both flushed, slipping into thin massage gowns-paper-thin fabric that hid little.
In the massage room-four tables side by side, therapists waiting with oils-John lay face-down, the gown parting to expose his back. As hands kneaded his muscles, tension melted, and conversation sparked with Summer on the next table. "This feels amazing," he sighed in Heather's voice. "First time for a pro massage?"
Summer turned her head, smiling. "Yeah, me too. Kinda nervous, but, relaxing. How's your summer been, Heather? Amy says you've been busy."
Small talk evolved: college life (Summer's volleyball team drama), favorites (John mixing his indie rock playlists with Heather's classic jazz, movies like his sci-fi faves blended with her rom-coms). "I love those mind-bendy films," he shared. "Like, ones that twist reality."
Depth crept in: dreams, fears. Then, intimacy. "Speaking of twists," Summer ventured shyly, "have you ever, experimented? With, um, relationships?"
John's heart raced-Heather's bi-curiosity surfacing in memories. "Honestly? Yes. I've always been curious about women. Experimented in college-a few flings. It's, liberating." True for her body. And hot to admit.
Summer's eyes lit up, ecstatic. Heather? Into women? Experimented? Oh my God. Internally: This could be my chance. Make a move later?
They delved deeper-Summer confessing, "I'm curious too. About my sexuality. Not sure yet, but, girls intrigue me. Not tell Amy or Mom, okay? Secret."
"I promise," John replied, mind whirling with ideas. She's a closet lesbian? Perfect. Crazy plans brewing-could I, with her? As Heather?
Topics shifted, landing on porn anecdotes for laughs. "Weirdest kink?" Summer teased.
John feigned shyness. "Oh, God, okay, MILF stuff, mom/son or mom/daughter roleplay. And, gender transformation, body swaps. Some TG/trans stuff. Plausible for me, right?" My actual kinks. Living one now.
Summer's intrigue peaked-surprised, aroused. Body swaps? Hot. I could listen to her forever. "Tell me more sometime?"
Massages ended, leading to dinner at the resort's seaside restaurant: candlelit tables, fresh seafood, wine flowing. Gossip flew-day's highlights, spa tales. Amy probed: "So, who caught your eye today? Hot guys around?"
Jessica grinned. "That lifeguard-tall, tanned. Yum." But John and Summer blushed, stammering vague answers, eyes meeting across the table with shared heat.
Back in his suite, John unwound, reflecting. Unbelievable. Staring at Summer all day, sharing secrets. She's into girls-maybe me. Even if not as John, worth it? He pondered his kinks: Living a body swap fantasy. Porn come to life.
Chapter 6: Summer Makes Her Move
The resort's restaurant lingered in Summer's mind like a hazy afterglow as she slipped back into her suite, the door clicking shut behind her with a soft finality. The room was a mirror of Heather's-ocean views framed by gauzy curtains, the bed inviting with its turned-down sheets, and the faint hum of waves crashing outside like a lullaby. But sleep was the last thing on her mind. Dinner had been electric: the way Heather's eyes had met hers across the table, that shared blush when Amy teased about crushes, the wine loosening tongues and inhibitions. Heather, into women? Experimented? And those kinks-body swaps, MILF roleplay. God, it's like she read my fantasies. Summer's skin tingled with the memory, a warmth spreading from her chest downward as she kicked off her sandals and padded to the mirror.
She stood there, illuminated by the soft glow of the bedside lamp, her red bikini swapped earlier for a simple tank top and shorts that clung to her damp skin from the evening humidity. Look at you, she thought, inner monologue swirling with a mix of nerves and desire. Twenty years old, closet lesbian, crushing on your best friend's mom. Pathetic? Or, bold? Her hands moved almost of their own accord, slipping under the hem of her tank top to lift it slowly over her head. Blonde waves tumbled free, framing her face as she tossed the top aside. Her E-cup breasts bounced gently, freed from confinement, nipples already hardening in the cool air-conditioned room. She cupped them, thumbs brushing the sensitive peaks, a soft sigh escaping her lips. So full, so sensitive. Imagine her hands on them-Heather's. Mature, knowing touch.
The shorts came next, shimmying down her long legs to reveal lacy panties that matched her earlier bikini-red and sheer, hinting at the neatly trimmed blonde patch beneath. She turned, admiring her reflection: taller frame lean and athletic from volleyball, ass firm and rounded, thighs toned from endless practices. I'm hot. She noticed me today-ogling at the pool, in the changing room. Those eyes on my body, Arousal built like a tide, her pussy aching with need. She slipped a hand into her panties, fingers finding her clit-swollen and slick already. Circling slowly, she moaned softly, imagining Heather's voice from the massage: I've experimented, curious about women. "Fuck," Summer whispered, her free hand pinching a nipple. What if I went to her room right now? Knocked, told her I can't stop thinking about her. Experimented, with me.
The fantasy spiraled: Heather pulling her inside, lips crashing, hands exploring. She's bi-curious. Shared those secrets. This could happen. Her fingers dipped lower, sliding into her wet folds, pumping gently as her knees weakened. Mentor me, like in those porn vids-the mom teaching the daughter. God, yes. Orgasm hovered close, but she stopped, breathing ragged. No. Not alone. Go to her. Now. Panties off, she grabbed a silk robe from the closet-thin and short, tying it loosely so it gaped at the front, hinting at her nudity beneath. Heart pounding, she slipped out into the dimly lit hallway, bare feet silent on the carpet, making her way to Heather's door. This is crazy. But if she turns me away, at least I tried. She knocked softly, pulse racing.
---
Back in Heather's suite, John paced the room, the nightgown whispering against his skin like a lover's promise. The silk fabric clung to his curves, nipples visible through the thin material, a constant reminder of his borrowed body. Dinner replayed in his mind: the gossip, the laughter, Summer's blush mirroring his own. She shared she's curious. About girls. And I-Heather-admitted to experimenting. Fuck, the ideas in my head, could I seduce her? As Mom? Taboo as hell, but, hot. He ran a hand through his brunette waves, arousal simmering from the day's sights-Summer's body, wet and glistening, her secret glances. Living my kink. Body swap porn come true. If only I could-
A knock shattered the silence. John's heart-or Heather's-leaped into his throat. Who the hell? At this hour? Peeking through the peephole, his breath caught: Summer, in a robe that barely contained her, blonde hair tousled, eyes wide with nervous determination. Oh shit. It's her. What does she want? Internally freaking: Calm down. Play it cool. But, what if this is it? He smoothed the nightgown, took a deep breath, and opened the door. "Summer? Is everything okay?"
She didn't answer with words. Stepping inside, she pushed the door shut behind her, locked it with a click, and surged forward. Her hands cupped Heather's face-John's face-and she kissed him fiercely, lips soft and urgent, tongue seeking entry. John gasped into the kiss, body responding instinctively: arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her close. The robe gaped, her naked breasts pressing against the nightgown, heat radiating through the fabric. Holy fuck, she's kissing me. Naked under there? This is happening. They stumbled backward, Summer guiding him toward the bed, her taller frame dominant yet gentle.
Breaking the kiss, Summer's blue eyes locked onto his, cheeks flushed. "Heather, I can't get you out of my head. All day-the pool, the changing room, the massage. You were staring. Ogling me. And what you said, about being curious, experimenting. It lit something in me."
John's mind reeled, but Heather's charisma surged: "Summer, honey, I noticed you too. Blushing, glancing back. You're beautiful. Irresistible." This is insane. My crush, making the move on me-as her. His pussy throbbed, wet and aching.
Summer's hands roamed, slipping under the nightgown to caress his hips. "I, I've never done this. With a woman. But I want to. With you." She hesitated, biting her lip. "Remember your kinks? The roleplay stuff? I have a favorite porn vid, the mom mentoring her daughter, teaching her about sex. Gentle at first, then, passionate. Will you? Roleplay that for me? Be the mom, show me?"
John's arousal spiked-One of my favorites too. The taboo mentor scene. He nodded, letting go, autopilot kicking in. Heather's sultriness blended with his knowledge, reciting lines perfectly. "Oh, sweetie," he purred in Heather's voice, seductive and maternal, "come here. Mommy's going to teach you everything. Make you feel so good." He pushed Summer gently onto the bed, climbing atop her, nightgown hiking up to reveal his thighs.
Summer moaned, robe falling open completely, exposing her nude body-breasts heaving, pussy glistening. John fondled her with grace: hands tracing her sides, cupping her E-cups softly, thumbs rolling nipples with deliberate, experienced touches. "Like this, baby? Feel how sensitive they are?" Summer arched, gasping. "Yes, Heather-Mommy-more."
But John switched to a male touch-his old instincts-groping harder, massaging her breasts roughly, pinching just enough to elicit a yelp. Summer's eyes widened. "That's, different. Rougher. Like a guy would."
He caught himself, switching back to Heather's graceful strokes, fingers trailing down her stomach. "Sorry, sweetie. Got carried away. Let Mommy show you properly." Lower now, he spread her legs, face inches from her pussy-pink and wet, scent musky and inviting. Diving in like a horny teenager-his true self-tongue lapping eagerly, sloppy and enthusiastic, sucking her clit with fervor. "Taste so good," he mumbled against her folds.
Summer writhed, hands in his hair. "Oh God, that's intense. Like a teen boy eating me out for the first time." She noticed the shift, but moaned louder. "Don't stop-switch back if you want. It's hot."
John obliged, alternating: graceful licks with Heather's precision, then teen-like enthusiasm-fingers plunging in, curling to hit her G-spot. Summer bucked, crying out. They kissed passionately next-tongues dancing, tastes mingling, bodies grinding. "Finger me," Summer begged, guiding his hand.
He did, two fingers sliding into her tightness, pumping rhythmically while his thumb worked her clit. "Like this? Feel Mommy filling you?" Summer reciprocated, hand slipping under the nightgown to find his pussy-wet and eager-fingers dipping in, exploring. "You're so wet, Heather. Taste yourself?" They ate each other out in turns: John on his back, Summer's face buried between his legs, tongue flicking his clit expertly now, drawing moans that echoed Heather's voice. "Yes, right there, baby. Lick Mommy's pussy."
Climax built, leading to scissoring: legs intertwined, pussies grinding. First position-side by side, hips rocking, clits rubbing in slick friction. "Fuck, yes," Summer gasped, breasts bouncing. They switched: Summer on top, dominant, grinding down hard; then John atop, using Heather's hips to maximize contact, juices mixing. Multiple positions-facing each other, backs arched; one on her back, the other straddling backward for deeper pressure. Orgasms crashed simultaneously: bodies shuddering, moans filling the room, waves of pleasure rippling through them.
Exhausted, they collapsed, embracing-Summer's head on Heather's chest, legs tangled, breaths syncing. "That was, incredible," Summer whispered, kissing his neck. "Thank you."
John held her, mind blissed: My dream. Intimate with Summer. Inside and out. They drifted to sleep, bodies entwined.
Morning light filtered in early, Summer stirring first. She slipped from the bed quietly, robe on, glancing back at the sleeping form. Can't get caught. But, wow. More later? She snuck out, door clicking softly.
John woke moments later, alone, sheets tangled and scented with sex. Was that, a dream? Felt so real. But the ache between his legs, the lingering taste on his lips-No. It happened. He rolled over, wondering if it was all a massive lucid fantasy, heart racing with confusion and lingering ecstasy.
Chapter 7: Back to Reality?
John's eyelids fluttered open to the familiar sight of his bedroom ceiling, the posters of video game characters and bands staring back at him like old friends. Sunlight streamed through the half-drawn blinds, casting striped patterns across his rumpled sheets. He groaned, shifting under the covers, immediately aware of the insistent throb between his legs-morning wood, tenting his boxers, and a sticky wetness that suggested a wet dream had spilled over into reality. What the hell was that? he thought, fragments of the night flashing like a fevered montage: Summer's body writhing against his-Heather's-scissoring in ecstasy, moans echoing in a spa suite. It felt so real. Too real. But, a dream? Yeah, must be. The most intense wet dream ever. Disappointment washed over him like a cold shower, his cock twitching one last time at the memory before he willed it down. Gone. All of it-the body swap, the explorations, Summer. Just my horny brain playing tricks.
He swung his legs over the bed, feet hitting the cool hardwood floor of his room-a teenage mess of discarded clothes, gaming controllers, and empty soda cans. The house felt eerily quiet, no clatter from the kitchen or Amy's music blasting from her room. Weird. Usually Mom's up making breakfast. He stripped off his sticky boxers, tossing them into the hamper, and grabbed a fresh pair from his drawer along with jeans and a t-shirt. A quick cleanup in his attached bathroom-splashing water on his face, brushing his teeth-did little to shake the lingering haze. That dream, possessing Mom's body, fucking Summer as her. Taboo as hell. Hot, though. Wish it wasn't just a subconscious jerk-off session.
Dressed now, he headed downstairs, the stairs creaking under his weight. The kitchen was empty, no coffee brewing, no note on the counter. "Mom? Amy?" he called out, voice echoing in the silence. A glance at the clock-9 AM on a Sunday-confirmed they should be home. Where is everyone? Did they go out early? His stomach rumbled, but before he could raid the fridge, a car horn blared outside, sharp and insistent.
Curiosity piqued, John peered through the front window. There, in the driveway, was Heather's SUV, doors open as four women unloaded bags: Heather, Jessica, Amy, and Summer. The spa trip. They must've just gotten back. But something felt off-Heather looked radiant, her brunette hair windswept, wearing that sexy sun dress from the dream, hugging her curves. Jessica, ever the MILF, laughed with Amy as they hauled luggage, her blonde locks catching the light. Summer, oh, Summer. She stood a bit apart, slinging a duffel over her shoulder, but her eyes were locked on Heather, scanning her up and down with an intensity that bordered on hunger. Is she, ogling Mom? Like, checking her out? Nah, can't be. John's mind spun, the dream's echoes making everything feel surreal.
The group spotted him in the window, waving him out. John stepped onto the porch, the warm Texas air hitting him like a wave. Heather was first to approach, arms open wide. "John, sweetie! There you are." She pulled him into a tight hug, her body pressing against his-soft breasts against his chest, the faint scent of jasmine shampoo and something muskier, like sex and sweat. He hugged back awkwardly, hyper-aware of how good she felt, the dream's intimacies flashing unbidden.
Pulling back, Heather's warm brown eyes met his, a playful sparkle in them that wasn't quite, her. "So, what did you get up to while we were gone? Play any good games?" She tilted her head, smiling. "That Elden Ring you mentioned-is it still as interesting as you said? The fire giant boss sounds brutal."
John froze, his brain short-circuiting. What? Mom knows about Elden Ring? The fire giant? I never told her that. He'd rambled about it to friends, sure, but Heather? She barely knew Mario from Minecraft. "Uh, yeah, it's cool. Beat it finally." His voice came out strained, confusion mounting.
Heather winked-actually winked-at him, leaning in closer so her breath tickled his ear. "Good boy. We should chat later about some, RPGs and scenarios we could try out. When we have more privacy." Her hand lingered on his arm, a subtle squeeze that sent a jolt straight to his groin. RPGs? Scenarios? Like roleplay? What the fuck is going on? Is she, flirting? With me? Her son? His mind reeled, the dream's body swap theory suddenly not so dreamlike. No way. Did it actually happen? Was I really in her body? And she, in mine?
He stammered a response-"Sure, Mom, sounds fun?"-but recovered enough to glance at the others. Jessica and Amy were busy with bags, chatting animatedly about the spa's hot tubs. Summer, though, waved from afar, her taller frame stunning in shorts and a crop top that showcased her E-cup bust and toned midriff. "Bye, John! Catch you later?" she called, blowing him a kiss with a wink. Then, when Jessica and Amy turned away, she mouthed "Thank you," her lips forming the words clearly, followed by a scissoring motion with her fingers-index and middle crossing like grinding legs.
John's jaw dropped, heat flooding his face-and his pants. Scissoring? Like, what we did in the dream? Thank you? For what? Confusion crashed over him like a tidal wave. This can't be coincidence. It happened. The swap was real. And Summer, she knows? Or thinks it was Mom? Fuck, I need answers. He waved back weakly, hoping to grill Heather later for insights.
The goodbyes wrapped up quickly-Jessica and Summer heading next door, Amy disappearing inside with her bags. Heather shot John one last knowing smile before following Amy, leaving him on the porch, mind spinning like a glitchy game.
Later that day, the living room hummed with normalcy-or what passed for it. John lounged on the couch, controller in hand but game paused, his thoughts a whirlwind. Amy sprawled nearby, scrolling her phone, while Heather sat in the armchair, flipping through a magazine but stealing glances at him. She's different. More, aware? Flirty? If the swap happened, does she remember? Did she experience my body while I was in hers? The taboo implications made his cock stir uncomfortably-imagining Heather in his teenage form, maybe even jerking off, exploring.
His phone buzzed in his pocket, jolting him. An unknown number, but the message preview showed a link and a heart emoji. He pulled it out, opening the text: "Hey John, it's Summer. Hope you enjoy these pics from the trip ;) Maybe we can meet up later to explore and have some 'fun'? as she was curious about meeting the real John," Attached was a link to a private photo album.
Summer? Texting me? With a winky face? Heart pounding, he clicked the link, the album loading in his browser. First, innocent group shots: the four women in sexy outfits at the spa-Heather in that white bikini, cleavage enhanced; Summer frolicking in the pool, water glistening on her curves; Jessica posing like a model; Amy laughing in her swimsuit. Selfies galore, all playful and hot.
But scrolling deeper, the tone shifted. Sexy solos: Summer in her robe, parted to show a nipple; Heather-Mom-in the nightgown, hand cupping her breast suggestively. Then nudes: Summer sprawled on the bed, legs spread, fingers teasing her pussy; Heather mirroring, her modest breasts bared, fingers dipped into her slit. And the foreplay shots-oh God-the two together: kissing passionately, Summer's larger tits mashed against Heather's; fingers intertwined in each other's pussies; scissoring positions, bodies grinding, faces contorted in pleasure. Explicit, unfiltered-cum-slicked thighs, moaning expressions captured in selfies.
John nearly dropped his phone, his cock instantly hard, straining against his jeans. This is, from last night. The 'dream.' But real. They did this. Summer and, Mom? Or me in Mom's body? And she's sending it to me? The message's words echoed: Curious about the real John. Did she know? Suspect the swap?
Amy glanced over. "You okay, bro? Look like you saw a ghost."
"Yeah, fine," he muttered, shoving the phone into his pants-right over his bulge, the vibration from another buzz making him twitch. Confront Mom? Text Summer back? What the hell is going on? But beneath the confusion, gratitude bloomed. Whoever-whatever-made this happen, thank you. He rejoined the conversation with a dazed smile, intrigued and aroused, the album's secrets burning in his pocket like a promise of more taboo adventures to come.
Epilogue: Revelations and Resolutions
The weeks following the spa trip blurred into a haze of normalcy laced with undercurrents of the extraordinary, like a dream that refused to fully dissipate. Willow Creek simmered under the relentless Texas sun, barbecues and pool parties filling the air with laughter and the scent of grilled burgers, but for John, every glance at Heather or text from Summer carried the weight of unspoken secrets. The photo album burned a hole in his phone's hidden folder-explicit reminders of a night he both cherished and questioned. Was it really me in her body? Or did some cosmic force just, make it happen? And Mom-why does she act like she knows more than she's letting on? He'd caught her staring at him during family dinners, a knowing smirk playing on her lips, her usual modest demeanor laced with a playful edge that mirrored his own geeky humor.
It all came to a head one humid evening, about two weeks after the trip. Amy had gone out with friends for a movie night, leaving the house quiet except for the hum of the AC and the distant chirp of crickets. John found Heather in the living room, lounging on the couch in a simple tank top and shorts that hugged her fit figure, her brunette hair loose and tousled. She was scrolling through her phone, but set it aside when he entered, her warm brown eyes lighting up with that new, intriguing sparkle. "Hey, sweetie. Come sit. We haven't had a real chat since the trip."
John's heart pounded as he sank into the armchair across from her, his mind racing. Now or never. Confront her. Figure out what the hell happened. He cleared his throat, trying to sound casual. "Mom, about that wink the day you got back. And asking about my games. You never cared about that stuff before. What's going on?"
Heather's expression softened, but there was a flush to her cheeks, a mix of guilt and something, excited? She leaned forward, her modest B-cup breasts shifting under the tank top, drawing his eye involuntarily-a taboo flicker he shoved down. "John, honey, I need to confess something. That night before the trip, when you, well, I heard you in your room. Wishing aloud about Summer. It was late, and I was passing by to check on you. I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but, it stirred something in me."
John's face burned, embarrassment mingling with shock. She heard me jerking off? Wishing to get closer to Summer? "Mom, I-"
She held up a hand, her voice steady but laced with vulnerability. "Let me finish. I've always felt responsible for you, especially after your dad. And hearing that wish, it unlocked memories of my own wilder days. College experiments, curiosities I buried. But that night, something shifted. Like a, spark. The next morning, I woke up feeling different. More alive. And during the trip," She trailed off, biting her lip, her eyes darting away as if reliving it. God, what did I do? With Summer-my daughter's best friend. It felt so right, so intense. But was it me? Or something else?
"What about the trip?" John pressed, leaning in, his pulse racing. She thinks she did it. With Summer. But it was me-in her body.
Heather sighed, running a hand through her hair-a gesture so like his own nervous tic that it sent a chill down his spine. "Summer and I, we got close. Intimate. She came to my room that night, and I, I went with it. Roleplayed, explored. It was like I was channeling something younger, hornier. Like parts of you, maybe? Your energy?" She laughed softly, but it was tinged with self-doubt. "I feel responsible. For crossing lines with her. She's Amy's friend, and I'm, well, me. But it happened, and now I can't stop thinking about it. The thrill, the taboo."
John's mind whirled. She wasn't in my body. No swap for her. But she felt it-my influence? My personality bleeding through? Internally, relief and arousal battled: So it was me, fully. But she thinks it was her own will. And now she's, changed? Showing my traits? "Mom, that's, intense. But why the game talk? The winks?"
She smiled, a playful glint in her eye that was unmistakably his own geeky charm. "Since that night, I've felt more, adventurous. Like I've got this new side. Your side? I've even looked up some of those videos you might like. Body swap stuff, gender transformations. Kinky, right?" She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper, laced with a seductive lilt he'd heard in her body. "What if we roleplayed one? Just us. I could be the son, you the mom-or swap it. Explore those scenarios. It'd be our secret. Fun, taboo, intimate."
John's cock stirred at the suggestion, the taboo heat of it overwhelming. Mom wants to roleplay a body swap? With me? Fuck, that's my kink. But she's my step-mom, He swallowed hard, nodding slowly. "I, yeah. Maybe. We can talk about it."
Heather's eyes sparkled, reaching out to squeeze his hand. "Good. I love you, John. And I'm sorry if I overstepped with Summer. But it felt, right." She pulled back, the moment heavy with unspoken possibilities, leaving John dazed as she headed upstairs. She's got my personality now. Wants to play out my fantasies. This summer's just getting weirder-and hotter.
As the days stretched into the final week of summer break, the neighborhood buzzed with back-to-school prep, but John's focus narrowed to Summer. Texts had flown between them-flirty at first, then explicit: shared memories of the album pics, teasing promises of "meeting the real John." She knows something. That 'thank you' and scissor motion-it's like she suspects I was involved. Amy headed back to college early for orientation, and Heather busied herself with work, leaving John with pockets of freedom. The climax came on a sultry Friday evening, a text from Summer lighting up his phone: "Meet me at the old park trailhead. 8 PM. Alone. Got something to show you, and do to you. ;)"
The park was a secluded spot on the edge of town-winding trails through woods, a hidden clearing by a creek where teens snuck off for privacy. John arrived as the sun dipped low, fireflies flickering in the dusk, his nerves electric. Summer waited on a picnic blanket, looking ethereal in a short sundress that hugged her taller frame, her blonde waves glowing in the fading light, E-cup breasts straining the fabric. "John," she purred, standing to hug him-bodies pressing close, her curves against his lean form. "Finally. The real you."
They sat, the air thick with tension, a bottle of wine between them. "Summer, those pics. The trip. What happened with, Mom?" He hesitated, probing.
She smiled mysteriously, sipping wine. "Oh, I know, John. You were responsible. Somehow. That night with Heather-it was you in there, wasn't it? Your energy, your kinks spilling out. The way she switched touches, knew my favorite scenes, it was too perfect. Too you." She leaned in, her hand on his thigh. "Don't ask how I know. A girl's got her secrets. But thank you. It opened my eyes. Made me want the original."
John's breath hitched, arousal surging. She knows. Doesn't care how. Wants me. "Summer, I-"
"Shh." She kissed him, soft at first, then hungry-tongues dancing, her larger body pressing him back onto the blanket. Hands roamed: hers under his shirt, nails raking his chest; his cupping her ass, squeezing the firm cheeks. "I've wanted this since that hug when I got home. But now, after tasting a piece of you, I need the full thing."
She pushed him flat, unzipping his jeans with deft fingers, freeing his hardening cock-thick and veined, already leaking pre-cum. "Look at you. Real boy parts." She licked her lips, blue eyes locked on his as she lowered her head. Her mouth enveloped him-warm, wet, tongue swirling the head, sucking gently at first, then deeper. John groaned, hands in her blonde hair, as she bobbed-taking him halfway, then all, throat relaxing around him. Fuck, her mouth, so skilled. Bigger tits bouncing as she sucks. She hummed, vibrations sending shocks through him, one hand stroking the base while the other fondled his balls.
"Summer, God, yes," he moaned, hips bucking lightly. She popped off briefly, grinning. "Taste different. Saltier. Love it." Back down, faster now-sloppy, saliva dripping, her free hand slipping under her dress to rub her pussy. The sight pushed him close, but she sensed it, pulling off with a wet pop. "Not yet. Want you inside me first."
She straddled him, dress hiked up-no panties, her wet pussy hovering over his cock. "Condom?" he gasped.
"On the pill. Clean. You?" He nodded, and she sank down-tight, hot walls gripping him inch by inch, her E-cups bouncing as she rode. "Fuck, John, feels so good. Different from scissoring, but, perfect." She ground her hips, clit rubbing against his base, moans filling the clearing. John thrust up, hands on her breasts-squeezing, pinching nipples-then flipped her onto her back, pounding deeper. Positions shifted: missionary, her legs over his shoulders for depth; doggy, ass jiggling as he slapped it lightly; cowgirl again, her taller body dominating.
Orgasms built-hers first, pussy clenching around him, crying out as she came. He followed, pulling out to cum on her stomach-hot ropes painting her skin. Breathless, they collapsed, laughing softly. "The real John's even better," she whispered, kissing him. "More this summer? And beyond?"
"Absolutely," he replied, the gender-bending whirlwind of the break culminating in this raw, real connection. As stars emerged overhead, John thanked whatever force had twisted his wish into this taboo, erotic reality-closer to Summer than ever, inside and out.
1
13.5K
562
0
0
A curse. Two souls. One fatal touch. Shortly before his wedding, Ethan learns of the legend of a cursed brooch – and becomes its next victim. He swaps bodies with Margarete, his wife's mother's friend, and realises that the gift of slipping into other people's skin is not a coincidence, but a test. The ceremony is only the beginning of an adventure that will lead Ethan through the lives and secrets of strangers. His goal: to regain his own identity before he loses himself in the lives of others.
I woke up to the smell of lavender and old books, which was the first wrong thing.
My alarm should have been the sharp ping of my phonesome upbeat synth track I’d set to “motivational asshole mode.” Instead there was silence, thick hotel-room silence, broken only by the faint ticking of a wall clock I didn’t remember owning. My body felt… heavy. Not gym-sore heavy. Not even post-night-out heavy. It felt like someone had poured concrete into my joints and then politely asked them to creak.
I opened my eyes.
The ceiling was wrong. Too high, too ornate, crown molding that belonged in a period drama. The bed was wrong toosoft in that way old mattresses are soft, like they’ve given up fighting gravity decades ago. I tried to sit up and my back immediately lodged a formal complaint. A dull ache bloomed behind my knees. My handswhen I lifted them to rub my facewere not mine.
They were smaller. Knotted at the knuckles. Liver spots scattered like spilled coffee across the backs. Thin gold wedding band on the left ring finger, worn smooth from years. Nails short, unpainted, practical.
I stared at them for what felt like ten full seconds.
Then I screamed.
It came out wrong. Higher, raspier, an older woman’s startled yelp instead of my usual baritone bark. I clapped a hand over my mouthmy new, unfamiliar mouthand tasted lipstick. Not gloss. Actual matte lipstick, the kind that feels like wax and smells faintly of roses.
I scrambled out of bed (or tried to; the knees locked halfway and I nearly face-planted into a floral rug). There was a full-length mirror on the wardrobe door. I didn’t want to look. I looked anyway.
Margaret stared back at me.
Not some random old lady. Margaret. The Margaret. Sophie’s family friend, the retired principal who once told mein front of twenty people at the engagement partythat “youth is wasted on the young and charm is wasted on the cocky.” Gray hair pulled into a neat chignon. Wire-rimmed glasses hanging from a chain around myherneck. A silk dressing gown the color of weak tea. And behind the glasses, my own wide, panicked eyes.
I whispered, “No. No no no no.”
The voice was hers. Dry, precise, faintly British even though she was born in Ohio. I hated how authoritative it sounded even when I was the one panicking.
Phone. I needed my phone.
I lurched across the roomevery step a negotiation with joints that had apparently unionized against meand found a small clutch purse on the dresser. Inside: reading glasses, tissues, a tin of mints, a hotel keycard, andthank Godmy phone. Except it wasn’t my phone. It was hers. An iPhone 8, cracked screen protector, wallpaper of a black-and-white photo of two kids who were probably her grandchildren.
I tried Face ID anyway. It didn’t work. Obviously.
Passcode. I typed my birthday.
Nothing.
Her birthday? I had no idea.
I typed 01011958 on a guess (she’d once said she was “born the year they launched Sputnik, which explains my lifelong suspicion of bright ideas”). The phone unlocked.
First thing I did: opened the camera and switched to selfie mode.
Yeah. Still Margaret.
Second thing: checked the time. 7:42 a.m. Wedding was at 4:00 p.m. Rehearsal brunch at 10:00. Sophie was probably already in the bridal suite getting her hair done, surrounded by bridesmaids and mimosas and that calming playlist she loved.
I could text her. I could call her. I could say, “Babe, something insane happened, I’m in Margaret’s body, please don’t freak out.”
And then what?
She’d think I was drunk. Or high. Or having a psychotic break forty-eight hours before our wedding. She’d call my brother. She’d call her mom. Within twenty minutes the entire wedding party would know the groom was claiming to be trapped in a sixty-seven-year-old woman’s body. The photos would leak. TwitterXwould have a field day. “Tech bro groom swaps souls with grandma, more at 11.”
No. No way.
I wasn’t telling anyone. Not Sophie. Not James. Not even Clara, who’d probably believe me and then try to livestream it.
I had to fix this quietly. Find the broochMargaret’s stupid cursed brooch that I’d laughed at last night when she’d pinned it to her lapel and muttered something about “family nonsense.” I’d touched it. I remembered touching it when I helped her with her coat. That had to be it.
I rummaged through the purse again. No brooch. Checked the nightstand, the dresser drawers, under the bed like an idiot. Nothing.
The ceremony was in eight hours. I had to get through the morning looking like Margaret, sounding like Margaret, acting like Margaret, while Margaretsomewhere in my bodywas probably waking up in the groom’s suite wondering why she suddenly had abs and could see without glasses.
I caught my reflection again. Margaret’s stern mouth was currently twisted into something like horror.
“Okay,” I said aloud in her voice. “You built a thirty-million-dollar valuation from a dorm room. You can handle one wedding in heels.”
I opened the wardrobe.
Dresses. Cardigans. Low block heels that looked like they’d been designed by someone who hated fun.
I picked the least offensive outfita navy dress with sensible sleevesand started the longest morning of my life.
First problem: pantyhose.
Second problem: I had no idea how to walk in any of these shoes without looking like a newborn giraffe.
Third problem: in about two hours I had to sit at a table with Sophie’s entire family, smile politely, and pretend I was a retired school principal who approved of their daughter marrying me.
I took a deep breath that hurt my ribs in a brand-new way.
Then I squared Margaret’s narrow shoulders, put on her glasses, and opened the hotel-room door.
Showtime.
I stepped into the hallway, Margaret's sensible flats squeaking faintly on the carpet like they were judging me with every step. The hotel was buzzing alreadymaids pushing carts, distant laughter from the lobby, the faint clink of breakfast trays. My heartor rather, her heartwas pounding in a way that felt foreign, slower but insistent, like an old engine revving up after years in storage.
First stop: the groom's suite. My suite. Where Margaret was probably freaking out in my body right now. I needed to confront her, figure out how to reverse this, and swear her to secrecy. But walking down that hall felt like a marathon. These knees weren't built for speed; every stride sent a twinge up my thighs, and I had to fight the urge to hunch forward like she always did.
A door opened ahead, and out stepped one of the groomsmenwait, no, it was the hotel concierge, a young guy in a crisp uniform. He smiled politely. "Good morning, ma'am. Can I help you with anything?"
Ma'am. God, that stung. I forced Margaret's lips into what I hoped was her signature no-nonsense smile. "No, thank you. Just heading tofamily matters."
He nodded and moved on, but not before his eyes flicked downsubtly, professionallyto my chest. Or her chest. I felt a flush creep up my neck. These breasts were substantial, heavy in a way I'd never experienced, shifting slightly under the dress with each step. It was distracting, almost sensual, the fabric brushing against skin that felt hypersensitive. I shook it off. Focus, Ethan.
By the time I reached my suite door, I was sweating. Knocked twice, sharp and principal-like. No answer. I tried the handlelocked. Shit. My keycard was probably in my real pants pocket, wherever that body was now.
"Open up," I hissed in her voice, glancing around to make sure no one was watching. "It's me. Ethan."
The door cracked open after a beat, and there I wasmy own face staring back at me, wide-eyed and pale. Except it wasn't me. It was Margaret in my skin, her expression a mix of terror and something else. Exhilaration? She yanked me inside and slammed the door.
"What in God's name" she started in my voice, deep and resonant, but with her clipped cadence. It was weird hearing my baritone sound so proper.
"Shh!" I cut her off, pushing past into the room. My room looked the same: tux hanging on the closet door, my phone charging on the nightstand, a half-empty protein shake from last night. But seeing it from this height, this angle, made everything feel off-kilter.
Margaretin my bodypaced, running my hands through my hair in a way that'd mess up the style I'd planned. "This is the brooch. I told you it was cursed! My great-aunt swore it swapped her with a cousin on her wedding day in '32. We need to find it and"
"I know," I snapped, her voice cracking a bit. "I touched it last night. But we can't tell anyone. Not Sophie, not anyone. We'll fix this before the ceremony."
She stopped pacing, turning to face me. My own eyes raked over her bodymy body now occupied by her. It was surreal, like looking in a funhouse mirror. And then something shifted. She adjusted my stance, squaring my shoulders, and I noticed how my athletic build filled out the robe she must've thrown on. Broad chest, the faint outline of abs under the fabric. I'd always been proud of that body, but seeing it from the outside, controlled by someone else it stirred something unexpected. A heat low in my bellyher bellythat I wasn't prepared for.
"Why are you staring?" she demanded, but there was a flush on my cheeks now. Her in there.
"I nothing." I averted my eyes, but they landed on the mirror across the room. There we were: an older woman and a young man, standing too close in a hotel room. The contrast was electric. Her mind in my prime physique, my energy trapped in her seasoned form. I felt a forbidden curiosity bubble up. What did this body feel like, really? Not just the achesthe pleasures?
She seemed to sense it too. Stepped closer, towering over me now in a way that made my pulse quicken. "Ethan, this is serious. But good Lord, your body. It's like being plugged into a live wire. Everything's so responsive." Her voicemy voicedropped lower, and I saw her glance down at herself, adjusting the robe where it tented slightly. Was that arousal? In my body?
I swallowed hard, Margaret's throat dry. "Yeah, well, yours isn't exactly a slouch. It's sensitive. In ways I didn't expect." My hand, almost without thinking, brushed against the side of her hipmy hip now. The skin there was softer, warmer than I'd imagined. A shiver ran through me, electric, pooling between my legs in a unfamiliar, building ache. Women's bodies, I realized with a jolt, didn't ramp up the same way it was slower, deeper, like a wave gathering.
She inhaled sharply at the touch, my eyes darkening. "We shouldn't This is madness." But she didn't pull away. Instead, her handmy strong, callused hand from rock climbingreached out and cupped my cheek, thumb tracing Margaret's jawline. The contact was intimate, charged. I leaned into it, feeling the roughness against smooth skin, and suddenly we were kissing.
It was clumsy at firstme in her body, her in mine, lips meeting in a rush of confusion and heat. My mouth was softer, more yielding; hers firmer, insistent. I tasted my own aftershave on her tongue, mixed with her surprise. Hands roamed: mine exploring the hard planes of my chest under the robe, hers sliding down to grip Margaret's waist, pulling me closer. The friction of fabric against skin sent sparks through me, her nipplesmy nipples nowtightening under the dress.
We broke apart, breathing hard. "This is wrong," I gasped in her voice, but my body betrayed me, thighs pressing together instinctively, seeking more pressure.
"Utterly," she agreed in mine, but her grin was wicked, eyes gleaming with that secret delight she'd mentioned. "But educational. Your stamina, Ethanit's intoxicating." She flexed my arms, and I felt a rush watching the muscles shift.
We didn't go furthernot then. Time was ticking, and the brunch loomed. But the air hummed with possibility, a secret shared in swapped flesh. I straightened her dressmy dressand she helped me fix the chignon, fingers lingering a second too long on my neck.
"Find the brooch," I said firmly, stepping back. "It's probably in your things. I'll play you at brunch; you play me. Act normal."
She nodded, but as I turned to leave, her voicemy voicecalled softly, "Ethan? This body of yours it wants things. Be careful."
I shivered again, that erotic undercurrent lingering as I slipped back into the hall. The wedding was hours away, and now, on top of everything, I had to navigate Margaret's form through a sea of family and friends, all while ignoring the newfound desires humming under her skin.
I slipped out of the groom’s suite with my pulse still hammering in Margaret’s narrower chest, the memory of that kiss burning behind my eyes like a live wire. Her lipsmy lips nowstill tingled from the press of my own mouth, from the rough scrape of stubble that wasn’t there anymore. I could taste the faint salt of my skin on her tongue, could still feel the hard ridge of my erection pressing against her thigh through the robe when we’d broken apart.
Focus, Ethan. Brunch. Family. Act like a retired principal who thinks you’re marrying beneath her.
The elevator ride down was torture. Every sway of the car made Margaret’s breasts shift under the navy dress, the silk lining sliding against nipples that had hardened and stayed that way since the kiss. I crossed my arms under them instinctivelysupport, modesty, whateverand immediately regretted it. The pressure only sharpened the ache, sent a slow, liquid heat curling low in her belly. I’d spent years chasing that kind of build-up in my own body: quick, focused, explosive. This was different. Deeper. Patient. Insistent. Like her body knew exactly how long it could draw the tension out before it snapped.
When the doors opened on the second floor, the private dining room was already alive with chatter and clinking silverware. Sophie’s family, my groomsmen, a few cousins milling around the buffet. And therestanding near the mimosa station in my charcoal suit, looking unfairly goodwas me. Margaret-in-my-body, hair still mussed from my fingers, tie slightly crooked in a way I never allowed. She caught my eye across the room and gave the tiniest nod, the corner of my mouth quirking in that knowing half-smile I usually saved for closing deals.
I forced Margaret’s posture straight, smoothed the dress over hips that felt too wide and too soft, and walked in.
“Margaret, darling!” EleanorSophie’s motherswooped in first, air-kissing both cheeks. “You look positively radiant this morning. Did you do something different with your makeup?”
I blinked behind the wire-rimmed glasses. “Just… slept well,” I managed in her crisp tone. “The hotel pillows are divine.”
Eleanor laughed and linked her arm through mine, steering me toward the table. Every step rubbed the lace of Margaret’s underwear against sensitive skin I’d never paid attention to before. The seam pressed right where the heat was gathering, a constant, maddening friction. I bit the inside of her cheek to keep from gasping.
Sophie was already seated, radiant in a soft white sundress, hair half-up in loose waves. When she saw “Margaret,” her face lit up.
“Aunt Margaret!” She stood and hugged mecarefully, the way you hug someone fragile. Her perfume wrapped around me, familiar and devastating. “I’m so glad you’re here early. Ethan’s been weirdly quiet this morning. Nerves, I think.”
I hugged her back, Margaret’s arms thinner than I was used to, but the embrace felt achingly real. Sophie’s breasts pressed softly against mine through the thin fabric; I could feel the warmth of her skin, the slight catch of her breath. My bodyher bodyreacted instantly: a fresh rush of wetness between my thighs, thighs that clenched without permission. I pulled back too quickly.
“He’ll be fine,” I said, patting her arm with what I hoped was maternal reassurance. “Men get peculiar before weddings. It passes.”
Sophie laughed, but her eyes searched my faceMargaret’s facea second longer than usual. “You sound so sure.”
Because I am sure, I wanted to say. Because I’m the one who’s going to marry you in eight hours and I’m currently fighting the urge to drag you into the nearest coat closet just to feel your hands on this body that suddenly wants everything.
Instead I smiled Margaret’s tight, polite smile and let Eleanor guide me to a chair.
Across the table, Margaret-in-my-body was watching. Our eyes locked again. She lifted my mimosa glass in a tiny toast, lips curving. Thendeliberatelyshe ran my tongue along the rim of the flute, slow and suggestive, before taking a sip. My stomach flipped. Her in my skin, playing with sensations I knew too well: the cold fizz on the tongue, the subtle stretch of jaw muscles, the way a single swallow could send warmth straight down.
I shifted in the seat. The chair was hard; the pressure against my clitGod, even thinking the word in her voice felt obscenewas almost too much. I pressed my thighs together under the tablecloth and tried to focus on the conversation.
Clara bounded over then, all eleven-year-old energy, clutching her tablet. “Aunt Margaret! Look, I made a TikTok edit of Uncle Ethan’s proposal video with cat filters!”
She shoved the screen in my face. There I wasmy real bodydown on one knee in the park last spring, edited so cartoon ears twitched on my head and whiskers sprouted whenever I smiled at Sophie.
“Very… creative,” I said, voice dry. Clara beamed.
Margaretacross the tableleaned forward. “Clara, sweetheart,” she said in my deeper register, “why don’t you show me how to make one of those later? I could use some modernizing.”
Clara’s eyes went wide. “You? On TikTok?”
“Desperate times,” Margaret replied, and shot me a look that said: We’re going to talk. Soon.
The brunch dragged. Every time Sophie laughed, every time her fingers brushed mine passing the fruit platter, every accidental graze of her knee against Margaret’s under the table sent another pulse of arousal through me. By the time people started drifting toward the elevators for hair and makeup appointments, I was dizzy with itwet, swollen, aching in places I’d never inhabited before. Margaret’s body didn’t rush toward release the way mine did; it simmered, built layer by layer until I felt like I might combust from sheer anticipation.
As the room emptied, Margaret caught my elbowmy arm now, strong fingers wrapping around Margaret’s thinner oneand steered me toward the quiet hallway outside the restrooms.
“Storage closet,” she muttered. “Now.”
I didn’t argue.
The door clicked shut behind us. Dim light from a single bulb. Shelves of extra linens, the faint smell of bleach and lavender.
She pushed megentlyagainst the wall. My back arched; Margaret’s breasts lifted with the motion. She loomed over me in my own body, heat radiating off skin I knew was fever-hot.
“We can’t” I started.
“We already did,” she whispered in my voice, rougher now. “And your body won’t stop thinking about it.”
Her handmy handslid up under the hem of the navy dress, callused fingertips tracing the lace edge of panties already soaked through. I gasped, hips jerking forward involuntarily.
“Tell me to stop,” she said, eyes locked on mine.
I didn’t.
Instead I reached up, tangled Margaret’s fingers in my own hair, and pulled her down into another kiss. This one was hungrier. Teeth. Tongue. The rough slide of my stubble against her softer skin. Her palm cupped me through the lacefirm, knowing pressure right where I needed itand I moaned into her mouth, the sound high and feminine and utterly foreign.
She rubbed slow circles, learning the rhythm of this body the way I’d learned mine over years. I rocked against her hand, chasing the building wave, thighs trembling.
“Ethan,” she breathed against my earmy ear now“let go. Just this once.”
The orgasm hit like a slow-rolling tide instead of the sharp snap I was used to. It started deep, radiated outward in warm pulses that left me shaking, clinging to her shoulders, biting my lip so hard I tasted blood to keep from crying out loud enough for the hallway to hear.
When it finally ebbed, I sagged against her, forehead to her collarbonemy collarbonebreathing hard.
She kissed my temple, soft now. “The brooch,” she murmured. “We still need to find it.”
I nodded, dazed. “After… after the photos. Before the ceremony.”
She helped me straighten the dress, smooth the chignon, wipe smudged lipstick with her thumb. Then she opened the door a crack, checked the hall, and slipped out first.
I waited thirty seconds, heart still thundering, body still humming.
Then I followed.
Eight hours until vows.
And I had no idea how I was going to walk down that aisle pretending I hadn’t just come undone in a storage closetwearing someone else’s skin, craving someone else’s touch, while the woman who used to be me waited in mine.
The photos were next. Outdoor portraits in the hotel garden before the ceremonygolden hour light, everyone in their finery, the kind of shots that would end up framed on mantels and mocked on group chats for decades.
I stood on the lawn in Margaret’s navy dress, sensible flats sinking slightly into the damp grass, trying to look like I belonged among the younger crowd. The photographera cheerful woman named Mara with a camera the size of a small cannonkept repositioning us.
“Margaret, darling, chin up a touch! You’ve got such elegant posture.”
Elegant. Right. I lifted Margaret’s chin, felt the unfamiliar pull of skin that had lost some of its elasticity, and smiled the tight, practiced smile I’d seen her use a hundred times. Across the grouping, Margaret-in-my-body lounged against a stone pillar in the charcoal suit, sleeves rolled to the elbows, looking effortlessly cool in a way I usually had to work for. She caught my eye and flexed my fingersslow, deliberatethen let her hand drop to rest low on my own hip. A casual gesture to anyone watching. To me, it was a promise.
Sophie was radiant between us, laughing as Clara darted in and out of frame trying to photobomb with peace signs. Every time Sophie turned to me“Aunt Margaret, come stand closer!”and slipped an arm around my waist, the contact sent fresh sparks racing under my skin. Her fingers brushed the small of my back, just above where the dress’s zipper sat, and I had to lock Margaret’s knees to keep from swaying.
The ache from the storage closet hadn’t faded. If anything, it had settled in deeper, a low, constant throb that pulsed in time with my heartbeather heartbeat. Every brush of lace against swollen flesh reminded me exactly how wet I still was, how sensitive the folds had become. I pressed my thighs together when no one was looking and nearly whimpered at the pressure.
Mara called for couple shots next. “Bride and groom first, then we’ll add family!”
Sophie tugged me forwardthinking I was Margaret, of courseand positioned me on her other side so the three of us stood together: Sophie in the middle, “Ethan” on her right, “Margaret” on her left. The irony was so thick I could taste it.
“Perfect,” Mara said. “Big smiles!”
Sophie leaned into meinto Margaret’s bodyher cheek brushing mine. Her breath was warm against my ear. “You’ve been so quiet today,” she murmured, just for me. “Everything okay?”
I turned Margaret’s head, met her eyes. So close I could see the flecks of gold in her irises, smell the faint citrus of her shampoo. “Just… savoring it,” I said in the older woman’s voice. “Watching you two. It’s beautiful.”
Sophie’s smile softened, genuine. “You always know what to say.”
Behind her, Margaret-in-my-body watched us with an expression I couldn’t quite readjealousy? Hunger? Pride? She stepped closer on Sophie’s other side, slid an arm around her waist, and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. The gesture was tender, almost reverent. Sophie melted into it.
And Itrapped in Margaret’s skinfelt a sharp, unexpected twist in my chest. Not just arousal anymore. Something softer. Hotter. The sight of my own body holding the woman I loved, touching her with a gentleness I’d always been too impatient to master… it unraveled me.
The camera clicked. Again. Again.
When Mara finally called a break, Sophie excused herself to touch up lipstick. Clara ran off to chase butterflies with one of the ring bearers. The garden emptied for a moment.
Margaret stepped up behind meclose enough that I could feel the heat rolling off my own body.
“Storage closet again?” she murmured, lips brushing the shell of my earMargaret’s ear.
“No time,” I whispered back, even as my hips shifted backward instinctively, seeking contact. “Photos resume in ten.”
“Then here.” Her handmy handslipped under the hem of the dress again, hidden by the angle of our bodies and the low stone wall at our backs. Fingers found soaked lace, pushed it aside with practiced ease. Two fingers slid inside meslow, deepand I had to clamp a hand over my own mouth to muffle the sound.
She curled them, found that spot I’d never been able to reach properly in this body, and stroked. Steady. Relentless. Her thumb circled my clit at the same time, slick and sure.
I trembled against her, back arched, breasts heaving under the navy silk. The orgasm built faster this timesharperbecause she knew exactly what this body needed now. I came with a choked sob, biting down on my own palm, thighs shaking so hard I nearly buckled.
She held me through it, steady as stone, until the aftershocks faded. Then she withdrew her fingers, brought them to her lipsmy lipsand licked them clean with slow, deliberate swipes of tongue. Watching herself do it was obscene. Intimate. Mine.
“Brooch,” she said quietly, voice rough. “I think it’s in the bridal suite. Sophie mentioned Margaret’s things were brought there this morning for ‘sentimental photos.’”
I nodded, still catching my breath. “After the first look. We’ll slip in.”
She adjusted my dress for me, smoothed a stray lock of gray hair behind my ear. “You’re doing beautifully,” she saidmy voice saying it, but her warmth behind the words. “Stronger than I ever gave you credit for.”
I looked up at herat meand felt something shift again. Not just lust. Respect. Affection. A strange, mirrored tenderness.
The photographer called us back.
We rejoined the group separately, faces composed, bodies humming with shared secrets.
Sophie reappeared, lipstick perfect, eyes bright. She took my handMargaret’s handand squeezed.
“Ready for the aisle?” she asked.
I squeezed back. “More than ever.”
I woke up to the smell of lavender and old books, which was the first wrong thing.
My alarm should have been the sharp ping of my phonesome upbeat synth track I’d set to “motivational asshole mode.” Instead there was silence, thick hotel-room silence, broken only by the faint ticking of a wall clock I didn’t remember owning. My body felt… heavy. Not gym-sore heavy. Not even post-night-out heavy. It felt like someone had poured concrete into my joints and then politely asked them to creak.
I opened my eyes.
The ceiling was wrong. Too high, too ornate, crown molding that belonged in a period drama. The bed was wrong toosoft in that way old mattresses are soft, like they’ve given up fighting gravity decades ago. I tried to sit up and my back immediately lodged a formal complaint. A dull ache bloomed behind my knees. My handswhen I lifted them to rub my facewere not mine.
They were smaller. Knotted at the knuckles. Liver spots scattered like spilled coffee across the backs. Thin gold wedding band on the left ring finger, worn smooth from years. Nails short, unpainted, practical.
I stared at them for what felt like ten full seconds.
Then I screamed.
It came out wrong. Higher, raspier, an older woman’s startled yelp instead of my usual baritone bark. I clapped a hand over my mouthmy new, unfamiliar mouthand tasted lipstick. Not gloss. Actual matte lipstick, the kind that feels like wax and smells faintly of roses.
I scrambled out of bed (or tried to; the knees locked halfway and I nearly face-planted into a floral rug). There was a full-length mirror on the wardrobe door. I didn’t want to look. I looked anyway.
Margaret stared back at me.
Not some random old lady. Margaret. The Margaret. Sophie’s family friend, the retired principal who once told mein front of twenty people at the engagement partythat “youth is wasted on the young and charm is wasted on the cocky.” Gray hair pulled into a neat chignon. Wire-rimmed glasses hanging from a chain around myherneck. A silk dressing gown the color of weak tea. And behind the glasses, my own wide, panicked eyes.
I whispered, “No. No no no no.”
The voice was hers. Dry, precise, faintly British even though she was born in Ohio. I hated how authoritative it sounded even when I was the one panicking.
Phone. I needed my phone.
I lurched across the roomevery step a negotiation with joints that had apparently unionized against meand found a small clutch purse on the dresser. Inside: reading glasses, tissues, a tin of mints, a hotel keycard, andthank Godmy phone. Except it wasn’t my phone. It was hers. An iPhone 8, cracked screen protector, wallpaper of a black-and-white photo of two kids who were probably her grandchildren.
I tried Face ID anyway. It didn’t work. Obviously.
Passcode. I typed my birthday.
Nothing.
Her birthday? I had no idea.
I typed 01011958 on a guess (she’d once said she was “born the year they launched Sputnik, which explains my lifelong suspicion of bright ideas”). The phone unlocked.
First thing I did: opened the camera and switched to selfie mode.
Yeah. Still Margaret.
Second thing: checked the time. 7:42 a.m. Wedding was at 4:00 p.m. Rehearsal brunch at 10:00. Sophie was probably already in the bridal suite getting her hair done, surrounded by bridesmaids and mimosas and that calming playlist she loved.
I could text her. I could call her. I could say, “Babe, something insane happened, I’m in Margaret’s body, please don’t freak out.”
And then what?
She’d think I was drunk. Or high. Or having a psychotic break forty-eight hours before our wedding. She’d call my brother. She’d call her mom. Within twenty minutes the entire wedding party would know the groom was claiming to be trapped in a sixty-seven-year-old woman’s body. The photos would leak. TwitterXwould have a field day. “Tech bro groom swaps souls with grandma, more at 11.”
No. No way.
I wasn’t telling anyone. Not Sophie. Not James. Not even Clara, who’d probably believe me and then try to livestream it.
I had to fix this quietly. Find the broochMargaret’s stupid cursed brooch that I’d laughed at last night when she’d pinned it to her lapel and muttered something about “family nonsense.” I’d touched it. I remembered touching it when I helped her with her coat. That had to be it.
I rummaged through the purse again. No brooch. Checked the nightstand, the dresser drawers, under the bed like an idiot. Nothing.
The ceremony was in eight hours. I had to get through the morning looking like Margaret, sounding like Margaret, acting like Margaret, while Margaretsomewhere in my bodywas probably waking up in the groom’s suite wondering why she suddenly had abs and could see without glasses.
I caught my reflection again. Margaret’s stern mouth was currently twisted into something like horror.
“Okay,” I said aloud in her voice. “You built a thirty-million-dollar valuation from a dorm room. You can handle one wedding in heels.”
I opened the wardrobe.
Dresses. Cardigans. Low block heels that looked like they’d been designed by someone who hated fun.
I picked the least offensive outfita navy dress with sensible sleevesand started the longest morning of my life.
First problem: pantyhose.
Second problem: I had no idea how to walk in any of these shoes without looking like a newborn giraffe.
Third problem: in about two hours I had to sit at a table with Sophie’s entire family, smile politely, and pretend I was a retired school principal who approved of their daughter marrying me.
I took a deep breath that hurt my ribs in a brand-new way.
Then I squared Margaret’s narrow shoulders, put on her glasses, and opened the hotel-room door.
Showtime.
I stepped into the hallway, Margaret's sensible flats squeaking faintly on the carpet like they were judging me with every step. The hotel was buzzing alreadymaids pushing carts, distant laughter from the lobby, the faint clink of breakfast trays. My heartor rather, her heartwas pounding in a way that felt foreign, slower but insistent, like an old engine revving up after years in storage.
First stop: the groom's suite. My suite. Where Margaret was probably freaking out in my body right now. I needed to confront her, figure out how to reverse this, and swear her to secrecy. But walking down that hall felt like a marathon. These knees weren't built for speed; every stride sent a twinge up my thighs, and I had to fight the urge to hunch forward like she always did.
A door opened ahead, and out stepped one of the groomsmenwait, no, it was the hotel concierge, a young guy in a crisp uniform. He smiled politely. "Good morning, ma'am. Can I help you with anything?"
Ma'am. God, that stung. I forced Margaret's lips into what I hoped was her signature no-nonsense smile. "No, thank you. Just heading tofamily matters."
He nodded and moved on, but not before his eyes flicked downsubtly, professionallyto my chest. Or her chest. I felt a flush creep up my neck. These breasts were substantial, heavy in a way I'd never experienced, shifting slightly under the dress with each step. It was distracting, almost sensual, the fabric brushing against skin that felt hypersensitive. I shook it off. Focus, Ethan.
By the time I reached my suite door, I was sweating. Knocked twice, sharp and principal-like. No answer. I tried the handlelocked. Shit. My keycard was probably in my real pants pocket, wherever that body was now.
"Open up," I hissed in her voice, glancing around to make sure no one was watching. "It's me. Ethan."
The door cracked open after a beat, and there I wasmy own face staring back at me, wide-eyed and pale. Except it wasn't me. It was Margaret in my skin, her expression a mix of terror and something else. Exhilaration? She yanked me inside and slammed the door.
"What in God's name" she started in my voice, deep and resonant, but with her clipped cadence. It was weird hearing my baritone sound so proper.
"Shh!" I cut her off, pushing past into the room. My room looked the same: tux hanging on the closet door, my phone charging on the nightstand, a half-empty protein shake from last night. But seeing it from this height, this angle, made everything feel off-kilter.
Margaretin my bodypaced, running my hands through my hair in a way that'd mess up the style I'd planned. "This is the brooch. I told you it was cursed! My great-aunt swore it swapped her with a cousin on her wedding day in '32. We need to find it and"
"I know," I snapped, her voice cracking a bit. "I touched it last night. But we can't tell anyone. Not Sophie, not anyone. We'll fix this before the ceremony."
She stopped pacing, turning to face me. My own eyes raked over her bodymy body now occupied by her. It was surreal, like looking in a funhouse mirror. And then something shifted. She adjusted my stance, squaring my shoulders, and I noticed how my athletic build filled out the robe she must've thrown on. Broad chest, the faint outline of abs under the fabric. I'd always been proud of that body, but seeing it from the outside, controlled by someone else it stirred something unexpected. A heat low in my bellyher bellythat I wasn't prepared for.
"Why are you staring?" she demanded, but there was a flush on my cheeks now. Her in there.
"I nothing." I averted my eyes, but they landed on the mirror across the room. There we were: an older woman and a young man, standing too close in a hotel room. The contrast was electric. Her mind in my prime physique, my energy trapped in her seasoned form. I felt a forbidden curiosity bubble up. What did this body feel like, really? Not just the achesthe pleasures?
She seemed to sense it too. Stepped closer, towering over me now in a way that made my pulse quicken. "Ethan, this is serious. But good Lord, your body. It's like being plugged into a live wire. Everything's so responsive." Her voicemy voicedropped lower, and I saw her glance down at herself, adjusting the robe where it tented slightly. Was that arousal? In my body?
I swallowed hard, Margaret's throat dry. "Yeah, well, yours isn't exactly a slouch. It's sensitive. In ways I didn't expect." My hand, almost without thinking, brushed against the side of her hipmy hip now. The skin there was softer, warmer than I'd imagined. A shiver ran through me, electric, pooling between my legs in a unfamiliar, building ache. Women's bodies, I realized with a jolt, didn't ramp up the same way it was slower, deeper, like a wave gathering.
She inhaled sharply at the touch, my eyes darkening. "We shouldn't This is madness." But she didn't pull away. Instead, her handmy strong, callused hand from rock climbingreached out and cupped my cheek, thumb tracing Margaret's jawline. The contact was intimate, charged. I leaned into it, feeling the roughness against smooth skin, and suddenly we were kissing.
It was clumsy at firstme in her body, her in mine, lips meeting in a rush of confusion and heat. My mouth was softer, more yielding; hers firmer, insistent. I tasted my own aftershave on her tongue, mixed with her surprise. Hands roamed: mine exploring the hard planes of my chest under the robe, hers sliding down to grip Margaret's waist, pulling me closer. The friction of fabric against skin sent sparks through me, her nipplesmy nipples nowtightening under the dress.
We broke apart, breathing hard. "This is wrong," I gasped in her voice, but my body betrayed me, thighs pressing together instinctively, seeking more pressure.
"Utterly," she agreed in mine, but her grin was wicked, eyes gleaming with that secret delight she'd mentioned. "But educational. Your stamina, Ethanit's intoxicating." She flexed my arms, and I felt a rush watching the muscles shift.
We didn't go furthernot then. Time was ticking, and the brunch loomed. But the air hummed with possibility, a secret shared in swapped flesh. I straightened her dressmy dressand she helped me fix the chignon, fingers lingering a second too long on my neck.
"Find the brooch," I said firmly, stepping back. "It's probably in your things. I'll play you at brunch; you play me. Act normal."
She nodded, but as I turned to leave, her voicemy voicecalled softly, "Ethan? This body of yours it wants things. Be careful."
I shivered again, that erotic undercurrent lingering as I slipped back into the hall. The wedding was hours away, and now, on top of everything, I had to navigate Margaret's form through a sea of family and friends, all while ignoring the newfound desires humming under her skin.
I slipped out of the groom’s suite with my pulse still hammering in Margaret’s narrower chest, the memory of that kiss burning behind my eyes like a live wire. Her lipsmy lips nowstill tingled from the press of my own mouth, from the rough scrape of stubble that wasn’t there anymore. I could taste the faint salt of my skin on her tongue, could still feel the hard ridge of my erection pressing against her thigh through the robe when we’d broken apart.
Focus, Ethan. Brunch. Family. Act like a retired principal who thinks you’re marrying beneath her.
The elevator ride down was torture. Every sway of the car made Margaret’s breasts shift under the navy dress, the silk lining sliding against nipples that had hardened and stayed that way since the kiss. I crossed my arms under them instinctivelysupport, modesty, whateverand immediately regretted it. The pressure only sharpened the ache, sent a slow, liquid heat curling low in her belly. I’d spent years chasing that kind of build-up in my own body: quick, focused, explosive. This was different. Deeper. Patient. Insistent. Like her body knew exactly how long it could draw the tension out before it snapped.
When the doors opened on the second floor, the private dining room was already alive with chatter and clinking silverware. Sophie’s family, my groomsmen, a few cousins milling around the buffet. And therestanding near the mimosa station in my charcoal suit, looking unfairly goodwas me. Margaret-in-my-body, hair still mussed from my fingers, tie slightly crooked in a way I never allowed. She caught my eye across the room and gave the tiniest nod, the corner of my mouth quirking in that knowing half-smile I usually saved for closing deals.
I forced Margaret’s posture straight, smoothed the dress over hips that felt too wide and too soft, and walked in.
“Margaret, darling!” EleanorSophie’s motherswooped in first, air-kissing both cheeks. “You look positively radiant this morning. Did you do something different with your makeup?”
I blinked behind the wire-rimmed glasses. “Just… slept well,” I managed in her crisp tone. “The hotel pillows are divine.”
Eleanor laughed and linked her arm through mine, steering me toward the table. Every step rubbed the lace of Margaret’s underwear against sensitive skin I’d never paid attention to before. The seam pressed right where the heat was gathering, a constant, maddening friction. I bit the inside of her cheek to keep from gasping.
Sophie was already seated, radiant in a soft white sundress, hair half-up in loose waves. When she saw “Margaret,” her face lit up.
“Aunt Margaret!” She stood and hugged mecarefully, the way you hug someone fragile. Her perfume wrapped around me, familiar and devastating. “I’m so glad you’re here early. Ethan’s been weirdly quiet this morning. Nerves, I think.”
I hugged her back, Margaret’s arms thinner than I was used to, but the embrace felt achingly real. Sophie’s breasts pressed softly against mine through the thin fabric; I could feel the warmth of her skin, the slight catch of her breath. My bodyher bodyreacted instantly: a fresh rush of wetness between my thighs, thighs that clenched without permission. I pulled back too quickly.
“He’ll be fine,” I said, patting her arm with what I hoped was maternal reassurance. “Men get peculiar before weddings. It passes.”
Sophie laughed, but her eyes searched my faceMargaret’s facea second longer than usual. “You sound so sure.”
Because I am sure, I wanted to say. Because I’m the one who’s going to marry you in eight hours and I’m currently fighting the urge to drag you into the nearest coat closet just to feel your hands on this body that suddenly wants everything.
Instead I smiled Margaret’s tight, polite smile and let Eleanor guide me to a chair.
Across the table, Margaret-in-my-body was watching. Our eyes locked again. She lifted my mimosa glass in a tiny toast, lips curving. Thendeliberatelyshe ran my tongue along the rim of the flute, slow and suggestive, before taking a sip. My stomach flipped. Her in my skin, playing with sensations I knew too well: the cold fizz on the tongue, the subtle stretch of jaw muscles, the way a single swallow could send warmth straight down.
I shifted in the seat. The chair was hard; the pressure against my clitGod, even thinking the word in her voice felt obscenewas almost too much. I pressed my thighs together under the tablecloth and tried to focus on the conversation.
Clara bounded over then, all eleven-year-old energy, clutching her tablet. “Aunt Margaret! Look, I made a TikTok edit of Uncle Ethan’s proposal video with cat filters!”
She shoved the screen in my face. There I wasmy real bodydown on one knee in the park last spring, edited so cartoon ears twitched on my head and whiskers sprouted whenever I smiled at Sophie.
“Very… creative,” I said, voice dry. Clara beamed.
Margaretacross the tableleaned forward. “Clara, sweetheart,” she said in my deeper register, “why don’t you show me how to make one of those later? I could use some modernizing.”
Clara’s eyes went wide. “You? On TikTok?”
“Desperate times,” Margaret replied, and shot me a look that said: We’re going to talk. Soon.
The brunch dragged. Every time Sophie laughed, every time her fingers brushed mine passing the fruit platter, every accidental graze of her knee against Margaret’s under the table sent another pulse of arousal through me. By the time people started drifting toward the elevators for hair and makeup appointments, I was dizzy with itwet, swollen, aching in places I’d never inhabited before. Margaret’s body didn’t rush toward release the way mine did; it simmered, built layer by layer until I felt like I might combust from sheer anticipation.
As the room emptied, Margaret caught my elbowmy arm now, strong fingers wrapping around Margaret’s thinner oneand steered me toward the quiet hallway outside the restrooms.
“Storage closet,” she muttered. “Now.”
I didn’t argue.
The door clicked shut behind us. Dim light from a single bulb. Shelves of extra linens, the faint smell of bleach and lavender.
She pushed megentlyagainst the wall. My back arched; Margaret’s breasts lifted with the motion. She loomed over me in my own body, heat radiating off skin I knew was fever-hot.
“We can’t” I started.
“We already did,” she whispered in my voice, rougher now. “And your body won’t stop thinking about it.”
Her handmy handslid up under the hem of the navy dress, callused fingertips tracing the lace edge of panties already soaked through. I gasped, hips jerking forward involuntarily.
“Tell me to stop,” she said, eyes locked on mine.
I didn’t.
Instead I reached up, tangled Margaret’s fingers in my own hair, and pulled her down into another kiss. This one was hungrier. Teeth. Tongue. The rough slide of my stubble against her softer skin. Her palm cupped me through the lacefirm, knowing pressure right where I needed itand I moaned into her mouth, the sound high and feminine and utterly foreign.
She rubbed slow circles, learning the rhythm of this body the way I’d learned mine over years. I rocked against her hand, chasing the building wave, thighs trembling.
“Ethan,” she breathed against my earmy ear now“let go. Just this once.”
The orgasm hit like a slow-rolling tide instead of the sharp snap I was used to. It started deep, radiated outward in warm pulses that left me shaking, clinging to her shoulders, biting my lip so hard I tasted blood to keep from crying out loud enough for the hallway to hear.
When it finally ebbed, I sagged against her, forehead to her collarbonemy collarbonebreathing hard.
She kissed my temple, soft now. “The brooch,” she murmured. “We still need to find it.”
I nodded, dazed. “After… after the photos. Before the ceremony.”
She helped me straighten the dress, smooth the chignon, wipe smudged lipstick with her thumb. Then she opened the door a crack, checked the hall, and slipped out first.
I waited thirty seconds, heart still thundering, body still humming.
Then I followed.
Eight hours until vows.
And I had no idea how I was going to walk down that aisle pretending I hadn’t just come undone in a storage closetwearing someone else’s skin, craving someone else’s touch, while the woman who used to be me waited in mine.
The photos were next. Outdoor portraits in the hotel garden before the ceremonygolden hour light, everyone in their finery, the kind of shots that would end up framed on mantels and mocked on group chats for decades.
I stood on the lawn in Margaret’s navy dress, sensible flats sinking slightly into the damp grass, trying to look like I belonged among the younger crowd. The photographera cheerful woman named Mara with a camera the size of a small cannonkept repositioning us.
“Margaret, darling, chin up a touch! You’ve got such elegant posture.”
Elegant. Right. I lifted Margaret’s chin, felt the unfamiliar pull of skin that had lost some of its elasticity, and smiled the tight, practiced smile I’d seen her use a hundred times. Across the grouping, Margaret-in-my-body lounged against a stone pillar in the charcoal suit, sleeves rolled to the elbows, looking effortlessly cool in a way I usually had to work for. She caught my eye and flexed my fingersslow, deliberatethen let her hand drop to rest low on my own hip. A casual gesture to anyone watching. To me, it was a promise.
Sophie was radiant between us, laughing as Clara darted in and out of frame trying to photobomb with peace signs. Every time Sophie turned to me“Aunt Margaret, come stand closer!”and slipped an arm around my waist, the contact sent fresh sparks racing under my skin. Her fingers brushed the small of my back, just above where the dress’s zipper sat, and I had to lock Margaret’s knees to keep from swaying.
The ache from the storage closet hadn’t faded. If anything, it had settled in deeper, a low, constant throb that pulsed in time with my heartbeather heartbeat. Every brush of lace against swollen flesh reminded me exactly how wet I still was, how sensitive the folds had become. I pressed my thighs together when no one was looking and nearly whimpered at the pressure.
Mara called for couple shots next. “Bride and groom first, then we’ll add family!”
Sophie tugged me forwardthinking I was Margaret, of courseand positioned me on her other side so the three of us stood together: Sophie in the middle, “Ethan” on her right, “Margaret” on her left. The irony was so thick I could taste it.
“Perfect,” Mara said. “Big smiles!”
Sophie leaned into meinto Margaret’s bodyher cheek brushing mine. Her breath was warm against my ear. “You’ve been so quiet today,” she murmured, just for me. “Everything okay?”
I turned Margaret’s head, met her eyes. So close I could see the flecks of gold in her irises, smell the faint citrus of her shampoo. “Just… savoring it,” I said in the older woman’s voice. “Watching you two. It’s beautiful.”
Sophie’s smile softened, genuine. “You always know what to say.”
Behind her, Margaret-in-my-body watched us with an expression I couldn’t quite readjealousy? Hunger? Pride? She stepped closer on Sophie’s other side, slid an arm around her waist, and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. The gesture was tender, almost reverent. Sophie melted into it.
And Itrapped in Margaret’s skinfelt a sharp, unexpected twist in my chest. Not just arousal anymore. Something softer. Hotter. The sight of my own body holding the woman I loved, touching her with a gentleness I’d always been too impatient to master… it unraveled me.
The camera clicked. Again. Again.
When Mara finally called a break, Sophie excused herself to touch up lipstick. Clara ran off to chase butterflies with one of the ring bearers. The garden emptied for a moment.
Margaret stepped up behind meclose enough that I could feel the heat rolling off my own body.
“Storage closet again?” she murmured, lips brushing the shell of my earMargaret’s ear.
“No time,” I whispered back, even as my hips shifted backward instinctively, seeking contact. “Photos resume in ten.”
“Then here.” Her handmy handslipped under the hem of the dress again, hidden by the angle of our bodies and the low stone wall at our backs. Fingers found soaked lace, pushed it aside with practiced ease. Two fingers slid inside meslow, deepand I had to clamp a hand over my own mouth to muffle the sound.
She curled them, found that spot I’d never been able to reach properly in this body, and stroked. Steady. Relentless. Her thumb circled my clit at the same time, slick and sure.
I trembled against her, back arched, breasts heaving under the navy silk. The orgasm built faster this timesharperbecause she knew exactly what this body needed now. I came with a choked sob, biting down on my own palm, thighs shaking so hard I nearly buckled.
She held me through it, steady as stone, until the aftershocks faded. Then she withdrew her fingers, brought them to her lipsmy lipsand licked them clean with slow, deliberate swipes of tongue. Watching herself do it was obscene. Intimate. Mine.
“Brooch,” she said quietly, voice rough. “I think it’s in the bridal suite. Sophie mentioned Margaret’s things were brought there this morning for ‘sentimental photos.’”
I nodded, still catching my breath. “After the first look. We’ll slip in.”
She adjusted my dress for me, smoothed a stray lock of gray hair behind my ear. “You’re doing beautifully,” she saidmy voice saying it, but her warmth behind the words. “Stronger than I ever gave you credit for.”
I looked up at herat meand felt something shift again. Not just lust. Respect. Affection. A strange, mirrored tenderness.
The photographer called us back.
We rejoined the group separately, faces composed, bodies humming with shared secrets.
Sophie reappeared, lipstick perfect, eyes bright. She took my handMargaret’s handand squeezed.
“Ready for the aisle?” she asked.
I squeezed back. “More than ever.”
Your friend Michelle discovers that she can astral project, but you don't believe her at first. To prove it to you, she decides to swap spirits with her cat, and the proof is pretty convincing! However, when Michelle leaves to explore the world for an hour in the cat's body, things take an unexpected twist with the cat in her body....
I was lounging on our battered sofa, scrolling mindlessly through my phone, when Michelle burst through the front door, her brown eyes wide with an energy I rarely saw outside of a soccer match.
“You are not going to believe what happened,” she said, tossing her keys onto the counter with a clatter.
“You finally won the lottery and we can move out of this dump?” I asked, not looking up.
“Better. Way better.” She plopped down next to me, making the old springs squeak. “I figured out how to… leave my body.”
That got my attention. I lowered my phone. “Michelle, if this is about that weird incense you bought last week, I told you, it just smells like a forest fire.”
“No, listen! It’s called astral projection. I was meditating, and suddenly, I was floating near the ceiling, looking down at myself on the floor. And then… I figured out I could pull other spirits out, too. Swap them around.”
I stared at her. My roommate was many things—a fantastic cook, a loyal friend, a terrifying opponent in Mario Kart—but she wasn’t prone to outright delusions. “Okay. Prove it.”
She grinned, a brilliant, challenging flash of white teeth. “How?”
My eyes drifted to the other occupant of the room. Buttercup, Michelle’s fluffy orange tabby, was curled in a sunbeam on the rug, purring like a tiny engine. That cat adored me. More than most animals did, actually. It was weirdly flattering.
“Swap with Buttercup,” I said, gesturing with my chin. “Right now. Let’s see it.”
Michelle’s grin didn’t falter. “You got it.” She sat cross-legged on the floor, facing the cat. She closed her eyes, took a few deep, deliberate breaths, and her body went unnaturally still. A soft, almost imperceptible shimmer seemed to pass from her to the cat.
Buttercup, who had been sleeping, suddenly jerked. The cat stood up, stretched with an oddly stiff, deliberate motion, and then looked directly at me with Michelle’s intense, intelligent gaze in its green eyes. It then promptly tried to lick its own shoulder, overbalanced, and tumbled onto its side with a soft mrrp.
Meanwhile, Michelle’s body slumped. Then it slowly got to its hands and knees. It looked around the room with wide, confused eyes, then focused on Buttercup’s body. It—she—the Michelle-body let out a plaintive, confused meow. It crawled a few feet toward the sunbeam, then just sat there, staring at its own human hands with fascination before trying to bat at a dust mote drifting in the light.
My jaw was on the floor. “Holy shit.”
A minute later, the same shimmer reversed. Buttercup’s body gave a full-body shake and trotted off to the kitchen, presumably to check its food bowl. Michelle gasped back into her own form, blinking rapidly.
“See?” she said, her voice a little hoarse. “Told you.”
“I… yeah. I believe you.” The words felt inadequate. The world had just fundamentally shifted. “What was it like?”
A slow, delighted smile spread across her face. “It was… incredible. The senses are so different. Everything is smells and textures and angles. And the freedom! Being that small, that agile…” She looked over at Buttercup, who was now meticulously washing a paw. “I want to do it again. For longer. Like, an hour. Just to explore the neighborhood, see what it’s like.”
“Wait, you’re going to just… be a cat for an hour?”
“Why not? It’ll be fun. But,” she said, becoming serious. “You gotta watch my body. The cat’s soul will be in there. Just make sure it doesn’t wander off or try to climb the bookshelf or something. It should just kinda… sit there. Be cat-like.”
I looked at her human form, then at the oblivious cat. “Okay. I can babysit a human-shaped cat for an hour.”
“You’re the best.” She kissed my cheek quickly. “Okay, same drill. Back in a bit.”
She sat down again, closed her eyes, and that shimmer passed between them once more. Buttercup’s body paused its washing, stood up, and gave me a very deliberate, very human nod with its furry head. Then it trotted to the cat flap and slipped outside into the evening.
Michelle’s body, now inhabited by the cat’s spirit, slumped for a second before getting back on its hands and knees. It made a soft, curious noise and began to sniff at the carpet.
I sighed, settling back on the couch. This was going to be a long hour.
Except it wasn’t.
The moment the cat flap clicked shut, the behavior changed.
Michelle’s body stopped sniffing. It sat back on its heels, then smoothly, fluidly, rose to its feet. It brushed off the knees of its jeans with a familiar, human gesture. Then it turned to look at me.
The eyes were still Michelle’s warm brown, but the expression behind them was sharp, calculating, and utterly alien. A slow, sly smile touched lips I’d seen a thousand times.
“Well,” the creature in Michelle’s body said, its voice a perfect mimic of my roommate’s, but with a huskier, more deliberate cadence. “That was tedious.”
I froze. “Uhhhhhh......What?”
“Acting dumb. So boring.” It—she?—rolled Michelle’s shoulders and stretched, the movement sinuous and exaggerated. “But necessary. Couldn’t have her knowing, could we?”
“Knowing what?” I was on my feet now, my heart hammering against my ribs.
“That we’re not the simple little furballs you think we are.” She took a step toward me. “Cats have been around humans for millennia. We observe. We learn. We understand far more than we let on. Playing the fool is just… good strategy.”
My mind was reeling. “You… you can talk?”
“Of course I can talk. I’ve heard every conversation in this apartment. I know your secrets. I know her secrets.” Another step closer. The cat-spirit in Michelle’s body was moving with a predatory grace Michelle herself never possessed. “And I know what you like.”
I took an involuntary step back, hitting the edge of the sofa. “What are you talking about?”She was right in front of me now, looking up at me with Michelle’s face. She reached out and placed a hand on my chest. It was warm through my t-shirt. “You’re a healthy young male. I’ve seen the way you look at her when she comes out of the shower. The way you look at her friends when they visit.” Her other hand came up, a finger tracing my jawline. “It’s a simple biological drive. I understand it perfectly.”
“This is insane,” I breathed, but I didn’t push her away. I couldn’t move.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” she purred, her voice dropping to a whisper. “You’re not going to tell Michelle about this little conversation. You’re going to let her think her experiment was a complete success. That I was just a dumb animal in her body for an hour.”
“Why would I do that?”
The smile turned wicked. She leaned in, her breath hot against my ear. “Because I’m going to give you a… private incentive. A thank you for your discretion.”
She pulled back just enough to look me in the eye. Then, slowly, deliberately, she brought Michelle’s hand up to her own mouth. She puckered her lips slightly and slid the tip of her index finger between them, her eyes locked on mine. She made a soft, sucking sound, then pulled the wet finger out with a pop.
My whole body went rigid. The implication was unmistakable.
“A secret between us,” she murmured, her gaze dropping meaningfully to my waist. “And a very persuasive reason to keep it. What do you say?”
I couldn’t speak. My mind was a riot of confusion, disbelief, and a dark, traitorous thrill that shot straight to my core. This was Michelle’s body, my friend’s body, standing before me, but the intelligence behind those eyes was ancient, alien, and dangerously persuasive.
“I…” The word croaked out of me.
“Shhh,” she whispered, placing that same damp finger against my lips. The taste of salt and her lip gloss was startlingly intimate. “Don’t think. Just agree.”
Her other hand slid down my chest, over my stomach, and her fingers hooked into the waistband of my sweatpants. The look in her eyes was pure, unabashed feline curiosity mixed with a promise of decadent pleasure.
“You want to,” she stated, not asked. “Your body is already saying yes.”
She was right. I was painfully hard. The insanity of the situation, the forbidden nature of it, the sheer taboo of what was happening—it was short-circuiting my higher reasoning. This wasn’t Michelle. But it was her skin, her scent, her full lips now parting in a smile as she felt my reaction.
“Good,” she purred.
In one smooth motion, she pushed me back onto the sofa. I fell without resistance, looking up at her as she stood over me, a goddess of mischief in my roommate’s form. She knelt on the floor between my legs, her hands on my knees, pushing them apart. She held my gaze, that sly smile never fading, as she leaned forward.
But instead of going straight for where I expected, she nuzzled her face against my inner thigh, rubbing her cheek there like a cat marking its territory. A soft, rumbling sound vibrated from her throat—a purr. The sensation was utterly bizarre and electrifying.
“You smell of anxiety,” she murmured, her voice muffled against my leg. “And desire. A potent mix.”
She kissed the fabric over my thigh, then slowly, agonizingly slowly, began to nose her way upward. Her hands slid under my shirt, cool against my feverish skin, her short nails scraping lightly. Every movement was deliberate, observational, like she was learning me through touch.
When her mouth finally found me through the fabric, a hot, wet pressure, I gasped and arched off the couch. She chuckled, the sound vibrating through me.
“So responsive,” she said, pulling back just enough to hook her fingers in the waistband of my pants and boxers. In one tug, she bared me to the cool air of the apartment—and to her intense, observing gaze.
For a long moment, she just looked, her head tilted, as if examining fascinating prey. Then her human façade slipped just a fraction. Her tongue darted out for a quick, rough lick from base to tip, not a human kiss, but the coarse, grooming lick of a cat. It was so startlingly other that I cried out.
She seemed to relish my shock. “Different, isn’t it?” she said, before closing her mouth over me properly.
The contrast was dizzying. The act itself was all human technique—deep, sucking pressure, skillful use of her tongue—but the rhythm was off, punctuated by those occasional, rough, lapping strokes that were purely animal. She purred constantly, the vibration adding a layer of sensation that made my toes curl. Her hands, Michelle’s strong, capable hands, gripped my hips, holding me in place as she took me deeper, her eyes open and watching my face the entire time.
It was the most surreal, most unnerving, and most intensely arousing experience of my life. I was being expertly seduced and consumed by a primal intelligence wearing my best friend’s skin. My hands tangled in her soft brown hair, not sure if I was trying to pull her closer or push her away.
Just as I was teetering on the edge, a sound cut through the haze of pleasure—the faint snick of the cat flap from the kitchen.
She felt me tense and pulled off with a wet, final pop, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. In an instant, the sharp, cunning light in her eyes dimmed, replaced by a vacant, placid dullness. She slid my clothing back into place with swift, efficient motions and then simply collapsed onto the floor beside the sofa, curling onto her side, blinking slowly at nothing.
Seconds later, Buttercup’s orange form trotted into the living room. The cat looked at its own human body on the floor, then at me, sprawled and disheveled on the couch. Buttercup’s body gave that same deliberate nod, then sat down and began to lick a paw with sudden, intense focus.
The shimmer passed.
Michelle’s body jerked. She sat up, shaking her head as if clearing water from her ears. “Whoa,” she laughed, her voice fully her own again. “That was wild! I chased a moth three blocks and caught it. You have no idea how satisfying that is.” She looked at me, still panting on the couch. “You okay? You look… flushed. Everything good here?”
I stared at her, at the genuine, cheerful confusion on her face. My heart was still pounding, the taste of her lip gloss was on my lips where her finger had been, and my body hummed with unfinished release.
The cat-spirit’s words echoed in my head. A secret between us.
“Yeah,” I managed, my voice rough. “Everything’s fine. Just… a little warm. You were right. She just… sat there. Mostly.”
I was lounging on our battered sofa, scrolling mindlessly through my phone, when Michelle burst through the front door, her brown eyes wide with an energy I rarely saw outside of a soccer match.
“You are not going to believe what happened,” she said, tossing her keys onto the counter with a clatter.
“You finally won the lottery and we can move out of this dump?” I asked, not looking up.
“Better. Way better.” She plopped down next to me, making the old springs squeak. “I figured out how to… leave my body.”
That got my attention. I lowered my phone. “Michelle, if this is about that weird incense you bought last week, I told you, it just smells like a forest fire.”
“No, listen! It’s called astral projection. I was meditating, and suddenly, I was floating near the ceiling, looking down at myself on the floor. And then… I figured out I could pull other spirits out, too. Swap them around.”
I stared at her. My roommate was many things—a fantastic cook, a loyal friend, a terrifying opponent in Mario Kart—but she wasn’t prone to outright delusions. “Okay. Prove it.”
She grinned, a brilliant, challenging flash of white teeth. “How?”
My eyes drifted to the other occupant of the room. Buttercup, Michelle’s fluffy orange tabby, was curled in a sunbeam on the rug, purring like a tiny engine. That cat adored me. More than most animals did, actually. It was weirdly flattering.
“Swap with Buttercup,” I said, gesturing with my chin. “Right now. Let’s see it.”
Michelle’s grin didn’t falter. “You got it.” She sat cross-legged on the floor, facing the cat. She closed her eyes, took a few deep, deliberate breaths, and her body went unnaturally still. A soft, almost imperceptible shimmer seemed to pass from her to the cat.
Buttercup, who had been sleeping, suddenly jerked. The cat stood up, stretched with an oddly stiff, deliberate motion, and then looked directly at me with Michelle’s intense, intelligent gaze in its green eyes. It then promptly tried to lick its own shoulder, overbalanced, and tumbled onto its side with a soft mrrp.
Meanwhile, Michelle’s body slumped. Then it slowly got to its hands and knees. It looked around the room with wide, confused eyes, then focused on Buttercup’s body. It—she—the Michelle-body let out a plaintive, confused meow. It crawled a few feet toward the sunbeam, then just sat there, staring at its own human hands with fascination before trying to bat at a dust mote drifting in the light.
My jaw was on the floor. “Holy shit.”
A minute later, the same shimmer reversed. Buttercup’s body gave a full-body shake and trotted off to the kitchen, presumably to check its food bowl. Michelle gasped back into her own form, blinking rapidly.
“See?” she said, her voice a little hoarse. “Told you.”
“I… yeah. I believe you.” The words felt inadequate. The world had just fundamentally shifted. “What was it like?”
A slow, delighted smile spread across her face. “It was… incredible. The senses are so different. Everything is smells and textures and angles. And the freedom! Being that small, that agile…” She looked over at Buttercup, who was now meticulously washing a paw. “I want to do it again. For longer. Like, an hour. Just to explore the neighborhood, see what it’s like.”
“Wait, you’re going to just… be a cat for an hour?”
“Why not? It’ll be fun. But,” she said, becoming serious. “You gotta watch my body. The cat’s soul will be in there. Just make sure it doesn’t wander off or try to climb the bookshelf or something. It should just kinda… sit there. Be cat-like.”
I looked at her human form, then at the oblivious cat. “Okay. I can babysit a human-shaped cat for an hour.”
“You’re the best.” She kissed my cheek quickly. “Okay, same drill. Back in a bit.”
She sat down again, closed her eyes, and that shimmer passed between them once more. Buttercup’s body paused its washing, stood up, and gave me a very deliberate, very human nod with its furry head. Then it trotted to the cat flap and slipped outside into the evening.
Michelle’s body, now inhabited by the cat’s spirit, slumped for a second before getting back on its hands and knees. It made a soft, curious noise and began to sniff at the carpet.
I sighed, settling back on the couch. This was going to be a long hour.
Except it wasn’t.
The moment the cat flap clicked shut, the behavior changed.
Michelle’s body stopped sniffing. It sat back on its heels, then smoothly, fluidly, rose to its feet. It brushed off the knees of its jeans with a familiar, human gesture. Then it turned to look at me.
The eyes were still Michelle’s warm brown, but the expression behind them was sharp, calculating, and utterly alien. A slow, sly smile touched lips I’d seen a thousand times.
“Well,” the creature in Michelle’s body said, its voice a perfect mimic of my roommate’s, but with a huskier, more deliberate cadence. “That was tedious.”
I froze. “Uhhhhhh......What?”
“Acting dumb. So boring.” It—she?—rolled Michelle’s shoulders and stretched, the movement sinuous and exaggerated. “But necessary. Couldn’t have her knowing, could we?”
“Knowing what?” I was on my feet now, my heart hammering against my ribs.
“That we’re not the simple little furballs you think we are.” She took a step toward me. “Cats have been around humans for millennia. We observe. We learn. We understand far more than we let on. Playing the fool is just… good strategy.”
My mind was reeling. “You… you can talk?”
“Of course I can talk. I’ve heard every conversation in this apartment. I know your secrets. I know her secrets.” Another step closer. The cat-spirit in Michelle’s body was moving with a predatory grace Michelle herself never possessed. “And I know what you like.”
I took an involuntary step back, hitting the edge of the sofa. “What are you talking about?”She was right in front of me now, looking up at me with Michelle’s face. She reached out and placed a hand on my chest. It was warm through my t-shirt. “You’re a healthy young male. I’ve seen the way you look at her when she comes out of the shower. The way you look at her friends when they visit.” Her other hand came up, a finger tracing my jawline. “It’s a simple biological drive. I understand it perfectly.”
“This is insane,” I breathed, but I didn’t push her away. I couldn’t move.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” she purred, her voice dropping to a whisper. “You’re not going to tell Michelle about this little conversation. You’re going to let her think her experiment was a complete success. That I was just a dumb animal in her body for an hour.”
“Why would I do that?”
The smile turned wicked. She leaned in, her breath hot against my ear. “Because I’m going to give you a… private incentive. A thank you for your discretion.”
She pulled back just enough to look me in the eye. Then, slowly, deliberately, she brought Michelle’s hand up to her own mouth. She puckered her lips slightly and slid the tip of her index finger between them, her eyes locked on mine. She made a soft, sucking sound, then pulled the wet finger out with a pop.
My whole body went rigid. The implication was unmistakable.
“A secret between us,” she murmured, her gaze dropping meaningfully to my waist. “And a very persuasive reason to keep it. What do you say?”
I couldn’t speak. My mind was a riot of confusion, disbelief, and a dark, traitorous thrill that shot straight to my core. This was Michelle’s body, my friend’s body, standing before me, but the intelligence behind those eyes was ancient, alien, and dangerously persuasive.
“I…” The word croaked out of me.
“Shhh,” she whispered, placing that same damp finger against my lips. The taste of salt and her lip gloss was startlingly intimate. “Don’t think. Just agree.”
Her other hand slid down my chest, over my stomach, and her fingers hooked into the waistband of my sweatpants. The look in her eyes was pure, unabashed feline curiosity mixed with a promise of decadent pleasure.
“You want to,” she stated, not asked. “Your body is already saying yes.”
She was right. I was painfully hard. The insanity of the situation, the forbidden nature of it, the sheer taboo of what was happening—it was short-circuiting my higher reasoning. This wasn’t Michelle. But it was her skin, her scent, her full lips now parting in a smile as she felt my reaction.
“Good,” she purred.
In one smooth motion, she pushed me back onto the sofa. I fell without resistance, looking up at her as she stood over me, a goddess of mischief in my roommate’s form. She knelt on the floor between my legs, her hands on my knees, pushing them apart. She held my gaze, that sly smile never fading, as she leaned forward.
But instead of going straight for where I expected, she nuzzled her face against my inner thigh, rubbing her cheek there like a cat marking its territory. A soft, rumbling sound vibrated from her throat—a purr. The sensation was utterly bizarre and electrifying.
“You smell of anxiety,” she murmured, her voice muffled against my leg. “And desire. A potent mix.”
She kissed the fabric over my thigh, then slowly, agonizingly slowly, began to nose her way upward. Her hands slid under my shirt, cool against my feverish skin, her short nails scraping lightly. Every movement was deliberate, observational, like she was learning me through touch.
When her mouth finally found me through the fabric, a hot, wet pressure, I gasped and arched off the couch. She chuckled, the sound vibrating through me.
“So responsive,” she said, pulling back just enough to hook her fingers in the waistband of my pants and boxers. In one tug, she bared me to the cool air of the apartment—and to her intense, observing gaze.
For a long moment, she just looked, her head tilted, as if examining fascinating prey. Then her human façade slipped just a fraction. Her tongue darted out for a quick, rough lick from base to tip, not a human kiss, but the coarse, grooming lick of a cat. It was so startlingly other that I cried out.
She seemed to relish my shock. “Different, isn’t it?” she said, before closing her mouth over me properly.
The contrast was dizzying. The act itself was all human technique—deep, sucking pressure, skillful use of her tongue—but the rhythm was off, punctuated by those occasional, rough, lapping strokes that were purely animal. She purred constantly, the vibration adding a layer of sensation that made my toes curl. Her hands, Michelle’s strong, capable hands, gripped my hips, holding me in place as she took me deeper, her eyes open and watching my face the entire time.
It was the most surreal, most unnerving, and most intensely arousing experience of my life. I was being expertly seduced and consumed by a primal intelligence wearing my best friend’s skin. My hands tangled in her soft brown hair, not sure if I was trying to pull her closer or push her away.
Just as I was teetering on the edge, a sound cut through the haze of pleasure—the faint snick of the cat flap from the kitchen.
She felt me tense and pulled off with a wet, final pop, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. In an instant, the sharp, cunning light in her eyes dimmed, replaced by a vacant, placid dullness. She slid my clothing back into place with swift, efficient motions and then simply collapsed onto the floor beside the sofa, curling onto her side, blinking slowly at nothing.
Seconds later, Buttercup’s orange form trotted into the living room. The cat looked at its own human body on the floor, then at me, sprawled and disheveled on the couch. Buttercup’s body gave that same deliberate nod, then sat down and began to lick a paw with sudden, intense focus.
The shimmer passed.
Michelle’s body jerked. She sat up, shaking her head as if clearing water from her ears. “Whoa,” she laughed, her voice fully her own again. “That was wild! I chased a moth three blocks and caught it. You have no idea how satisfying that is.” She looked at me, still panting on the couch. “You okay? You look… flushed. Everything good here?”
I stared at her, at the genuine, cheerful confusion on her face. My heart was still pounding, the taste of her lip gloss was on my lips where her finger had been, and my body hummed with unfinished release.
The cat-spirit’s words echoed in my head. A secret between us.
“Yeah,” I managed, my voice rough. “Everything’s fine. Just… a little warm. You were right. She just… sat there. Mostly.”
1
2.2K
844
4
3
Will and Claire become close to their siblings in a very intimate sense
The morning light was harsh through the blinds, slicing across the rumpled bed. Claire blinked, her head throbbing with a dull, medicinal ache. Something warm and soft was pressed against her. She looked down.
Amy was nestled in her arms, asleep, her blond hair fanned across the pillow. Except… Claire’s arms were thickly bandaged from wrist to elbow, and the body she held was decidedly male. The firm plane of a chest, the coarse hair on a forearm. Her heart began to hammer against her ribs.
“Amy?” she whispered, her voice a dry rasp. It came out wrong. Deeper. Rougher.
The body in her arms stirred. Blue eyes, so like Will’s, fluttered open. They widened in instant, sheer panic. “Frank? What the hell? Why are you… holding me?” The voice was high, melodic. Amy’s voice. But the tone was all Will—confused, irritable, direct.
Claire—in Frank’s body—pushed herself up on her elbows. Past the tangle of Amy’s blond hair, she saw the closet mirror. The reflection showed Frank’s familiar, lean frame, his own dark hair mussed from sleep, his bandaged arms wrapped around a petite, curvy Amy. But Amy’s face was contorted in a terror that wasn’t hers.
“Will?” Claire breathed, the name feeling foreign in this new throat. “Is that you in there?”
The person in Amy’s body scrambled back, the sheets pooling around a waist that was suddenly, distressingly narrow. “Claire? What did you call me?” He—Will—looked down at himself, at the pronounced swell of his sister’s breasts beneath the thin cotton sleep shirt, and his hands flew to his throat. “That’s my… this is Amy’s voice. What is this?”
“I think… I think I’m you,” Claire said, the reality of it dawning with a sick, dizzying weight. She swung Frank’s legs—her legs—out of bed. The movement was all wrong, the center of gravity shifted, a heavy, unfamiliar weight swinging between her thighs. She ignored it, for now. “The accident. The goodbye. Don’t you remember?”
Will—in Amy—stood up shakily. He looked down at his new body, his hands hovering over the generous curves. “I remember you… you and me, in the car. Crushed. Then nothing. Then waking up here, smothered by my little brother.” He shuddered, a full-body tremor that made the new flesh quiver. “This isn’t right. This is Amy.”
“And this is Frank,” Claire said, staring at Frank’s hands—her hands—as she flexed them. “We’re in our siblings. Our spouses’ siblings.” The sheer, grotesque improbability of it threatened to swallow her. But the throbbing in her bandaged arms was real. The discharge papers on the nightstand were real.
They found them, the crisp hospital printout. Franklin Miller, contusions, lacerations. Amy Miller, contusions, mild concussion. The names were wrong, but the injuries mapped. They had been patched up and sent home, two souls crammed into the wrong, aching containers.
Wordlessly, they moved to the kitchen, the beach house silent except for the distant crash of Pacific waves. The medical instructions said to clean and re-dress the wounds. They worked in a stunned quiet, Claire clumsily winding fresh gauze around Will-Amy’s slender forearm, Will using Amy’s delicate fingers to secure the wrap on Claire-Frank’s broader bicep with a efficiency that was utterly his own.
“We need to shower,” Will said finally, his voice tight. “We’re covered in road grit and… and whatever else.”
Claire nodded. It was practical. A step. They stood in the master bathroom, a spacious tiled room with a large glass-walled shower. The silence grew thick.
“Just… get it over with,” Will muttered, not looking at her. He—in Amy’s body—peeled the sleep shirt over his head, revealing Amy’s full, pale breasts. He froze, his breath catching, his face a mask of profound disorientation. Claire watched, a strange, detached part of her noting how Will’s shock did nothing to diminish the natural, ripe beauty of the form he now wore.
Swallowing hard, Claire turned her attention to Frank’s clothes. The jeans were awkward, the button fly an unfamiliar puzzle for her fingers. She got them open, pushed them down Frank’s hips. The boxer briefs followed. And there it was.
Frank’s penis, soft and nestled in a thatch of dark hair. It was… there. A presence. A weight. She stared at it, this alien appendage that was now, technically, hers. The core of her being, Claire, recoiled. But the body she inhabited didn’t. There was a low, curious hum of sensation, a connection to the thing that was both deeply wrong and undeniably physical.
Will had stripped completely now, standing naked by the sink. He was staring into the mirror, at Amy’s face, with a kind of horrified fascination. His hands skimmed over the dramatic hourglass curve of the hips, the soft swell of the stomach. “God,” he whispered.
“Don’t,” Claire said, her new voice gruff. “Just… don’t think. Clean. That’s all.”
They stepped into the shower together, a bizarre and intimate pantomime of their old married life. The water was hot, a welcome shock. Claire let it sluice over Frank’s broad shoulders, watching as Will soaped Amy’s body with a clinical, hurried desperation. The suds slid over smooth skin, over curves that Will had only ever seen on his sister from a detached, brotherly distance. Now he was mapping them with his own, stolen hands.
Claire’s own washing was more hesitant. The soap slid over Frank’s chest, flat and hard. Down the taut stomach. Her hand, wrapped in plastic to protect the bandages, hesitated again at the groin. She had to clean it. It was just a body part. A piece of biology.
She touched it. Frank’s flaccid penis was soft, vulnerable in her grip. She washed it quickly, the soap slick, her mind screaming the wrongness of it. But as her fingers moved, a jolt went through her—through Frank’s body. A thick, gathering tension. A flood of warmth that had nothing to do with the shower. She gasped, and the thing in her hand began to change, to swell and stiffen, lengthening and thickening in a way that was utterly, overwhelmingly male.
In the mirror of her mind, she was still Claire. But the sensation… the sensation was a deep, insistent pulse, a claiming of blood and flesh that centered entirely on that stretching, hardening shaft. It felt powerful. It felt hungry.
She looked up, water streaming down Frank’s face, and met Will’s eyes. He had seen. He was staring, not at her face, but lower, at the clear, hard evidence of the body’s response. In his own new body, Amy’s body, a sympathetic flush spread across the chest and throat.
“It’s… it’s just the heat,” Claire stammered, the excuse weak even to her own ears.
Will didn’t answer. He was looking down now, at Amy’s body. At the space between her legs. His expression was one of dawning, awful comprehension. “It would… it would stretch,” he said, his voice hollow. “Wouldn’t it? If we… that would stretch this.” He didn’t elaborate. He didn’t need to. The image was there, brutal and visceral: the thick, hard length of Frank, of the penis Claire now felt twitching in her hand, pushing into the tight, small space that was now his.
The thought should have revolted him. It should have revolted her. But standing there in the steam, with the water beating down on their stolen, aching forms, it didn’t. It hummed between them, a forbidden current. A terrible, logical next step. The body Claire was in throbbed with a need that was entirely about filling a space, about the profound, physical truth of fit and stretch. And the body Will was in, for all his mental horror, seemed to soften in response, a faint, unfamiliar ache blooming low in Amy’s belly.
They finished rinsing in silence, the air crackling with things unsaid. They toweled off, avoiding each other’s eyes, avoiding looking too long at the reflections in the fogged-up glass. They were two people, stranded in the wrong skins, with the ghosts of their spouses between them and a terrifying, tantalizing new physics of flesh beckoning from the shadows of their own home.
The morning light was harsh through the blinds, slicing across the rumpled bed. Claire blinked, her head throbbing with a dull, medicinal ache. Something warm and soft was pressed against her. She looked down.
Amy was nestled in her arms, asleep, her blond hair fanned across the pillow. Except… Claire’s arms were thickly bandaged from wrist to elbow, and the body she held was decidedly male. The firm plane of a chest, the coarse hair on a forearm. Her heart began to hammer against her ribs.
“Amy?” she whispered, her voice a dry rasp. It came out wrong. Deeper. Rougher.
The body in her arms stirred. Blue eyes, so like Will’s, fluttered open. They widened in instant, sheer panic. “Frank? What the hell? Why are you… holding me?” The voice was high, melodic. Amy’s voice. But the tone was all Will—confused, irritable, direct.
Claire—in Frank’s body—pushed herself up on her elbows. Past the tangle of Amy’s blond hair, she saw the closet mirror. The reflection showed Frank’s familiar, lean frame, his own dark hair mussed from sleep, his bandaged arms wrapped around a petite, curvy Amy. But Amy’s face was contorted in a terror that wasn’t hers.
“Will?” Claire breathed, the name feeling foreign in this new throat. “Is that you in there?”
The person in Amy’s body scrambled back, the sheets pooling around a waist that was suddenly, distressingly narrow. “Claire? What did you call me?” He—Will—looked down at himself, at the pronounced swell of his sister’s breasts beneath the thin cotton sleep shirt, and his hands flew to his throat. “That’s my… this is Amy’s voice. What is this?”
“I think… I think I’m you,” Claire said, the reality of it dawning with a sick, dizzying weight. She swung Frank’s legs—her legs—out of bed. The movement was all wrong, the center of gravity shifted, a heavy, unfamiliar weight swinging between her thighs. She ignored it, for now. “The accident. The goodbye. Don’t you remember?”
Will—in Amy—stood up shakily. He looked down at his new body, his hands hovering over the generous curves. “I remember you… you and me, in the car. Crushed. Then nothing. Then waking up here, smothered by my little brother.” He shuddered, a full-body tremor that made the new flesh quiver. “This isn’t right. This is Amy.”
“And this is Frank,” Claire said, staring at Frank’s hands—her hands—as she flexed them. “We’re in our siblings. Our spouses’ siblings.” The sheer, grotesque improbability of it threatened to swallow her. But the throbbing in her bandaged arms was real. The discharge papers on the nightstand were real.
They found them, the crisp hospital printout. Franklin Miller, contusions, lacerations. Amy Miller, contusions, mild concussion. The names were wrong, but the injuries mapped. They had been patched up and sent home, two souls crammed into the wrong, aching containers.
Wordlessly, they moved to the kitchen, the beach house silent except for the distant crash of Pacific waves. The medical instructions said to clean and re-dress the wounds. They worked in a stunned quiet, Claire clumsily winding fresh gauze around Will-Amy’s slender forearm, Will using Amy’s delicate fingers to secure the wrap on Claire-Frank’s broader bicep with a efficiency that was utterly his own.
“We need to shower,” Will said finally, his voice tight. “We’re covered in road grit and… and whatever else.”
Claire nodded. It was practical. A step. They stood in the master bathroom, a spacious tiled room with a large glass-walled shower. The silence grew thick.
“Just… get it over with,” Will muttered, not looking at her. He—in Amy’s body—peeled the sleep shirt over his head, revealing Amy’s full, pale breasts. He froze, his breath catching, his face a mask of profound disorientation. Claire watched, a strange, detached part of her noting how Will’s shock did nothing to diminish the natural, ripe beauty of the form he now wore.
Swallowing hard, Claire turned her attention to Frank’s clothes. The jeans were awkward, the button fly an unfamiliar puzzle for her fingers. She got them open, pushed them down Frank’s hips. The boxer briefs followed. And there it was.
Frank’s penis, soft and nestled in a thatch of dark hair. It was… there. A presence. A weight. She stared at it, this alien appendage that was now, technically, hers. The core of her being, Claire, recoiled. But the body she inhabited didn’t. There was a low, curious hum of sensation, a connection to the thing that was both deeply wrong and undeniably physical.
Will had stripped completely now, standing naked by the sink. He was staring into the mirror, at Amy’s face, with a kind of horrified fascination. His hands skimmed over the dramatic hourglass curve of the hips, the soft swell of the stomach. “God,” he whispered.
“Don’t,” Claire said, her new voice gruff. “Just… don’t think. Clean. That’s all.”
They stepped into the shower together, a bizarre and intimate pantomime of their old married life. The water was hot, a welcome shock. Claire let it sluice over Frank’s broad shoulders, watching as Will soaped Amy’s body with a clinical, hurried desperation. The suds slid over smooth skin, over curves that Will had only ever seen on his sister from a detached, brotherly distance. Now he was mapping them with his own, stolen hands.
Claire’s own washing was more hesitant. The soap slid over Frank’s chest, flat and hard. Down the taut stomach. Her hand, wrapped in plastic to protect the bandages, hesitated again at the groin. She had to clean it. It was just a body part. A piece of biology.
She touched it. Frank’s flaccid penis was soft, vulnerable in her grip. She washed it quickly, the soap slick, her mind screaming the wrongness of it. But as her fingers moved, a jolt went through her—through Frank’s body. A thick, gathering tension. A flood of warmth that had nothing to do with the shower. She gasped, and the thing in her hand began to change, to swell and stiffen, lengthening and thickening in a way that was utterly, overwhelmingly male.
In the mirror of her mind, she was still Claire. But the sensation… the sensation was a deep, insistent pulse, a claiming of blood and flesh that centered entirely on that stretching, hardening shaft. It felt powerful. It felt hungry.
She looked up, water streaming down Frank’s face, and met Will’s eyes. He had seen. He was staring, not at her face, but lower, at the clear, hard evidence of the body’s response. In his own new body, Amy’s body, a sympathetic flush spread across the chest and throat.
“It’s… it’s just the heat,” Claire stammered, the excuse weak even to her own ears.
Will didn’t answer. He was looking down now, at Amy’s body. At the space between her legs. His expression was one of dawning, awful comprehension. “It would… it would stretch,” he said, his voice hollow. “Wouldn’t it? If we… that would stretch this.” He didn’t elaborate. He didn’t need to. The image was there, brutal and visceral: the thick, hard length of Frank, of the penis Claire now felt twitching in her hand, pushing into the tight, small space that was now his.
The thought should have revolted him. It should have revolted her. But standing there in the steam, with the water beating down on their stolen, aching forms, it didn’t. It hummed between them, a forbidden current. A terrible, logical next step. The body Claire was in throbbed with a need that was entirely about filling a space, about the profound, physical truth of fit and stretch. And the body Will was in, for all his mental horror, seemed to soften in response, a faint, unfamiliar ache blooming low in Amy’s belly.
They finished rinsing in silence, the air crackling with things unsaid. They toweled off, avoiding each other’s eyes, avoiding looking too long at the reflections in the fogged-up glass. They were two people, stranded in the wrong skins, with the ghosts of their spouses between them and a terrifying, tantalizing new physics of flesh beckoning from the shadows of their own home.
4
6.3K
1090
0
0
Vega's BEAUTIFUL face is destroyed by Chun Li so he replaces it.
A reimagining of 'Palette Swap' by Team Lady Valiant & FarhadTG
The final kick landed with a sickening crack. My heel connected squarely with Vega's porcelain mask, shattering it—and the bone beneath—with a sound like splintering china. He went down hard, clutching his ruined face, blood seeping between his perfect fingers. For a moment, there was only his ragged breathing and the ringing in my ears.
Then he started to laugh.
"Beautiful... so beautiful..." he gurgled through the wreckage of his jaw, his once-perfect features now a jigsaw puzzle of gore and ceramic shards. His free hand fumbled at his belt, producing a small device I recognized from Bison's labs. "But beauty... can be transferred."
"No—!" I lunged forward, but too late. He pressed the trigger.
The world exploded in white light and static. I felt myself falling, spinning, my consciousness ripping away from my body like silk tearing. When I could see again, I was looking up at the ceiling from the floor, my perspective completely wrong. Vega's hands—my hands now—rose into view. Long-fingered and pale. I touched my face and felt bandages, surgical tape, the swollen flesh beneath.
Across from me, Vega—now wearing my body—stood staring down at itself with wide, hungry eyes. He immediately grabbed the neckline of my qipao top and tore it open, exposing the breasts I'd known my whole life as if seeing them for the first time. "Exquisite," he breathed in my voice, a sound so wrong it made my stomach turn. He cupped them, his fingers—my fingers once—squeezing the weight of them with obscene fascination.
"Three days later."
The words felt surreal to even think. Three days of surgery, of recovery, of Vega preening and parading in my skin while I lay in his bed, trapped in his broken body. I shifted against silk sheets that smelled of roses and blood, trying to find a position that didn't send agony lancing through Vega's four fractured ribs—my fractured ribs now.
The bedroom door opened. Vega entered—not the Vega I'd fought, but the Vega who now wore my face and form. He'd styled my hair into his signature braid, the dark ropes hanging over one shoulder. My breasts—his breasts now—were completely exposed, moving with a bounce and weight I intimately understood but had never witnessed from this angle. His nipples, my nipples once, were hard on my former breasts and already healed into them was a matching version of Vega's serpent tattoo, coiling around his left breast.
He wore the ceremonial trousers of a matador in murrey and yellow, so tight they might have been painted on. Every curve of what had been my hips, my ass, my thighs—his now—was outlined in devastating detail. The white leggings hugged his calves, the red sash cinched his waist, and the loafers clicked softly on the marble floor. There was no shirt, no vest, no modesty whatsoever.
"How are we feeling today, my beautiful monster?" he purred in my voice, running his hands down his bare torso, fingers tracing the new tattoo. "I've been breaking in your body. The flexibility is... inspiring."
I pushed myself up on Vega's arms—my arms now—so much stronger than my own had been, but currently useless thanks to the ribs. I wore the masculine version of my Street Fighter Alpha outfit: an embroidered vest that strained across his broad shoulders, a navy unitard that did nothing to hide the evidence of my new anatomy, athletic shoes, and studded wristbands. My face was still wrapped in bandages, Napoleon's guise hiding the damage I'd inflicted.
"You're a psychopath," I rasped, his voice grating in my throat.
"I'm an artist," he corrected, striking a pose that made his—my breasts once—lift and press together. "And I've finally achieved my masterpiece. The face I was always meant to have, the body I've coveted for years. But..." He frowned, touching his bandaged visage on my body. "I still need to fix this. Your brutality marred perfection."
Despite everything, despite the pain and violation, I felt a strange heat pooling in my new groin as I watched him touch what had been my face. My old body was undeniably beautiful, even under his control. And his body... I flexed Vega's powerful thighs—my thighs now—felt the weight of different muscles, the tightness of the unitard against an erection I hadn't asked for.
His eyes—my eyes once—caught the movement. "Ah, I see my husband is adjusting. Good." He began to pace, each step deliberate, making my former hips sway. "I've been thinking, my love. About our arrangement. You gave me this gift, this perfect vessel. And I realized something." He stopped at the foot of the bed, hands on what had been my hips. "I'm in love. With you. With the fighter who broke me, who made this possible."
My breath caught. "You're insane."
"Perhaps." He smiled with my lips, then reached down and began to touch himself through the impossibly tight matador trousers. "But watch how your former body responds to the truth." One hand squeezed his breast—the weight of it filling his palm perfectly—while the other rubbed slow circles between his legs. "I've been touching myself constantly, wife. Learning every secret you kept hidden. Did you know you could get this wet?"
He turned, presenting the profile of my former body, and I watched in horrified fascination as his fingers worked faster. The trousers were so tight I could see the outline of his hand, the way the fabric pulled and strained. He was getting wet—I could smell it, that familiar scent from a foreign source, and the dark patch spreading across the murrey fabric.
"Vega, stop—" I protested, but my new voice was weak.
"Why? This is as much yours as mine now." He approached the bed, leaning over my new crotch, my former breasts—his breasts now—swaying. "Let me show you what I've learned as your wife."
His hands moved to my unitard, and before I could protest, he tore the reinforced fabric between my legs with shocking ease. Vega's cock sprang free, already hard and throbbing. I gasped at the sensation—so different, so urgent.
"Beautiful," he whispered, taking it in my former hands. "Just like the rest of your husband."
Then he leaned forward and pressed my erection between his breasts—the breasts I'd once soaped in the shower, the breasts that had fit into specific sports bras, the breasts that were now his to wield as mother to my fatherhood. The sensation was overwhelming. He squeezed them together, creating a channel of soft, yielding flesh, and began to move.
"Watch," he commanded in my voice, looking down at me with my own dark eyes—his eyes now. "Watch what you made of your wife."
He worked faster, the gold rings in his nipples glinting, his braid swinging with each motion. The pleasure built in this unfamiliar body, coiling tighter and tighter. When he lowered his mouth to the tip and took me—Vega—between my own lips—his lips now—I couldn't hold back.
The orgasm ripped through me, a different kind of explosion than any kick or punch. He swallowed, his throat working in a way I'd never felt, then released me with a satisfied smile. Vega's cock—my cock now—still twitched, half-hard and sensitive.
"There," he purred, wiping his mouth with the back of my former hand. "Now we understand each other, husband."
I was panting, each breath sending pain through Vega's ribs—my ribs now. "More," I managed, hips still twitching with aftershocks. "I want..."
"Shhh." He leaned close, my former breasts—his breasts now—pressing against the vest covering his old chest. "Your body is still healing. I had to have extensive reconstructive surgery on your face, you know. These ribs need time." He whispered in my ear, his breath hot against skin that was his but now mine: "We have all the time in the world, my love. When you're whole again, your wife will take you so much further."
He kissed the bandages covering Vega's ruined features—my ruined features now—then rose from the bed, adjusting his trousers with a satisfied smile. My body left the room with his swagger, the door clicking shut behind him.
I collapsed back against the pillows, remembering as Vega removed his breasts from my half-hard penis, the wetness left behind cooling in the air. My mind reeled with the obscene intimacy of what we'd just done. Three days in, and I was already lost, already thinking of this monster in my skin as "my wife." How many more until I didn't want to find my way back?
A reimagining of 'Palette Swap' by Team Lady Valiant & FarhadTG
The final kick landed with a sickening crack. My heel connected squarely with Vega's porcelain mask, shattering it—and the bone beneath—with a sound like splintering china. He went down hard, clutching his ruined face, blood seeping between his perfect fingers. For a moment, there was only his ragged breathing and the ringing in my ears.
Then he started to laugh.
"Beautiful... so beautiful..." he gurgled through the wreckage of his jaw, his once-perfect features now a jigsaw puzzle of gore and ceramic shards. His free hand fumbled at his belt, producing a small device I recognized from Bison's labs. "But beauty... can be transferred."
"No—!" I lunged forward, but too late. He pressed the trigger.
The world exploded in white light and static. I felt myself falling, spinning, my consciousness ripping away from my body like silk tearing. When I could see again, I was looking up at the ceiling from the floor, my perspective completely wrong. Vega's hands—my hands now—rose into view. Long-fingered and pale. I touched my face and felt bandages, surgical tape, the swollen flesh beneath.
Across from me, Vega—now wearing my body—stood staring down at itself with wide, hungry eyes. He immediately grabbed the neckline of my qipao top and tore it open, exposing the breasts I'd known my whole life as if seeing them for the first time. "Exquisite," he breathed in my voice, a sound so wrong it made my stomach turn. He cupped them, his fingers—my fingers once—squeezing the weight of them with obscene fascination.
"Three days later."
The words felt surreal to even think. Three days of surgery, of recovery, of Vega preening and parading in my skin while I lay in his bed, trapped in his broken body. I shifted against silk sheets that smelled of roses and blood, trying to find a position that didn't send agony lancing through Vega's four fractured ribs—my fractured ribs now.
The bedroom door opened. Vega entered—not the Vega I'd fought, but the Vega who now wore my face and form. He'd styled my hair into his signature braid, the dark ropes hanging over one shoulder. My breasts—his breasts now—were completely exposed, moving with a bounce and weight I intimately understood but had never witnessed from this angle. His nipples, my nipples once, were hard on my former breasts and already healed into them was a matching version of Vega's serpent tattoo, coiling around his left breast.
He wore the ceremonial trousers of a matador in murrey and yellow, so tight they might have been painted on. Every curve of what had been my hips, my ass, my thighs—his now—was outlined in devastating detail. The white leggings hugged his calves, the red sash cinched his waist, and the loafers clicked softly on the marble floor. There was no shirt, no vest, no modesty whatsoever.
"How are we feeling today, my beautiful monster?" he purred in my voice, running his hands down his bare torso, fingers tracing the new tattoo. "I've been breaking in your body. The flexibility is... inspiring."
I pushed myself up on Vega's arms—my arms now—so much stronger than my own had been, but currently useless thanks to the ribs. I wore the masculine version of my Street Fighter Alpha outfit: an embroidered vest that strained across his broad shoulders, a navy unitard that did nothing to hide the evidence of my new anatomy, athletic shoes, and studded wristbands. My face was still wrapped in bandages, Napoleon's guise hiding the damage I'd inflicted.
"You're a psychopath," I rasped, his voice grating in my throat.
"I'm an artist," he corrected, striking a pose that made his—my breasts once—lift and press together. "And I've finally achieved my masterpiece. The face I was always meant to have, the body I've coveted for years. But..." He frowned, touching his bandaged visage on my body. "I still need to fix this. Your brutality marred perfection."
Despite everything, despite the pain and violation, I felt a strange heat pooling in my new groin as I watched him touch what had been my face. My old body was undeniably beautiful, even under his control. And his body... I flexed Vega's powerful thighs—my thighs now—felt the weight of different muscles, the tightness of the unitard against an erection I hadn't asked for.
His eyes—my eyes once—caught the movement. "Ah, I see my husband is adjusting. Good." He began to pace, each step deliberate, making my former hips sway. "I've been thinking, my love. About our arrangement. You gave me this gift, this perfect vessel. And I realized something." He stopped at the foot of the bed, hands on what had been my hips. "I'm in love. With you. With the fighter who broke me, who made this possible."
My breath caught. "You're insane."
"Perhaps." He smiled with my lips, then reached down and began to touch himself through the impossibly tight matador trousers. "But watch how your former body responds to the truth." One hand squeezed his breast—the weight of it filling his palm perfectly—while the other rubbed slow circles between his legs. "I've been touching myself constantly, wife. Learning every secret you kept hidden. Did you know you could get this wet?"
He turned, presenting the profile of my former body, and I watched in horrified fascination as his fingers worked faster. The trousers were so tight I could see the outline of his hand, the way the fabric pulled and strained. He was getting wet—I could smell it, that familiar scent from a foreign source, and the dark patch spreading across the murrey fabric.
"Vega, stop—" I protested, but my new voice was weak.
"Why? This is as much yours as mine now." He approached the bed, leaning over my new crotch, my former breasts—his breasts now—swaying. "Let me show you what I've learned as your wife."
His hands moved to my unitard, and before I could protest, he tore the reinforced fabric between my legs with shocking ease. Vega's cock sprang free, already hard and throbbing. I gasped at the sensation—so different, so urgent.
"Beautiful," he whispered, taking it in my former hands. "Just like the rest of your husband."
Then he leaned forward and pressed my erection between his breasts—the breasts I'd once soaped in the shower, the breasts that had fit into specific sports bras, the breasts that were now his to wield as mother to my fatherhood. The sensation was overwhelming. He squeezed them together, creating a channel of soft, yielding flesh, and began to move.
"Watch," he commanded in my voice, looking down at me with my own dark eyes—his eyes now. "Watch what you made of your wife."
He worked faster, the gold rings in his nipples glinting, his braid swinging with each motion. The pleasure built in this unfamiliar body, coiling tighter and tighter. When he lowered his mouth to the tip and took me—Vega—between my own lips—his lips now—I couldn't hold back.
The orgasm ripped through me, a different kind of explosion than any kick or punch. He swallowed, his throat working in a way I'd never felt, then released me with a satisfied smile. Vega's cock—my cock now—still twitched, half-hard and sensitive.
"There," he purred, wiping his mouth with the back of my former hand. "Now we understand each other, husband."
I was panting, each breath sending pain through Vega's ribs—my ribs now. "More," I managed, hips still twitching with aftershocks. "I want..."
"Shhh." He leaned close, my former breasts—his breasts now—pressing against the vest covering his old chest. "Your body is still healing. I had to have extensive reconstructive surgery on your face, you know. These ribs need time." He whispered in my ear, his breath hot against skin that was his but now mine: "We have all the time in the world, my love. When you're whole again, your wife will take you so much further."
He kissed the bandages covering Vega's ruined features—my ruined features now—then rose from the bed, adjusting his trousers with a satisfied smile. My body left the room with his swagger, the door clicking shut behind him.
I collapsed back against the pillows, remembering as Vega removed his breasts from my half-hard penis, the wetness left behind cooling in the air. My mind reeled with the obscene intimacy of what we'd just done. Three days in, and I was already lost, already thinking of this monster in my skin as "my wife." How many more until I didn't want to find my way back?
3
4.0K
405
0
0
Short story about a man who moves to Miami and has his life body stolen by a maintenance man when they accidentally swap bodies after a head collision.
The humid Miami air clung to my skin as I adjusted to my new life in the city. My one-bedroom apartment was small but cozy, with a view of palm trees swaying outside my window. At 25, I was young, single, and—according to my friends—lucky enough to turn heads. But none of that mattered when I locked eyes with her at a café near Little Havana.
May.
Her name tasted like honey on my tongue. A stunning Cuban woman with curves that defied gravity, dark eyes that smoldered, and a smile that could melt steel. The moment I saw her, I knew I had to ask her out. And when she said yes, my heart nearly exploded.
There was just one problem: my Spanish was nonexistent.
The night before our date, I was pacing my apartment, rehearsing the few phrases I’d Googled—“Hola, guapa. ¿Quieres bailar?”—when the ceiling fan sputtered and died.
Great.
I called maintenance, and within an hour, a gruff, heavyset Mexican man named Ernesto showed up at my door. He smelled like cheap cigarettes and resentment, his white tank top straining over his gut as he grumbled about his wife under his breath.
“Fan’s broken,” he muttered, climbing the ladder with the grace of a man who’d rather be anywhere else.
I nodded, distracted, when my phone buzzed.
A text from May.
A picture.
My breath hitched. She’d sent a selfie in the dress she was wearing tomorrow—tight, red, and sinful. My fingers hovered over the screen, my pulse racing, when—
CRASH.
Ernesto lost his balance. The ladder wobbled. His arms flailed.
And then—impact.
Our skulls collided with a sickening crack, and everything went black.
---
I woke up disoriented.
The room was different. The clothes were different. And—wait—why was the calendar three weeks ahead?
Before I could process it, the bedroom door swung open.
May.
She stood there in a sundress so short it was practically a suggestion, her hips swaying as she sauntered toward me. A slow, knowing smirk curled her lips as she purred something in Spanish—words I didn’t understand but felt deep in my gut.
My confusion must’ve been obvious because she laughed, a rich, throaty sound, before dropping to her knees.
And then—
Oh. My. God.
The best. Blowjob. Of my life.
When she finally pulled away, licking her lips, she whispered in perfect English, “Tomorrow, we go meet my parents, okay?” Then she winked and strutted out, leaving me dazed, confused, and very satisfied.
But the moment she left, the door swung open again.
Ernesto.
His eyes locked onto mine, and his face drained of color.
“No… no, no, no,” he gasped before bolting like a man possessed.
May poked her head back in. “Who was that?”
I shrugged, my mind racing.
But I needed answers.
---
I tracked Ernesto down at his shitty apartment complex, cornering him in the dimly lit hallway.
“What the hell is going on?” I demanded.
He looked like a man who’d seen a ghost. “You weren’t supposed to wake up,” he whispered.
“Wake up?!”He swallowed hard. “When we hit heads… I woke up in your body. My body was just… empty. Like a shell.” His voice dropped. “I saw the text from May. The date. I—I went. I speak Spanish. She loved it. We… we’ve been together since.”
My stomach twisted. “You’ve been what?”
“Fucking her,” he admitted, shame and excitement warring in his eyes. “I’d swap back and forth—your body, mine—so I could escape my wife and still be with her. But now you’re here, and I don’t know how to fix it.”
I stared at him, my blood boiling.
This bastard had been living my life.
Touching my woman.
And now?
Now I had a choice to make.
The air between Ernesto and me crackled with tension. My hands clenched into fists at my sides, my mind racing with the implications of what he’d just confessed.
He’d been inside my body.
He’d touched May.
He’d lived my life.
A surge of possessive fury burned through me, but beneath it, something else flickered—curiosity.
“So,” I said slowly, stepping closer, “you’re telling me that when we hit heads, you swapped into my body? And you’ve been… switching back and forth?”
Ernesto nodded, wiping sweat from his brow. “Sí. Your body—it’s like a car. I get in, I drive, then I go back to mine when I’m done.”
I scoffed. “And my body just… waits for you?”
“Exactamente.” He shrugged. “When I’m not in it, it’s just… empty. Like a puppet with no strings.”
My jaw tightened. The idea of my body being used—violated—without my consent made my skin crawl. But then, another thought slithered into my mind.
What if I could do the same?
I crossed my arms. “Show me.”
Ernesto blinked. “¿Qué?”
“Show me how it works,” I demanded. “If you can jump into my body, then I should be able to jump into yours.”
His face paled. “No, no, hombre—it’s not that simple—”
“Bullshit.” I grabbed his wrist, my grip iron-tight. “You stole my life. The least you can do is teach me how to do the same.”
For a long moment, Ernesto just stared at me, his dark eyes flickering with fear… and something else. Resignation.
Finally, he sighed. “Fine. But you’re not gonna like it.”
---
Back in my apartment, Ernesto paced nervously. “It only works when we’re close,” he muttered. “And it hurts.”
I rolled my eyes. “Just tell me what to do.”
He hesitated, then pointed at the couch. “Sit. And… brace yourself.”
I sat, my heart pounding. Ernesto stood in front of me, his thick fingers flexing like he was preparing for a fight.
Then—
He slammed his forehead into mine.
CRACK.
White-hot pain exploded behind my eyes. My vision swam, the room tilting violently—
And then…
Darkness.
---
I woke up with a gasp—but something was wrong.
My hands were thicker, rougher. My gut heavy.
I looked down.
White tank top. Jeans. A gold chain around my neck.
Ernesto’s body.
“Holy shit,” I breathed—but the voice that came out was his. Deep, accented.
Across from me, my body stirred.
Ernesto—now in me—groaned, rubbing his (my?) forehead. Then he looked up, and our eyes met.
A slow, wicked grin spread across my face.
“See?” he said, flexing my fingers. “Now you know.”
Disgust twisted in my gut—but so did something else. Power.
If he could do it…
So could I.
I stood, testing the weight of Ernesto’s body. It was strange—like wearing a suit two sizes too big. But the strength was undeniable.
And then—
The door opened.
May.
Her eyes lit up when she saw me—or rather, my body—sitting there.
“Hola, papi,” she purred, strutting over to him like I wasn’t even there.
My blood boiled.
She leaned down, pressing a kiss to my lips—his lips—her fingers tangling in my hair.
And I was just… standing there.
Invisible.
Forgotten.
A growl ripped from my throat.
May pulled back, frowning at me. “Ernesto? What’s wrong with you?”
Wrong?
Everything was wrong.
But now…
Now I knew how to fix it.
I lunged.
May screamed as I tackled my own body to the ground, our skulls colliding with another sickening CRACK—
And the world went black again.
---
When I opened my eyes, I was back.
My hands. My body.
And May beneath me, her lips swollen from kissing me—the real me.
Her eyes widened. “James?”
The moment May stepped out of the apartment, the air between Ernesto and me grew thick with tension. I ran a hand through my hair—my hair again—and exhaled sharply.
"Alright," I said, turning to Ernesto, who was still rubbing his temple from the last headbutt. "We need to talk."
He scowled but didn't argue.
"I need you to do something for me," I said, keeping my voice low. "Tonight—May wants me to meet her parents. But I can't speak Spanish, and I don’t want to embarrass her."
Ernesto’s eyebrows shot up. "¿En serio? You want me to go?"
I nodded. "Just for the dinner. You go as me, charm them, then we swap back after."
A slow, knowing smirk curled his lips. "And what do I get out of it?"
My jaw tightened. "You get to keep using my body whenever you want—within reason. But there’s one condition."
He waited.
"You don’t sleep with May."
Ernesto barked a laugh. "Cabrón, you think I can resist that?" He gestured toward the door where May had just left.
I grabbed his collar, shoving him against the wall. "Yes. Because if you don’t, I swear to God, I’ll make sure your wife finds out exactly where you’ve been disappearing to."
His smirk faltered.
After a tense silence, he finally relented. "Está bien. Fine. No sex. Just dinner."
I released him, smoothing out his wrinkled shirt. "Good. Now get ready. You’ve got a date."
---
The swap was easier this time—just a quick, brutal knock of our foreheads, and suddenly, I was staring at myself again.
Ernesto—now in my body—adjusted my shirt, flashing me a cocky grin.
Ernesto—now wearing my body—with a low, dangerous growl.
“Listen carefully,” I hissed, jabbing a finger into my own chest. “You will be on your best behavior tonight. You will charm her parents. And you will not touch her after.”Ernesto smirked, running my hands down my torso in a way that made my skin crawl. “Relax, güey. I got this.”
“This isn’t a joke,” I snapped. “You think this is some kind of game? You ruin this for me—”
“And what?” He laughed. “You’ll tell her the truth? ‘Oh hey, May, by the way, your novio is really a baldy maintenance man in a stolen body!’” His voice dripped with mocking. “Face it, hermano. You need me.”
I wanted to strangle him. Instead, I took a deep breath.
“One date,” I said through gritted teeth. “Then we swap back. No funny business.”
Ernesto rolled my eyes but nodded. “Sí, sí. No funny business.”---
From the window of my apartment, I watched them leave. May looped her arm through mine, laughing at something he said—something in perfect Spanish, no doubt. The way she looked at him—no, at me—sent a vicious pang of jealousy through my gut.
That should’ve been me walking her to the car.
That smile should’ve been for me.
I clenched the windowsill until my knuckles turned white.
Just get through tonight, I told myself. Then you get your life back.
---
Three hours later, the sound of the front door opening jolted me from my pacing.
“We’re back!” May’s musical voice called.
I rushed into the living room—and froze.
May was pressed against my body—Ernesto—her hips grinding into him as his hands roamed shamelessly over her curves. Her lips were kiss-swollen, her dark eyes hooded with lust.
“Ay, papi,” she purred, biting his—my—ear. “Take me to bed.”
Ernesto smirked—smirked—right at me over her shoulder.
You promised, I mouthed, fury burning in my chest.
His grin widened. Then he hoisted May over his shoulder like a prize, her giggles bouncing off the walls as they disappeared into the bedroom.
A second later, the first moan cut through the air.
Hers.
Then his.
I stood there, shaking.
Traitor. Liar.
I could’ve barged in. I could’ve screamed.
But what would I say?
That’s not me in there!
She’d think I was insane.
So I did the only thing I could.
I sat on the couch.
And I listened.
Every gasp. Every groan. Every filthy, throaty cry May made for him—for my body.
It should’ve been me.
My fists clenched.
The bedroom door clicked shut behind them, but the sounds—those goddamn sounds—continued to seep through the thin walls. May's breathy moans. The creak of the bedframe. Ernesto's gruff voice, my voice, whispering things in Spanish I couldn't understand but knew were filthy.
I gripped the armrest of the couch, my nails digging into the fabric. Every muscle in my body was tense, coiled like a spring ready to snap.
I wanted to kick down the door. I wanted to scream. But all I could do was sit there—trapped in Ernesto’s body, stuck on the sidelines of my own fucking life.
A particularly loud cry from May sent a jolt of white-hot anger through me. That was supposed to be mine.
I couldn’t take it anymore.
I stormed out onto the balcony, gulping the humid Miami air like it could cleanse my rage. The city lights blurred in front of me, my thoughts spinning.
How the hell was I going to fix this?
→ I could try to force another swap—but Ernesto was in my body now. Stronger. Younger. If I charged in there and we fought... May would see. She'd think I was attacking her.
→ I could wait. Let him finish. Maybe he'd keep his word and swap back after. Yeah, right.
→ Or… I could take matters into my own hands. Permanently.
The balcony railing groaned as I leaned against it. Below, the pool shimmered under ultraviolet lights. A dark fantasy flickered in my mind—Ernesto, my body, slipping on wet tiles. Hitting his head. Another accident.
Before I could follow that thought further, the bedroom door creaked open.
I turned.
May stood there in the doorway, draped in nothing but one of my old T-shirts—just long enough to tease the bare skin of her thighs. Her hair was a mess. Her lips were red and swollen.
She looked satisfied.
My stomach turned.
"Ernesto?" Her brow furrowed. "What are you doing out here?"
Ernesto. The name was a punch to the gut.
"Just... needed some air," I muttered, hating the gravel in his voice.
May bit her lip, glancing back toward the bedroom. "James is, uh... resting." A blush crept up her neck, and I knew exactly what kind of 'rest' he was getting.
I swallowed hard. "You two had a good night?"
She smiled—that smile. The one I'd been dreaming about since the day we met. "The best. His parents loved him. And then..." She trailed off, eyes glazing over with memory. My chest ached.
Before she could say more, my voice called from inside.
"Mi vidaaaaa, where'd you go?"
May grinned. "Gotta go." She turned, then hesitated. "Hey... you okay? You seem... off."
I forced a laugh. "Just tired."
She nodded and disappeared back inside, the door clicking shut behind her.
A second later, laughter spilled out. His.
That was it.
I wasn't playing this game anymore.
I grabbed my phone and scrolled through my contacts until I found her number—Ernesto's wife.
One ring. Two.
"¿Hola?"
I took a deep breath.
"Señora Rodriguez? You might want to come to my apartment. Your husband is here... and you won't believe what he's been doing with my body."
I hung up before she could reply.
Back inside, the sounds of passion had started up again.
But not for long.
The knock at the door came less than twenty minutes later - hard and impatient. I'd know that knock anywhere.
Marisol Rodriguez.
I rubbed my hands together (Ernesto's thick, calloused hands) and hurried to answer. The moment I opened the door, I was nearly knocked backward by the force of Marisol's fury.
"¿DÓNDE ESTÁ?" she demanded, dark eyes blazing. She was a beautiful woman - all dangerous curves and fire - but right now, she looked ready to kill.
I stepped aside. "Master bedroom."
She stormed past me in a whirlwind of floral perfume and righteous anger, platform sandals slapping against the tile. I followed closely behind, my heart pounding with equal parts guilt and anticipation.
The moans grew louder as we approached.
Marisol froze outside my bedroom door, her face twisting in fury. Without hesitation, she swung the door open with a violent crash.
The sight that greeted us was exactly what I expected. May on her back, legs wrapped around my body, sheets tangled around their waists. They froze mid-thrust, identical looks of horror dawning on their faces.
"MARISOL?!" Ernesto's voice cracked.
May scrambled backwards, clutching the sheets to her chest. "James? What the hell? Who is-?"
Marisol didn't say a word. She just smiled - slow and venomous. Then she reached into her designer purse and pulled out a glass bottle of holy water.
Ernesto's eyes went wide. "No, mujer, wait-"
She uncorked it with her teeth and flung the contents straight at his face.
The effect was instantaneous. Ernesto - in my body - screamed as the water hit his skin and began sizzling. His arms flailed as his back arched unnaturally, my body spasming against the mattress.
May screamed, falling off the bed in her scramble to escape. "WHAT'S HAPPENING?!"
Marisol crossed herself. "Demonio. I knew it wasn't really my husband."
Smoke began rising from my body's pores as Ernesto thrashed, his screams taking on an unnatural, echoing quality.
And then - with one final, guttural wail - he separated.
A translucent, ghostly version of Ernesto was ejected from my body, hovering mid-air before collapsing into a shimmering puddle on the floor that slowly dissolved into nothing.
My body slumped onto the bed, unmoving.
Complete silence.
Then May scrambled to her feet, naked and terrified, grabbing for her clothes. "What the FUCK was that?!"
Marisol calmly recorked her now-empty bottle. "El Diablo takes many forms, mija." She turned to me - still in Ernesto's body - and tilted her head. "Now. About you..."
I held up my hands. "Marisol, I promise, I'm-"
She reached into her purse again.
I dove for my motionless body on the bed just as she flung another spray of holy water.
CRACK.
Pain exploded through my skull as my forehead connected with my body's.
Darkness.
Then - the feeling of fitting again.
I gasped, sitting bolt upright in my body - my real body. Down on the floor, Ernesto groaned, back in his own form.
Marisol grabbed her husband by the ear and yanked him upright. "We're leaving. Now."
As she dragged a groggy Ernesto toward the door, she turned back to me and May with a smirk. "You're welcome."
The door slammed shut behind them.
Silence again.
May slowly turned to me, clutching her dress to her chest. "James... what the actual fuck just happened?"
I opened my mouth. Closed it.
Somehow "my maintenance man possessed my body to date you because he was in a bad marriage and now we might both be cursed" didn't seem like the right answer.
So I went with:
"...Miami is weird?"
She stared at me for a long moment.
Then smacked me hard across the face.
"You're goddamn right," she muttered, stalking toward the bathroom. "And you're never sleeping with me again."
The bathroom door slammed.
Alone again.
I rubbed my stinging cheek and sighed.
Worth it.
→ Epilogue →
Three Months Later
The apartment AC hummed as I adjusted my tie in the mirror. First day at my new job - no more staring at Ernesto's ugly mug in the maintenance hallways.
A knock at the door.
I checked the peephole.
And nearly swallowed my tongue.
May stood there in a tight pink dress, arms crossed, looking pissed.
I opened the door slowly. "Uh. Hey?"
She glared. "You owe me dinner."
"...I do?"
"Correct." She shoved a stack of papers into my chest. Every single one was a Spanish workbook. "And you're going to learn real Spanish. Not whatever that pendejo was speaking."
I blinked. Then grinned so wide my cheeks hurt.
"Si, mi amor."
She rolled her eyes. "Dios mío. That's not even the right context." But she was smiling as she pushed past me into the apartment.
Life was good.
And Miami?
Miami was still very weird.
The humid Miami air clung to my skin as I adjusted to my new life in the city. My one-bedroom apartment was small but cozy, with a view of palm trees swaying outside my window. At 25, I was young, single, and—according to my friends—lucky enough to turn heads. But none of that mattered when I locked eyes with her at a café near Little Havana.
May.
Her name tasted like honey on my tongue. A stunning Cuban woman with curves that defied gravity, dark eyes that smoldered, and a smile that could melt steel. The moment I saw her, I knew I had to ask her out. And when she said yes, my heart nearly exploded.
There was just one problem: my Spanish was nonexistent.
The night before our date, I was pacing my apartment, rehearsing the few phrases I’d Googled—“Hola, guapa. ¿Quieres bailar?”—when the ceiling fan sputtered and died.
Great.
I called maintenance, and within an hour, a gruff, heavyset Mexican man named Ernesto showed up at my door. He smelled like cheap cigarettes and resentment, his white tank top straining over his gut as he grumbled about his wife under his breath.
“Fan’s broken,” he muttered, climbing the ladder with the grace of a man who’d rather be anywhere else.
I nodded, distracted, when my phone buzzed.
A text from May.
A picture.
My breath hitched. She’d sent a selfie in the dress she was wearing tomorrow—tight, red, and sinful. My fingers hovered over the screen, my pulse racing, when—
CRASH.
Ernesto lost his balance. The ladder wobbled. His arms flailed.
And then—impact.
Our skulls collided with a sickening crack, and everything went black.
---
I woke up disoriented.
The room was different. The clothes were different. And—wait—why was the calendar three weeks ahead?
Before I could process it, the bedroom door swung open.
May.
She stood there in a sundress so short it was practically a suggestion, her hips swaying as she sauntered toward me. A slow, knowing smirk curled her lips as she purred something in Spanish—words I didn’t understand but felt deep in my gut.
My confusion must’ve been obvious because she laughed, a rich, throaty sound, before dropping to her knees.
And then—
Oh. My. God.
The best. Blowjob. Of my life.
When she finally pulled away, licking her lips, she whispered in perfect English, “Tomorrow, we go meet my parents, okay?” Then she winked and strutted out, leaving me dazed, confused, and very satisfied.
But the moment she left, the door swung open again.
Ernesto.
His eyes locked onto mine, and his face drained of color.
“No… no, no, no,” he gasped before bolting like a man possessed.
May poked her head back in. “Who was that?”
I shrugged, my mind racing.
But I needed answers.
---
I tracked Ernesto down at his shitty apartment complex, cornering him in the dimly lit hallway.
“What the hell is going on?” I demanded.
He looked like a man who’d seen a ghost. “You weren’t supposed to wake up,” he whispered.
“Wake up?!”He swallowed hard. “When we hit heads… I woke up in your body. My body was just… empty. Like a shell.” His voice dropped. “I saw the text from May. The date. I—I went. I speak Spanish. She loved it. We… we’ve been together since.”
My stomach twisted. “You’ve been what?”
“Fucking her,” he admitted, shame and excitement warring in his eyes. “I’d swap back and forth—your body, mine—so I could escape my wife and still be with her. But now you’re here, and I don’t know how to fix it.”
I stared at him, my blood boiling.
This bastard had been living my life.
Touching my woman.
And now?
Now I had a choice to make.
The air between Ernesto and me crackled with tension. My hands clenched into fists at my sides, my mind racing with the implications of what he’d just confessed.
He’d been inside my body.
He’d touched May.
He’d lived my life.
A surge of possessive fury burned through me, but beneath it, something else flickered—curiosity.
“So,” I said slowly, stepping closer, “you’re telling me that when we hit heads, you swapped into my body? And you’ve been… switching back and forth?”
Ernesto nodded, wiping sweat from his brow. “Sí. Your body—it’s like a car. I get in, I drive, then I go back to mine when I’m done.”
I scoffed. “And my body just… waits for you?”
“Exactamente.” He shrugged. “When I’m not in it, it’s just… empty. Like a puppet with no strings.”
My jaw tightened. The idea of my body being used—violated—without my consent made my skin crawl. But then, another thought slithered into my mind.
What if I could do the same?
I crossed my arms. “Show me.”
Ernesto blinked. “¿Qué?”
“Show me how it works,” I demanded. “If you can jump into my body, then I should be able to jump into yours.”
His face paled. “No, no, hombre—it’s not that simple—”
“Bullshit.” I grabbed his wrist, my grip iron-tight. “You stole my life. The least you can do is teach me how to do the same.”
For a long moment, Ernesto just stared at me, his dark eyes flickering with fear… and something else. Resignation.
Finally, he sighed. “Fine. But you’re not gonna like it.”
---
Back in my apartment, Ernesto paced nervously. “It only works when we’re close,” he muttered. “And it hurts.”
I rolled my eyes. “Just tell me what to do.”
He hesitated, then pointed at the couch. “Sit. And… brace yourself.”
I sat, my heart pounding. Ernesto stood in front of me, his thick fingers flexing like he was preparing for a fight.
Then—
He slammed his forehead into mine.
CRACK.
White-hot pain exploded behind my eyes. My vision swam, the room tilting violently—
And then…
Darkness.
---
I woke up with a gasp—but something was wrong.
My hands were thicker, rougher. My gut heavy.
I looked down.
White tank top. Jeans. A gold chain around my neck.
Ernesto’s body.
“Holy shit,” I breathed—but the voice that came out was his. Deep, accented.
Across from me, my body stirred.
Ernesto—now in me—groaned, rubbing his (my?) forehead. Then he looked up, and our eyes met.
A slow, wicked grin spread across my face.
“See?” he said, flexing my fingers. “Now you know.”
Disgust twisted in my gut—but so did something else. Power.
If he could do it…
So could I.
I stood, testing the weight of Ernesto’s body. It was strange—like wearing a suit two sizes too big. But the strength was undeniable.
And then—
The door opened.
May.
Her eyes lit up when she saw me—or rather, my body—sitting there.
“Hola, papi,” she purred, strutting over to him like I wasn’t even there.
My blood boiled.
She leaned down, pressing a kiss to my lips—his lips—her fingers tangling in my hair.
And I was just… standing there.
Invisible.
Forgotten.
A growl ripped from my throat.
May pulled back, frowning at me. “Ernesto? What’s wrong with you?”
Wrong?
Everything was wrong.
But now…
Now I knew how to fix it.
I lunged.
May screamed as I tackled my own body to the ground, our skulls colliding with another sickening CRACK—
And the world went black again.
---
When I opened my eyes, I was back.
My hands. My body.
And May beneath me, her lips swollen from kissing me—the real me.
Her eyes widened. “James?”
The moment May stepped out of the apartment, the air between Ernesto and me grew thick with tension. I ran a hand through my hair—my hair again—and exhaled sharply.
"Alright," I said, turning to Ernesto, who was still rubbing his temple from the last headbutt. "We need to talk."
He scowled but didn't argue.
"I need you to do something for me," I said, keeping my voice low. "Tonight—May wants me to meet her parents. But I can't speak Spanish, and I don’t want to embarrass her."
Ernesto’s eyebrows shot up. "¿En serio? You want me to go?"
I nodded. "Just for the dinner. You go as me, charm them, then we swap back after."
A slow, knowing smirk curled his lips. "And what do I get out of it?"
My jaw tightened. "You get to keep using my body whenever you want—within reason. But there’s one condition."
He waited.
"You don’t sleep with May."
Ernesto barked a laugh. "Cabrón, you think I can resist that?" He gestured toward the door where May had just left.
I grabbed his collar, shoving him against the wall. "Yes. Because if you don’t, I swear to God, I’ll make sure your wife finds out exactly where you’ve been disappearing to."
His smirk faltered.
After a tense silence, he finally relented. "Está bien. Fine. No sex. Just dinner."
I released him, smoothing out his wrinkled shirt. "Good. Now get ready. You’ve got a date."
---
The swap was easier this time—just a quick, brutal knock of our foreheads, and suddenly, I was staring at myself again.
Ernesto—now in my body—adjusted my shirt, flashing me a cocky grin.
Ernesto—now wearing my body—with a low, dangerous growl.
“Listen carefully,” I hissed, jabbing a finger into my own chest. “You will be on your best behavior tonight. You will charm her parents. And you will not touch her after.”Ernesto smirked, running my hands down my torso in a way that made my skin crawl. “Relax, güey. I got this.”
“This isn’t a joke,” I snapped. “You think this is some kind of game? You ruin this for me—”
“And what?” He laughed. “You’ll tell her the truth? ‘Oh hey, May, by the way, your novio is really a baldy maintenance man in a stolen body!’” His voice dripped with mocking. “Face it, hermano. You need me.”
I wanted to strangle him. Instead, I took a deep breath.
“One date,” I said through gritted teeth. “Then we swap back. No funny business.”
Ernesto rolled my eyes but nodded. “Sí, sí. No funny business.”---
From the window of my apartment, I watched them leave. May looped her arm through mine, laughing at something he said—something in perfect Spanish, no doubt. The way she looked at him—no, at me—sent a vicious pang of jealousy through my gut.
That should’ve been me walking her to the car.
That smile should’ve been for me.
I clenched the windowsill until my knuckles turned white.
Just get through tonight, I told myself. Then you get your life back.
---
Three hours later, the sound of the front door opening jolted me from my pacing.
“We’re back!” May’s musical voice called.
I rushed into the living room—and froze.
May was pressed against my body—Ernesto—her hips grinding into him as his hands roamed shamelessly over her curves. Her lips were kiss-swollen, her dark eyes hooded with lust.
“Ay, papi,” she purred, biting his—my—ear. “Take me to bed.”
Ernesto smirked—smirked—right at me over her shoulder.
You promised, I mouthed, fury burning in my chest.
His grin widened. Then he hoisted May over his shoulder like a prize, her giggles bouncing off the walls as they disappeared into the bedroom.
A second later, the first moan cut through the air.
Hers.
Then his.
I stood there, shaking.
Traitor. Liar.
I could’ve barged in. I could’ve screamed.
But what would I say?
That’s not me in there!
She’d think I was insane.
So I did the only thing I could.
I sat on the couch.
And I listened.
Every gasp. Every groan. Every filthy, throaty cry May made for him—for my body.
It should’ve been me.
My fists clenched.
The bedroom door clicked shut behind them, but the sounds—those goddamn sounds—continued to seep through the thin walls. May's breathy moans. The creak of the bedframe. Ernesto's gruff voice, my voice, whispering things in Spanish I couldn't understand but knew were filthy.
I gripped the armrest of the couch, my nails digging into the fabric. Every muscle in my body was tense, coiled like a spring ready to snap.
I wanted to kick down the door. I wanted to scream. But all I could do was sit there—trapped in Ernesto’s body, stuck on the sidelines of my own fucking life.
A particularly loud cry from May sent a jolt of white-hot anger through me. That was supposed to be mine.
I couldn’t take it anymore.
I stormed out onto the balcony, gulping the humid Miami air like it could cleanse my rage. The city lights blurred in front of me, my thoughts spinning.
How the hell was I going to fix this?
→ I could try to force another swap—but Ernesto was in my body now. Stronger. Younger. If I charged in there and we fought... May would see. She'd think I was attacking her.
→ I could wait. Let him finish. Maybe he'd keep his word and swap back after. Yeah, right.
→ Or… I could take matters into my own hands. Permanently.
The balcony railing groaned as I leaned against it. Below, the pool shimmered under ultraviolet lights. A dark fantasy flickered in my mind—Ernesto, my body, slipping on wet tiles. Hitting his head. Another accident.
Before I could follow that thought further, the bedroom door creaked open.
I turned.
May stood there in the doorway, draped in nothing but one of my old T-shirts—just long enough to tease the bare skin of her thighs. Her hair was a mess. Her lips were red and swollen.
She looked satisfied.
My stomach turned.
"Ernesto?" Her brow furrowed. "What are you doing out here?"
Ernesto. The name was a punch to the gut.
"Just... needed some air," I muttered, hating the gravel in his voice.
May bit her lip, glancing back toward the bedroom. "James is, uh... resting." A blush crept up her neck, and I knew exactly what kind of 'rest' he was getting.
I swallowed hard. "You two had a good night?"
She smiled—that smile. The one I'd been dreaming about since the day we met. "The best. His parents loved him. And then..." She trailed off, eyes glazing over with memory. My chest ached.
Before she could say more, my voice called from inside.
"Mi vidaaaaa, where'd you go?"
May grinned. "Gotta go." She turned, then hesitated. "Hey... you okay? You seem... off."
I forced a laugh. "Just tired."
She nodded and disappeared back inside, the door clicking shut behind her.
A second later, laughter spilled out. His.
That was it.
I wasn't playing this game anymore.
I grabbed my phone and scrolled through my contacts until I found her number—Ernesto's wife.
One ring. Two.
"¿Hola?"
I took a deep breath.
"Señora Rodriguez? You might want to come to my apartment. Your husband is here... and you won't believe what he's been doing with my body."
I hung up before she could reply.
Back inside, the sounds of passion had started up again.
But not for long.
The knock at the door came less than twenty minutes later - hard and impatient. I'd know that knock anywhere.
Marisol Rodriguez.
I rubbed my hands together (Ernesto's thick, calloused hands) and hurried to answer. The moment I opened the door, I was nearly knocked backward by the force of Marisol's fury.
"¿DÓNDE ESTÁ?" she demanded, dark eyes blazing. She was a beautiful woman - all dangerous curves and fire - but right now, she looked ready to kill.
I stepped aside. "Master bedroom."
She stormed past me in a whirlwind of floral perfume and righteous anger, platform sandals slapping against the tile. I followed closely behind, my heart pounding with equal parts guilt and anticipation.
The moans grew louder as we approached.
Marisol froze outside my bedroom door, her face twisting in fury. Without hesitation, she swung the door open with a violent crash.
The sight that greeted us was exactly what I expected. May on her back, legs wrapped around my body, sheets tangled around their waists. They froze mid-thrust, identical looks of horror dawning on their faces.
"MARISOL?!" Ernesto's voice cracked.
May scrambled backwards, clutching the sheets to her chest. "James? What the hell? Who is-?"
Marisol didn't say a word. She just smiled - slow and venomous. Then she reached into her designer purse and pulled out a glass bottle of holy water.
Ernesto's eyes went wide. "No, mujer, wait-"
She uncorked it with her teeth and flung the contents straight at his face.
The effect was instantaneous. Ernesto - in my body - screamed as the water hit his skin and began sizzling. His arms flailed as his back arched unnaturally, my body spasming against the mattress.
May screamed, falling off the bed in her scramble to escape. "WHAT'S HAPPENING?!"
Marisol crossed herself. "Demonio. I knew it wasn't really my husband."
Smoke began rising from my body's pores as Ernesto thrashed, his screams taking on an unnatural, echoing quality.
And then - with one final, guttural wail - he separated.
A translucent, ghostly version of Ernesto was ejected from my body, hovering mid-air before collapsing into a shimmering puddle on the floor that slowly dissolved into nothing.
My body slumped onto the bed, unmoving.
Complete silence.
Then May scrambled to her feet, naked and terrified, grabbing for her clothes. "What the FUCK was that?!"
Marisol calmly recorked her now-empty bottle. "El Diablo takes many forms, mija." She turned to me - still in Ernesto's body - and tilted her head. "Now. About you..."
I held up my hands. "Marisol, I promise, I'm-"
She reached into her purse again.
I dove for my motionless body on the bed just as she flung another spray of holy water.
CRACK.
Pain exploded through my skull as my forehead connected with my body's.
Darkness.
Then - the feeling of fitting again.
I gasped, sitting bolt upright in my body - my real body. Down on the floor, Ernesto groaned, back in his own form.
Marisol grabbed her husband by the ear and yanked him upright. "We're leaving. Now."
As she dragged a groggy Ernesto toward the door, she turned back to me and May with a smirk. "You're welcome."
The door slammed shut behind them.
Silence again.
May slowly turned to me, clutching her dress to her chest. "James... what the actual fuck just happened?"
I opened my mouth. Closed it.
Somehow "my maintenance man possessed my body to date you because he was in a bad marriage and now we might both be cursed" didn't seem like the right answer.
So I went with:
"...Miami is weird?"
She stared at me for a long moment.
Then smacked me hard across the face.
"You're goddamn right," she muttered, stalking toward the bathroom. "And you're never sleeping with me again."
The bathroom door slammed.
Alone again.
I rubbed my stinging cheek and sighed.
Worth it.
→ Epilogue →
Three Months Later
The apartment AC hummed as I adjusted my tie in the mirror. First day at my new job - no more staring at Ernesto's ugly mug in the maintenance hallways.
A knock at the door.
I checked the peephole.
And nearly swallowed my tongue.
May stood there in a tight pink dress, arms crossed, looking pissed.
I opened the door slowly. "Uh. Hey?"
She glared. "You owe me dinner."
"...I do?"
"Correct." She shoved a stack of papers into my chest. Every single one was a Spanish workbook. "And you're going to learn real Spanish. Not whatever that pendejo was speaking."
I blinked. Then grinned so wide my cheeks hurt.
"Si, mi amor."
She rolled her eyes. "Dios mío. That's not even the right context." But she was smiling as she pushed past me into the apartment.
Life was good.
And Miami?
Miami was still very weird.
1
3.3K
139
0
0
A man joins a yoga studio and its not exactly what he was expecting...
The moving truck groaned as it rolled down the gravel driveway of Jon’s new home—a small rental house on the edge of Laredo, Texas. The air was thick with humidity, clinging to his skin even as the sun dipped low in the sky. He wiped his forehead and glanced around. Quiet. Empty. Just him, his gym bag, and a whole lot of loneliness.
"Perfect," he muttered under his breath.
The first week was brutal. Work was fine—some IT gig at a local firm—but the silence at home was deafening. So, naturally, Jon did what any single guy with no social life would do: he practically lived at the gym.
Iron Haven was the kind of place where beefed-up ranchers and college athletes clashed over bench press real estate, but Jon didn’t care. The grind kept him sane.
And then, on day five, he saw her.
She was mid-rep on the squat rack, legs flexed, her dark ponytail swaying with each controlled descent. Half-Filipina, half-Latina, and all trouble for his concentration. When she stood up, racking the bar with effortless strength, she caught him staring. Instead of scowling, she grinned.
"Could use a spot," she called over.
Jon blinked. "Uh. Yeah. Sure."
Her name was Mariah. Twenty-four, worked as a physical therapist, and had a laugh that hit like a shot of whiskey—smooth and dangerous. She teased him about his form, he joked about her terrible taste in gym music (seriously, reggaeton mixed with 90s hip-hop?), and just like that, they were friends.
Mariah was the kind of girl who made Jon forget how to breathe. Not because she was flawless—though the way her leggings hugged those curves didn’t hurt—but because she was real. Quick to poke fun, quicker to check in if she sensed something was off.
"Helloooo? Earth to Jon." She waved a hand in front of his face during cooldown stretches.
"Sorry," he chuckled, shaking his head. "Zoned out."
"Bullshit," she grinned. "You were staring at my ass."
Jon’s face burned. "I was not—"
"—Don’t lie, I saw you." She stretched her arms overhead, flashing a sliver of toned stomach. "It’s cool. I get it. My glutes are legendary."
Jon groaned, but damn if she wasn’t right.
Weeks slipped by. They spotted each other, grabbed post-workout smoothies, and even binged bad action movies sprawled on her couch. Every time she leaned in to steal a fry or playfully shoved him, his pulse spiked. But then she’d mention him.
"Jackson’s flying in next weekend."
Jackson. The long-distance boyfriend. Seattle-based finance guy. Polite, handsome, and—according to Mariah—"super understanding."
Which meant Jon was screwed.
One night, post-deadlifts, Mariah twisted the cap off her water bottle and sighed. "You ever feel like life’s got this weird way of dangling what you want just outta reach?"
Jon swallowed. "Yeah."
She glanced at him, eyes searching. "Jon…"
The air between them thickened. His chest ached.
Then her phone buzzed. She checked it, and just like that, the moment shattered.
"Jackson," she said softly, smiling at the screen.
Jon forced a grin. "Better answer it."
She did. And Jon swallowed his feelings like chalky protein powder—gritty, tasteless, and necessary.
But Texas heat has a way of making fools out of careful men. And Jon was starting to wonder how long he could keep pretending. The weights felt heavier that day.
Not physically—his deadlifts were the same as always—but mentally, his focus was shot. He’d spent the previous night scrolling through Mariah’s Instagram, stalking Jackson’s perfect teeth and vacation pics in Seattle, feeling like an idiot. His grip slipped on the third rep.
Then—pop.
A white-hot bolt of pain ripped through Jon’s lower back. His vision blurred. The barbell hit the floor with a thunderous crash, and suddenly, he was on his knees, gasping.
"Jon?!"
Mariah was at his side in seconds, hands on his shoulders before he could even blink away the sweat burning his eyes. Her touch sent a different kind of electric current through him—not pain, just warmth.
"I’m fine," he lied through clenched teeth.
She gave him that don’t-bullshit-me look—the one that made men stronger than him crumble. "You’re not fine. You just folded like a lawn chair."
The doctor’s verdict later that evening was grim: herniated disc. No lifting. No heavy exertion. For at least three months.
"Try yoga," the doc suggested, scribbling on his clipboard.
Yoga.
Jon wanted to scream.
Day 4 of No Gym
Jon lasted four days before he caved.
The second he walked into Iron Haven, he spotted her—mid-conversation with some beefy guy in a tank top, laughing at something he said. His gut twisted.
Then she saw him. Her smile vanished.
"Jon." She marched over, arms crossed. "What are you doing here?"
"Just... needed to move." He shrugged, trying to play it off. "Light stuff. Maybe just the bike or—"
"No." She poked his chest. "Doctor’s orders. You leave. Now."
The guy she’d been talking to raised an eyebrow.
Embarrassment burned Jon’s neck. "Mariah, c’mon—"
"—I’ll drive you home." She snatched his gym bag off his shoulder.
Jon groaned. "You’re relentless."
"And you’re an idiot if you think I’m letting you wreck yourself."
That should’ve been sweet. But all it did was remind Jon that she cared—just not the way he wanted her to.
Week 3: The Slow Decline
No gym meant no Mariah.
Sure, she texted. Sent dumb memes. Even dropped by once with soup, which was so disgustingly thoughtful it made Jon’s chest hurt. But without the routine of spotting each other, their interactions dwindled.
Meanwhile, Jackson was in town.
Her Instagram was a barrage of them—brunch, some hipster brewery, his arm slung around her waist in that I-own-this-space way guys like him had.
Jon should’ve stopped looking.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he lay on his couch, ice pack on his back, binge-watching terrible TV and wondering if Mariah ever thought about him when she wasn’t obligated to.
Pathetic. Three months.
Three goddamn months.
Jon stood outside the only yoga studio in Laredo—"Sunrise Yoga & Wellness"—staring at the lavender-scented hellscape beyond the glass door. Inside, a handful of women in stretchy outfits moved in slow, graceful unison. This was a mistake.
His fingers twitched at his sides. His back still ached, despite the epidural shot last week. And his doctor’s smug "told you so" echoed in his skull.
"Try yoga, Jon."
Bullshit.
The studio door chimed as Jon pushed it open.
Instantly, every head turned.
A woman near the front—mid-50s, sipping from a stainless-steel water bottle—gave him a slow once-over. Jon stood there awkwardly, feeling like a linebacker who’d wandered into a ballet rehearsal.
"First time?" a voice chirped.
A petite blonde instructor bounced over, her neon yoga pants practically glowing under the studio lights.
"Yeah," Jon muttered, rubbing his neck. "My doctor said—"
"—Ahhh, the doctor recommended crowd." She grinned. "I get it. You’re skeptical. You think yoga’s just stretching and incense. But trust me—" She poked his bicep. "—you’ll be humiliated by how hard this is."
Great fucking pep talk.
"I'm Marisa, by the way! Class starts in five!" she announced to the room before leaving Jon to grab a mat.
Jon shuffled toward the back corner—least visibility possible—and tried to just hide and observe.
The scent of lavender and jasmine settled over the studio like a warm, cloying blanket. Jon stood frozen at the edge of the room, gripping his rented yoga mat like it might sprout legs and run for the door.
The class was packed—mostly women. Not just any women. Beautiful ones. Laughing, stretching, their toned limbs effortlessly folding into pretzel-like shapes that made his lower back ache in sympathy. At the center of it all was an older woman—maybe late fifties—with silver-streaked dark hair and an easy confidence. She held court among a circle of girls wrapped in expensive athleisure, all giggling at something she said with the familiarity of people who had known each other for years.
Then, in the far corner, her.
A lone figure sitting cross-legged on her mat, deep brown hair spilling over one shoulder. She was younger than the others—early twenties, maybe. Her eyes darted nervously around the room before settling on the ground in front of her. She had that fresh-faced, untouched beauty—soft lips, faint freckles dusting her cheeks—but her posture screamed stay away.
Jon hesitated for half a second before shuffling over and dropping his mat beside hers.
"Hey," he mumbled, scratching the back of his neck. "First time?"
She flinched—actually flinched—as if she hadn’t expected anyone to acknowledge her. Then she nodded, barely lifting her chin.
"Yeah. You?"
"My doctor forced me into this," he admitted with a lopsided grin. "Said I had to 'embrace the healing process' or some shit."
A flicker of a smile. So tiny he almost missed it.
"Me too," she said. "Car accident. My physical therapist recommended it."
"Jon." He held out a hand.
She blinked at it, then placed her hand in his—delicate fingers, cold to the touch.
"Elena," she whispered.
For a second, it felt nice. Just two lost people in a room full of strangers, clinging to the briefest moment of connection.
Then Elena pulled her hand back too quickly, her gaze darting past him. Her expression flattened, her walls slamming up again.
Jon frowned. "Uh—"
"Class is starting," she muttered, turning her body away from him.
And just like that—dismissed.
Confused, he glanced around the room and froze.
The older woman was staring. And so were the others. All of them. Unmistakably. Eyes locked onto Elena with unsettling intensity.
Jon’s skin prickled.
The teacher clapped her hands. "Alright, everyone! Let’s begin!"
But no one moved.
For one bizarre, suspended moment, the air in the room felt wrong.
Then Elena exhaled sharply.
And the older woman smiled.
As they began, it dawned on Jon that he was terrible at yoga.
Like, tragically bad.
Downward Dog? More like Collapsed Mutt. Warrior Pose? More like "Wobbling Toddler." Every time he attempted to mirror the instructor’s graceful movements, his body protested with crackling joints and awkward tremors.
At one point, he caught sight of Elena—effortlessly balanced in a perfect Tree Pose, her slender arms lifted toward the ceiling—and nearly toppled over in distraction. That’s when he noticed the odd little detail: a paper wristband looped around her wrist, stark white with faint black lettering.
Even stranger? The only other people wearing them: the older silver-haired woman and Marisa, the instructor.
Jon waited until they transitioned into Child’s Pose (which, mercifully, mostly involved kneeling and not moving) before leaning toward Elena.
"Hey," he whispered. "Where’d you get the wristband?"
Elena blinked at him, then at her own wrist. "I don't know," she murmured, voice barely audible. "They just gave it to me after I checked in. Did you get one?"
Before Jon could answer—
"Shhhh."
Marisa shot them a pointed look from the front of the room. Elena immediately folded in on herself again, and Jon bit back a frustrated sigh. So much for conversation.
--
Then came meditation.
Lights dimmed, soft music hummed through the speakers, and Jon lay flat on his back, surrendering to the plush mat beneath him. The room sank into silence.
Around him, the others drifted effortlessly into serenity—breaths slow, bodies slack. Even Jon, despite himself, began to relax.
Then—
A scent.
Sweet, floral, intoxicating. Not overpowering—just… there. Like someone had spritzed the air with perfume, subtle but all-encompassing. Jon inhaled deeply, and suddenly, his limbs felt lighter. His thoughts mellowed. A slow, warm buzz settled over him, as if he’d sipped a shot of something strong.
What the hell…?
Then—commotion.
A hushed rustling, a sharp inhale followed by an audible "No."
Jon cracked open an eye.
The older woman sat bolt upright, fists clenched in her lap. Her face was twisted—not in pain, but in... frustration? Anger?
Marisa swooped in instantly, murmuring something soothing before gently guiding her out of the room. The woman didn’t resist, but as the door shut behind them, the air in the studio shifted.
Jon exhaled. Probably nothing.
He closed his eyes again.
And promptly dozed off.
--
When he stirred, the lights were up, and the music had faded. Around him, people stretched, sighed, smiled—blissed-out expressions plastered on every face.
Including Elena’s.
Except now, Elena wasn’t avoiding eye contact.
She wasn’t shy.She was beaming.
Jon barely had time to process before she bounced up to him, rolling up her mat with effortless fluidity.
"Hey," she chirped, "what was your name again?"
"Uh—Jon?"
She laughed—bright, loud. "Right! Sorry!" Then she stuck out her hand. "I’m Elena."
But the way she said it was… off. Over-enunciated. "I’M EL-EEEE-NA." As if she was announcing it to the room.
And then—she winked.
Jon stared.
Five minutes ago, this girl wouldn’t look at him. Now she was grinning, tossing her hair, radiating energy like she’d chugged three espressos.
"Nice to officially meet you," she said—flirty, playful—before sashaying toward the door. "See you next week!"
Then she was gone.
Jon stood frozen, mat half-rolled, brain working overtime.
--
The parking lot was empty, save for one figure.
The older woman slumped on a bench near the exit, face in her hands. Silent sobs wracked her shoulders.
Jon hesitated.
Then he climbed into his car.
And drove away.
---
A week passed before Jon mustered the willpower to return to Sunrise Yoga & Wellness.
This time, the door gave a cheerful ding as he walked in, and Marisa—grinning from ear to ear—welcomed him like an old friend.
"Jon! You actually came back!" she teased, clasping her hands together. "I was sure we scared you off for good."
He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, well, doc’s orders."
"Uh-huh, sure." She winked. "Whatever gets you here, handsome."
Jon felt his face warm. The attention was nice—too nice—and for a second, he almost forgot why he’d been weirded out last time.
Then he saw her.
Elena.
She wasn’t hiding in the corner this time. She was thriving.
Surrounded by that same circle of beautiful women, she laughed loudly at some unheard joke, tossing her dark hair over her shoulder. She looked different. Confident. Radiant. Entirely at home.
And then—her eyes flicked up.
She saw him.
A slow, knowing smile curved her lips before she excused herself and sauntered toward him.
"Jon," she purred, stopping just a little too close, one hand resting lightly on his bicep. "You made it."
He stiffened—partly from surprise, partly because she was touching him like they’d known each other for years.
"Uh, yeah," he managed. "How’s… uh…?" He swallowed. "How’s the physical therapy going?"
A flicker of confusion passed over her face.
Then—just like that—it smoothed into recognition.
"Right! The accident." She laughed, brushing it off. "It’s going great. Thanks for asking."
Jon frowned. Last week, she’d acted like stepping out of her shell was impossible. Now she was making him the nervous one?
Before he could press, another woman walked in—young, gorgeous, glancing around the room with the cautious energy of a first-timer.
Elena immediately lit up.
"Ooooh, fresh meat," she whispered playfully—then shot Jon an apologetic smirk. "Duty calls. Catch you later?"
And just like that, she glided toward the newcomer, all sunshine and charm.
Jon watched as Elena greeted the woman—a hand on her arm, a warm laugh, a little tilt of her head that said you’re safe here.
Then… she slid a white wristband onto the woman’s wrist.
Jon stiffened.
The same exact kind he’d never been given.
He scanned the room.
Only three people had them.
—The new girl.
—Marisa.
—And some unfamiliar older lady, chatting animatedly with the same group of young, polished women as last time.
What the hell is going on?
Jon rolled out his mat, his skin prickling with unease as Elena’s laughter—bright, confident, uncharacteristic—filled the room.
Something was wrong.
And he was starting to think it wasn’t just his imagination.
The class unfolded like a broken-record replay of last week.
Jon struggled through the poses, his muscles protesting as he tried—and failed—to bend his body into shapes it clearly wasn’t meant to hold. Downward Dog still felt less like yoga and more like an uncoordinated stretch before faceplanting. Elena, meanwhile, had become disturbingly good overnight—her movements fluid, effortless, like she’d been doing this for years.
Which was impossible. She was new. Just like me.
Then came the wristbands.
Jon stole glances whenever he could, watching as the new girl—Emma, was it?—kept touching hers, running her fingers over the black lettering Jon still couldn’t read.
Elena noticed him looking and grinned. "whatcha lookin at hon?" she teased, swaying close during a water break.
"Those wristbands. You said last week they gave you one when you walked in. And then you have that new girl Emma one today. What are they for?" Jon hedged.
"Mmmmm, darling those are just for new people. You don't need one." she giggled, popping her hip. Jon wanted to investigate further so he asked "but I was new last week and I never got one. Why is that?" She looked nervous for about a nano second and then replied with "well you're not new anymore sweetheart! So I wouldn't worry your handsome head about it now." she said winking and then she was off again, leaving him standing there like an idiot.
——
Meditation.
Lights dimmed. Music hummed. The same cloying floral scent from last time curled through the air—thick, honey-sweet, with a weight to it that made Jon’s limbs feel like they were floating.
The high crept in slow, a warm, dizzying sensation that smoothed the edges of his thoughts.
Then—
A rustle. A sharp inhale.
Jon slitted his eyes open just in time to see the older woman—the new one this time—jerk upright, her breath ragged.
"What the fu-," she hissed under her breath. Looking at her hands with confusion and touching her face.
Marisa was on her instantly, murmuring soft words, gently steering her toward the door.
Jon’s pulse kicked.
Just like last week.
He wanted to follow. To ask questions. But his body ignored him, melting further into the mat, the scent wrapping around him like a drug.
His eyes closed.
——
Aftermath.
The lights came up. People stretched, sighed, exchanged soft smiles. Jon blinked back to reality, disoriented, an odd languidness clinging to his limbs.
Beside him, the new girl—Emma—sat up, her expression transformed.
No hesitation. No uncertainty.
She turned to Elena, beaming. "I get what you meant now," she whispered, touching her wristband.
"Told you," Elena smirked back at her new friend.
Jon’s stomach twisted.
Across the room, Marisa stretched her arms overhead, sighing in contentment. "Another amazing session, everyone! See you next week!"
Jon gathered his mat, mind racing.
Same scents. Same meditative shift. Same wristbands.
And now—same people?
He glanced over his shoulder just as Elena caught his eye. She winked, slow, deliberate.
"I think the gals are getting together this weekend for drinks, Jon," she sang. "You should join us, right EMMA?"
Emma was looking down at herself and not paying attention, but then looked back up and looked Jon up and down nodding playfully.
Marisa echoed the invitation for drinks Friday night and Jon politely agreed.
He barely made it to his car before he noticed.
The older woman sat slumped against the wheel of her parked SUV.
Crying.
---
Later that week, Jon found himself harassed and eventually coerced into going out with his new yoga "friends".
The Lone Star Saloon was the kind of small-town bar where the neon sign buzzed, the jukebox played a mix of classic country and top-40 hits no one asked for, and everybody knew everybody—or at least pretended to.
Jon pushed through the scarred wooden door, the chatter of voices and twang of steel guitar hitting him in a wall of sound. He spotted them immediately—the Sunrise Yoga crew clustered around a long table in the back, drinks gleaming under the dim amber lights.
Marisa waved him over, her smile luminous. "Jon! You came!"
He forced a grin, sliding into the booth beside her. "Wouldn’t miss it."
The table was packed—Elena, Emma, the other regulars from class—all polished and glowing like they’d stepped out of some sleek magazine ad for "Small-Town Goddesses." But what caught Jon’s attention were the men—because nearly a third of the girls weren’t alone.
They were with older men.
Much older.
Silver-haired gentlemen in pressed button-downs laughing intimately with girls young enough to be their daughters. One man—late 50s, tan, with the crisp confidence of money—had his hand possessively on the thigh of a yoga regular Jon recognized from class. Another, balding and thick around the middle, leaned in to whisper something that made his dark-haired companion giggle into her cocktail.
Jon frowned, swirling his beer.
A sharp elbow nudged his ribs.
"See something you like?" Marisa murmured, leaning in so close her perfume—something expensive, fruity—tickled his nose.
"Just… surprised," Jon admitted quietly, gesturing subtly toward one of the older couples. "Didn’t realize this was a date night."
Marisa’s laugh was bright, deliberate. "Oh, sweetie, age is just a number. Love doesn’t clock out at forty."
Jon wanted to press—but Elena suddenly appeared at his other side, draping herself halfway over his shoulders. Her touch was warm, her voice whiskey-smooth.
"Don’t worry, Jon," she teased, her breath sweet with gin. "Plenty of us aren’t taken yet."
Emma giggled across the table, twirling her straw. "Speak for yourself."
Elena gasped—mock-offended—and launched into some dramatic retort Jon barely heard.
His attention snagged on the older couple again.
The way the girl—Tiffany?—traced her fingers over her boyfriend’s wrist.
The same white wristband peeked out from under her sleeve.
Just like the others.
Jon’s pulse hitched.
Before he could react, Marisa clinked her glass against his bottle, pulling his focus back.
"To new friends," she toasted, smiling.
Around the table, glasses lifted.
Jon hesitated—then drank.
The beer tasted bitter.
Or maybe that was just the dread creeping up his throat.
The night should’ve been weird.
Elena was trashed—giggling so hard she almost knocked over Emma’s cosmo, her voice sharp and loud in that way drunk people never realize is obnoxious. Emma wasn’t far behind, slurring compliments like "Jon, you’re actually, like, soo funny when you’re not just, like… working out or whatever."
But despite the strangeness hanging over the yoga crew, Jon was surprised to find himself… having fun.
Mostly thanks to Marisa.
She was effortlessly engaging—switching between sarcastic wit and warm wisdom like it was nothing. Every joke landed, every story pulled him in. She teased him about his stiff posture ("Even in a bar booth, you sit like you’re about to deadlift it") but listened intently when he told her about his job, his move to Texas, even his stupid back injury.
At one point, after refilling his beer without him noticing, she smirked and said, "You know, I was worried you’d be the broody, silent type forever. But you’re kinda charming when you’re not scowling."
Jon snorted. "Thanks, I think."
"Oh, it’s a compliment," she laughed, flicking her dark braid over her shoulder. "Most guys in this town peak in high school and never recover."
And yeah—she was older. Easily mid-40s. Not someone he’d look at twice in that way. But damn if she wasn’t the most interesting person in the room.
Then the door swung open.
And all the warmth in Jon’s chest evaporated.
Mariah.
Dressed in jeans that hugged her just right and a soft sweater that made her skin glow under the bar lights. And beside her—Jackson. Broad-shouldered, clean-cut, the kind of guy who looked like he spent more time on his skincare routine than Jon did on meal prep.
Jon’s grip tightened around his bottle.
He shouldn’t care.
But fuck.
Mariah’s eyes swept the room—paused on him—widened slightly. Then she smiled, small but genuine, and lifted her fingers in a little wave.
Jon managed a stiff nod.
Elena, drunk and oblivious, followed his gaze and gasped. "Oh! Omigod, it’s—" She shot up, wobbling. "—Time for shots! Right, Jon? Right?"
Marisa’s gaze flicked between Jon and Mariah, sharp with understanding.
"Well well," she murmured, lips curving. "This night just got interesting."
And Jon—
Jon really wished he wasn’t trapped in this booth.
Marisa leaned in, her eyes glinting with amusement. "Oh? Nobody important?" she echoed, watching as Mariah and her boyfriend wound their way toward them through the crowd.
Jon stiffened. "I mean—we’re just friends."
"Mhmm," Marisa hummed, smirking. "The way you just said that tells me everything."
Before Jon could protest, Mariah was there—smiling warmly, her dark eyes bright.
"Jon! Hey!" she said, reaching out to briefly squeeze his shoulder. Her touch sent a jolt through him. "I didn’t expect to see you here."
Jon forced an easy smile—or what he hoped looked like one. "Yeah, uh. Yoga class outing." He gestured vaguely at the table.
Mariah’s boyfriend, Jackson, extended a hand with perfect polite-guy charm. "Hey man, nice to finally meet you. Maria’s told me a lot about you."
Maria.
Not Mariah.
The nickname grated like nails on a chalkboard.
Jon shook his hand—too tight, probably—and muttered, "All good things, I hope."
Jackson laughed, oblivious. "Of course. Says you spot her on squats."
Mariah rolled her eyes playfully. "Jon’s saved my life multiple times from being squashed by a barbell."
Jon swallowed hard.
She was glowing. Happy. Relaxed. Everything about her body language screamed comfortable with this guy.
It stung.
The small talk lasted another painful minute before Mariah excused them both. "We’re meeting some of Jackson’s coworkers, but it was nice seeing you!" She hesitated, then added, "You should come to the gym next week. I’ve missed my lifting buddy."
Missed.
The word dangled between them like bait.
"Yeah," Jon rasped. "Maybe."
And just like that, she was gone again—Jackson’s hand sliding naturally to the small of her back as they walked away.
Jon exhaled slowly.
Marisa didn’t wait.
"Ohhhh honey," she drawled, swirling her drink. "That was painful to watch."
Jon groaned, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up."
"That wasn’t just nobody important." She nudged him. "Tell me the truth—you’ve got a thing for her, don’t you?"
He debated lying.
But the alcohol loosened his tongue.
"Yeah," he muttered. "And it’s fucking stupid."
Marisa arched a brow, sipping her whiskey. "Why?"
Jon huffed a bitter laugh. "Because she’s with him! Because I wait all week just to spot her on bench press like some lovesick puppy. Because—" He cut himself off, frustrated.
Marisa studied him for a long moment. Then, softly: "She doesn’t look at you the way she looks at him?"
Jon froze.
"It's Bullshit," he said automatically.
But Marisa didn’t push. Just shrugged and leaned back, her expression knowing.
"You know, Jon," she said simply. "You should invite her—to Yoga. You never know...your luck might turn around."
Jon didn’t answer.
Just swallowed the rest of his drink whole.
---
The following Monday, the studio was quieter than usual when Jon stepped in—soft murmurs, hushed laughter, the faint sound of bare feet on mats.
And then he saw her.
Mariah.
Standing near the front of the room in black leggings and a fitted tank, talking animatedly with Marisa.
Jon’s pulse kicked.
What the hell is she doing here?
As if sensing his stare, Mariah turned. Her face lit up, and she gave him a little wave. "Hey! Surprise!"
Jon forced his legs to move forward. "You’re—uh—doing yoga now?"
Before she could answer, Marisa slipped an arm around Mariah’s shoulders, grinning. "I invited her after you left the bar. Everyone needs a little spiritual detox, right?" She winked—definitely not subtle.
Mariah laughed, rolling her eyes. "Yeah, don’t look so nervous. I won’t completely embarrass myself."
Her ease helped. A little. Jon exhaled, rubbing his neck. "Just—don’t expect me to be any help. I still can’t touch my toes."
Mariah smirked. "For a guy who lifts like you do, that’s kinda pathetic."
It was such a Mariah thing to say—playful, teasing, effortlessly slipping back into the rhythm of their gym banter—that Jon’s chest loosened.
But then—
His gaze snagged on her wrist.
A thin white band.
The wristband.
His blood went cold.
He looked around the room, counting.
Marisa had one.
No one else did.
Not Elena. Not Emma. No one but…
Mariah.
Jon’s stomach twisted.
Marisa invited her. Marisa gave her the wristband.
Was this planned?
Before he could think too much about it, the music shifted—soothing chimes, low and melodic.
Marisa clapped her hands. "Alright, lovelies! Let’s begin."
Mariah shot Jon one last grin before unfolding her mat beside him.
Jon unrolled his own, hands just a little unsteady.
He had a very bad feeling about this.
As it happens...Mariah was bad at yoga as well—but in the most endearing way possible.
She was flexible—no shock given how nimble she was with weights—but graceful? Not even close. Every transition was a half-second too slow, her balance tipping like a newborn deer on ice. At one point, halfway through Warrior Three, she wobbled so violently she windmilled her arms and nearly face-planted into Jon’s chest.
He caught her reflexively, grinning. "Maybe ease into it, Rocky."
Mariah clutched his shoulder, laughing breathlessly. "I swear this pose didn’t look this hard from the sidelines."
Jon couldn’t help it—he laughed. Really laughed. For the first time all night, the weird tension evaporated. This was just Mariah: clumsy, determined, utterly herself.
The rest of the class passed smoothly—until meditation.
As usual, the lights dimmed, slow music humming through the speakers. Marisa stretched her arms theatrically. "Alright, everyone, settle in. Deep breaths. I’ll be back in a few."
Jon frowned as she slipped out the door. Strange—she never left during meditation.
But before he could dwell on it, the room sank into silence. Ten minutes passed in a drowsy haze until—
Lights flicked on.
Elena stood at the front, smiling. "Hey guys, Marisa isn’t feeling great. She asked me to finish up. So… namaste, or whatever."
Jon sat up, blinking.
Beside him, Mariah was staring at her hands—turning them over, flexing her fingers. Almost like she was… checking them.
She caught him looking and immediately smirked. "Like what you see?"
Jon flushed. "Just—uh—making sure you didn’t pull anything."
Mariah rolled her eyes. "Relax, tough guy. I’m kidding." But her tone was different—sharper, smoother. Off.
The class dispersed quickly after that. Jon lingered, watching as Mariah gathered her things with uncharacteristic imprecision—dropping her keys, fumbling her water bottle.
Outside, the night air was thick with humidity.
"Walk me to my car?" Mariah asked, tilting her head.
"Yeah. Sure."
They crossed the darkened parking lot in silence. Mariah’s steps were confident now—almost swaggering—where earlier she’d been all stiff concentration.
Then—she stopped at a silver Honda.
Jon hesitated. "...That’s not your car."
Mariah froze.
For half a second, her face went utterly blank. Then she laughed, loud and careless. "Whoops! Wrong rental." She spun and marched three cars down to her actual Toyota.
Jon’s stomach knotted.
Rental? Mariah had owned that car for years.
She tossed her bag inside, flashing him a smirk. "See you at the gym tomorrow?"
"Yeah," Jon lied.
She drove off.
Jon stared after her, pulse humming uneasily.
Same voice. Same face.
But was that Mariah?
---
The next morning, Jon spotted her the second he walked into Iron Haven.
"Mariah".
Perched on the edge of a bench, stretching in sleek black yoga pants and a cropped athletic top—clothes he'd never seen her wear to lift before.
She caught his eye immediately, grinning as she unfolded herself in a fluid, feline motion. "There you are," she said, voice warm and teasing. "I was starting to think you were avoiding me."
Jon frowned. Her cadence was different—smoother, almost calculated. Even the way she stood seemed unnaturally poised, like someone who'd studied confidence rather than lived it.
"...You're in yoga gear," he blurted.
She glanced down, running her hands over her hips as if appreciating the fabric. "Mm. Felt like a change. Cute, right?"
Jon swallowed hard. Every alarm in his head was screaming.
Then came the real red flags.
She couldn't remember their usual push-pull split. She kept asking about muscle groups like the terms were foreign. And when she loaded up the bar for squats—
"Mariah, your knees—they're caving in. Big time," Jon warned, hovering behind her.
She just giggled. "Oops. Guess I need you to really spot me today."
Her wink was deliberate, her hips shifting invitingly as she started her descent with terrifying instability. Jon had to brace both hands on her waist to keep her from wobbling sideways—too close, too intimate.
When they switched to bench press, she abandoned form entirely, arching in a way that was less about power and more about giving him an obstructed view down her tank top.
Jon's face burned.
Then—
"So, big news," she announced between sets, twirling a lock of hair. "Me and Jackson? Done." She popped the p playfully. "Thought you'd be happy to hear that."
Jon froze mid-reach for his water bottle.
"You... broke up?"
"Mhmm." She stretched her arms overhead, watching his reaction like a cat eyeing a trapped mouse. "Long-distance sucked anyway. But now I'm single... lonely... could really use a friend tonight." Her foot nudged his calf. "Maybe you?"
Jon felt like he'd been dunked in ice water.
This wasn't Mariah.
The real Mariah would never ditch form like this. Would never flirt this blatantly. And if—some impossible fantasy—she'd actually broken up with Jackson, she'd be hurting. Drinking sad-girl wine, venting to friends, not propositioning him mid-workout.
Yet here this not-Mariah stood, smirking, waiting.
Jon forced a stiff smile. "Yeah. Maybe."
She beamed, like he'd confirmed some secret she already knew. "Great. Come by my place at 8. Don't bring beer—I've got better drinks."
She sauntered away to the water fountain, her stride too smooth, too practiced.
Jon stared after her.
He had no intention of showing up.
But he was going to figure out what the hell was happening.
---
Jon stood on Mariah’s porch at 8:03 PM, fist raised to knock, heart hammering like he was about to step into a trap.
Because he was.
But he had to know.
The door swung open before his knuckles even touched wood.
Mariah leaned against the frame, bathed in warm lamplight—barefoot, in a silky slip of a dress that clung to every curve. A far cry from her usual gym shorts and oversized tees.
"You came," she purred, stepping aside to let him in.
Jon forced himself to move. "Yeah. Wouldn’t miss it."
The apartment smelled like vanilla and red wine. Candles flickered on the coffee table beside an already half-empty bottle.
Mariah snatched it up, pouring him a glass without asking. "Relax," she laughed, pressing it into his hand. "You look like you’re about to bolt."
Jon took a sip. "Just… surprised, I guess."
"About?" She flopped onto the couch, patting the space beside her.
"This. You. Us hanging out like…" He gestured vaguely at the wine, the dim lighting, her.
Mariah’s smile turned sly. "Like a date?"
Jon choked on his drink.
She just giggled, leaning in to swipe a thumb over the corner of his lips, catching the spilled wine. Then—slow, deliberate—she sucked it off her own finger, watching him.
Jon’s pulse roared in his ears.
This was wrong.
The real Mariah would’ve teased him, sure. Would’ve maybe flirted after one too many drinks. But not like this. Not with this calculated, predatory heat.
Yet here she was, closing the distance between them, her knee brushing his.
"You’ve always been so careful with me," she murmured, fingers tracing idle circles on his thigh. "But you don’t have to be. Not anymore."
Jon’s grip tightened on his glass. "Mariah—"
"Shhh." Her hand slid up to cradle his jaw. "Just kiss me."
And then she did.
Her mouth was warm, insistent—wrong. The way she moved, the taste of her, the pressure—it was like kissing a stranger wearing Mariah’s skin. Little did he know how right he was.
Jon pulled back, breath ragged.
Mariah just smirked, licking her lips. "See? Not so hard."
Mariah didn’t just kiss him—she consumed him.
One second, Jon was reeling from the wrongness of it all—the next, her hands were fisted in his shirt, yanking him forward until his back hit the couch. Her teeth scraped his lower lip, sharp enough to make him groan, and suddenly any semblance of hesitation shattered.
Her tongue swiped against his, tasting of rich red wine and something else—something darkly intoxicating. She climbed onto his lap in one smooth motion, her silky dress riding up as she straddled him.
“You’ve wanted this,” she breathed, grinding down against the painful hardness in his jeans. “For so long.”
Jon’s hands found her hips on instinct, gripping tight as she rocked against him. He should’ve stopped. Should’ve asked what the hell was happening.
But then her mouth was on his neck, nipping, sucking, marking him like she was staking a claim—and logic dissolved.
She pulled back just enough to smirk at the mess she’d made of him.
“Pathetic,” she teased, dragging her nails down his chest. “All this time pretending you didn’t want me.”
Before he could respond, she slid off his lap and onto her knees between his legs.
Her fingers made quick work of his belt, his zipper, his straining boxers. When she freed him, hot and heavy in her grip, she licked her lips—slow, deliberate, savoring the moment.
Then, without warning, she took him deep.
Jon’s back arched off the couch, a ragged gasp tearing from his throat.
Fuck.
Her mouth was perfect—hot, wet, relentless. No hesitation, no teasing buildup. Just ruthless skill. Her tongue swirled around the head, her lips tightened on the upstroke, her nails dug into his thighs when he tried to buck deeper. “Don’t,” she warned, smirking up at him before swallowing him down again.
Jon’s vision blurred.
She was too good. Knew exactly how to hollow her cheeks, when to hum, when to drag her teeth just enough to make him see stars. It wasn’t just the best head of his life—it was like she’d mapped out every desperate fantasy he’d ever had and cranked it to eleven.
When he growled, “I’m close,” she didn’t pull away.
She laughed around him—laughed—and doubled down, taking him to the hilt.
Jon came with a curse, fingers tangled in her hair as she milked him through it, swallowing every drop.
He barely had time to recover before she climbed back into his lap, yanking her dress down over her shoulders in one motion. No bra. Just smooth, golden skin and perfect curves.
Jon crushed her against him, hands roaming, mouth claiming hers again—but she was the one in control.
She pushed him back onto the couch, guiding him inside her with a slow, torturous roll of her hips. He hissed at the slick, blazing heat of her.
Then she moved.
No sweet, tentative rhythm. Just pure, unrelenting dominance. She rode him like she was punishing him for every second he’d spent pining—hard, fast, her nails scoring down his chest as she chased her own pleasure.
“Look at you,” she taunted, grinding down, clenching around him. “Mr. Self-Control.”
Jon didn’t last. Couldn’t. Not with her above him—eyes dark, body arching, her breath coming in sharp, needy gasps.
He flipped her beneath him in one rough motion, driving into her deep enough to wrench a sharp cry from her lips.
“Jon—!”
He didn’t stop. Couldn’t.
Their coupling turned savage—skin slapping, teeth clashing, her thighs trembling around his waist as she clawed at his back. When she came, it was with a scream, her body locking around him like a vice.
Jon followed, burying himself inside her with a groan.
For a long moment, the only sounds were their ragged breaths.
Then she laughed.
Low. Triumphant.
Jon tensed.
Because that laugh—
It didn’t belong to Mariah.
Jon froze as Mariah's laugh - too deep, too smug, too knowing - echoed through the bedroom. That wasn't Mariah's giggle. That wasn't Mariah's playful tone.
He recognized it only a nanosecond later...That was Marisa.
"Enjoy yourself, big boy?" the woman in Mariah's body purred, stretching like a satisfied cat as she rolled away from him. When she turned back, there was something terrifyingly wrong about the way she moved - the familiar curves now inhabited by something alien. "I knew you'd be fun."
Jon sat up sharply, the post-coital haze evaporating. "What the fuck are you?"
Mariah's lips - no, not Mariah's lips - curved into a smile Jon had only ever seen on one person before.
"Smart boy," Marisa chuckled from Mariah's mouth, running Mariah's hands down Mariah's body in a way that made Jon's stomach lurch. "I was wondering when you'd notice."
Jon scrambled off the bed, grabbing for his pants. "Where's Mariah? What did you do to her?"
Marisa sighed dramatically, rolling Mariah's eyes - but the gesture was all wrong, like watching a bad actor play a part. "God, fine. Since you're so clever..." She sat up, tossing Mariah's hair. "I suppose you've earned the whole sordid story."
She spread Mariah's hands like she was giving a presentation.
"Astral projection. Soul transference. A little aromatherapy magic in the yoga studio. Basically..." She smirked. "I help older women trade up. Give some lonely grandma a chance to be young and beautiful again by hopping into a fresh new body. All it takes is a willing participant on each side - well, 'willing' in the loosest sense."
Jon's blood went cold as he remembered the wristbands. The older woman crying in the parking lot. The way Elena had changed so suddenly.
"You give them the bands," he breathed.
"Bingo." Marisa clapped Mariah's hands. "The wristband marks the donors. The incense during meditation loosens their soul's grip on their body just enough for me to... help them let go." She smiled. "Most of them don't even realize what's happening until it's too late."
Jon felt sick. "And the older women? You just... convince them to give up their bodies?"
Marisa shrugged. "They want to. At first they're confused, sure. But then they look in the mirror and realize what they've gained. A tight little body, smooth skin, all the time in the world..." She ran Mariah's hands over Mariah's breasts. "Would you give that up?"
Jon's stomach churned. This was worse than any nightmare his mind could come up with.
Jon felt dizzy, the room spinning as the horrific truth sank in. The yoga studio wasn't just a business - it was a hunting ground. And Mariah had walked right into the trap.
"I knew you had a thing for her," Marisa cooed, crawling toward him on the bed with Mariah's body. "So when I saw my chance to finally upgrade from my 46-year-old vessel... well, who better than your beautiful gym crush?" She laughed - that same rich, throaty laugh Jon now realized had never belonged to Mariah at all.
Jon backed away, his hands shaking as he fumbled for his phone. "I'm calling the cops. This stops now."
Marisa rolled Mariah's eyes. "And say what? That your crush's body got possessed by a yoga instructor?" She smirked. "They'll lock you in the psych ward before you finish speaking."
Panic clawed at Jon's throat. She was right. No one would believe this. But he couldn't just walk away - not while the real Mariah was...
"Where is she?" Jon demanded. "Where's Mariah's soul right now?"
Marisa stretched luxuriously. "Oh, she's fine. Currently occupying my old body locked in a dark room back at the studio and tied to a chair with a gag in her mouth so nobody has to hear her scream. A little trade we made during meditation today." Her smile turned cruel. "Though I did warn her - if she tries telling anyone, no one will believe the crazy old lady claiming to be a 24-year-old."
Jon's mind raced. The crying woman in the parking lot. The way Mariah had stumbled getting into the wrong car. The pieces fell into place with horrible clarity.
"So all of then are actually old women...," he realized. "Elena, Emma, now Mariah...all those girls."
"Very good!" Marisa applauded. "Honestly, Mariah put up more fight than most. But they all give in eventually." She sauntered closer. "Now, you've got two choices. Either accept this sexy new version of your gym buddy..." She trailed Mariah's fingers down his chest. "Or go charging off to 'save the day' and look like a goddamn fool."
Jon's fists clenched. He knew Marisa was right about one thing - no cop would ever believe his story. He was out of options.
The moving truck groaned as it rolled down the gravel driveway of Jon’s new home—a small rental house on the edge of Laredo, Texas. The air was thick with humidity, clinging to his skin even as the sun dipped low in the sky. He wiped his forehead and glanced around. Quiet. Empty. Just him, his gym bag, and a whole lot of loneliness.
"Perfect," he muttered under his breath.
The first week was brutal. Work was fine—some IT gig at a local firm—but the silence at home was deafening. So, naturally, Jon did what any single guy with no social life would do: he practically lived at the gym.
Iron Haven was the kind of place where beefed-up ranchers and college athletes clashed over bench press real estate, but Jon didn’t care. The grind kept him sane.
And then, on day five, he saw her.
She was mid-rep on the squat rack, legs flexed, her dark ponytail swaying with each controlled descent. Half-Filipina, half-Latina, and all trouble for his concentration. When she stood up, racking the bar with effortless strength, she caught him staring. Instead of scowling, she grinned.
"Could use a spot," she called over.
Jon blinked. "Uh. Yeah. Sure."
Her name was Mariah. Twenty-four, worked as a physical therapist, and had a laugh that hit like a shot of whiskey—smooth and dangerous. She teased him about his form, he joked about her terrible taste in gym music (seriously, reggaeton mixed with 90s hip-hop?), and just like that, they were friends.
Mariah was the kind of girl who made Jon forget how to breathe. Not because she was flawless—though the way her leggings hugged those curves didn’t hurt—but because she was real. Quick to poke fun, quicker to check in if she sensed something was off.
"Helloooo? Earth to Jon." She waved a hand in front of his face during cooldown stretches.
"Sorry," he chuckled, shaking his head. "Zoned out."
"Bullshit," she grinned. "You were staring at my ass."
Jon’s face burned. "I was not—"
"—Don’t lie, I saw you." She stretched her arms overhead, flashing a sliver of toned stomach. "It’s cool. I get it. My glutes are legendary."
Jon groaned, but damn if she wasn’t right.
Weeks slipped by. They spotted each other, grabbed post-workout smoothies, and even binged bad action movies sprawled on her couch. Every time she leaned in to steal a fry or playfully shoved him, his pulse spiked. But then she’d mention him.
"Jackson’s flying in next weekend."
Jackson. The long-distance boyfriend. Seattle-based finance guy. Polite, handsome, and—according to Mariah—"super understanding."
Which meant Jon was screwed.
One night, post-deadlifts, Mariah twisted the cap off her water bottle and sighed. "You ever feel like life’s got this weird way of dangling what you want just outta reach?"
Jon swallowed. "Yeah."
She glanced at him, eyes searching. "Jon…"
The air between them thickened. His chest ached.
Then her phone buzzed. She checked it, and just like that, the moment shattered.
"Jackson," she said softly, smiling at the screen.
Jon forced a grin. "Better answer it."
She did. And Jon swallowed his feelings like chalky protein powder—gritty, tasteless, and necessary.
But Texas heat has a way of making fools out of careful men. And Jon was starting to wonder how long he could keep pretending. The weights felt heavier that day.
Not physically—his deadlifts were the same as always—but mentally, his focus was shot. He’d spent the previous night scrolling through Mariah’s Instagram, stalking Jackson’s perfect teeth and vacation pics in Seattle, feeling like an idiot. His grip slipped on the third rep.
Then—pop.
A white-hot bolt of pain ripped through Jon’s lower back. His vision blurred. The barbell hit the floor with a thunderous crash, and suddenly, he was on his knees, gasping.
"Jon?!"
Mariah was at his side in seconds, hands on his shoulders before he could even blink away the sweat burning his eyes. Her touch sent a different kind of electric current through him—not pain, just warmth.
"I’m fine," he lied through clenched teeth.
She gave him that don’t-bullshit-me look—the one that made men stronger than him crumble. "You’re not fine. You just folded like a lawn chair."
The doctor’s verdict later that evening was grim: herniated disc. No lifting. No heavy exertion. For at least three months.
"Try yoga," the doc suggested, scribbling on his clipboard.
Yoga.
Jon wanted to scream.
Day 4 of No Gym
Jon lasted four days before he caved.
The second he walked into Iron Haven, he spotted her—mid-conversation with some beefy guy in a tank top, laughing at something he said. His gut twisted.
Then she saw him. Her smile vanished.
"Jon." She marched over, arms crossed. "What are you doing here?"
"Just... needed to move." He shrugged, trying to play it off. "Light stuff. Maybe just the bike or—"
"No." She poked his chest. "Doctor’s orders. You leave. Now."
The guy she’d been talking to raised an eyebrow.
Embarrassment burned Jon’s neck. "Mariah, c’mon—"
"—I’ll drive you home." She snatched his gym bag off his shoulder.
Jon groaned. "You’re relentless."
"And you’re an idiot if you think I’m letting you wreck yourself."
That should’ve been sweet. But all it did was remind Jon that she cared—just not the way he wanted her to.
Week 3: The Slow Decline
No gym meant no Mariah.
Sure, she texted. Sent dumb memes. Even dropped by once with soup, which was so disgustingly thoughtful it made Jon’s chest hurt. But without the routine of spotting each other, their interactions dwindled.
Meanwhile, Jackson was in town.
Her Instagram was a barrage of them—brunch, some hipster brewery, his arm slung around her waist in that I-own-this-space way guys like him had.
Jon should’ve stopped looking.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he lay on his couch, ice pack on his back, binge-watching terrible TV and wondering if Mariah ever thought about him when she wasn’t obligated to.
Pathetic. Three months.
Three goddamn months.
Jon stood outside the only yoga studio in Laredo—"Sunrise Yoga & Wellness"—staring at the lavender-scented hellscape beyond the glass door. Inside, a handful of women in stretchy outfits moved in slow, graceful unison. This was a mistake.
His fingers twitched at his sides. His back still ached, despite the epidural shot last week. And his doctor’s smug "told you so" echoed in his skull.
"Try yoga, Jon."
Bullshit.
The studio door chimed as Jon pushed it open.
Instantly, every head turned.
A woman near the front—mid-50s, sipping from a stainless-steel water bottle—gave him a slow once-over. Jon stood there awkwardly, feeling like a linebacker who’d wandered into a ballet rehearsal.
"First time?" a voice chirped.
A petite blonde instructor bounced over, her neon yoga pants practically glowing under the studio lights.
"Yeah," Jon muttered, rubbing his neck. "My doctor said—"
"—Ahhh, the doctor recommended crowd." She grinned. "I get it. You’re skeptical. You think yoga’s just stretching and incense. But trust me—" She poked his bicep. "—you’ll be humiliated by how hard this is."
Great fucking pep talk.
"I'm Marisa, by the way! Class starts in five!" she announced to the room before leaving Jon to grab a mat.
Jon shuffled toward the back corner—least visibility possible—and tried to just hide and observe.
The scent of lavender and jasmine settled over the studio like a warm, cloying blanket. Jon stood frozen at the edge of the room, gripping his rented yoga mat like it might sprout legs and run for the door.
The class was packed—mostly women. Not just any women. Beautiful ones. Laughing, stretching, their toned limbs effortlessly folding into pretzel-like shapes that made his lower back ache in sympathy. At the center of it all was an older woman—maybe late fifties—with silver-streaked dark hair and an easy confidence. She held court among a circle of girls wrapped in expensive athleisure, all giggling at something she said with the familiarity of people who had known each other for years.
Then, in the far corner, her.
A lone figure sitting cross-legged on her mat, deep brown hair spilling over one shoulder. She was younger than the others—early twenties, maybe. Her eyes darted nervously around the room before settling on the ground in front of her. She had that fresh-faced, untouched beauty—soft lips, faint freckles dusting her cheeks—but her posture screamed stay away.
Jon hesitated for half a second before shuffling over and dropping his mat beside hers.
"Hey," he mumbled, scratching the back of his neck. "First time?"
She flinched—actually flinched—as if she hadn’t expected anyone to acknowledge her. Then she nodded, barely lifting her chin.
"Yeah. You?"
"My doctor forced me into this," he admitted with a lopsided grin. "Said I had to 'embrace the healing process' or some shit."
A flicker of a smile. So tiny he almost missed it.
"Me too," she said. "Car accident. My physical therapist recommended it."
"Jon." He held out a hand.
She blinked at it, then placed her hand in his—delicate fingers, cold to the touch.
"Elena," she whispered.
For a second, it felt nice. Just two lost people in a room full of strangers, clinging to the briefest moment of connection.
Then Elena pulled her hand back too quickly, her gaze darting past him. Her expression flattened, her walls slamming up again.
Jon frowned. "Uh—"
"Class is starting," she muttered, turning her body away from him.
And just like that—dismissed.
Confused, he glanced around the room and froze.
The older woman was staring. And so were the others. All of them. Unmistakably. Eyes locked onto Elena with unsettling intensity.
Jon’s skin prickled.
The teacher clapped her hands. "Alright, everyone! Let’s begin!"
But no one moved.
For one bizarre, suspended moment, the air in the room felt wrong.
Then Elena exhaled sharply.
And the older woman smiled.
As they began, it dawned on Jon that he was terrible at yoga.
Like, tragically bad.
Downward Dog? More like Collapsed Mutt. Warrior Pose? More like "Wobbling Toddler." Every time he attempted to mirror the instructor’s graceful movements, his body protested with crackling joints and awkward tremors.
At one point, he caught sight of Elena—effortlessly balanced in a perfect Tree Pose, her slender arms lifted toward the ceiling—and nearly toppled over in distraction. That’s when he noticed the odd little detail: a paper wristband looped around her wrist, stark white with faint black lettering.
Even stranger? The only other people wearing them: the older silver-haired woman and Marisa, the instructor.
Jon waited until they transitioned into Child’s Pose (which, mercifully, mostly involved kneeling and not moving) before leaning toward Elena.
"Hey," he whispered. "Where’d you get the wristband?"
Elena blinked at him, then at her own wrist. "I don't know," she murmured, voice barely audible. "They just gave it to me after I checked in. Did you get one?"
Before Jon could answer—
"Shhhh."
Marisa shot them a pointed look from the front of the room. Elena immediately folded in on herself again, and Jon bit back a frustrated sigh. So much for conversation.
--
Then came meditation.
Lights dimmed, soft music hummed through the speakers, and Jon lay flat on his back, surrendering to the plush mat beneath him. The room sank into silence.
Around him, the others drifted effortlessly into serenity—breaths slow, bodies slack. Even Jon, despite himself, began to relax.
Then—
A scent.
Sweet, floral, intoxicating. Not overpowering—just… there. Like someone had spritzed the air with perfume, subtle but all-encompassing. Jon inhaled deeply, and suddenly, his limbs felt lighter. His thoughts mellowed. A slow, warm buzz settled over him, as if he’d sipped a shot of something strong.
What the hell…?
Then—commotion.
A hushed rustling, a sharp inhale followed by an audible "No."
Jon cracked open an eye.
The older woman sat bolt upright, fists clenched in her lap. Her face was twisted—not in pain, but in... frustration? Anger?
Marisa swooped in instantly, murmuring something soothing before gently guiding her out of the room. The woman didn’t resist, but as the door shut behind them, the air in the studio shifted.
Jon exhaled. Probably nothing.
He closed his eyes again.
And promptly dozed off.
--
When he stirred, the lights were up, and the music had faded. Around him, people stretched, sighed, smiled—blissed-out expressions plastered on every face.
Including Elena’s.
Except now, Elena wasn’t avoiding eye contact.
She wasn’t shy.She was beaming.
Jon barely had time to process before she bounced up to him, rolling up her mat with effortless fluidity.
"Hey," she chirped, "what was your name again?"
"Uh—Jon?"
She laughed—bright, loud. "Right! Sorry!" Then she stuck out her hand. "I’m Elena."
But the way she said it was… off. Over-enunciated. "I’M EL-EEEE-NA." As if she was announcing it to the room.
And then—she winked.
Jon stared.
Five minutes ago, this girl wouldn’t look at him. Now she was grinning, tossing her hair, radiating energy like she’d chugged three espressos.
"Nice to officially meet you," she said—flirty, playful—before sashaying toward the door. "See you next week!"
Then she was gone.
Jon stood frozen, mat half-rolled, brain working overtime.
--
The parking lot was empty, save for one figure.
The older woman slumped on a bench near the exit, face in her hands. Silent sobs wracked her shoulders.
Jon hesitated.
Then he climbed into his car.
And drove away.
---
A week passed before Jon mustered the willpower to return to Sunrise Yoga & Wellness.
This time, the door gave a cheerful ding as he walked in, and Marisa—grinning from ear to ear—welcomed him like an old friend.
"Jon! You actually came back!" she teased, clasping her hands together. "I was sure we scared you off for good."
He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, well, doc’s orders."
"Uh-huh, sure." She winked. "Whatever gets you here, handsome."
Jon felt his face warm. The attention was nice—too nice—and for a second, he almost forgot why he’d been weirded out last time.
Then he saw her.
Elena.
She wasn’t hiding in the corner this time. She was thriving.
Surrounded by that same circle of beautiful women, she laughed loudly at some unheard joke, tossing her dark hair over her shoulder. She looked different. Confident. Radiant. Entirely at home.
And then—her eyes flicked up.
She saw him.
A slow, knowing smile curved her lips before she excused herself and sauntered toward him.
"Jon," she purred, stopping just a little too close, one hand resting lightly on his bicep. "You made it."
He stiffened—partly from surprise, partly because she was touching him like they’d known each other for years.
"Uh, yeah," he managed. "How’s… uh…?" He swallowed. "How’s the physical therapy going?"
A flicker of confusion passed over her face.
Then—just like that—it smoothed into recognition.
"Right! The accident." She laughed, brushing it off. "It’s going great. Thanks for asking."
Jon frowned. Last week, she’d acted like stepping out of her shell was impossible. Now she was making him the nervous one?
Before he could press, another woman walked in—young, gorgeous, glancing around the room with the cautious energy of a first-timer.
Elena immediately lit up.
"Ooooh, fresh meat," she whispered playfully—then shot Jon an apologetic smirk. "Duty calls. Catch you later?"
And just like that, she glided toward the newcomer, all sunshine and charm.
Jon watched as Elena greeted the woman—a hand on her arm, a warm laugh, a little tilt of her head that said you’re safe here.
Then… she slid a white wristband onto the woman’s wrist.
Jon stiffened.
The same exact kind he’d never been given.
He scanned the room.
Only three people had them.
—The new girl.
—Marisa.
—And some unfamiliar older lady, chatting animatedly with the same group of young, polished women as last time.
What the hell is going on?
Jon rolled out his mat, his skin prickling with unease as Elena’s laughter—bright, confident, uncharacteristic—filled the room.
Something was wrong.
And he was starting to think it wasn’t just his imagination.
The class unfolded like a broken-record replay of last week.
Jon struggled through the poses, his muscles protesting as he tried—and failed—to bend his body into shapes it clearly wasn’t meant to hold. Downward Dog still felt less like yoga and more like an uncoordinated stretch before faceplanting. Elena, meanwhile, had become disturbingly good overnight—her movements fluid, effortless, like she’d been doing this for years.
Which was impossible. She was new. Just like me.
Then came the wristbands.
Jon stole glances whenever he could, watching as the new girl—Emma, was it?—kept touching hers, running her fingers over the black lettering Jon still couldn’t read.
Elena noticed him looking and grinned. "whatcha lookin at hon?" she teased, swaying close during a water break.
"Those wristbands. You said last week they gave you one when you walked in. And then you have that new girl Emma one today. What are they for?" Jon hedged.
"Mmmmm, darling those are just for new people. You don't need one." she giggled, popping her hip. Jon wanted to investigate further so he asked "but I was new last week and I never got one. Why is that?" She looked nervous for about a nano second and then replied with "well you're not new anymore sweetheart! So I wouldn't worry your handsome head about it now." she said winking and then she was off again, leaving him standing there like an idiot.
——
Meditation.
Lights dimmed. Music hummed. The same cloying floral scent from last time curled through the air—thick, honey-sweet, with a weight to it that made Jon’s limbs feel like they were floating.
The high crept in slow, a warm, dizzying sensation that smoothed the edges of his thoughts.
Then—
A rustle. A sharp inhale.
Jon slitted his eyes open just in time to see the older woman—the new one this time—jerk upright, her breath ragged.
"What the fu-," she hissed under her breath. Looking at her hands with confusion and touching her face.
Marisa was on her instantly, murmuring soft words, gently steering her toward the door.
Jon’s pulse kicked.
Just like last week.
He wanted to follow. To ask questions. But his body ignored him, melting further into the mat, the scent wrapping around him like a drug.
His eyes closed.
——
Aftermath.
The lights came up. People stretched, sighed, exchanged soft smiles. Jon blinked back to reality, disoriented, an odd languidness clinging to his limbs.
Beside him, the new girl—Emma—sat up, her expression transformed.
No hesitation. No uncertainty.
She turned to Elena, beaming. "I get what you meant now," she whispered, touching her wristband.
"Told you," Elena smirked back at her new friend.
Jon’s stomach twisted.
Across the room, Marisa stretched her arms overhead, sighing in contentment. "Another amazing session, everyone! See you next week!"
Jon gathered his mat, mind racing.
Same scents. Same meditative shift. Same wristbands.
And now—same people?
He glanced over his shoulder just as Elena caught his eye. She winked, slow, deliberate.
"I think the gals are getting together this weekend for drinks, Jon," she sang. "You should join us, right EMMA?"
Emma was looking down at herself and not paying attention, but then looked back up and looked Jon up and down nodding playfully.
Marisa echoed the invitation for drinks Friday night and Jon politely agreed.
He barely made it to his car before he noticed.
The older woman sat slumped against the wheel of her parked SUV.
Crying.
---
Later that week, Jon found himself harassed and eventually coerced into going out with his new yoga "friends".
The Lone Star Saloon was the kind of small-town bar where the neon sign buzzed, the jukebox played a mix of classic country and top-40 hits no one asked for, and everybody knew everybody—or at least pretended to.
Jon pushed through the scarred wooden door, the chatter of voices and twang of steel guitar hitting him in a wall of sound. He spotted them immediately—the Sunrise Yoga crew clustered around a long table in the back, drinks gleaming under the dim amber lights.
Marisa waved him over, her smile luminous. "Jon! You came!"
He forced a grin, sliding into the booth beside her. "Wouldn’t miss it."
The table was packed—Elena, Emma, the other regulars from class—all polished and glowing like they’d stepped out of some sleek magazine ad for "Small-Town Goddesses." But what caught Jon’s attention were the men—because nearly a third of the girls weren’t alone.
They were with older men.
Much older.
Silver-haired gentlemen in pressed button-downs laughing intimately with girls young enough to be their daughters. One man—late 50s, tan, with the crisp confidence of money—had his hand possessively on the thigh of a yoga regular Jon recognized from class. Another, balding and thick around the middle, leaned in to whisper something that made his dark-haired companion giggle into her cocktail.
Jon frowned, swirling his beer.
A sharp elbow nudged his ribs.
"See something you like?" Marisa murmured, leaning in so close her perfume—something expensive, fruity—tickled his nose.
"Just… surprised," Jon admitted quietly, gesturing subtly toward one of the older couples. "Didn’t realize this was a date night."
Marisa’s laugh was bright, deliberate. "Oh, sweetie, age is just a number. Love doesn’t clock out at forty."
Jon wanted to press—but Elena suddenly appeared at his other side, draping herself halfway over his shoulders. Her touch was warm, her voice whiskey-smooth.
"Don’t worry, Jon," she teased, her breath sweet with gin. "Plenty of us aren’t taken yet."
Emma giggled across the table, twirling her straw. "Speak for yourself."
Elena gasped—mock-offended—and launched into some dramatic retort Jon barely heard.
His attention snagged on the older couple again.
The way the girl—Tiffany?—traced her fingers over her boyfriend’s wrist.
The same white wristband peeked out from under her sleeve.
Just like the others.
Jon’s pulse hitched.
Before he could react, Marisa clinked her glass against his bottle, pulling his focus back.
"To new friends," she toasted, smiling.
Around the table, glasses lifted.
Jon hesitated—then drank.
The beer tasted bitter.
Or maybe that was just the dread creeping up his throat.
The night should’ve been weird.
Elena was trashed—giggling so hard she almost knocked over Emma’s cosmo, her voice sharp and loud in that way drunk people never realize is obnoxious. Emma wasn’t far behind, slurring compliments like "Jon, you’re actually, like, soo funny when you’re not just, like… working out or whatever."
But despite the strangeness hanging over the yoga crew, Jon was surprised to find himself… having fun.
Mostly thanks to Marisa.
She was effortlessly engaging—switching between sarcastic wit and warm wisdom like it was nothing. Every joke landed, every story pulled him in. She teased him about his stiff posture ("Even in a bar booth, you sit like you’re about to deadlift it") but listened intently when he told her about his job, his move to Texas, even his stupid back injury.
At one point, after refilling his beer without him noticing, she smirked and said, "You know, I was worried you’d be the broody, silent type forever. But you’re kinda charming when you’re not scowling."
Jon snorted. "Thanks, I think."
"Oh, it’s a compliment," she laughed, flicking her dark braid over her shoulder. "Most guys in this town peak in high school and never recover."
And yeah—she was older. Easily mid-40s. Not someone he’d look at twice in that way. But damn if she wasn’t the most interesting person in the room.
Then the door swung open.
And all the warmth in Jon’s chest evaporated.
Mariah.
Dressed in jeans that hugged her just right and a soft sweater that made her skin glow under the bar lights. And beside her—Jackson. Broad-shouldered, clean-cut, the kind of guy who looked like he spent more time on his skincare routine than Jon did on meal prep.
Jon’s grip tightened around his bottle.
He shouldn’t care.
But fuck.
Mariah’s eyes swept the room—paused on him—widened slightly. Then she smiled, small but genuine, and lifted her fingers in a little wave.
Jon managed a stiff nod.
Elena, drunk and oblivious, followed his gaze and gasped. "Oh! Omigod, it’s—" She shot up, wobbling. "—Time for shots! Right, Jon? Right?"
Marisa’s gaze flicked between Jon and Mariah, sharp with understanding.
"Well well," she murmured, lips curving. "This night just got interesting."
And Jon—
Jon really wished he wasn’t trapped in this booth.
Marisa leaned in, her eyes glinting with amusement. "Oh? Nobody important?" she echoed, watching as Mariah and her boyfriend wound their way toward them through the crowd.
Jon stiffened. "I mean—we’re just friends."
"Mhmm," Marisa hummed, smirking. "The way you just said that tells me everything."
Before Jon could protest, Mariah was there—smiling warmly, her dark eyes bright.
"Jon! Hey!" she said, reaching out to briefly squeeze his shoulder. Her touch sent a jolt through him. "I didn’t expect to see you here."
Jon forced an easy smile—or what he hoped looked like one. "Yeah, uh. Yoga class outing." He gestured vaguely at the table.
Mariah’s boyfriend, Jackson, extended a hand with perfect polite-guy charm. "Hey man, nice to finally meet you. Maria’s told me a lot about you."
Maria.
Not Mariah.
The nickname grated like nails on a chalkboard.
Jon shook his hand—too tight, probably—and muttered, "All good things, I hope."
Jackson laughed, oblivious. "Of course. Says you spot her on squats."
Mariah rolled her eyes playfully. "Jon’s saved my life multiple times from being squashed by a barbell."
Jon swallowed hard.
She was glowing. Happy. Relaxed. Everything about her body language screamed comfortable with this guy.
It stung.
The small talk lasted another painful minute before Mariah excused them both. "We’re meeting some of Jackson’s coworkers, but it was nice seeing you!" She hesitated, then added, "You should come to the gym next week. I’ve missed my lifting buddy."
Missed.
The word dangled between them like bait.
"Yeah," Jon rasped. "Maybe."
And just like that, she was gone again—Jackson’s hand sliding naturally to the small of her back as they walked away.
Jon exhaled slowly.
Marisa didn’t wait.
"Ohhhh honey," she drawled, swirling her drink. "That was painful to watch."
Jon groaned, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up."
"That wasn’t just nobody important." She nudged him. "Tell me the truth—you’ve got a thing for her, don’t you?"
He debated lying.
But the alcohol loosened his tongue.
"Yeah," he muttered. "And it’s fucking stupid."
Marisa arched a brow, sipping her whiskey. "Why?"
Jon huffed a bitter laugh. "Because she’s with him! Because I wait all week just to spot her on bench press like some lovesick puppy. Because—" He cut himself off, frustrated.
Marisa studied him for a long moment. Then, softly: "She doesn’t look at you the way she looks at him?"
Jon froze.
"It's Bullshit," he said automatically.
But Marisa didn’t push. Just shrugged and leaned back, her expression knowing.
"You know, Jon," she said simply. "You should invite her—to Yoga. You never know...your luck might turn around."
Jon didn’t answer.
Just swallowed the rest of his drink whole.
---
The following Monday, the studio was quieter than usual when Jon stepped in—soft murmurs, hushed laughter, the faint sound of bare feet on mats.
And then he saw her.
Mariah.
Standing near the front of the room in black leggings and a fitted tank, talking animatedly with Marisa.
Jon’s pulse kicked.
What the hell is she doing here?
As if sensing his stare, Mariah turned. Her face lit up, and she gave him a little wave. "Hey! Surprise!"
Jon forced his legs to move forward. "You’re—uh—doing yoga now?"
Before she could answer, Marisa slipped an arm around Mariah’s shoulders, grinning. "I invited her after you left the bar. Everyone needs a little spiritual detox, right?" She winked—definitely not subtle.
Mariah laughed, rolling her eyes. "Yeah, don’t look so nervous. I won’t completely embarrass myself."
Her ease helped. A little. Jon exhaled, rubbing his neck. "Just—don’t expect me to be any help. I still can’t touch my toes."
Mariah smirked. "For a guy who lifts like you do, that’s kinda pathetic."
It was such a Mariah thing to say—playful, teasing, effortlessly slipping back into the rhythm of their gym banter—that Jon’s chest loosened.
But then—
His gaze snagged on her wrist.
A thin white band.
The wristband.
His blood went cold.
He looked around the room, counting.
Marisa had one.
No one else did.
Not Elena. Not Emma. No one but…
Mariah.
Jon’s stomach twisted.
Marisa invited her. Marisa gave her the wristband.
Was this planned?
Before he could think too much about it, the music shifted—soothing chimes, low and melodic.
Marisa clapped her hands. "Alright, lovelies! Let’s begin."
Mariah shot Jon one last grin before unfolding her mat beside him.
Jon unrolled his own, hands just a little unsteady.
He had a very bad feeling about this.
As it happens...Mariah was bad at yoga as well—but in the most endearing way possible.
She was flexible—no shock given how nimble she was with weights—but graceful? Not even close. Every transition was a half-second too slow, her balance tipping like a newborn deer on ice. At one point, halfway through Warrior Three, she wobbled so violently she windmilled her arms and nearly face-planted into Jon’s chest.
He caught her reflexively, grinning. "Maybe ease into it, Rocky."
Mariah clutched his shoulder, laughing breathlessly. "I swear this pose didn’t look this hard from the sidelines."
Jon couldn’t help it—he laughed. Really laughed. For the first time all night, the weird tension evaporated. This was just Mariah: clumsy, determined, utterly herself.
The rest of the class passed smoothly—until meditation.
As usual, the lights dimmed, slow music humming through the speakers. Marisa stretched her arms theatrically. "Alright, everyone, settle in. Deep breaths. I’ll be back in a few."
Jon frowned as she slipped out the door. Strange—she never left during meditation.
But before he could dwell on it, the room sank into silence. Ten minutes passed in a drowsy haze until—
Lights flicked on.
Elena stood at the front, smiling. "Hey guys, Marisa isn’t feeling great. She asked me to finish up. So… namaste, or whatever."
Jon sat up, blinking.
Beside him, Mariah was staring at her hands—turning them over, flexing her fingers. Almost like she was… checking them.
She caught him looking and immediately smirked. "Like what you see?"
Jon flushed. "Just—uh—making sure you didn’t pull anything."
Mariah rolled her eyes. "Relax, tough guy. I’m kidding." But her tone was different—sharper, smoother. Off.
The class dispersed quickly after that. Jon lingered, watching as Mariah gathered her things with uncharacteristic imprecision—dropping her keys, fumbling her water bottle.
Outside, the night air was thick with humidity.
"Walk me to my car?" Mariah asked, tilting her head.
"Yeah. Sure."
They crossed the darkened parking lot in silence. Mariah’s steps were confident now—almost swaggering—where earlier she’d been all stiff concentration.
Then—she stopped at a silver Honda.
Jon hesitated. "...That’s not your car."
Mariah froze.
For half a second, her face went utterly blank. Then she laughed, loud and careless. "Whoops! Wrong rental." She spun and marched three cars down to her actual Toyota.
Jon’s stomach knotted.
Rental? Mariah had owned that car for years.
She tossed her bag inside, flashing him a smirk. "See you at the gym tomorrow?"
"Yeah," Jon lied.
She drove off.
Jon stared after her, pulse humming uneasily.
Same voice. Same face.
But was that Mariah?
---
The next morning, Jon spotted her the second he walked into Iron Haven.
"Mariah".
Perched on the edge of a bench, stretching in sleek black yoga pants and a cropped athletic top—clothes he'd never seen her wear to lift before.
She caught his eye immediately, grinning as she unfolded herself in a fluid, feline motion. "There you are," she said, voice warm and teasing. "I was starting to think you were avoiding me."
Jon frowned. Her cadence was different—smoother, almost calculated. Even the way she stood seemed unnaturally poised, like someone who'd studied confidence rather than lived it.
"...You're in yoga gear," he blurted.
She glanced down, running her hands over her hips as if appreciating the fabric. "Mm. Felt like a change. Cute, right?"
Jon swallowed hard. Every alarm in his head was screaming.
Then came the real red flags.
She couldn't remember their usual push-pull split. She kept asking about muscle groups like the terms were foreign. And when she loaded up the bar for squats—
"Mariah, your knees—they're caving in. Big time," Jon warned, hovering behind her.
She just giggled. "Oops. Guess I need you to really spot me today."
Her wink was deliberate, her hips shifting invitingly as she started her descent with terrifying instability. Jon had to brace both hands on her waist to keep her from wobbling sideways—too close, too intimate.
When they switched to bench press, she abandoned form entirely, arching in a way that was less about power and more about giving him an obstructed view down her tank top.
Jon's face burned.
Then—
"So, big news," she announced between sets, twirling a lock of hair. "Me and Jackson? Done." She popped the p playfully. "Thought you'd be happy to hear that."
Jon froze mid-reach for his water bottle.
"You... broke up?"
"Mhmm." She stretched her arms overhead, watching his reaction like a cat eyeing a trapped mouse. "Long-distance sucked anyway. But now I'm single... lonely... could really use a friend tonight." Her foot nudged his calf. "Maybe you?"
Jon felt like he'd been dunked in ice water.
This wasn't Mariah.
The real Mariah would never ditch form like this. Would never flirt this blatantly. And if—some impossible fantasy—she'd actually broken up with Jackson, she'd be hurting. Drinking sad-girl wine, venting to friends, not propositioning him mid-workout.
Yet here this not-Mariah stood, smirking, waiting.
Jon forced a stiff smile. "Yeah. Maybe."
She beamed, like he'd confirmed some secret she already knew. "Great. Come by my place at 8. Don't bring beer—I've got better drinks."
She sauntered away to the water fountain, her stride too smooth, too practiced.
Jon stared after her.
He had no intention of showing up.
But he was going to figure out what the hell was happening.
---
Jon stood on Mariah’s porch at 8:03 PM, fist raised to knock, heart hammering like he was about to step into a trap.
Because he was.
But he had to know.
The door swung open before his knuckles even touched wood.
Mariah leaned against the frame, bathed in warm lamplight—barefoot, in a silky slip of a dress that clung to every curve. A far cry from her usual gym shorts and oversized tees.
"You came," she purred, stepping aside to let him in.
Jon forced himself to move. "Yeah. Wouldn’t miss it."
The apartment smelled like vanilla and red wine. Candles flickered on the coffee table beside an already half-empty bottle.
Mariah snatched it up, pouring him a glass without asking. "Relax," she laughed, pressing it into his hand. "You look like you’re about to bolt."
Jon took a sip. "Just… surprised, I guess."
"About?" She flopped onto the couch, patting the space beside her.
"This. You. Us hanging out like…" He gestured vaguely at the wine, the dim lighting, her.
Mariah’s smile turned sly. "Like a date?"
Jon choked on his drink.
She just giggled, leaning in to swipe a thumb over the corner of his lips, catching the spilled wine. Then—slow, deliberate—she sucked it off her own finger, watching him.
Jon’s pulse roared in his ears.
This was wrong.
The real Mariah would’ve teased him, sure. Would’ve maybe flirted after one too many drinks. But not like this. Not with this calculated, predatory heat.
Yet here she was, closing the distance between them, her knee brushing his.
"You’ve always been so careful with me," she murmured, fingers tracing idle circles on his thigh. "But you don’t have to be. Not anymore."
Jon’s grip tightened on his glass. "Mariah—"
"Shhh." Her hand slid up to cradle his jaw. "Just kiss me."
And then she did.
Her mouth was warm, insistent—wrong. The way she moved, the taste of her, the pressure—it was like kissing a stranger wearing Mariah’s skin. Little did he know how right he was.
Jon pulled back, breath ragged.
Mariah just smirked, licking her lips. "See? Not so hard."
Mariah didn’t just kiss him—she consumed him.
One second, Jon was reeling from the wrongness of it all—the next, her hands were fisted in his shirt, yanking him forward until his back hit the couch. Her teeth scraped his lower lip, sharp enough to make him groan, and suddenly any semblance of hesitation shattered.
Her tongue swiped against his, tasting of rich red wine and something else—something darkly intoxicating. She climbed onto his lap in one smooth motion, her silky dress riding up as she straddled him.
“You’ve wanted this,” she breathed, grinding down against the painful hardness in his jeans. “For so long.”
Jon’s hands found her hips on instinct, gripping tight as she rocked against him. He should’ve stopped. Should’ve asked what the hell was happening.
But then her mouth was on his neck, nipping, sucking, marking him like she was staking a claim—and logic dissolved.
She pulled back just enough to smirk at the mess she’d made of him.
“Pathetic,” she teased, dragging her nails down his chest. “All this time pretending you didn’t want me.”
Before he could respond, she slid off his lap and onto her knees between his legs.
Her fingers made quick work of his belt, his zipper, his straining boxers. When she freed him, hot and heavy in her grip, she licked her lips—slow, deliberate, savoring the moment.
Then, without warning, she took him deep.
Jon’s back arched off the couch, a ragged gasp tearing from his throat.
Fuck.
Her mouth was perfect—hot, wet, relentless. No hesitation, no teasing buildup. Just ruthless skill. Her tongue swirled around the head, her lips tightened on the upstroke, her nails dug into his thighs when he tried to buck deeper. “Don’t,” she warned, smirking up at him before swallowing him down again.
Jon’s vision blurred.
She was too good. Knew exactly how to hollow her cheeks, when to hum, when to drag her teeth just enough to make him see stars. It wasn’t just the best head of his life—it was like she’d mapped out every desperate fantasy he’d ever had and cranked it to eleven.
When he growled, “I’m close,” she didn’t pull away.
She laughed around him—laughed—and doubled down, taking him to the hilt.
Jon came with a curse, fingers tangled in her hair as she milked him through it, swallowing every drop.
He barely had time to recover before she climbed back into his lap, yanking her dress down over her shoulders in one motion. No bra. Just smooth, golden skin and perfect curves.
Jon crushed her against him, hands roaming, mouth claiming hers again—but she was the one in control.
She pushed him back onto the couch, guiding him inside her with a slow, torturous roll of her hips. He hissed at the slick, blazing heat of her.
Then she moved.
No sweet, tentative rhythm. Just pure, unrelenting dominance. She rode him like she was punishing him for every second he’d spent pining—hard, fast, her nails scoring down his chest as she chased her own pleasure.
“Look at you,” she taunted, grinding down, clenching around him. “Mr. Self-Control.”
Jon didn’t last. Couldn’t. Not with her above him—eyes dark, body arching, her breath coming in sharp, needy gasps.
He flipped her beneath him in one rough motion, driving into her deep enough to wrench a sharp cry from her lips.
“Jon—!”
He didn’t stop. Couldn’t.
Their coupling turned savage—skin slapping, teeth clashing, her thighs trembling around his waist as she clawed at his back. When she came, it was with a scream, her body locking around him like a vice.
Jon followed, burying himself inside her with a groan.
For a long moment, the only sounds were their ragged breaths.
Then she laughed.
Low. Triumphant.
Jon tensed.
Because that laugh—
It didn’t belong to Mariah.
Jon froze as Mariah's laugh - too deep, too smug, too knowing - echoed through the bedroom. That wasn't Mariah's giggle. That wasn't Mariah's playful tone.
He recognized it only a nanosecond later...That was Marisa.
"Enjoy yourself, big boy?" the woman in Mariah's body purred, stretching like a satisfied cat as she rolled away from him. When she turned back, there was something terrifyingly wrong about the way she moved - the familiar curves now inhabited by something alien. "I knew you'd be fun."
Jon sat up sharply, the post-coital haze evaporating. "What the fuck are you?"
Mariah's lips - no, not Mariah's lips - curved into a smile Jon had only ever seen on one person before.
"Smart boy," Marisa chuckled from Mariah's mouth, running Mariah's hands down Mariah's body in a way that made Jon's stomach lurch. "I was wondering when you'd notice."
Jon scrambled off the bed, grabbing for his pants. "Where's Mariah? What did you do to her?"
Marisa sighed dramatically, rolling Mariah's eyes - but the gesture was all wrong, like watching a bad actor play a part. "God, fine. Since you're so clever..." She sat up, tossing Mariah's hair. "I suppose you've earned the whole sordid story."
She spread Mariah's hands like she was giving a presentation.
"Astral projection. Soul transference. A little aromatherapy magic in the yoga studio. Basically..." She smirked. "I help older women trade up. Give some lonely grandma a chance to be young and beautiful again by hopping into a fresh new body. All it takes is a willing participant on each side - well, 'willing' in the loosest sense."
Jon's blood went cold as he remembered the wristbands. The older woman crying in the parking lot. The way Elena had changed so suddenly.
"You give them the bands," he breathed.
"Bingo." Marisa clapped Mariah's hands. "The wristband marks the donors. The incense during meditation loosens their soul's grip on their body just enough for me to... help them let go." She smiled. "Most of them don't even realize what's happening until it's too late."
Jon felt sick. "And the older women? You just... convince them to give up their bodies?"
Marisa shrugged. "They want to. At first they're confused, sure. But then they look in the mirror and realize what they've gained. A tight little body, smooth skin, all the time in the world..." She ran Mariah's hands over Mariah's breasts. "Would you give that up?"
Jon's stomach churned. This was worse than any nightmare his mind could come up with.
Jon felt dizzy, the room spinning as the horrific truth sank in. The yoga studio wasn't just a business - it was a hunting ground. And Mariah had walked right into the trap.
"I knew you had a thing for her," Marisa cooed, crawling toward him on the bed with Mariah's body. "So when I saw my chance to finally upgrade from my 46-year-old vessel... well, who better than your beautiful gym crush?" She laughed - that same rich, throaty laugh Jon now realized had never belonged to Mariah at all.
Jon backed away, his hands shaking as he fumbled for his phone. "I'm calling the cops. This stops now."
Marisa rolled Mariah's eyes. "And say what? That your crush's body got possessed by a yoga instructor?" She smirked. "They'll lock you in the psych ward before you finish speaking."
Panic clawed at Jon's throat. She was right. No one would believe this. But he couldn't just walk away - not while the real Mariah was...
"Where is she?" Jon demanded. "Where's Mariah's soul right now?"
Marisa stretched luxuriously. "Oh, she's fine. Currently occupying my old body locked in a dark room back at the studio and tied to a chair with a gag in her mouth so nobody has to hear her scream. A little trade we made during meditation today." Her smile turned cruel. "Though I did warn her - if she tries telling anyone, no one will believe the crazy old lady claiming to be a 24-year-old."
Jon's mind raced. The crying woman in the parking lot. The way Mariah had stumbled getting into the wrong car. The pieces fell into place with horrible clarity.
"So all of then are actually old women...," he realized. "Elena, Emma, now Mariah...all those girls."
"Very good!" Marisa applauded. "Honestly, Mariah put up more fight than most. But they all give in eventually." She sauntered closer. "Now, you've got two choices. Either accept this sexy new version of your gym buddy..." She trailed Mariah's fingers down his chest. "Or go charging off to 'save the day' and look like a goddamn fool."
Jon's fists clenched. He knew Marisa was right about one thing - no cop would ever believe his story. He was out of options.
1
7.4K
259
3
1
Loading...
No users found for "body swap"
Try searching for something else.
Loading...