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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.
mtf body swap
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Kyle is a guy that is looking to live a straight life after getting out of jail recently, have been caught up in a life of crime early on in life.
However, when an old friend contacts him to steal a priceless artifact together, Kyle decides to turn back to his old ways.
Things quickly go wrong during the score, which results in him unexpectedly swapping bodies with the city's number 1 superheroine. He knows the right thing to do would be to figure out a way to swap them back, but that idea becomes increasingly difficult when he finds out just the kind of life and pleasure her body truly has to offer him.
Kyle learned early that luck was a finite resource, and whatever share he'd been allotted had been spent before he turned sixteen. He grew up in a neighborhood where police sirens were background noise and everyone knew which streets to avoid after dark - dangerous and belonging to someone. Trouble wasn't something you sought out there. It found you, it waited, and if you didn't learn fast enough, it took what it wanted.
Kyle hadn't learned fast enough. By the time he was seventeen, he'd been arrested twice - one for running lookout, once for possession he swore wasn't his. The judge hadn't cared. The system rarely did. He'd done his time in juvenile detention, learned how to keep his head down, how to read people, how to pick locks with nothing but patience and a bent piece of metal. Skills that weren't exactly résumé-friendly. Now, at twenty-eight, he stood behind a coffee counter that smelled perpetually burnt no matter how often he cleaned it and wearing a stained apron with a name tag that felt like a lie. 'Kyle.'
The bell above the café door chimed, and another customer stepped up, already frowning.
"Large oat milk latte. Extra hot. and make sure it's not bitter this time."
Kyle forced a smile.
"Sure thing."
Behind him, one of his coworkers leaned against the prep counter scrolling through their phone. His supervisor - who showed up late every shift and still somehow found the time to criticize - hovered nearby, arms crossed.
"Try not to mess it up," she muttered. "We've had complaints."
Kyle bit back the response that came to mind, he always did - Rent didn't care about pride.
When the café slowed down - mid-afternoon lull and the sunlight slanted through the windows - Kyle leaned against the counter and let his thoughts drift upward. Literally. A massive digital billboard across the street flickered with life, displaying the familiar image: Elasti-Woman, mid-leap, limbs extended impossibly as she saved a collapsing monorail car. The city's favorite heroine. Strong, confident, sexy and smiling like she belonged exactly where she stood.
Kyle watched, transfixed. She was tall, 6ft with shoulder length brown hair, blue eyes, a model-like face, and a curvaceous, athletic build that Kyle absolutely adored. Every time he thought of her, he caught himself in daydreams. She made it look effortless. Being admired, being needed. Being someone.
He imagined it sometimes - what it would feel like to be that. To matter. To have people look at you with awe instead of suspicion. To have power instead of apologies. And, he also fantasized about her. He wasn't blind, or dead. The thought of someone like Elasti-Woman even glancing his way - let along sharing a night with him - was ridiculous. He knew that. He wasn't delusional but that still didn't stop his chest from tightening every time she smiled. Reality snapped back when his supervisor cleared her throat sharply.
"Kyle. Table three's been waiting."
He nodded, moved, served, and apologized for things that weren't his fault.
That night, as he trudged back to his apartment, his phone buzzed. Unknown number. He almost ignored it, almost.
"Yeah?" he said into the device, keys jingling around his finger.
There was a pause. Then a familiar voice, rougher than he remembered, but unmistakable.
"Damn, man. You still answer like you're expecting trouble."
Kyle stopped fiddling with his keys, stopping dead in his tracks.
"Evan?"
"Still alive," The man replied, laughing. "Mostly. Heard you got out clean."
"Clean enough," Kyle said cautiously. "How'd you get this number?"
He didn't know Evan too well. But they did get into trouble with each other a few times.
"Mutual acquaintance. Relax. I'm not calling to drag you into anything."
Somehow, Kyle didn't believe that and snorted in response.
"That's new."
They talked, caught up as much as they could, shared stories that carefully avoided their worst years. Evan had bounced around - inside, outside, always skirting the edge. Eventually, Kyle sighed and realized - he wanted something.
"Alright," he said. "You didn't call me just to reminisce. I know that, but that's as much as I do know."
Evan hesitated, a little too long.
"There's a job," he explained. "Easy one. Museum slash pawn shop. I'm working security nights. They just got this artifact - private collection. Worth millions if you know the right people."
Kyle's stomach sank. "No," he said immediately. "Besides, what type of museum also runs a pawn shop? That doesn't make sense."
"Heard the guy's shady. Runs it for tax evasion or some shit," Evan dismissed his concerns and then continued. "Just one night. In and out. I'll give you the layout, the security codes. You're better with locks than me."
It was true. Kyle was better.
He knew how to read the tension in a tumbler, to feel the give of a pin. It was almost instinct.
"You know how I live," Evan pressed, "A few days. Just this."
"No," Kyle repeated. "I'm done. I like my freedom."
Evan pushed and joked, promised it was clean. That there would be no heat and no alarms.
"Come on. Besides, what dead end job do you have that can actually support you?" Evan's question struck a nerve. "I've seen you. You're good. You're wasting your talent."
Kyle could almost see the artifact. He could imagine it sitting in a velvet-lined box, protected by glass. For a few hours of risk, it'd be enough to move out of his apartment, maybe go somewhere new and actually start fresh. To pay for a night with someone like her - no. He shut that down immediately.
"I... I can't, Evan. I'm sorry." The silence on the other end stretched, heavy and disappointed. Kyle pictured Evan's face - jaw tight, eyes already turning inward, and recalculating.
"Alright," Evan said at last. "your call." The line then went dead.
Kyle stood there on the sidewalk for a long moment, the city humming around him like static. When he finally unlocked his apartment and stepped inside, the door shut with a soft click that felt louder than it should have.
The place smelled faintly of cheap detergent and he stared at the crumbling wallpaper stained yellow with old cigarette smoke. He learned the back of his head against the door and sighed. Freedom, Evan had said. What freedom was this?
Kyle huffed a quiet, humorless laugh and crossed the apartment. This wasn't freedom, this was a holding cell. A cage built out of rent, reputation, and the kind of mistakes that never quite stopped following you. That night passed, then another.
The next few days were uneventful in the most exhausting way possible - early mornings, bitter coffee, aching feet, incompetent bosses and coworkers. The call faded, dulled by routine. Kyle told himself that was it. That Evan had taken the no and moved on.
Nearly a week later, his phone buzzed while he was sitting alone in his apartment, half-watching a muted news segment about another villain sighting downtown. Evan again. Kyle frowned at the name, thumb hovering over the screen.
For a minute, he considered ignoring it, letting it go to voicemail and letting the past stay where it belonged. But curiosity got the better of him and he swiped it open where an image filled the display.
An exquisite silver chain dripped with the light of a thousand tiny rose-cut gems, their soft blush catching the light with every subtle movement. Suspended from this delicate chain is a magnificent centerpiece: a single, flawlessly faceted pink diamond, cut so deeply that its heart seems to pulse with a captured sunset and refused to let go. It didn't look fake, it looked important.
"This is it," Evan's message followed. "They think it's worthless. Owner's a drunk. Barely remembers it's there. You know this is your way out. This is something that can support you."
Kyle stared at the photo longer than he meant to - Until the edges blurred and the necklace dissolved into color and light, and something else took its place in his mind - a familiar figured stretched across the skyline, confident and untouchable. Elasti-Woman, smiling like the city belonged to her. Kyle locked his phone and set it face-down on the table.
Later that night, the temperature dropped, the chill creeping in through the thin walls. He went to his closet to grab a hoodie - nothing dramatic, something he did a thousand times before. He pulled one free and something heavier shifted on the shelf above.
A pair of gloves slid into view, worn, thin and familiar. He hadn't touched them in years. Kyle picked them up slowly, turning them over in his hands. The leather was cracked and softened by years of use. They fit perfectly still when he slipped them on - muscle memory kicking in before he could stop it. He should have thrown them out, years ago. He knew that. Told himself that he kept them because they were useful. Because you never knew when you might need them for something harmless. A stuck lock, a broken latch, pulling weeds... 'Just in case'. He took them off and set them back on the shelf, heart beating faster than it should have, then shut the closet door. He remembered the days of picking locks with them helping keep a steady hand.
The days rolled on - Coffee, complaints, the same tired routine. Kyle almost convinced himself the call had been a lapse - an old ghost rattling chains that didn't exist anymore. At least that was what it appeared as, Evan didn't push at first. Just checked in. Casual messages. An old joke he shared with Kyle and one other in the past. Then, every few days, another reminder slipped in. A comment about rising prices. A nudge about people he knew who'd 'made it out.' About how unfair it was that some people got powers and others got scraps. Once, late at night while Kyle laid in bed, another photo appeared - the necklace again and closer this time. The pink diamond caught the light differently, deeper, warmer. For a second, Kyle swore it looked like it was glowing.
He turned his phone face-down on his chest and went to bed, staring at the ceiling until morning. And then frustration did the rest - the café, the bills, the way his supervisor talked to him like he was disposable. The way customers smiled politely until they stepped away and the way the city celebrated its heroes and forgot everyone else existed. By the time he finally picked up his phone, his hands were steady. He typed one word.
"When?"
Two days later, Kyle and Evan found themselves standing before the building Evan had described. It was a strange place: half museum, half pawn shop. The sign above the entrance, written in faded gold lettering, read: The Reliquary & Loan.
The front windows displayed a jumble of antique weapons and dusty paintings, while just beyond them, in a more curated space, sat a collection of pristine artifacts under bright spotlights. The place felt... liminal. Not quite legitimate, not quite criminal. At night, the building seemed to loom taller than he remembered when they did the daytime walk-by Evan had insisted was 'all the recon they'd need.'
The outside itself was marble façade with reinforced glass for the antiques. It seemed too clean or well-lit for something that supposedly blended museum curation with pawnshop discretion. Private collection acquisitions always meant money, and money meant security. Kyle adjusted the thin gloves on his hands and exhaled slowly through his nose.
"Tell me again," he murmured, "Why the service entrance doesn't have a guard?"
Evan, crouched beside a side door and working far too confidently on a tablet that looked older than Kyle's phone shrugged.
"Because they cut costs. Owner's cheap."
Kyle didn't like that answer. He liked them to be specific - Names, timetables.
Still, the door opened cleanly under his picks, the lock giving way with a familiar, almost comforting click. For a moment, muscle memory carried him - same old dance, same steady hands.
The rush crept in anyway, uninvited. Inside, the air smelled like polish from one of those machines, freshly scrubbed of all the dirt, and the air was almost stuffy - like it was still. The floor plan Evan had given him flashed in Kyle's mind as they moved - but almost immediately, it didn't match.
Display cases sat where corridors were supposed to be. A security camera tracked lazily across a hall that should have been blind. Kyle, thankfully, stopped short and grabbed Evan's sleeve. "That camera wasn't on your map. I thought you said you fucking worked here before?!" he whispered sharply.
Evan, for the first time, looked nervous.
"They... must have updated. It's fine. It's on a loop. I saw the log myself." The excuse was thin. Too thin. But they were already inside. Backing out now felt like a bigger risk than pushing forward. Kyle hated that about himself - how easily sunk costs turned into forward momentum.
The deeper they went, the quieter Evan got. And Kyle led. He always did. But he knew how to read spaces - how sound carried, where footsteps echoed too long, how security sensors felt even when you couldn't see them.
He spotted slightly raised plates just before stepping on them, freezing, and then carefully stepping over. Evan didn't even notice until Kyle grabbed him again.
"Watch where you step," Kyle whispered. "Or this ends with both of us in cuffs."
Despite Kyle's skill, it was his partners that always let him down and it infuriated him.
"Relax," Evan muttered. "You're the pro, right?"
That only served to irk him more, none of this shit was supposed to be here. It was supposed to be easy.
The vault room sat lower than expected, tucked behind a reinforced exhibit wall disguised as a historical installation. This was the real test. Kyle knelt before the keypad, his fingers hovering over the numbers. Evan had given him the code. A sequence that supposedly cycled weekly.
"You're sure about this?" Kyle asked, his heart starting to thrum a heavy, anxious rhythm against his ribs.
"I'm sure," Evan said, though he wouldn't meet Kyle's gaze.
Kyle entered the code. The keypad beeped. ACCESS DENIED
Panic, cold and sharp, lanced through Kyle's chest. "You're an idiot," he seethed. "You gave me the wrong code."
"No, no, I... maybe I typed it wrong?" Evan stammered, fumbling with his tablet again.
"There's a master override. I just need to... Here, I got a new code. Let me enter it."
Evan moved closer, his fingers dancing across the panel, but again; ACCESS DENIED
This time the panel beeped, - just once - a warning. Kyle closed his eyes for half a second, unable to believe this.
"Move."
He knelt, rolling his eyes while pulling tools from his kit. The panel resisted him immediately - newer model, nested failsafes, the kind designed to punish impatience. Sweat prickled along his spine as he worked, fingers moving with slow, careful, practiced precision. Time stretched, every second felt loud and long. When the lock finally disengaged, Kyle nearly laughed in relief.
Inside, the safe stood under that cold white light.
It was already open - probably from the laziness of said owner, thinking that no one would even find the vault. And there it was, resting on a simple black velvet pad. The necklace. The chain was impossibly fine, the rose-cut gems glowing with a soft, internal warmth. The pink diamond at its center was huge. And it was beautiful, it shone like it wanted to be noticed.
Evan gasped, moving towards it.
"See? I told you."
But Kyle didn't move. He stood there, staring. This was it. The whole reason for this risky, half-assed plan. But something was wrong. The hairs on his arms were standing up. A low hum emanated from the necklace, almost imperceptible at the edges of his hearing. He took a step closer.
The closer he got, the more aware he became of it - it wasn't a sound, or a pull exactly, but a pressure - as if he was being hugged. His fingers hovered before touching it.
"Don't just stand there," Evan whispered. "Grab it!"
Kyle wrapped his hand around the chain. It was warm, like holding those hand-warming satchels in the dead of winter while snow drifted all around you. A shiver ran through him, sharp and inexplicable, and for a split second he thought he heard something - not words but a suggestion of a voice, distant and close at the same time. He wasn't sure if the necklace had some other attribute to it. But it certainly felt like it. Then all that focus drained away as soon as Evan swore loudly.
Kyle spun just in time to see Evan's foot catch on a cable that should not have been there. The alarm detonated, exploding outward with sound. Not just a single sound but layers - sirens, lights, automated voice warnings cascading through the building. Kyle's heart slammed into overdrive, the memories of being caught by police, time and time again flashing through his mind. "I told you to watch-!"
"I didn't see it!"
"Because you don't look!" He whispered pointedly.
Kyle swiped the necklace, the gems feeling warm in his palm as they began to run.
He took point again, cutting left where the shortest path should've been - but the corridor ended in a security gate slamming down inches from his face.
"Plan B!" Evan yelled.
"There was no fucking Plan B!"
Kyle's shoes skid as they doubled back, ducking through exhibits as emergency shutters began sealing rooms behind them, Kyle's lungs burned, grip tight around the pendant like it was the only solid thing left in the world. Halfway to the exit, Evan grabbed his arm.
"Give it to me," he shouted over the alarms. "I know a buyer-"
Kyle yanked free, spinning on him. "No. You don't touch it."
"What?! That wasn't the deal!"
"The deal didn't include you set off every alarm in the building!"
Evan's face hardened. "You think you can just take it?"
Kyle didn't answer. He didn't need to. They both knew the answer. If anyone could find a buyer, it was Kyle.
They started at each other for a moment too long - sirens screaming, lights flashing red - and in that moment they knew that they had to split up.
"Split up," Kyle ordered, "Now."
Evan hesitated, then cursed and bolted in the opposite direction. Outside, the streets were swarming with police but Kyle managed to slip past them and turned the corner at a dead run, nearly slamming straight into her. Elasti-Woman dropped from above and touched down lightly in front of him, boots barely making a sound against the pavement. She straightened with confidence, already between him and the street beyond. The glow of emergency lights reflected faintly off the red-and-silver of her suit.
"End of the line," She said, voice calm and practiced, unlike the police who would have been screaming at him to get down.
Kyle skidded to a halt, hands coming up automatically. His heart pounded so hard it made his vision pulse.
"You've got the wrong guy."
She tilted her head, clearly unconvinced.
"Funny. I hear that a lot."
Then she moved first. Her arm snapped forward, stretching impossibly, and Kyle barely managed to duck under it. He stumbled, boots slipping on loose gravel and the alley suddenly felt too narrow - like the walls were closing in. He bolted sideways as her leg elongated in a sweeping kick that cracked against brick where his head had been a second earlier. Kyle thought his best chance would be to get close, so he charged her. Her arm came out and he grabbed at her sleeve, trying to throw her off balance but she caught his wrist. For a moment they were tangled, both straining, both adjusting to the other's movement. Then the pendant slipped free from his jacket, it swung between them and they both instinctively - stupidly - reached for it. Kyle's fingers closed around the chain at the same moment hers did and then the world spun and bent.
Then Darkness swallowed him. When he came to, the first thing he registered was pain. A deep, echoing throb behind his eyes, like his skull had been rung like a bell. He groaned and tried to roll onto his side - and nearly overbalanced.
Something was wrong. His weight didn't sit where it should. His body felt... redistributed. His chest rose and fell more noticeably with each breath, warm pressure pulling differently against gravity.
A curtain of dark, brown hair brushed his jaw and neck, tickling skin that felt oversensitive, almost electric - a tingle of pleasure running through his spine. He blinked, vision swimming, and looked down as his breath caught.
The suit stretched over a shape that definitely had not been his moments ago. Breasts - unmistakable, solid, rising and falling with his labored breathing. Despite the tight suit, they jiggled almost unperceptively. His gloved hands looked narrower, wrists slimmer when he lifted them into view. A soft groan sounded beside him. Kyle turned his head - and froze.
His own body lay a few feet away, sprawled awkwardly against the alley wall. The ski mask tilted as his eyes fluttered open.
"What - what did you do?!"
His voice sounded scared and panic surged immediately, drowning out everything else. Sirens wailed closer and he reacted.
His arm snapped forward - and didn't stop. It stretched, the sensation bizarre and nauseating, like his bone had turned to rubber. His fist connected solidly with his own jaw and his old body crumpled. Kyle stared at his extended arm, then pulled it back. The limb snapped back into place as if it had never been three times his length. Police boots thundered closer and there was little time to process. Kyle played the part and acted as if he were Elasti-Woman. He wasn't sure how exactly he could mimic her movements or mannerisms but it seemed he played the part perfectly.
When the police finally cleared out and the street fell quiet, the silence hit him harder than the sirens had. He had pocketed the pendant and knew that his old body would only have a short stint in jail and that the police wouldn't believe that they've swapped bodies. She'd sound insane to them. His skin was alight as his suit hugged him in places his old clohes never had, stretching smoothly with the movement. A laugh slipped out of him before he could stop it - sharp, incredulous, almost hysterical.
"This is insane," he muttered, the voice startling him all over again.
When he brushed his knuckles against his neck, he felt the slide of loose hair, the faint scent of something clean and expensive. He loved it. He looked down again, the tight suit around his breasts poked out and it made him curious. His hands slid up his side before cupping the full breasts. He stood there, blushing to himself as he pinched the hard nubs between his index and thumb. Another jolt of electricity ran down his spine and he gasped slightly.
"Oh... I see," he said to himself.
This power was not only for fighting criminals. This was a power for himself. He had an idea, a risky one, but one that he had to do before he could think about a way to reverse the body swap. He had to see himself.
“I’ll fix it after this,” he told himself, though the words rang hollow even as he said them.
The thought of giving this back - of stepping out of this skin and returning to his old, invisible life - made something in his chest tighten uncomfortably. He pushed the feeling away, then something caught his eye. A motorcycle - hers. He approached it cautiously, heels clicking against the pavement. He expected no reaction but the moment he swung a leg over, the bike seemed to recognize him. Then he sat, feeling the plush skin of his ass press against the seat.
"Shit..." He muttered.
When the engine roared to life, the vibration traveled up through his legs and spine, through his crotch. The pleasure made him buckle over the handles. The GPS flared to life, a single destination already marked. Home. Kyle hesitated, hands tightening on the grips, then leaned forward and eased into the street, still feeling awkward - yet excited - in the stride of the world's most celebrated heroine.
The bike led him to the last place he expected. A luxurious mansion out in the countryside, set up-top a large hillside. At first, he was just going to park into the drive-way until the motorcycle lights lit up what looked like a normal cliff. A portion of the rock face shimmered, then slid silently away to reveal a dark opening. He guided the motorcycle inside, the rock closing behind him with a soft, decisive thud. The garage was vast. Cars, training equipment, and racks upon racks of weaponry he didn't have names for. In the center, a single white circle glowed on the floor. He dismounted, the bike's engine dying behind him as he stepped into the elevator. The doors closed, and the world dissolved into white light.
"Welcome home, Carmen." A robotic, almost AI-like voice echoed.
His eyes widened at the revelation, Carmen... Starr? His eyes darted down his body, his lips parted. It made sense after some thought. She was rich, prominent. She would have all the means to do something like this. But that also made his fist tighten, nails biting into his feminine hands.
Some people get all the luck... When they opened again, he was standing in her home. It wasn't what he expected. The entire back wall of the main room was a single pane of floor-to-ceiling glass, offering a breathtaking view of the city below, lights glittering like a fallen constellation. The rest was clean, minimalist, almost sterile - white walls, polished marble floors, furniture that looked more like art than something you'd actually sit on. It was a space for looking, not for living. It was beautiful, but it felt like a show home. He walked through it, footsteps echoing, feeling like an intruder in a museum dedicated to a person he was currently wearing. He wanted to find a mirror and he found one in the bedroom - a full-length slab of polished glass. When he had stepped out from the open living space and set foot into the bedroom, his heels sunk into the fine and soft carpet, giving him pause just for a moment. They no longer made a sound as he approached the large bed and mirror which shimmered with light next to the bathroom door. He honestly kind of liked the sound of heels against stone.
Elasti-Woman stared back at him from the mirror. Her face - his face - was flushed, a stray strand of brown hair clinging to her cheek. Those brilliant blue eyes, wide with a mixture of terror and something else he couldn't name yet, were fixed on him. He felt hot - both sweaty and aroused. He knew he had to see more. He licked his lips, tasting something slightly strawberry across those beautifully plump lips. He took a few steps in front of the mirror, watching the curves of his body. He raised both hands and pushed his chest out, he felt a little embarrassed but at the same time... he felt sexy. It felt worth it. A strange, tingling sensation began to grow in his core. It felt... different, compared to anything he's felt before. It felt warmer, hotter, and more... explosive.
He turned away from the mirror and || twirled to give a quick view of his new body from all angles, his head and body still buzzing with a strange new energy. The desire to see more - to feel more - was overwhelming. He had to take off the suit. His fingers fumbled at the hidden seam of her suit, the release catch resisting him for a moment before it gave way with a soft hiss. The material peeled away from his skin, clinging for a second before loosening its grip. The cool air of the room hit his bare shoulders, a stark, shocking contrast to the tight, warm embrace of the suit. He shivered, a reaction to the temperature and the sudden, jarring vulnerability. He slid the red and silver material down over his hips, letting it pool around them. The reflection was breathtaking. She was muscular, but not bulky. Athletic. The muscles in her arms and stomach were defined without being grotesque, her skin smooth and flawless. Her breasts were perfect. High and firm, topped with nipples that were currently hard. His skin shimmered with sweat, the scent was sweet and slightly tangy. "I'm... so sexy..." He muttered, "But... Carmen doesn't normally look like this. This body is much more full. The hair is longer than normal too."
As he looked down his body, he noticed that the suit was so tight that one could easily see a camel-toe and he snickered to himself. That was part of the reason why he felt so hot. He felt a bit more emboldened as he watched his sweaty skin in the mirror. Then he raised his arm and smelled underneath. He nearly gasped at how much it turned him on. He smelled incredible. He found himself craving more of this scent, more of this body, more of this feeling. He felt like he couldn't control himself. He didn't want to be some sort of gross pervert but... the temptation was too strong. His reflection watched as he raised a hand, the fingers slender and graceful. He hesitated, then slowly brought the hand to his breast, letting the pad of his thumb brush against the hard nipple. A soft gasp escaped his lips.
The pleasure was sharp, immediate, and so much more intense than he'd ever anticipated. He did it again, this time pinching the bud lightly, rolling it between his fingers. The jolt that shot through him was electric. He watched, transfixed, as the nipple hardened even more, a deep rose color against the pale skin of his breast. The other breast felt neglected, so he brought his other hand up to it, mirroring the motions. Soon, both breasts were being kneaded and teased, the twin points of pleasure sending waves of warmth down his body, coalescing in the pit of his stomach. He could feel a wetness growing between his legs, a slick heat that was both alien and utterly intoxicating.
He had to get out of this suit and pulled one of his legs free while balancing on the other, a black thong poked out, soaking wet and dripping with so much pussy-juice that it slid down his thighs. Kyle pulled at the elastic suit surrounding his hips,. He needed to see more. He needed to see everything that the masterpiece in the mirror had to offer. He kicked the soaked fabric away, leaving it lying on the carpetted floor like a discarded secret. Now, laid bare except for the heels, he fully examined her body and posture - how she stood up straight and tall despite large breasts, how her skin was a creamy and attractive shade, how her legs were smooth and long. Her thighs gapped but not too much, just to tease her camel-toe in her one-piece suit.
He lifted his breasts, seeing the sweat built up underneath. The cold air felt amazing against his skin, but he wanted to see some of his backside too. He turned, subconsciously further than any normal person could. The curve of his ass was amazing and he bounced up and down, laughing softly as the skin jiggled. His eyes traced down the black of the thong that slid between his butt-cheeks. He was getting too excited, and his breath hitched. Without much of a thought, his hand came up, out, and then smacked the jiggling flesh.
He made a sound half-way between a moan and a yelp, which surprised even himself. He liked the sting of the reddening skin though and that only made him more aroused.
He then slid a finger down across his stomach. It tickled in a way - but also elicited tingling sensations and a hitch of his breath as his fingers glided to the thong's fabric. The warmth emanated from it as he slowly pulled it down. His reflection was a study in contrasts: a powerful, athletic body flushed with arousal, a face that was both his and not his, contorted in a mask of pleasure and disbelief. He took a step back, then another - watching his reflection in the mirror until eventually, he landed on the bed. The silken sheets were cool and a very different contrast against the heat of his plush ass. He loved the way that it felt like he was sitting on a cushy yet firm pillow everytime he sat down, having experienced it once from the motorcycle. He spread his legs, giving himself an unobstructed view of his new sex. It was beautiful, a perfect pink flower glistening with moisture. He watched as he slowly reached down, the journey of his hand feeling like it took an eternity. He parted the delicate folds with his fingers, the sensation sending another shiver through him. He was so wet, so ready. He found the small, sensitive bud of his clit, and when he touched it, he saw stars.
Slowly, he inserted one finger, then two. He took a deep breath, his fingers pumping in and out faster and faster. As he got more comfortable he added a third, then fourth. Soon he was loose and comfortable. His left hand reached up, squeezing his full breast as his knuckles slipped past his entrance. His vision filled with hot static as he gasped, the sound from his mouth was like an Angel's gasp. He tried a different angle, lifting his long leg up, while the other slid across the sheets then pumped his hand a bit faster, squeezing against his knuckles. Then it happened; a sudden, intense pressure bloomed in his core. It was like a dam breaking, a wave of pure, unadulterated pleasure that crashed over him, pulling him under.
He cried out, a high, keening sound that was half-sob, half-shout of triumph. His body convulsed, the muscles in his legs and stomach clenching as he rode out the orgasm, his fingers still buried deep inside him.
When the waves finally subsided, he was left panting, his body slick with sweat and other, more intimate fluids. He leaned against the cool silk sheets of the bed, the smooth surface a welcome anchor in the sea of sensation. He looked at himself, at the woman in the mirror. She looked thoroughly fucked, her hair a mess, her face flushed, her legs trembling. And she looked… happy. Genuinely, deeply happy in a way he hadn't felt in years. Maybe ever.
A slow smile spread across his face. He looked down at the discarded suit, then at the reflection of the incredible woman he'd become. He picked up the thong, bringing it to his nose and inhaling deeply. The scent was intoxicating, a potent mix of his new arousal and something uniquely Carmen.
But he wasn't done, he hadn't even begun to use her powers. His arms stretched, coiling like snakes around his breasts, the pressure made his back arch.
"Mmmphf..."
Then they went further, moving down, around his sides and started to play with his pussy from behind. Then he stretched his neck, lowering his head to his perked and swollen nipple, sucking it into his mouth. He moaned against his own skin, the vibrations sending another jolt of pleasure through him. He could taste the salt of his sweat, the subtle sweetness of his skin. He was a closed loop of sensation, a self-contained universe of pleasure. He spent the next hour like this, exploring every inch of his new form with a hunger that bordered on desperation. He stretched and contorted, testing the limits of this incredible body, mapping every erogenous zone, cataloging every gasp and shiver. He discovered that if he stretched his torso just right, the tension in his core would build to an almost unbearable peak, and a single, well-placed touch would send him over the edge into another shuddering orgasm.
The finalé began when he pulled his rounded hips and firm buttocks up to his face. His pussy, quivering and dripping with copious amounts of fluid, sat in front of his own face. The scent was sweet, musky, and entirely too enticing. His tongue darted out and a full-body shudder crawled up his spine and straight to his brain. The sensation was unlike any other, even through all the orgasms. He could feel the slick folds on his tongue, the hard nub of his clit against the tip. He could taste himself, and it was divine. He ate himself out with a fervor he hadn't known he possessed, his tongue lapping and probing, his nose buried in the folds of his own sex.
He sucked in the lips of his labia, hot breath running over his hole and clit. His legs shook and tightened around his head, acting like a pillow.
He felt like he was melting, his mind going blank with pleasure. His body was a symphony of sensation, and he was the conductor, the orchestra, and the audience all at once. His cock would never have been able to compare, he thought to himself as he ate himself out. When the final, most intense orgasm of the night finally ripped through him, it was a white-hot nova of sensation that left him boneless and panting on the floor, a tangle of limbs and sweat and satisfaction. He lay there for a long time, just breathing, the cool air of the room caressing his sensitized skin. He felt... complete. Whole in a way he never had in his own skin. He'd spent his entire life feeling like an outsider, a ghost in his own life. But here, in this body, he felt like he finally belonged.
Eventually, he pushed himself up, his muscles protesting in the most delicious way. He caught his reflection in the floor-to-ceiling window, the city lights glittering behind him. The woman in the glass looked wild, untamed. Her hair was a mess, her lips were swollen, her eyes were dark with a satisfaction that was almost predatory. He smiled, a slow, lazy grin that was all Kyle and all Carmen at the same time. This is not how he had imagined this night to go, lest of all a night in Elasti-Woman's bed. He laid there and finally decided. He couldn't go back to his own body. Not only did this body feel so much better but it had everything he ever desired. And now the world would know this new Elasti-Woman.
However, when an old friend contacts him to steal a priceless artifact together, Kyle decides to turn back to his old ways.
Things quickly go wrong during the score, which results in him unexpectedly swapping bodies with the city's number 1 superheroine. He knows the right thing to do would be to figure out a way to swap them back, but that idea becomes increasingly difficult when he finds out just the kind of life and pleasure her body truly has to offer him.
Kyle learned early that luck was a finite resource, and whatever share he'd been allotted had been spent before he turned sixteen. He grew up in a neighborhood where police sirens were background noise and everyone knew which streets to avoid after dark - dangerous and belonging to someone. Trouble wasn't something you sought out there. It found you, it waited, and if you didn't learn fast enough, it took what it wanted.
Kyle hadn't learned fast enough. By the time he was seventeen, he'd been arrested twice - one for running lookout, once for possession he swore wasn't his. The judge hadn't cared. The system rarely did. He'd done his time in juvenile detention, learned how to keep his head down, how to read people, how to pick locks with nothing but patience and a bent piece of metal. Skills that weren't exactly résumé-friendly. Now, at twenty-eight, he stood behind a coffee counter that smelled perpetually burnt no matter how often he cleaned it and wearing a stained apron with a name tag that felt like a lie. 'Kyle.'
The bell above the café door chimed, and another customer stepped up, already frowning.
"Large oat milk latte. Extra hot. and make sure it's not bitter this time."
Kyle forced a smile.
"Sure thing."
Behind him, one of his coworkers leaned against the prep counter scrolling through their phone. His supervisor - who showed up late every shift and still somehow found the time to criticize - hovered nearby, arms crossed.
"Try not to mess it up," she muttered. "We've had complaints."
Kyle bit back the response that came to mind, he always did - Rent didn't care about pride.
When the café slowed down - mid-afternoon lull and the sunlight slanted through the windows - Kyle leaned against the counter and let his thoughts drift upward. Literally. A massive digital billboard across the street flickered with life, displaying the familiar image: Elasti-Woman, mid-leap, limbs extended impossibly as she saved a collapsing monorail car. The city's favorite heroine. Strong, confident, sexy and smiling like she belonged exactly where she stood.
Kyle watched, transfixed. She was tall, 6ft with shoulder length brown hair, blue eyes, a model-like face, and a curvaceous, athletic build that Kyle absolutely adored. Every time he thought of her, he caught himself in daydreams. She made it look effortless. Being admired, being needed. Being someone.
He imagined it sometimes - what it would feel like to be that. To matter. To have people look at you with awe instead of suspicion. To have power instead of apologies. And, he also fantasized about her. He wasn't blind, or dead. The thought of someone like Elasti-Woman even glancing his way - let along sharing a night with him - was ridiculous. He knew that. He wasn't delusional but that still didn't stop his chest from tightening every time she smiled. Reality snapped back when his supervisor cleared her throat sharply.
"Kyle. Table three's been waiting."
He nodded, moved, served, and apologized for things that weren't his fault.
That night, as he trudged back to his apartment, his phone buzzed. Unknown number. He almost ignored it, almost.
"Yeah?" he said into the device, keys jingling around his finger.
There was a pause. Then a familiar voice, rougher than he remembered, but unmistakable.
"Damn, man. You still answer like you're expecting trouble."
Kyle stopped fiddling with his keys, stopping dead in his tracks.
"Evan?"
"Still alive," The man replied, laughing. "Mostly. Heard you got out clean."
"Clean enough," Kyle said cautiously. "How'd you get this number?"
He didn't know Evan too well. But they did get into trouble with each other a few times.
"Mutual acquaintance. Relax. I'm not calling to drag you into anything."
Somehow, Kyle didn't believe that and snorted in response.
"That's new."
They talked, caught up as much as they could, shared stories that carefully avoided their worst years. Evan had bounced around - inside, outside, always skirting the edge. Eventually, Kyle sighed and realized - he wanted something.
"Alright," he said. "You didn't call me just to reminisce. I know that, but that's as much as I do know."
Evan hesitated, a little too long.
"There's a job," he explained. "Easy one. Museum slash pawn shop. I'm working security nights. They just got this artifact - private collection. Worth millions if you know the right people."
Kyle's stomach sank. "No," he said immediately. "Besides, what type of museum also runs a pawn shop? That doesn't make sense."
"Heard the guy's shady. Runs it for tax evasion or some shit," Evan dismissed his concerns and then continued. "Just one night. In and out. I'll give you the layout, the security codes. You're better with locks than me."
It was true. Kyle was better.
He knew how to read the tension in a tumbler, to feel the give of a pin. It was almost instinct.
"You know how I live," Evan pressed, "A few days. Just this."
"No," Kyle repeated. "I'm done. I like my freedom."
Evan pushed and joked, promised it was clean. That there would be no heat and no alarms.
"Come on. Besides, what dead end job do you have that can actually support you?" Evan's question struck a nerve. "I've seen you. You're good. You're wasting your talent."
Kyle could almost see the artifact. He could imagine it sitting in a velvet-lined box, protected by glass. For a few hours of risk, it'd be enough to move out of his apartment, maybe go somewhere new and actually start fresh. To pay for a night with someone like her - no. He shut that down immediately.
"I... I can't, Evan. I'm sorry." The silence on the other end stretched, heavy and disappointed. Kyle pictured Evan's face - jaw tight, eyes already turning inward, and recalculating.
"Alright," Evan said at last. "your call." The line then went dead.
Kyle stood there on the sidewalk for a long moment, the city humming around him like static. When he finally unlocked his apartment and stepped inside, the door shut with a soft click that felt louder than it should have.
The place smelled faintly of cheap detergent and he stared at the crumbling wallpaper stained yellow with old cigarette smoke. He learned the back of his head against the door and sighed. Freedom, Evan had said. What freedom was this?
Kyle huffed a quiet, humorless laugh and crossed the apartment. This wasn't freedom, this was a holding cell. A cage built out of rent, reputation, and the kind of mistakes that never quite stopped following you. That night passed, then another.
The next few days were uneventful in the most exhausting way possible - early mornings, bitter coffee, aching feet, incompetent bosses and coworkers. The call faded, dulled by routine. Kyle told himself that was it. That Evan had taken the no and moved on.
Nearly a week later, his phone buzzed while he was sitting alone in his apartment, half-watching a muted news segment about another villain sighting downtown. Evan again. Kyle frowned at the name, thumb hovering over the screen.
For a minute, he considered ignoring it, letting it go to voicemail and letting the past stay where it belonged. But curiosity got the better of him and he swiped it open where an image filled the display.
An exquisite silver chain dripped with the light of a thousand tiny rose-cut gems, their soft blush catching the light with every subtle movement. Suspended from this delicate chain is a magnificent centerpiece: a single, flawlessly faceted pink diamond, cut so deeply that its heart seems to pulse with a captured sunset and refused to let go. It didn't look fake, it looked important.
"This is it," Evan's message followed. "They think it's worthless. Owner's a drunk. Barely remembers it's there. You know this is your way out. This is something that can support you."
Kyle stared at the photo longer than he meant to - Until the edges blurred and the necklace dissolved into color and light, and something else took its place in his mind - a familiar figured stretched across the skyline, confident and untouchable. Elasti-Woman, smiling like the city belonged to her. Kyle locked his phone and set it face-down on the table.
Later that night, the temperature dropped, the chill creeping in through the thin walls. He went to his closet to grab a hoodie - nothing dramatic, something he did a thousand times before. He pulled one free and something heavier shifted on the shelf above.
A pair of gloves slid into view, worn, thin and familiar. He hadn't touched them in years. Kyle picked them up slowly, turning them over in his hands. The leather was cracked and softened by years of use. They fit perfectly still when he slipped them on - muscle memory kicking in before he could stop it. He should have thrown them out, years ago. He knew that. Told himself that he kept them because they were useful. Because you never knew when you might need them for something harmless. A stuck lock, a broken latch, pulling weeds... 'Just in case'. He took them off and set them back on the shelf, heart beating faster than it should have, then shut the closet door. He remembered the days of picking locks with them helping keep a steady hand.
The days rolled on - Coffee, complaints, the same tired routine. Kyle almost convinced himself the call had been a lapse - an old ghost rattling chains that didn't exist anymore. At least that was what it appeared as, Evan didn't push at first. Just checked in. Casual messages. An old joke he shared with Kyle and one other in the past. Then, every few days, another reminder slipped in. A comment about rising prices. A nudge about people he knew who'd 'made it out.' About how unfair it was that some people got powers and others got scraps. Once, late at night while Kyle laid in bed, another photo appeared - the necklace again and closer this time. The pink diamond caught the light differently, deeper, warmer. For a second, Kyle swore it looked like it was glowing.
He turned his phone face-down on his chest and went to bed, staring at the ceiling until morning. And then frustration did the rest - the café, the bills, the way his supervisor talked to him like he was disposable. The way customers smiled politely until they stepped away and the way the city celebrated its heroes and forgot everyone else existed. By the time he finally picked up his phone, his hands were steady. He typed one word.
"When?"
Two days later, Kyle and Evan found themselves standing before the building Evan had described. It was a strange place: half museum, half pawn shop. The sign above the entrance, written in faded gold lettering, read: The Reliquary & Loan.
The front windows displayed a jumble of antique weapons and dusty paintings, while just beyond them, in a more curated space, sat a collection of pristine artifacts under bright spotlights. The place felt... liminal. Not quite legitimate, not quite criminal. At night, the building seemed to loom taller than he remembered when they did the daytime walk-by Evan had insisted was 'all the recon they'd need.'
The outside itself was marble façade with reinforced glass for the antiques. It seemed too clean or well-lit for something that supposedly blended museum curation with pawnshop discretion. Private collection acquisitions always meant money, and money meant security. Kyle adjusted the thin gloves on his hands and exhaled slowly through his nose.
"Tell me again," he murmured, "Why the service entrance doesn't have a guard?"
Evan, crouched beside a side door and working far too confidently on a tablet that looked older than Kyle's phone shrugged.
"Because they cut costs. Owner's cheap."
Kyle didn't like that answer. He liked them to be specific - Names, timetables.
Still, the door opened cleanly under his picks, the lock giving way with a familiar, almost comforting click. For a moment, muscle memory carried him - same old dance, same steady hands.
The rush crept in anyway, uninvited. Inside, the air smelled like polish from one of those machines, freshly scrubbed of all the dirt, and the air was almost stuffy - like it was still. The floor plan Evan had given him flashed in Kyle's mind as they moved - but almost immediately, it didn't match.
Display cases sat where corridors were supposed to be. A security camera tracked lazily across a hall that should have been blind. Kyle, thankfully, stopped short and grabbed Evan's sleeve. "That camera wasn't on your map. I thought you said you fucking worked here before?!" he whispered sharply.
Evan, for the first time, looked nervous.
"They... must have updated. It's fine. It's on a loop. I saw the log myself." The excuse was thin. Too thin. But they were already inside. Backing out now felt like a bigger risk than pushing forward. Kyle hated that about himself - how easily sunk costs turned into forward momentum.
The deeper they went, the quieter Evan got. And Kyle led. He always did. But he knew how to read spaces - how sound carried, where footsteps echoed too long, how security sensors felt even when you couldn't see them.
He spotted slightly raised plates just before stepping on them, freezing, and then carefully stepping over. Evan didn't even notice until Kyle grabbed him again.
"Watch where you step," Kyle whispered. "Or this ends with both of us in cuffs."
Despite Kyle's skill, it was his partners that always let him down and it infuriated him.
"Relax," Evan muttered. "You're the pro, right?"
That only served to irk him more, none of this shit was supposed to be here. It was supposed to be easy.
The vault room sat lower than expected, tucked behind a reinforced exhibit wall disguised as a historical installation. This was the real test. Kyle knelt before the keypad, his fingers hovering over the numbers. Evan had given him the code. A sequence that supposedly cycled weekly.
"You're sure about this?" Kyle asked, his heart starting to thrum a heavy, anxious rhythm against his ribs.
"I'm sure," Evan said, though he wouldn't meet Kyle's gaze.
Kyle entered the code. The keypad beeped. ACCESS DENIED
Panic, cold and sharp, lanced through Kyle's chest. "You're an idiot," he seethed. "You gave me the wrong code."
"No, no, I... maybe I typed it wrong?" Evan stammered, fumbling with his tablet again.
"There's a master override. I just need to... Here, I got a new code. Let me enter it."
Evan moved closer, his fingers dancing across the panel, but again; ACCESS DENIED
This time the panel beeped, - just once - a warning. Kyle closed his eyes for half a second, unable to believe this.
"Move."
He knelt, rolling his eyes while pulling tools from his kit. The panel resisted him immediately - newer model, nested failsafes, the kind designed to punish impatience. Sweat prickled along his spine as he worked, fingers moving with slow, careful, practiced precision. Time stretched, every second felt loud and long. When the lock finally disengaged, Kyle nearly laughed in relief.
Inside, the safe stood under that cold white light.
It was already open - probably from the laziness of said owner, thinking that no one would even find the vault. And there it was, resting on a simple black velvet pad. The necklace. The chain was impossibly fine, the rose-cut gems glowing with a soft, internal warmth. The pink diamond at its center was huge. And it was beautiful, it shone like it wanted to be noticed.
Evan gasped, moving towards it.
"See? I told you."
But Kyle didn't move. He stood there, staring. This was it. The whole reason for this risky, half-assed plan. But something was wrong. The hairs on his arms were standing up. A low hum emanated from the necklace, almost imperceptible at the edges of his hearing. He took a step closer.
The closer he got, the more aware he became of it - it wasn't a sound, or a pull exactly, but a pressure - as if he was being hugged. His fingers hovered before touching it.
"Don't just stand there," Evan whispered. "Grab it!"
Kyle wrapped his hand around the chain. It was warm, like holding those hand-warming satchels in the dead of winter while snow drifted all around you. A shiver ran through him, sharp and inexplicable, and for a split second he thought he heard something - not words but a suggestion of a voice, distant and close at the same time. He wasn't sure if the necklace had some other attribute to it. But it certainly felt like it. Then all that focus drained away as soon as Evan swore loudly.
Kyle spun just in time to see Evan's foot catch on a cable that should not have been there. The alarm detonated, exploding outward with sound. Not just a single sound but layers - sirens, lights, automated voice warnings cascading through the building. Kyle's heart slammed into overdrive, the memories of being caught by police, time and time again flashing through his mind. "I told you to watch-!"
"I didn't see it!"
"Because you don't look!" He whispered pointedly.
Kyle swiped the necklace, the gems feeling warm in his palm as they began to run.
He took point again, cutting left where the shortest path should've been - but the corridor ended in a security gate slamming down inches from his face.
"Plan B!" Evan yelled.
"There was no fucking Plan B!"
Kyle's shoes skid as they doubled back, ducking through exhibits as emergency shutters began sealing rooms behind them, Kyle's lungs burned, grip tight around the pendant like it was the only solid thing left in the world. Halfway to the exit, Evan grabbed his arm.
"Give it to me," he shouted over the alarms. "I know a buyer-"
Kyle yanked free, spinning on him. "No. You don't touch it."
"What?! That wasn't the deal!"
"The deal didn't include you set off every alarm in the building!"
Evan's face hardened. "You think you can just take it?"
Kyle didn't answer. He didn't need to. They both knew the answer. If anyone could find a buyer, it was Kyle.
They started at each other for a moment too long - sirens screaming, lights flashing red - and in that moment they knew that they had to split up.
"Split up," Kyle ordered, "Now."
Evan hesitated, then cursed and bolted in the opposite direction. Outside, the streets were swarming with police but Kyle managed to slip past them and turned the corner at a dead run, nearly slamming straight into her. Elasti-Woman dropped from above and touched down lightly in front of him, boots barely making a sound against the pavement. She straightened with confidence, already between him and the street beyond. The glow of emergency lights reflected faintly off the red-and-silver of her suit.
"End of the line," She said, voice calm and practiced, unlike the police who would have been screaming at him to get down.
Kyle skidded to a halt, hands coming up automatically. His heart pounded so hard it made his vision pulse.
"You've got the wrong guy."
She tilted her head, clearly unconvinced.
"Funny. I hear that a lot."
Then she moved first. Her arm snapped forward, stretching impossibly, and Kyle barely managed to duck under it. He stumbled, boots slipping on loose gravel and the alley suddenly felt too narrow - like the walls were closing in. He bolted sideways as her leg elongated in a sweeping kick that cracked against brick where his head had been a second earlier. Kyle thought his best chance would be to get close, so he charged her. Her arm came out and he grabbed at her sleeve, trying to throw her off balance but she caught his wrist. For a moment they were tangled, both straining, both adjusting to the other's movement. Then the pendant slipped free from his jacket, it swung between them and they both instinctively - stupidly - reached for it. Kyle's fingers closed around the chain at the same moment hers did and then the world spun and bent.
Then Darkness swallowed him. When he came to, the first thing he registered was pain. A deep, echoing throb behind his eyes, like his skull had been rung like a bell. He groaned and tried to roll onto his side - and nearly overbalanced.
Something was wrong. His weight didn't sit where it should. His body felt... redistributed. His chest rose and fell more noticeably with each breath, warm pressure pulling differently against gravity.
A curtain of dark, brown hair brushed his jaw and neck, tickling skin that felt oversensitive, almost electric - a tingle of pleasure running through his spine. He blinked, vision swimming, and looked down as his breath caught.
The suit stretched over a shape that definitely had not been his moments ago. Breasts - unmistakable, solid, rising and falling with his labored breathing. Despite the tight suit, they jiggled almost unperceptively. His gloved hands looked narrower, wrists slimmer when he lifted them into view. A soft groan sounded beside him. Kyle turned his head - and froze.
His own body lay a few feet away, sprawled awkwardly against the alley wall. The ski mask tilted as his eyes fluttered open.
"What - what did you do?!"
His voice sounded scared and panic surged immediately, drowning out everything else. Sirens wailed closer and he reacted.
His arm snapped forward - and didn't stop. It stretched, the sensation bizarre and nauseating, like his bone had turned to rubber. His fist connected solidly with his own jaw and his old body crumpled. Kyle stared at his extended arm, then pulled it back. The limb snapped back into place as if it had never been three times his length. Police boots thundered closer and there was little time to process. Kyle played the part and acted as if he were Elasti-Woman. He wasn't sure how exactly he could mimic her movements or mannerisms but it seemed he played the part perfectly.
When the police finally cleared out and the street fell quiet, the silence hit him harder than the sirens had. He had pocketed the pendant and knew that his old body would only have a short stint in jail and that the police wouldn't believe that they've swapped bodies. She'd sound insane to them. His skin was alight as his suit hugged him in places his old clohes never had, stretching smoothly with the movement. A laugh slipped out of him before he could stop it - sharp, incredulous, almost hysterical.
"This is insane," he muttered, the voice startling him all over again.
When he brushed his knuckles against his neck, he felt the slide of loose hair, the faint scent of something clean and expensive. He loved it. He looked down again, the tight suit around his breasts poked out and it made him curious. His hands slid up his side before cupping the full breasts. He stood there, blushing to himself as he pinched the hard nubs between his index and thumb. Another jolt of electricity ran down his spine and he gasped slightly.
"Oh... I see," he said to himself.
This power was not only for fighting criminals. This was a power for himself. He had an idea, a risky one, but one that he had to do before he could think about a way to reverse the body swap. He had to see himself.
“I’ll fix it after this,” he told himself, though the words rang hollow even as he said them.
The thought of giving this back - of stepping out of this skin and returning to his old, invisible life - made something in his chest tighten uncomfortably. He pushed the feeling away, then something caught his eye. A motorcycle - hers. He approached it cautiously, heels clicking against the pavement. He expected no reaction but the moment he swung a leg over, the bike seemed to recognize him. Then he sat, feeling the plush skin of his ass press against the seat.
"Shit..." He muttered.
When the engine roared to life, the vibration traveled up through his legs and spine, through his crotch. The pleasure made him buckle over the handles. The GPS flared to life, a single destination already marked. Home. Kyle hesitated, hands tightening on the grips, then leaned forward and eased into the street, still feeling awkward - yet excited - in the stride of the world's most celebrated heroine.
The bike led him to the last place he expected. A luxurious mansion out in the countryside, set up-top a large hillside. At first, he was just going to park into the drive-way until the motorcycle lights lit up what looked like a normal cliff. A portion of the rock face shimmered, then slid silently away to reveal a dark opening. He guided the motorcycle inside, the rock closing behind him with a soft, decisive thud. The garage was vast. Cars, training equipment, and racks upon racks of weaponry he didn't have names for. In the center, a single white circle glowed on the floor. He dismounted, the bike's engine dying behind him as he stepped into the elevator. The doors closed, and the world dissolved into white light.
"Welcome home, Carmen." A robotic, almost AI-like voice echoed.
His eyes widened at the revelation, Carmen... Starr? His eyes darted down his body, his lips parted. It made sense after some thought. She was rich, prominent. She would have all the means to do something like this. But that also made his fist tighten, nails biting into his feminine hands.
Some people get all the luck... When they opened again, he was standing in her home. It wasn't what he expected. The entire back wall of the main room was a single pane of floor-to-ceiling glass, offering a breathtaking view of the city below, lights glittering like a fallen constellation. The rest was clean, minimalist, almost sterile - white walls, polished marble floors, furniture that looked more like art than something you'd actually sit on. It was a space for looking, not for living. It was beautiful, but it felt like a show home. He walked through it, footsteps echoing, feeling like an intruder in a museum dedicated to a person he was currently wearing. He wanted to find a mirror and he found one in the bedroom - a full-length slab of polished glass. When he had stepped out from the open living space and set foot into the bedroom, his heels sunk into the fine and soft carpet, giving him pause just for a moment. They no longer made a sound as he approached the large bed and mirror which shimmered with light next to the bathroom door. He honestly kind of liked the sound of heels against stone.
Elasti-Woman stared back at him from the mirror. Her face - his face - was flushed, a stray strand of brown hair clinging to her cheek. Those brilliant blue eyes, wide with a mixture of terror and something else he couldn't name yet, were fixed on him. He felt hot - both sweaty and aroused. He knew he had to see more. He licked his lips, tasting something slightly strawberry across those beautifully plump lips. He took a few steps in front of the mirror, watching the curves of his body. He raised both hands and pushed his chest out, he felt a little embarrassed but at the same time... he felt sexy. It felt worth it. A strange, tingling sensation began to grow in his core. It felt... different, compared to anything he's felt before. It felt warmer, hotter, and more... explosive.
He turned away from the mirror and || twirled to give a quick view of his new body from all angles, his head and body still buzzing with a strange new energy. The desire to see more - to feel more - was overwhelming. He had to take off the suit. His fingers fumbled at the hidden seam of her suit, the release catch resisting him for a moment before it gave way with a soft hiss. The material peeled away from his skin, clinging for a second before loosening its grip. The cool air of the room hit his bare shoulders, a stark, shocking contrast to the tight, warm embrace of the suit. He shivered, a reaction to the temperature and the sudden, jarring vulnerability. He slid the red and silver material down over his hips, letting it pool around them. The reflection was breathtaking. She was muscular, but not bulky. Athletic. The muscles in her arms and stomach were defined without being grotesque, her skin smooth and flawless. Her breasts were perfect. High and firm, topped with nipples that were currently hard. His skin shimmered with sweat, the scent was sweet and slightly tangy. "I'm... so sexy..." He muttered, "But... Carmen doesn't normally look like this. This body is much more full. The hair is longer than normal too."
As he looked down his body, he noticed that the suit was so tight that one could easily see a camel-toe and he snickered to himself. That was part of the reason why he felt so hot. He felt a bit more emboldened as he watched his sweaty skin in the mirror. Then he raised his arm and smelled underneath. He nearly gasped at how much it turned him on. He smelled incredible. He found himself craving more of this scent, more of this body, more of this feeling. He felt like he couldn't control himself. He didn't want to be some sort of gross pervert but... the temptation was too strong. His reflection watched as he raised a hand, the fingers slender and graceful. He hesitated, then slowly brought the hand to his breast, letting the pad of his thumb brush against the hard nipple. A soft gasp escaped his lips.
The pleasure was sharp, immediate, and so much more intense than he'd ever anticipated. He did it again, this time pinching the bud lightly, rolling it between his fingers. The jolt that shot through him was electric. He watched, transfixed, as the nipple hardened even more, a deep rose color against the pale skin of his breast. The other breast felt neglected, so he brought his other hand up to it, mirroring the motions. Soon, both breasts were being kneaded and teased, the twin points of pleasure sending waves of warmth down his body, coalescing in the pit of his stomach. He could feel a wetness growing between his legs, a slick heat that was both alien and utterly intoxicating.
He had to get out of this suit and pulled one of his legs free while balancing on the other, a black thong poked out, soaking wet and dripping with so much pussy-juice that it slid down his thighs. Kyle pulled at the elastic suit surrounding his hips,. He needed to see more. He needed to see everything that the masterpiece in the mirror had to offer. He kicked the soaked fabric away, leaving it lying on the carpetted floor like a discarded secret. Now, laid bare except for the heels, he fully examined her body and posture - how she stood up straight and tall despite large breasts, how her skin was a creamy and attractive shade, how her legs were smooth and long. Her thighs gapped but not too much, just to tease her camel-toe in her one-piece suit.
He lifted his breasts, seeing the sweat built up underneath. The cold air felt amazing against his skin, but he wanted to see some of his backside too. He turned, subconsciously further than any normal person could. The curve of his ass was amazing and he bounced up and down, laughing softly as the skin jiggled. His eyes traced down the black of the thong that slid between his butt-cheeks. He was getting too excited, and his breath hitched. Without much of a thought, his hand came up, out, and then smacked the jiggling flesh.
He made a sound half-way between a moan and a yelp, which surprised even himself. He liked the sting of the reddening skin though and that only made him more aroused.
He then slid a finger down across his stomach. It tickled in a way - but also elicited tingling sensations and a hitch of his breath as his fingers glided to the thong's fabric. The warmth emanated from it as he slowly pulled it down. His reflection was a study in contrasts: a powerful, athletic body flushed with arousal, a face that was both his and not his, contorted in a mask of pleasure and disbelief. He took a step back, then another - watching his reflection in the mirror until eventually, he landed on the bed. The silken sheets were cool and a very different contrast against the heat of his plush ass. He loved the way that it felt like he was sitting on a cushy yet firm pillow everytime he sat down, having experienced it once from the motorcycle. He spread his legs, giving himself an unobstructed view of his new sex. It was beautiful, a perfect pink flower glistening with moisture. He watched as he slowly reached down, the journey of his hand feeling like it took an eternity. He parted the delicate folds with his fingers, the sensation sending another shiver through him. He was so wet, so ready. He found the small, sensitive bud of his clit, and when he touched it, he saw stars.
Slowly, he inserted one finger, then two. He took a deep breath, his fingers pumping in and out faster and faster. As he got more comfortable he added a third, then fourth. Soon he was loose and comfortable. His left hand reached up, squeezing his full breast as his knuckles slipped past his entrance. His vision filled with hot static as he gasped, the sound from his mouth was like an Angel's gasp. He tried a different angle, lifting his long leg up, while the other slid across the sheets then pumped his hand a bit faster, squeezing against his knuckles. Then it happened; a sudden, intense pressure bloomed in his core. It was like a dam breaking, a wave of pure, unadulterated pleasure that crashed over him, pulling him under.
He cried out, a high, keening sound that was half-sob, half-shout of triumph. His body convulsed, the muscles in his legs and stomach clenching as he rode out the orgasm, his fingers still buried deep inside him.
When the waves finally subsided, he was left panting, his body slick with sweat and other, more intimate fluids. He leaned against the cool silk sheets of the bed, the smooth surface a welcome anchor in the sea of sensation. He looked at himself, at the woman in the mirror. She looked thoroughly fucked, her hair a mess, her face flushed, her legs trembling. And she looked… happy. Genuinely, deeply happy in a way he hadn't felt in years. Maybe ever.
A slow smile spread across his face. He looked down at the discarded suit, then at the reflection of the incredible woman he'd become. He picked up the thong, bringing it to his nose and inhaling deeply. The scent was intoxicating, a potent mix of his new arousal and something uniquely Carmen.
But he wasn't done, he hadn't even begun to use her powers. His arms stretched, coiling like snakes around his breasts, the pressure made his back arch.
"Mmmphf..."
Then they went further, moving down, around his sides and started to play with his pussy from behind. Then he stretched his neck, lowering his head to his perked and swollen nipple, sucking it into his mouth. He moaned against his own skin, the vibrations sending another jolt of pleasure through him. He could taste the salt of his sweat, the subtle sweetness of his skin. He was a closed loop of sensation, a self-contained universe of pleasure. He spent the next hour like this, exploring every inch of his new form with a hunger that bordered on desperation. He stretched and contorted, testing the limits of this incredible body, mapping every erogenous zone, cataloging every gasp and shiver. He discovered that if he stretched his torso just right, the tension in his core would build to an almost unbearable peak, and a single, well-placed touch would send him over the edge into another shuddering orgasm.
The finalé began when he pulled his rounded hips and firm buttocks up to his face. His pussy, quivering and dripping with copious amounts of fluid, sat in front of his own face. The scent was sweet, musky, and entirely too enticing. His tongue darted out and a full-body shudder crawled up his spine and straight to his brain. The sensation was unlike any other, even through all the orgasms. He could feel the slick folds on his tongue, the hard nub of his clit against the tip. He could taste himself, and it was divine. He ate himself out with a fervor he hadn't known he possessed, his tongue lapping and probing, his nose buried in the folds of his own sex.
He sucked in the lips of his labia, hot breath running over his hole and clit. His legs shook and tightened around his head, acting like a pillow.
He felt like he was melting, his mind going blank with pleasure. His body was a symphony of sensation, and he was the conductor, the orchestra, and the audience all at once. His cock would never have been able to compare, he thought to himself as he ate himself out. When the final, most intense orgasm of the night finally ripped through him, it was a white-hot nova of sensation that left him boneless and panting on the floor, a tangle of limbs and sweat and satisfaction. He lay there for a long time, just breathing, the cool air of the room caressing his sensitized skin. He felt... complete. Whole in a way he never had in his own skin. He'd spent his entire life feeling like an outsider, a ghost in his own life. But here, in this body, he felt like he finally belonged.
Eventually, he pushed himself up, his muscles protesting in the most delicious way. He caught his reflection in the floor-to-ceiling window, the city lights glittering behind him. The woman in the glass looked wild, untamed. Her hair was a mess, her lips were swollen, her eyes were dark with a satisfaction that was almost predatory. He smiled, a slow, lazy grin that was all Kyle and all Carmen at the same time. This is not how he had imagined this night to go, lest of all a night in Elasti-Woman's bed. He laid there and finally decided. He couldn't go back to his own body. Not only did this body feel so much better but it had everything he ever desired. And now the world would know this new Elasti-Woman.
mtf
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A reckless young woman lets an upload share her senses for fun—then her body—then her life—until she realizes too late that she's given away everything she never knew she had.
WARNING: This is a very dark, horror story.
In a near-future where neural implants allow consciousness-sharing and mind uploading is commonplace but legally fraught, Paula discovers sense-sharing forums where uploads can temporarily experience physical sensation through willing hosts. What begins as a thrill-seeking adventure becomes an escalating power exchange that ends with Paula trapped in VR, watching a stranger live her life from the inside.
My implant itched.
It didn't actually itch—Dr. Marchetti had explained the phantom sensations when I got it installed, something about the brain mapping unfamiliar hardware onto familiar feelings—but I scratched the back of my neck anyway.
"You're doing it again," said Kira, not looking up from her tablet.
"Because it itches."
"It doesn't itch. You're nervous."
"I'm not nervous. Why would I be nervous?"
"You're about to let a stranger ride your body like a rented car."
I threw a pillow at her. She caught it without looking—Kira's reflexes were augmented, which she claimed was for her security job but which I suspected was mostly for winning arguments. "It's not like that. He feels what I feel. That's it. People do it all the time."
"Weird people."
"Fun people. His name's Rex, since you're dying to know."
"That's not a name, that's a furry handle."
"It's what he goes by. He's an upload. They pick new names."
Kira's face did something complicated. We'd both grown up in the same neighborhood, and we both knew people who'd uploaded. The money was good, especially if you were young and healthy—the corps paid premium for clean neural maps—and once you were digital, you didn't need to eat, didn't need rent, didn't need anything. That was the pitch, anyway. The reality was that uploads lived in cut-rate server space and worked shit jobs for corps that had god-like control over your environment. But they got paid upfront, and for a lot of people that was enough.
"I still don't get why you want to do this," Kira said.
"Because it's fucking interesting? Because I have this implant and it can do things and I want to know what they feel like?"
"You could also just not."
"I could also die never having done anything worth talking about. Pass."
Kira shook her head, but she was smiling. She knew me. I'd gotten the implant in the first place because my friends were getting them, and then kept it because of what it could do. Record experiences. Share them. Connect to systems that would've seemed like magic twenty years ago. And now I'd found this forum, and this new thing it could do, and of course I was going to try it. And not going to lie, the idea of someone else inside me was kinda hot.
I'd found the sense-sharing forum three months ago, late one night, clicking through link after link of weird little corners of the net. The idea was simple: uploads missed having bodies, and some people with implants were willing to let them feel things again. You linked up, and for a while, the upload experienced everything you experienced. Touch, taste, temperature. Heartbeat. Breathing. The whole mess of being physical.
The forum had rules and ratings and safety protocols. Rex had a fine reputation—articulate, respectful, no complaints that were worth paying attention to. We'd been chatting for weeks. He was funny and a little sad and he made me want to push myself in daring new directions.
Tonight was our first real session.
"What are you going to do while he's in there?" Kira asked.
"Get ready for Marco's party. Do my makeup, pick an outfit. Normal stuff."
"So he's going to watch you get dressed."
"He's going to feel me get dressed. Even better."
"And you don't think that's—"
"Hot? Yeah, I do, actually."
Kira laughed, finally, and threw the pillow back at me. "You're a freak."
"You love it."
"I tolerate it. Text me when you get to Marco's so I know you didn't get your brain hijacked by some pervert in a server farm."
"He's not a pervert. He's a person who happens to not have a body anymore. I'm doing a nice thing."
I batted my eyes at her, smirking.
"Uh huh."
"A nice, interesting, slightly perverted thing. Get out of my apartment, I have to go let a stranger feel my tits."
She left laughing, and I locked the door behind her, and then I was alone with my implant and the blinking notification that said Rex was online and ready when I was.
I looked at myself in the hall mirror. Twenty-three. Short—five foot three on a good day, in thick socks. Brown hair I'd been growing out, finally long enough to do something with. Face that was fine, nothing special, but I'd learned how to make it work. Body I'd stopped being embarrassed about somewhere around twenty. Small, compact, feminine in ways I'd never had to think about because it was just how I was built.
Rex was going to feel all of it. Every bit.
I smiled at my reflection, and went to start the link.
---
The linking process was simple. I'd done the tutorial three times just to be sure, but it turned out there wasn't much to it. Open the app, confirm the session, accept the connection.
A little notification: Rex has joined.
And then—
It's hard to describe what it feels like when someone else arrives in your body. There's no physical sensation, no pressure or temperature change. But suddenly I was aware of him, a presence at the edge of my thoughts, attentive and quiet.
Hey, I thought at him.
Hey yourself. His mental voice was warm, a little rough. Thanks for doing this.
Thank me after. You might hate it.
I'm not going to hate it.
I was still standing in front of the hall mirror. I watched my reflection and felt him watching too, felt his attention on my face like a second gaze layered over my own.
So this is you, he said.
This is me.
You're pretty.
I know.
He laughed—not out loud, just a ripple of amusement through the link. Modest, too.
Modest is boring. Come on, I have to get ready.
I walked to the bathroom, suddenly conscious of every step in a way I usually wasn't. The pad of my feet on the hardwood. The slight sway of my hips. The way my thighs brushed together. I didn't usually think about how I walked, but now I was performing it, making it something worth feeling.
Jesus, Rex said. That's—I forgot what floors feel like.
Floors?
Solid. Real. In VR everything's a little soft. A little fake. But this— I felt him paying attention to the sensation of my foot pressing down, the texture of the wood grain. This is real.
Wait until you feel the cold tile.
I stepped into the bathroom and flicked on the lights. The tile was cold, sharp and bright against my soles, and Rex made a sound in my head that was almost a gasp.
Told you.
Do it again.
It doesn't work like that. You can't re-feel something for the first time. I walked further in, letting him experience the contrast—warm wood, cold tile, the little rug in front of the sink. But there's plenty more where that came from.
I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror. Harsh lighting, no makeup yet, hair a mess. Most people would've started with a more flattering view. I didn't care.
This is the raw material, I told him. Watch what I do with it.
I'm watching.
I started with my hair. Ran my fingers through it, working out the tangles, and I felt Rex feeling the tug at my scalp, the little prickles of sensation. I took my time. Let him experience the weight of my hair, the way it slid through my fingers.
You have no idea, he said, how much I missed hair.
You don't have hair in VR?
I have the appearance of hair. I can see it, style it, whatever. But there's no sensation. It doesn't pull. It doesn't have weight. A pause. This is going to sound stupid, but I used to dream about brushing my hair. Real dreams, not VR-generated ones. I'd wake up and my scalp would tingle like I'd actually done it, and then I'd remember I don't have a scalp anymore.
I didn't know what to say to that, so I didn't say anything. I just kept brushing, slow and deliberate, giving him the sensation he'd dreamed about.
After a while I set down the brush and picked up my makeup bag. Foundation first. I dabbed it on, blended it out, watching my reflection become smoother, more even.
I've never seen this from the inside, Rex said. The process.
Most guys haven't.
I'm not most guys.
I glanced at my reflection—at our reflection. No, I guess you're not.
Concealer next, under my eyes and at the corners of my nose. Then powder. I worked efficiently but tried to stay present for him. To notice the soft brush against my cheek, the faint chemical smell of the products.
This part I could do without, Rex said. The smell.
You get used to it.
I don't want to get used to it. I want to experience it.
I paused, brush hovering near my face. There's a difference?
Getting used to something means you stop noticing it. Experiencing something means you notice everything, even the parts that aren't pleasant. His attention shifted, and I felt him focusing on my eyes in the mirror. I've had years to think about what I miss. And it's not just the good stuff. It's the cold tile and the chemical smell and the whole texture of being real.
I went back to my makeup. Eyes now—primer, shadow, liner. This part took focus, and I felt Rex go quiet, just watching. Feeling the tiny brush strokes on my eyelids. The slight tug of the liner pencil.
When I was done with both eyes, I leaned back to check my work.
Well? I asked.
You're better at this than I would be.
Practice. I picked up the mascara, leaned in close to the mirror. Hold still. This part's tricky.
I'm literally incapable of moving.
Funny.
I did my lashes slowly, one eye at a time. The mascara wand was an old friend, but I'd never noticed before how strange the sensation was—the comb of bristles through lashes, the faint resistance, the slight tackiness as the product went on. I noticed now. Rex was noticing, and his attention made me notice too.
There, I said, capping the mascara. Eyes done.
You look different. Still you, but more.
That's the point. I turned my head side to side, checking the symmetry. Lips next, and then I have to figure out what to wear.
I did my lips—liner, then color, then gloss. Rex was fascinated by the texture of it, the slide of the gloss, the way my lips stuck together slightly when I pressed them.
Your mouth tastes like strawberries, he said.
It's the gloss. Don't get too attached.
You said getting used to things is bad.
For you. I have to live with this mouth full-time.
Wouldn't that be nice.
I blotted with a tissue and gave myself one last look. The face in the mirror was still mine, but it was the performance version—the one I showed to the world when I wanted the world to look back.
Okay, I said. Wardrobe time.
I went to my bedroom. Rex's presence had settled into something almost comfortable, a passenger who wasn't quite invisible but wasn't intrusive either. I could forget he was there if I wanted to. I didn't want to.
My closet wasn't huge, but I had options. I stood in front of it, still in the oversized t-shirt I'd been wearing around the apartment, and considered.
What's the occasion? Rex asked.
Party. Friend of a friend. I don't know half the people who'll be there, which means I have to look good enough that they'll want to know me.
Armor.
Exactly.
I pulled out a few options and laid them on the bed. A black dress, tight but not slutty. A red top I'd been meaning to wear more. Jeans that made my ass look good. A skirt I'd impulse-bought and never worn.
What do you think? I asked, and then laughed at myself. Sorry. You can't actually see them separately, can you?
I see what you see. So if you look at them...
I looked. Picked up the black dress, held it against myself in front of the mirror.
That's good, Rex said. Classic.
Classic is another word for boring. I tossed it aside, picked up the red top. This is more fun.
What makes it fun?
It's bright. It's tight. It says "look at me" without having to say anything. I held it up, turned slightly. Plus it makes my tits look amazing.
Does it?
I felt the shift in his attention, the way the word had landed. We'd been dancing around the obvious ever since he'd linked in. I was getting ready to go out, which meant I was about to get undressed, and he was feeling every inch of my body from the inside. Neither of us had acknowledged it directly.
Let's find out, I said, and pulled off my t-shirt.
He inhaled—not a real sound, just a mental gasp, a flare of sudden attention. I was in my bra now, a plain black thing that wasn't special, but it didn't need to be special. What was underneath was special enough.
Fuck, Rex said.
I looked at myself in the mirror. Let him look. The swell of my breasts over the cups, the softness of my stomach, the flare of my hips above my underwear. This was my body. I knew it was good. I knew he thought so too.
You okay in there?
Yeah. I'm—yeah.
I reached back and unhooked my bra.
I did it slowly, not because I needed to, but because I wanted him to feel it. The release of pressure as the band loosened. The straps sliding down my arms. The cool air hitting skin that had been covered.
I let the bra drop.
Paula—
What?
I turned to face the mirror straight on. My breasts weren't huge, but they were nice—full enough to have weight, small enough to not need much support. My nipples were already hardening in the cool air. Or from something else, maybe.
You're doing this on purpose, Rex said.
Doing what?
You know what.
I cupped my breasts, one in each hand. Lifted them slightly, like I was checking the fit of an invisible bra. I felt the weight in my palms, the soft skin, the way my nipples pressed against my fingers.
And I felt Rex feeling it too. His attention was so focused it was almost a physical pressure, a second pair of hands ghosting over mine.
This? I said. I'm just getting dressed.
You're teasing me.
Maybe. I squeezed gently, ran my thumbs across my nipples, felt the little shock of sensation. Is it working?
You know it is.
Are you hard?
You know I don't have- oh, fuck you
I grinned at myself in the mirror and held the pose for another moment—hands on my breasts, his attention burning through me—and then let my hands trail down my stomach, over my hips, fingers hooking into the waistband of my underwear.
Rex's anticipation spiked. I could feel it like a held breath, like the moment before a drop on a roller coaster.
I pulled my hands away.
Wait—
Gotta get dressed. Party to go to. I picked up the red top and pulled it on in one smooth motion, covering myself before he could object. See? Amazing tits.
I looked at myself again. The top was low-cut enough to show cleavage, tight enough to emphasize the shape. Rex was still reeling, I could tell. His presence felt almost dizzy.
You're cruel, he said.
Cruel would be if I didn't let you feel anything. This way you get to feel everything. I adjusted the neckline, making sure the view was exactly right. You just don't get to decide what you feel.
That's—
That's the deal! Ha! I kinda wish I knew what it was like for you.
No, you do NOT!
I picked up the jeans, considered them, set them aside in favor of the impulse-buy skirt. It was short and black and I'd never had the nerve to wear it.
Tonight felt like a good night for nerve.
I turned away from the mirror—giving him only the sensation, not the view—and slid my underwear down my legs. Plain cotton, not worth keeping. I let Rex experience that: the cool air between my thighs, the vulnerability of being completely bare from the waist down.
I didn't tease this time. Just let him feel it for a moment, the simple reality of nakedness, before I pulled on a better pair of underwear—black lace that matched nothing but looked good—and stepped into the skirt.
How's that? I asked, turning back to the mirror.
You look incredible.
And so do you! Ha! You're wearing a skirt right now!
He chuckled. The skirt was short—mid-thigh, maybe a little higher. When I moved, it moved with me, hinting at what was underneath without revealing anything. Perfect.
Shoes, I said. This is the important part.
I went to my closet and dug out the heels. Black, strappy, four inches. I almost never wore them because they were murder on my feet, but they made my legs look endless and they forced me to walk like I meant every step.
I sat on the edge of the bed and slipped them on, one foot at a time.
Oh, Rex said, and something shifted in him. Something deeper than before, more personal.
What?
Nothing. Just—the heels.
I stood up, wobbling for a second before I found my balance. The shift in posture was immediate: chest out, ass back, weight on the balls of my feet. I took a few steps, getting used to them.
You like this, I said. It wasn't a question.
I—yeah.
More than the other stuff?
He hesitated. I felt him trying to find the words.
It's different, he said finally. The other stuff is—I mean, obviously, your body is incredible—but this is something else. The way you're standing now. The way you have to move. It's so...
Feminine?
Yeah.
I walked to the mirror and back, letting him experience it. The careful steps, the sway of my hips that the heels forced, the way my calves tensed with each stride. My feet were already starting to ache, but I didn't care.
I used to dream about this too, he said quietly. Before I uploaded. I'd see women in heels and I'd think about what it felt like. Not in a creepy way, just—wondering. What's it like to walk like that? To have your body move like that?
Oh! So you don't mind wearing a skirt at all then?
Not really
Dang in! I wanted to tease you!
I mean- you already knew I was coming in to sense share with a girl? What did you expect?
True, true. I'm an idiot. You're going to make an idiot out of me.
I stopped in front of the mirror. My reflection looked good—really good. The kind of good that would turn heads at the party, that would make people want to talk to me.
Thank you, Rex said. For this.
We're not done yet. I grabbed my clutch, checked that I had my keys and phone. You're coming with me.
To the party?
To the party. If you're going to feel what it's like to be a woman, you might as well feel what it's like to be a woman who gets looked at.
I headed for the door, heels clicking on the hardwood. Rex was quiet, but I could feel his anticipation, his gratitude, his hunger for more.
One rule, I said as I reached for the handle.
What?
You feel everything I feel. But I decide what I feel. If I want to dance, you dance. If I want to flirt, you flirt. And if I want to go home with someone—
Um—
Relax. I'm not going to. Probably. I opened the door and stepped into the hallway. But the point is, it's my choice. You're along for the ride. That's it.
I understand.
Good.
I walked to the elevator, hips swaying, heels clicking, feeling his presence like a warm shadow inside my skin.
This was going to be fun. I envied Rex getting to sit back and experience it through me. Was that weird?
---
The party was everything I'd expected: loud music, dim lighting, too many people in too little space. Marco's apartment was nice but not nice enough for this crowd, and within ten minutes of arriving I had a drink in my hand and a stranger's elbow in my ribs.
Is it always like this? Rex asked.
Pretty much.
How do you stand it?
I don't stand it. I move through it. I squeezed between two guys arguing about something sports-related and found a slightly less crowded corner. See? Adaptation.
I sipped my drink—vodka soda, nothing fancy—and let him feel the burn of alcohol, the cool wash of carbonation. His attention sharpened at the taste.
That's different, he said.
Bad different?
No, just—alcohol doesn't work in VR. I mean, you can simulate the effects, but the taste is just data. This is chemistry.
This is Smirnoff, which is barely chemistry. I took another sip anyway, for his benefit. Wait until you feel drunk.
Are you planning to get drunk?
I'm planning to have a good time. Sometimes those overlap.
I scanned the room, looking for familiar faces. Kira wasn't here yet; she'd said she might stop by later, but I wasn't counting on it. Marco was holding court somewhere, probably wherever the best speakers were. I spotted a few people I half-recognized—friends of friends, faces from other parties.
A song came on that I liked—something with a heavy bass line and a hook that made my hips want to move—and I pushed off from the wall.
What are you doing?
Dancing.
Here?
Where else? I found a spot on the makeshift dance floor and started to move. Feel this.
Dancing in heels is its own skill. You can't move the way you would in flats; everything's different, from your center of gravity to your ankle flexibility. But if you know what you're doing, you can use the constraints. Let the heels force your hips into a certain sway. Let the height change how you hold yourself.
I knew what I was doing.
Oh wow, Rex said, and then went quiet.
I danced through one song, then another. Let him feel the movement of my body, the bass vibrating through my chest, the heat building under my skin. People were watching—I could feel their eyes on me, and I let myself enjoy it.
They're looking at you, Rex said.
Yeppp.
Does that—do you like that?
What do you think?
I made eye contact with a guy near the speakers—tall, dark hair, decent face. Held it for a beat, then looked away. Classic move. When I glanced back, he was still watching.
You're good at this, Rex said. At being looked at. At making people want you.
It's not magic. It's just performance. I spun, letting my skirt flare. Anyone can do it.
Easy for you to say.
I heard something in his voice—his mental voice—that made me slow down. Step off the dance floor, find a quieter corner.
What does that mean?
It means you've always had this. The body, the face, the way you move. You don't know what it's like to not have it.
Rex—
I'm not complaining. I'm just— He stopped, and I felt something complicated in him. Envy. Longing. A sadness that went deeper than I'd realized. It's a lot. Being here, feeling this. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring the mood down.
You didn't. I leaned against the wall, giving us both a break from the dancing. But maybe we should talk about it.
About what?
About what you actually want out of this.
Silence. I could feel him weighing how much to say.
I want to feel real, he said finally. That's all. Just for a little while. I want to feel like I'm actually alive, instead of just running.
Running?
That's what being an upload is. You're a program. You run on a server somewhere, and the server belongs to a corporation, and they decide everything—how much processing power you get, what kind of sensory resolution you're allowed, whether you even get to keep existing. You're not a person. You're a process.
That sounds—
It sounds awful because it is awful. His voice was harder now, edged with something raw. But I made my choice. I took the money, I signed the contract, I uploaded. And now this is my existence, and I don't get to complain.
You can complain to me.
Can I?
Obviously. I pushed off the wall, headed for the drinks table. Come on. Let's get another drink and you can tell me everything.
He talked. Not about the party, not about the dancing or the heels or any of the physical sensations—about his life. About the upload process: having his brain scanned and copied, waking up in a virtual space, finding out his original body had already been cremated because that corp didn't keep the meat once they had the data. About the server farms, the endless identical days, the work that was basically being a smarter chatbot for some corporation's customer service line. About the other uploads he knew—the ones who'd given up and requested deletion, the ones who'd found ways to cope, the ones who were still hoping for something better.
And he told me about the thing he'd never told anyone. The reason he'd uploaded in the first place.
I always knew something was wrong, he said. With my body. Not wrong like sick, just wrong like it didn't fit. I'd look in the mirror and see this guy looking back, and I'd think, that's not me. That's not who I'm supposed to be.
You wanted to be a woman.
I didn't have the words for it then. But yeah. I think I always did.
And uploading was supposed to fix that?
Uploading was supposed to let me be whoever I wanted. That's what they told us in recruitment. "In VR, you can be anyone." And they weren't lying. I can have any avatar I want. I can look like a woman, sound like a woman, move like a woman.
But it's not the same.
It's not even close. His voice cracked. Because it's still just low-poly data. When I touch something in VR, I'm not really touching it. When I look in the mirror and see a woman, I'm not really seeing myself. I'm seeing a picture. A very convincing, very detailed picture that I can manipulate however I want. But it's not real.
I didn't say anything. I didn't know what to say.
That's why this matters so much, he said. Feeling your body. Being inside something real. When you put on those heels and looked in the mirror, I saw a woman looking back. An actual woman, in an actual body. And I felt what it was like to be her.
To be me.
To be you. Yeah. A pause. It's the closest I've ever come to being who I'm supposed to be.
I finished my drink. Set the empty glass on a nearby table.
Rex.
Yeah?
Same time next week.
His surprise was warm and sudden. Really?
Really. And we can do it again after that. As many times as you want.
He didn't say anything, but I felt something from him—gratitude, relief, something that might have been tears if uploads could cry.
Now, I said, I'm going to dance some more. Ready?
Ready.
I went back to the dance floor, and we stayed until last call, and when I finally walked home—heels in my hand, bare feet on cold pavement—I felt more alive than I had in months.
That was incredible, Rex said as I let myself into my apartment. Thank you.
Stop thanking me. It's weird.
I can't help it. You gave me something tonight that I didn't know I needed.
I kicked off the heels—my feet screaming with relief—and headed for the bathroom. Started taking off my makeup, watching the performance version of myself dissolve back into the everyday one.
Rex?
Yeah?
Same time next week. I meant it.
I know. A pause. Paula?
Yeah?
I think I might love you a little bit.
I laughed—out loud, not just in my head. You don't love me. You love having a body. There's a difference.
Maybe. But right now it feels like the same thing.
I finished taking off my makeup. Got undressed—letting him feel that too, the relief of getting out of party clothes and into soft pajamas. Brushed my teeth. Fell into bed.
I'm going to disconnect now, I said. Unless you want to feel me sleep.
I wouldn't mind.
Weirdo.
Guilty.
I closed my eyes. Felt myself drifting. And just before I fell asleep, I felt something else: Rex's presence, quiet and watchful, feeling my body relax into unconsciousness. I should have found it creepy, I suppose, but as I drifted I had that nagging curiosity bubble up, that thought that made me both nervous and excited -- what does it feel like for him? What is it like to be a passenger?
Two minds slept. One body.
WARNING: This is a very dark, horror story.
In a near-future where neural implants allow consciousness-sharing and mind uploading is commonplace but legally fraught, Paula discovers sense-sharing forums where uploads can temporarily experience physical sensation through willing hosts. What begins as a thrill-seeking adventure becomes an escalating power exchange that ends with Paula trapped in VR, watching a stranger live her life from the inside.
My implant itched.
It didn't actually itch—Dr. Marchetti had explained the phantom sensations when I got it installed, something about the brain mapping unfamiliar hardware onto familiar feelings—but I scratched the back of my neck anyway.
"You're doing it again," said Kira, not looking up from her tablet.
"Because it itches."
"It doesn't itch. You're nervous."
"I'm not nervous. Why would I be nervous?"
"You're about to let a stranger ride your body like a rented car."
I threw a pillow at her. She caught it without looking—Kira's reflexes were augmented, which she claimed was for her security job but which I suspected was mostly for winning arguments. "It's not like that. He feels what I feel. That's it. People do it all the time."
"Weird people."
"Fun people. His name's Rex, since you're dying to know."
"That's not a name, that's a furry handle."
"It's what he goes by. He's an upload. They pick new names."
Kira's face did something complicated. We'd both grown up in the same neighborhood, and we both knew people who'd uploaded. The money was good, especially if you were young and healthy—the corps paid premium for clean neural maps—and once you were digital, you didn't need to eat, didn't need rent, didn't need anything. That was the pitch, anyway. The reality was that uploads lived in cut-rate server space and worked shit jobs for corps that had god-like control over your environment. But they got paid upfront, and for a lot of people that was enough.
"I still don't get why you want to do this," Kira said.
"Because it's fucking interesting? Because I have this implant and it can do things and I want to know what they feel like?"
"You could also just not."
"I could also die never having done anything worth talking about. Pass."
Kira shook her head, but she was smiling. She knew me. I'd gotten the implant in the first place because my friends were getting them, and then kept it because of what it could do. Record experiences. Share them. Connect to systems that would've seemed like magic twenty years ago. And now I'd found this forum, and this new thing it could do, and of course I was going to try it. And not going to lie, the idea of someone else inside me was kinda hot.
I'd found the sense-sharing forum three months ago, late one night, clicking through link after link of weird little corners of the net. The idea was simple: uploads missed having bodies, and some people with implants were willing to let them feel things again. You linked up, and for a while, the upload experienced everything you experienced. Touch, taste, temperature. Heartbeat. Breathing. The whole mess of being physical.
The forum had rules and ratings and safety protocols. Rex had a fine reputation—articulate, respectful, no complaints that were worth paying attention to. We'd been chatting for weeks. He was funny and a little sad and he made me want to push myself in daring new directions.
Tonight was our first real session.
"What are you going to do while he's in there?" Kira asked.
"Get ready for Marco's party. Do my makeup, pick an outfit. Normal stuff."
"So he's going to watch you get dressed."
"He's going to feel me get dressed. Even better."
"And you don't think that's—"
"Hot? Yeah, I do, actually."
Kira laughed, finally, and threw the pillow back at me. "You're a freak."
"You love it."
"I tolerate it. Text me when you get to Marco's so I know you didn't get your brain hijacked by some pervert in a server farm."
"He's not a pervert. He's a person who happens to not have a body anymore. I'm doing a nice thing."
I batted my eyes at her, smirking.
"Uh huh."
"A nice, interesting, slightly perverted thing. Get out of my apartment, I have to go let a stranger feel my tits."
She left laughing, and I locked the door behind her, and then I was alone with my implant and the blinking notification that said Rex was online and ready when I was.
I looked at myself in the hall mirror. Twenty-three. Short—five foot three on a good day, in thick socks. Brown hair I'd been growing out, finally long enough to do something with. Face that was fine, nothing special, but I'd learned how to make it work. Body I'd stopped being embarrassed about somewhere around twenty. Small, compact, feminine in ways I'd never had to think about because it was just how I was built.
Rex was going to feel all of it. Every bit.
I smiled at my reflection, and went to start the link.
---
The linking process was simple. I'd done the tutorial three times just to be sure, but it turned out there wasn't much to it. Open the app, confirm the session, accept the connection.
A little notification: Rex has joined.
And then—
It's hard to describe what it feels like when someone else arrives in your body. There's no physical sensation, no pressure or temperature change. But suddenly I was aware of him, a presence at the edge of my thoughts, attentive and quiet.
Hey, I thought at him.
Hey yourself. His mental voice was warm, a little rough. Thanks for doing this.
Thank me after. You might hate it.
I'm not going to hate it.
I was still standing in front of the hall mirror. I watched my reflection and felt him watching too, felt his attention on my face like a second gaze layered over my own.
So this is you, he said.
This is me.
You're pretty.
I know.
He laughed—not out loud, just a ripple of amusement through the link. Modest, too.
Modest is boring. Come on, I have to get ready.
I walked to the bathroom, suddenly conscious of every step in a way I usually wasn't. The pad of my feet on the hardwood. The slight sway of my hips. The way my thighs brushed together. I didn't usually think about how I walked, but now I was performing it, making it something worth feeling.
Jesus, Rex said. That's—I forgot what floors feel like.
Floors?
Solid. Real. In VR everything's a little soft. A little fake. But this— I felt him paying attention to the sensation of my foot pressing down, the texture of the wood grain. This is real.
Wait until you feel the cold tile.
I stepped into the bathroom and flicked on the lights. The tile was cold, sharp and bright against my soles, and Rex made a sound in my head that was almost a gasp.
Told you.
Do it again.
It doesn't work like that. You can't re-feel something for the first time. I walked further in, letting him experience the contrast—warm wood, cold tile, the little rug in front of the sink. But there's plenty more where that came from.
I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror. Harsh lighting, no makeup yet, hair a mess. Most people would've started with a more flattering view. I didn't care.
This is the raw material, I told him. Watch what I do with it.
I'm watching.
I started with my hair. Ran my fingers through it, working out the tangles, and I felt Rex feeling the tug at my scalp, the little prickles of sensation. I took my time. Let him experience the weight of my hair, the way it slid through my fingers.
You have no idea, he said, how much I missed hair.
You don't have hair in VR?
I have the appearance of hair. I can see it, style it, whatever. But there's no sensation. It doesn't pull. It doesn't have weight. A pause. This is going to sound stupid, but I used to dream about brushing my hair. Real dreams, not VR-generated ones. I'd wake up and my scalp would tingle like I'd actually done it, and then I'd remember I don't have a scalp anymore.
I didn't know what to say to that, so I didn't say anything. I just kept brushing, slow and deliberate, giving him the sensation he'd dreamed about.
After a while I set down the brush and picked up my makeup bag. Foundation first. I dabbed it on, blended it out, watching my reflection become smoother, more even.
I've never seen this from the inside, Rex said. The process.
Most guys haven't.
I'm not most guys.
I glanced at my reflection—at our reflection. No, I guess you're not.
Concealer next, under my eyes and at the corners of my nose. Then powder. I worked efficiently but tried to stay present for him. To notice the soft brush against my cheek, the faint chemical smell of the products.
This part I could do without, Rex said. The smell.
You get used to it.
I don't want to get used to it. I want to experience it.
I paused, brush hovering near my face. There's a difference?
Getting used to something means you stop noticing it. Experiencing something means you notice everything, even the parts that aren't pleasant. His attention shifted, and I felt him focusing on my eyes in the mirror. I've had years to think about what I miss. And it's not just the good stuff. It's the cold tile and the chemical smell and the whole texture of being real.
I went back to my makeup. Eyes now—primer, shadow, liner. This part took focus, and I felt Rex go quiet, just watching. Feeling the tiny brush strokes on my eyelids. The slight tug of the liner pencil.
When I was done with both eyes, I leaned back to check my work.
Well? I asked.
You're better at this than I would be.
Practice. I picked up the mascara, leaned in close to the mirror. Hold still. This part's tricky.
I'm literally incapable of moving.
Funny.
I did my lashes slowly, one eye at a time. The mascara wand was an old friend, but I'd never noticed before how strange the sensation was—the comb of bristles through lashes, the faint resistance, the slight tackiness as the product went on. I noticed now. Rex was noticing, and his attention made me notice too.
There, I said, capping the mascara. Eyes done.
You look different. Still you, but more.
That's the point. I turned my head side to side, checking the symmetry. Lips next, and then I have to figure out what to wear.
I did my lips—liner, then color, then gloss. Rex was fascinated by the texture of it, the slide of the gloss, the way my lips stuck together slightly when I pressed them.
Your mouth tastes like strawberries, he said.
It's the gloss. Don't get too attached.
You said getting used to things is bad.
For you. I have to live with this mouth full-time.
Wouldn't that be nice.
I blotted with a tissue and gave myself one last look. The face in the mirror was still mine, but it was the performance version—the one I showed to the world when I wanted the world to look back.
Okay, I said. Wardrobe time.
I went to my bedroom. Rex's presence had settled into something almost comfortable, a passenger who wasn't quite invisible but wasn't intrusive either. I could forget he was there if I wanted to. I didn't want to.
My closet wasn't huge, but I had options. I stood in front of it, still in the oversized t-shirt I'd been wearing around the apartment, and considered.
What's the occasion? Rex asked.
Party. Friend of a friend. I don't know half the people who'll be there, which means I have to look good enough that they'll want to know me.
Armor.
Exactly.
I pulled out a few options and laid them on the bed. A black dress, tight but not slutty. A red top I'd been meaning to wear more. Jeans that made my ass look good. A skirt I'd impulse-bought and never worn.
What do you think? I asked, and then laughed at myself. Sorry. You can't actually see them separately, can you?
I see what you see. So if you look at them...
I looked. Picked up the black dress, held it against myself in front of the mirror.
That's good, Rex said. Classic.
Classic is another word for boring. I tossed it aside, picked up the red top. This is more fun.
What makes it fun?
It's bright. It's tight. It says "look at me" without having to say anything. I held it up, turned slightly. Plus it makes my tits look amazing.
Does it?
I felt the shift in his attention, the way the word had landed. We'd been dancing around the obvious ever since he'd linked in. I was getting ready to go out, which meant I was about to get undressed, and he was feeling every inch of my body from the inside. Neither of us had acknowledged it directly.
Let's find out, I said, and pulled off my t-shirt.
He inhaled—not a real sound, just a mental gasp, a flare of sudden attention. I was in my bra now, a plain black thing that wasn't special, but it didn't need to be special. What was underneath was special enough.
Fuck, Rex said.
I looked at myself in the mirror. Let him look. The swell of my breasts over the cups, the softness of my stomach, the flare of my hips above my underwear. This was my body. I knew it was good. I knew he thought so too.
You okay in there?
Yeah. I'm—yeah.
I reached back and unhooked my bra.
I did it slowly, not because I needed to, but because I wanted him to feel it. The release of pressure as the band loosened. The straps sliding down my arms. The cool air hitting skin that had been covered.
I let the bra drop.
Paula—
What?
I turned to face the mirror straight on. My breasts weren't huge, but they were nice—full enough to have weight, small enough to not need much support. My nipples were already hardening in the cool air. Or from something else, maybe.
You're doing this on purpose, Rex said.
Doing what?
You know what.
I cupped my breasts, one in each hand. Lifted them slightly, like I was checking the fit of an invisible bra. I felt the weight in my palms, the soft skin, the way my nipples pressed against my fingers.
And I felt Rex feeling it too. His attention was so focused it was almost a physical pressure, a second pair of hands ghosting over mine.
This? I said. I'm just getting dressed.
You're teasing me.
Maybe. I squeezed gently, ran my thumbs across my nipples, felt the little shock of sensation. Is it working?
You know it is.
Are you hard?
You know I don't have- oh, fuck you
I grinned at myself in the mirror and held the pose for another moment—hands on my breasts, his attention burning through me—and then let my hands trail down my stomach, over my hips, fingers hooking into the waistband of my underwear.
Rex's anticipation spiked. I could feel it like a held breath, like the moment before a drop on a roller coaster.
I pulled my hands away.
Wait—
Gotta get dressed. Party to go to. I picked up the red top and pulled it on in one smooth motion, covering myself before he could object. See? Amazing tits.
I looked at myself again. The top was low-cut enough to show cleavage, tight enough to emphasize the shape. Rex was still reeling, I could tell. His presence felt almost dizzy.
You're cruel, he said.
Cruel would be if I didn't let you feel anything. This way you get to feel everything. I adjusted the neckline, making sure the view was exactly right. You just don't get to decide what you feel.
That's—
That's the deal! Ha! I kinda wish I knew what it was like for you.
No, you do NOT!
I picked up the jeans, considered them, set them aside in favor of the impulse-buy skirt. It was short and black and I'd never had the nerve to wear it.
Tonight felt like a good night for nerve.
I turned away from the mirror—giving him only the sensation, not the view—and slid my underwear down my legs. Plain cotton, not worth keeping. I let Rex experience that: the cool air between my thighs, the vulnerability of being completely bare from the waist down.
I didn't tease this time. Just let him feel it for a moment, the simple reality of nakedness, before I pulled on a better pair of underwear—black lace that matched nothing but looked good—and stepped into the skirt.
How's that? I asked, turning back to the mirror.
You look incredible.
And so do you! Ha! You're wearing a skirt right now!
He chuckled. The skirt was short—mid-thigh, maybe a little higher. When I moved, it moved with me, hinting at what was underneath without revealing anything. Perfect.
Shoes, I said. This is the important part.
I went to my closet and dug out the heels. Black, strappy, four inches. I almost never wore them because they were murder on my feet, but they made my legs look endless and they forced me to walk like I meant every step.
I sat on the edge of the bed and slipped them on, one foot at a time.
Oh, Rex said, and something shifted in him. Something deeper than before, more personal.
What?
Nothing. Just—the heels.
I stood up, wobbling for a second before I found my balance. The shift in posture was immediate: chest out, ass back, weight on the balls of my feet. I took a few steps, getting used to them.
You like this, I said. It wasn't a question.
I—yeah.
More than the other stuff?
He hesitated. I felt him trying to find the words.
It's different, he said finally. The other stuff is—I mean, obviously, your body is incredible—but this is something else. The way you're standing now. The way you have to move. It's so...
Feminine?
Yeah.
I walked to the mirror and back, letting him experience it. The careful steps, the sway of my hips that the heels forced, the way my calves tensed with each stride. My feet were already starting to ache, but I didn't care.
I used to dream about this too, he said quietly. Before I uploaded. I'd see women in heels and I'd think about what it felt like. Not in a creepy way, just—wondering. What's it like to walk like that? To have your body move like that?
Oh! So you don't mind wearing a skirt at all then?
Not really
Dang in! I wanted to tease you!
I mean- you already knew I was coming in to sense share with a girl? What did you expect?
True, true. I'm an idiot. You're going to make an idiot out of me.
I stopped in front of the mirror. My reflection looked good—really good. The kind of good that would turn heads at the party, that would make people want to talk to me.
Thank you, Rex said. For this.
We're not done yet. I grabbed my clutch, checked that I had my keys and phone. You're coming with me.
To the party?
To the party. If you're going to feel what it's like to be a woman, you might as well feel what it's like to be a woman who gets looked at.
I headed for the door, heels clicking on the hardwood. Rex was quiet, but I could feel his anticipation, his gratitude, his hunger for more.
One rule, I said as I reached for the handle.
What?
You feel everything I feel. But I decide what I feel. If I want to dance, you dance. If I want to flirt, you flirt. And if I want to go home with someone—
Um—
Relax. I'm not going to. Probably. I opened the door and stepped into the hallway. But the point is, it's my choice. You're along for the ride. That's it.
I understand.
Good.
I walked to the elevator, hips swaying, heels clicking, feeling his presence like a warm shadow inside my skin.
This was going to be fun. I envied Rex getting to sit back and experience it through me. Was that weird?
---
The party was everything I'd expected: loud music, dim lighting, too many people in too little space. Marco's apartment was nice but not nice enough for this crowd, and within ten minutes of arriving I had a drink in my hand and a stranger's elbow in my ribs.
Is it always like this? Rex asked.
Pretty much.
How do you stand it?
I don't stand it. I move through it. I squeezed between two guys arguing about something sports-related and found a slightly less crowded corner. See? Adaptation.
I sipped my drink—vodka soda, nothing fancy—and let him feel the burn of alcohol, the cool wash of carbonation. His attention sharpened at the taste.
That's different, he said.
Bad different?
No, just—alcohol doesn't work in VR. I mean, you can simulate the effects, but the taste is just data. This is chemistry.
This is Smirnoff, which is barely chemistry. I took another sip anyway, for his benefit. Wait until you feel drunk.
Are you planning to get drunk?
I'm planning to have a good time. Sometimes those overlap.
I scanned the room, looking for familiar faces. Kira wasn't here yet; she'd said she might stop by later, but I wasn't counting on it. Marco was holding court somewhere, probably wherever the best speakers were. I spotted a few people I half-recognized—friends of friends, faces from other parties.
A song came on that I liked—something with a heavy bass line and a hook that made my hips want to move—and I pushed off from the wall.
What are you doing?
Dancing.
Here?
Where else? I found a spot on the makeshift dance floor and started to move. Feel this.
Dancing in heels is its own skill. You can't move the way you would in flats; everything's different, from your center of gravity to your ankle flexibility. But if you know what you're doing, you can use the constraints. Let the heels force your hips into a certain sway. Let the height change how you hold yourself.
I knew what I was doing.
Oh wow, Rex said, and then went quiet.
I danced through one song, then another. Let him feel the movement of my body, the bass vibrating through my chest, the heat building under my skin. People were watching—I could feel their eyes on me, and I let myself enjoy it.
They're looking at you, Rex said.
Yeppp.
Does that—do you like that?
What do you think?
I made eye contact with a guy near the speakers—tall, dark hair, decent face. Held it for a beat, then looked away. Classic move. When I glanced back, he was still watching.
You're good at this, Rex said. At being looked at. At making people want you.
It's not magic. It's just performance. I spun, letting my skirt flare. Anyone can do it.
Easy for you to say.
I heard something in his voice—his mental voice—that made me slow down. Step off the dance floor, find a quieter corner.
What does that mean?
It means you've always had this. The body, the face, the way you move. You don't know what it's like to not have it.
Rex—
I'm not complaining. I'm just— He stopped, and I felt something complicated in him. Envy. Longing. A sadness that went deeper than I'd realized. It's a lot. Being here, feeling this. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring the mood down.
You didn't. I leaned against the wall, giving us both a break from the dancing. But maybe we should talk about it.
About what?
About what you actually want out of this.
Silence. I could feel him weighing how much to say.
I want to feel real, he said finally. That's all. Just for a little while. I want to feel like I'm actually alive, instead of just running.
Running?
That's what being an upload is. You're a program. You run on a server somewhere, and the server belongs to a corporation, and they decide everything—how much processing power you get, what kind of sensory resolution you're allowed, whether you even get to keep existing. You're not a person. You're a process.
That sounds—
It sounds awful because it is awful. His voice was harder now, edged with something raw. But I made my choice. I took the money, I signed the contract, I uploaded. And now this is my existence, and I don't get to complain.
You can complain to me.
Can I?
Obviously. I pushed off the wall, headed for the drinks table. Come on. Let's get another drink and you can tell me everything.
He talked. Not about the party, not about the dancing or the heels or any of the physical sensations—about his life. About the upload process: having his brain scanned and copied, waking up in a virtual space, finding out his original body had already been cremated because that corp didn't keep the meat once they had the data. About the server farms, the endless identical days, the work that was basically being a smarter chatbot for some corporation's customer service line. About the other uploads he knew—the ones who'd given up and requested deletion, the ones who'd found ways to cope, the ones who were still hoping for something better.
And he told me about the thing he'd never told anyone. The reason he'd uploaded in the first place.
I always knew something was wrong, he said. With my body. Not wrong like sick, just wrong like it didn't fit. I'd look in the mirror and see this guy looking back, and I'd think, that's not me. That's not who I'm supposed to be.
You wanted to be a woman.
I didn't have the words for it then. But yeah. I think I always did.
And uploading was supposed to fix that?
Uploading was supposed to let me be whoever I wanted. That's what they told us in recruitment. "In VR, you can be anyone." And they weren't lying. I can have any avatar I want. I can look like a woman, sound like a woman, move like a woman.
But it's not the same.
It's not even close. His voice cracked. Because it's still just low-poly data. When I touch something in VR, I'm not really touching it. When I look in the mirror and see a woman, I'm not really seeing myself. I'm seeing a picture. A very convincing, very detailed picture that I can manipulate however I want. But it's not real.
I didn't say anything. I didn't know what to say.
That's why this matters so much, he said. Feeling your body. Being inside something real. When you put on those heels and looked in the mirror, I saw a woman looking back. An actual woman, in an actual body. And I felt what it was like to be her.
To be me.
To be you. Yeah. A pause. It's the closest I've ever come to being who I'm supposed to be.
I finished my drink. Set the empty glass on a nearby table.
Rex.
Yeah?
Same time next week.
His surprise was warm and sudden. Really?
Really. And we can do it again after that. As many times as you want.
He didn't say anything, but I felt something from him—gratitude, relief, something that might have been tears if uploads could cry.
Now, I said, I'm going to dance some more. Ready?
Ready.
I went back to the dance floor, and we stayed until last call, and when I finally walked home—heels in my hand, bare feet on cold pavement—I felt more alive than I had in months.
That was incredible, Rex said as I let myself into my apartment. Thank you.
Stop thanking me. It's weird.
I can't help it. You gave me something tonight that I didn't know I needed.
I kicked off the heels—my feet screaming with relief—and headed for the bathroom. Started taking off my makeup, watching the performance version of myself dissolve back into the everyday one.
Rex?
Yeah?
Same time next week. I meant it.
I know. A pause. Paula?
Yeah?
I think I might love you a little bit.
I laughed—out loud, not just in my head. You don't love me. You love having a body. There's a difference.
Maybe. But right now it feels like the same thing.
I finished taking off my makeup. Got undressed—letting him feel that too, the relief of getting out of party clothes and into soft pajamas. Brushed my teeth. Fell into bed.
I'm going to disconnect now, I said. Unless you want to feel me sleep.
I wouldn't mind.
Weirdo.
Guilty.
I closed my eyes. Felt myself drifting. And just before I fell asleep, I felt something else: Rex's presence, quiet and watchful, feeling my body relax into unconsciousness. I should have found it creepy, I suppose, but as I drifted I had that nagging curiosity bubble up, that thought that made me both nervous and excited -- what does it feel like for him? What is it like to be a passenger?
Two minds slept. One body.
mind control
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When Philip and Jack are given the challenge of going on a panty raid through the sorority next door to secure their place as pledges at Delta Epsilon, Philip's heart sinks.
With the sorority girls having already taken well known countermeasures to deal with any would be panty thieves, he thinks the chances of completing the challenge are near zero.
However, when his best friend Jack claims to have a plan involving a little magic and burrowing the bodies of his crush Vanessa and her roommate Katy, he knows he is in for a long night ahead when things don't exactly end up going to plan...
Note: This is a commissioned work that has not been personally written by me. I have been granted permission to distribute and share the story by the original author.
The floor of Delta Epsilon’s house was sticky.
Beer, cheap cologne, and stale pizza had seeped into the carpet like a second skin, and Philip had the honor of scrubbing it clean while half a dozen brothers lounged on couches watching basketball highlights.
“Missed a spot,” one of them called, deliberately tilting a red Solo cup so that the last of his drink bled out onto the carpet inches from Philip’s sponge.
Philip clenched his jaw. He’d been degraded all semester, fetching fast food at three in the morning, running errands that skirted the edge of being criminal, serving as human furniture during drinking games. He told himself it would be worth it. Delta Epsilon’s parties were legendary, the kind of place girls lined up to get into. More importantly, alumni connections meant a shot at internships that led to real careers. You suffered now, you cashed in later.
Jack, naturally, thrived. He was perched on the arm of a sofa, balancing a tray of wings for two seniors, grinning like the humiliation was a party of its own.
“How’s that knee grease holding up, Phil?” he teased, eyebrows bouncing. Philip muttered something under his breath, pressing the sponge hard enough to leave his knuckles white. He’d thought pledging with his best friend would make things easier. Instead, Jack’s bottomless energy only made Philip feel like the boring one, always one step away from quitting.
The pledge master, Trent, finally called them over once the brothers had eaten their fill.
“You’ve made it further than many,” he said, addressing both Philip and Jack while tapping the ash off his cigar. “Scrubbing toilets, babysitting drunk brothers, taking whatever punishment we throw at you, you did it all without complaint. But Delta doesn’t hand out membership for free. There’s one last hurdle.”
Jack’s eyes lit up, while Philip felt his stomach knot. Trent leaned forward. “You’ve got until Saturday morning to bring us proof that you’re worthy of being Delta Epsilons. And by proof, I mean the underwear of one of the Theta sisters across the street.”
A ripple of laughter passed through the room. Someone whistled. Another shouted, “Better hope they’re lace!”
Philip’s face burned hot. He’d expected something brutal. A dangerous stunt, or maybe even a tattoo or branding, not…this. Not something that felt like the set-up to a police record for being a creep.
Jack, of course, grinned like he’d just been handed a golden ticket. “Piece of cake,” he said.
“Piece of felony,” Philip muttered.
Trent ignored the comment. “You get caught, that’s your problem. Theta girls are sick of pranks. They’ll eat you alive if they catch you sneaking around. Fail, and you’ll have to re-pledge next semester, if we even let you back in. Succeed, and you’ll be full brothers by sunrise.”
He flicked his cigar ash into an empty beer can, and the matter was closed. Philip and Jack were dismissed like servants, slipping out into the cool night air. The frat house behind them thumped with bass as the next round of drinking games began.
Across the street, the Theta house glowed with warm yellow light, its windows alive with the silhouettes of girls laughing, moving and living in a world that felt forbidden.
Philip shoved his hands into his hoodie pocket. “This is insane. They want us to break into a sorority house. Forget expulsion, that’s actual jail time if we’re caught and reported.”
Jack slung an arm around his shoulder, grinning as if he hadn’t heard a word. “Come on, man. It’s tradition. Everybody who ever wore Delta letters has done something crazy like this. We’ll figure it out. We always do.”
Philip shrugged him off. “You mean you’ll figure it out. And drag me with you.”
Jack’s grin widened. “Exactly. Don’t worry, I’ve got a plan.” That phrase, I’ve got a plan, was the single most dangerous thing Jack could say. Philip knew better, but as he stared up at the Theta house, he couldn’t shake the truth. They’d come too far to back out now.
Philip assumed Jack’s “plan” would be something stupid but doable. Like sneaking into the Theta laundry room, bribing a janitor, or maybe finessing a stolen bra from lost-and-found.
What he didn’t expect, as their deadline creeped ever closer, was Jack pulling a battered paperback out of his backpack like he’d just smuggled the Necronomicon out of the library and declaring their troubles were about to be a thing of the past.
“What is that?” Philip asked, eyeing the faded title embossed with moons and symbols.
“Wiccan Rites and Rituals of the Body,” Jack said with a grin so wide it could split his face. “This baby is going to get us in.”
Philip stared. “That’s not a plan you idiot. That’s…props from a bad horror movie.”
“Correction,” Jack said, flipping through pages until he landed on one marked with a sticky note. “It’s a possession spell. All we need is something personal from the Thetas. Hair is perfect. One strand, and we’re golden.”
Philip blinked. “Hair. You want us to pluck a strand off someone’s head, mix it into some potion, and what? Astral-project into their underwear drawer?”
Jack leaned forward, whispering even though there was nobody else around. “Exactly. But into them, not their underwear drawer.”
For a moment, Philip couldn’t even find words. His friend was dead serious. His blue eyes glittered with the manic light of a man who believed in his own insanity. Philip pinched the bridge of his nose. “Jack, you need help.”
“Correction again. We need help, and this is it. Think about it. We don’t sneak around, we don’t break and enter, we just become them. Walk right in the front door. Grab what we need and walk back out again. Easy as pie.”
Philip wanted to laugh. He wanted to tell Jack this was why pledges got expelled, why college urban legends started with two idiots reading a so-called spell book. But something about Jack’s certainty unsettled him.
“How do you even plan to get the hair?” Philip asked, deciding to humor him.
Jack smirked. “You’re partnered with Vanessa in chem lab. I’m with her roommate, Katy. Both of them happen to belong to the Theta Sorority. Boom. Easy.”
Philip’s stomach lurched. Vanessa, the Vanessa, the girl he’d spent the better part of a semester trying not to stare at. She was sharp, funny, gorgeous, and so out of his league it hurt. The idea of stealing a strand of her hair wasn’t just impossible, it was mortifying.
“Jack, if I even look at her hair the wrong way she’ll know. She’ll tell everyone. I’ll be branded as the campus creep for the rest of my life.”
Jack clapped him on the back. “Relax. I’ll take care of mine. You just…fumble your way through like usual. She likes you, right? I’m sure she’s called you sweet before. She won’t even notice.”
Lab that afternoon was a fluorescent blur of glassware and nerves. Bunsen burners hissed, and the sharp scent of acetone hung in the air. Vanessa tied her glossy black hair into a messy bun as she leaned over the counter, the soft hum she made under her breath cutting through the low chatter of other pairs.
Philip adjusted the clamp on their stand and tried to steady his hands, pretending to check the thermometer while sneaking a glance at her profile. The long lashes, the soft curve of her cheek when she smiled. He’d barely worked up the nerve to say something to her, when the door swung open and Ryan Hale strolled in.
Ryan wasn’t a student in their class, he was a teaching assistant who was busy with his Masters. The kind of nerd who looked more like he belonged in a movie poster than a chemistry lab. The Henry Cavill of the campus. Tall, effortlessly confident, his sleeves rolled to the elbow, showing forearms that probably did not belong to someone who spent his evenings doing titration reports.
“Need a hand, Vanessa?” he asked, his voice deep and smooth enough to make the words sound like an inside joke.
Vanessa’s whole face lit up. “Ryan! You’re still hanging around the underclassmen? I thought you were too cool for basic chem.”
“Guess I missed the fun crowd.” He winked, stepping close enough that Philip caught the faint smell of his cologne. Something woodsy and smug. Philip’s stomach twisted. He busied himself pretending to check their notes, but every word between Vanessa and Ryan pulled his focus like a hook through his ribs.
“Still showing off that perfect technique, huh?” Ryan teased, leaning an elbow on the counter. “Could use someone like you to calibrate my disastrous love life.”
Vanessa laughed, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “I told you last time, you need better lab partners, not better lines.”
“Maybe I just need one who actually likes me,” he said, voice dipping into something low and knowing. “You still wearing that purple dress that makes everyone else forget the experiment?”
She grinned, shaking her head. “Keep talking, and you’ll set the sprinklers off again.”
Ryan chuckled, backing away with a little salute. “Worth it.”
Philip’s jaw locked so tight it hurt. He shifted his beaker just to make noise. “Vanessa, uh, the solution’s ready,” he muttered.
She turned back, still smiling, a faint pink on her cheeks. “Right, sorry, I got distracted.” The way she said it made Philip want to vanish into the nearest fume hood.
Ryan gave him a nod that felt more like dismissal. “Good work, man. Don’t let her boss you around too much.”
Philip forced a tight smile. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
When Ryan finally moved on to check another table, the tension in Philip’s shoulders eased only slightly. Vanessa was still smiling to herself, twirling her pencil between her fingers. “He’s such a dork,” she said fondly.
“Yeah,” Philip replied, voice flat. “A real geek.”
She glanced at him, oblivious. “You okay? You look kind of pale.”
“Fine,” he lied. His pulse thundered. He hated how obvious it felt. The jealousy, the ridiculous possessiveness over a girl who barely saw him as more than a partner for lab reports.
Meanwhile, across the room, Jack was all charm. Katy, tall, athletic, focused on the work at hand with cool intensity, rolled her eyes at his constant jokes, but she didn’t seem to actively hate him. Jack’s hands moved casually, as if the experiment was background noise to whatever ridiculous story he was spinning.
Philip’s heart pounded. He couldn’t do it. Not to Vanessa. The thought of deliberately stealing a piece of her felt worse than any frat punishment. But then her bun slipped, and a single strand drifted onto the lab bench.
Philip froze and stared at it like it was radioactive. One perfect strand, right there. All he had to do was pick it up without her noticing. His hand twitched. Sweat beaded at his hairline. Vanessa reached for the pipette, and he panicked. He grabbed the strand too quickly, shoving it into his pocket like a thief.
She glanced at him, puzzled. “You good?” she asked.
Philip’s laugh came out strangled. “Yeah. Totally. Fine. Just, science, you know?”
She gave him a strange look, then turned back to the experiment. Across the room, Jack caught his eye and subtly flashed a triumphant thumbs-up. He mouthed, Got it. Philip wanted to throw up.
After class, they met outside, ducking into a quiet corner near the library. Jack pulled a small plastic baggie from his pocket and wiggled it proudly. Katy’s strand of hair gleaming inside. Philip shoved his hands deep into his hoodie, where Vanessa’s strand burned against his palm like contraband.
“This is insane,” he muttered. “If she’d caught me, I’d have been ruined.”
Jack was practically buzzing. “But she didn’t. We’ve got everything. Today, we drink the potion. Tomorrow, we’re legends.”
Philip stared at him, feeling his chest tighten. It wasn’t the frat house that scared him anymore. It was Jack’s unwavering certainty, the gleam in his eye like he’d already crossed a line Philip couldn’t even see.
Back in their room, Jack had cleared his desk, pushing aside textbooks and laundry to make space for the battered paperback and a mess of supplies that looked like they’d been stolen from a Spirit Halloween clearance bin. Mason jars, candles, a bag of salt and something that Philip really, really hoped was red food coloring.
Philip sat on the bed, arms crossed, trying not to look at the plastic bag in his pocket. Inside was Vanessa’s hair, a single dark strand that felt heavier than lead.
“This is ridiculous,” he muttered. “You’re going to set off the fire alarm, and we’ll get kicked out before we even fail the pledge.”
Jack was hunched over the desk, tongue poking from the corner of his mouth as he measured powder into a chipped coffee mug.
“Correction. You’re going to stop being so negative, because we’re going to waltz into Theta’s house like we own it and take our time finding the perfect proof. Something small, sexy and lacy. Then we hand it to Trent and we’re done. Easiest initiation ever and we’re lifelong members of the Delta Epsilon brotherhood.”
Philip shook his head. “You actually believe all the crap coming out of your mouth, don’t you?”
“Yes. Because I know this is going to work.” Jack’s grin was feral. He held up his mug, fizzing with something dark and faintly purple. “And very soon, you’re going to have to swallow all your pessimistic, dismissive words and admit that I’m the GOAT.” Without waiting for a response, he dropped Katy’s wavy strand of hair into the concoction.
Philip looked at his own brew, waiting for him on the desk. It reeked faintly of vinegar and something metallic. “This looks like cough syrup that went bad.”
Jack grabbed the paperback, muttering words under his breath. Latin? Gibberish? Philip couldn’t tell. The candlelight threw shadows across Jack’s face, making him look more unhinged than usual.
“Jack,” Philip said slowly, “You get that if this doesn’t work, we may be drinking poison?”
“Trust me,” Jack said, gesturing meaningfully at Philip’s mug. Those two words had been the prelude to every disaster Philip had lived through with him. The broken window in high school. The near arrest in freshman year. And now this.
Philip sighed, pulled Vanessa’s hair from his pocket, and dropped it into the liquid. It curled and fizzed, dissolving into the mixture like it had never been.
“Bottoms up,” Jack said cheerfully, chugging the contents in one long pull.
Philip raised his mug. The liquid shimmered oddly, like heat ripples above asphalt. He pinched his nose and tossed it back. It burned. Like swallowing melted pennies chased with bleach. His stomach roiled instantly, bile rising up.
“Jesus Christ,” he choked, slamming the cup down. “That’s not magic, that’s battery acid.”
Jack wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, coughing hard, but his grin didn’t falter. “Wait for it.”
Philip blinked and the dorm room folded in on itself. Candlelight bent sideways and the next breath tasted like coffee and paper. He was not in their room anymore. He was sitting at a table under tall windows, late afternoon light spilling amber over open textbooks and half empty cups.
The scent was library quiet and caffeine. Hair slid across his cheek. Definitely not his. It was long and silky. His hands were smaller, nails pink, wrists delicate. The weight on his chest tugged when he breathed. He was looking through Vanessa’s eyes.
Across from him, Katy sat in a chair with a pen in her hand and her mouth parted in a quiet, startled sound that belonged to Jack. “Holy shit,” Jack whispered in Katy’s voice.
Philip’s pulse spiked. “How the hell did I get here?” he asked under his breath, before the realization hit him fully. Jack’s crazy plan worked. He glanced down, eyes bugging at the soft cleavage he encountered. He was on the verge of completely freaking out. “Keep it together,” he muttered to himself. The sound of Vanessa's voice only sent him spiraling further into chaos.
Jack’s grin curled slow and wicked as he looked down at himself and then around them. He started to pull the top of Katy’s tank forward so he could peek at her breasts, before Philip shot him a look that could choke a man at twenty paces.
“Don’t,” Philip hissed. “Katy would never do something like that in public!”
Jack laughed, high and breathy in Katy’s voice. “You’re telling me you’re not even curious? Come on, man. We’re in. This is unreal. Don’t you want to know what it feels like to them when we touch them?”
Philip swallowed hard, trying to calm himself. He gripped the edge of the table to keep himself from spiraling into sensory overload.
“This…this isn’t possible,” he whispered. But the evidence pressed in from every side. The scent of citrus shampoo in his hair, the tug of bra straps against his shoulders, the fullness in his chest when he inhaled. The emptiness where his cock should be.
Philip’s eyes darted anxiously around the library cafe. “We need to get out of here before someone notices something off,” Philip said. “People pick up on the smallest wrong note.” He was terrified that someone would realize the girls were possessed.
He spent way too much time staring at Vanessa, but that didn’t mean he could copy her actions. If anyone watched them closely, they’d know immediately that there were impostors inhabiting Vanessa and Katy.
“We should go back to their room and fool around,” Jack suggested immediately, hands on Katy’s breasts, squeezing idly.
“Jesus, Jack, stop that! They’re in public. We’re in public…”
This was such a mind-fuck. Clearly they were literally possessing Vanessa and Katy’s bodies. Where was Vanessa's consciousness now? Asleep? Aware? He didn’t feel like someone was watching him, so hopefully she had no idea what he was doing. And where were his and Jack’s bodies? Still in their dorm room? Fuck. If he’d known there was any chance of this working, he’d never have gone through with it.
“Come on bestie, let’s go home,” Jack cooed at him. “I’m just dying to get out of these pesky clothes.”
Jack clearly had zero second thoughts about any of this. Then again, Jack had never had a second thought in his life. He rarely had first ones. Philip decided that only made him a bigger idiot for always following his friend’s crazy plans.
Philip took a deep breath, gathered Vanessa’s things and slung her messenger bag over her shoulder before getting up on shaky legs. The plan was to reach Theta house without interacting with anyone who knew the girls.
Vanessa was outgoing and popular, so he kept his eyes trained on the ground to avoid any accidental socializing.
He was doing his best to focus on the mission, but every move betrayed him. Vanessa’s curves shifted differently from his own. Her hips swayed without permission when he walked. The tug of the denim skirt around her thighs was tighter than he was used to, the waistband sitting higher, the soft curtain of hair continuously falling into his eyes. And he kept fighting the urge to run his fingertips over her lustrous, satiny skin.
Philip thanked his lucky stars that it was late afternoon sliding toward evening and most of the Theta girls were either at dinner, in class, or busy with the mixer prep.
The second piece of good luck was the fact that the first year members of the sorority had the downstairs bedrooms and Katy and Vanessa had their names picked out in glittery wooden letters on their door. Which saved him and Jack from being caught wandering aimlessly into someone else’s room and rifling through their underwear.
“Come on,” he hissed at Jack, nearly having heart failure when he heard Vanessa’s sweet, bubbly voice, before remembering it came from his own mouth.
As soon as they entered the room, Philip froze like a deer in headlights.
The room smelled like them. A heady mix of perfume, make-up and detergent. Several photos of Vanessa and Katy were pinned to the notice board. Keys with a little Theta charm lay on a desk. Lip gloss on each bedside table. A folded flyer about the upcoming mixer. Every object made him feel like an intruder in a life that wasn’t his.
Then he looked up and saw his reflection thrown back at him from the floor length mirror fastened to the opposite wall. Vanessa stared back. Her round face framed by shiny black hair, lips glossed in pale pink, eyes wide with Philip’s panic.
“This isn’t possible,” he murmured hoarsely.
Jack crossed the room with Katy’s energetic stride, hair swinging over her shoulder. He leaned down, far too close, eyes alight with mischief.
“Possible or not, it’s happening. And we’ve got hours before it wears off. Wanna play?” Philip’s pulse thundered. He was in Vanessa’s body. Jack was in Katy’s. He had no idea what their real bodies were doing or where, only that they were not here. For the first time since pledging Delta, he realized he was more terrified of his best friend than of any frat brother.
Jack was practically bouncing around like a kid in a candy store, repeatedly mentioning how awesome it is to have tits.
“This is insane,” Philip muttered, running a hand through Vanessa’s long hair. The strands slipped through his fingers like silk, brushing the back of his neck, constantly in his peripheral vision. Every little tickle made him twitch. “I feel like I’m drowning in shampoo.”
Jack snorted. “Yeah. It’s fucking awesome. Look at this.” He shook his head, letting Katy’s long, dark hair fall over her shoulders, framing her face, then bit her lower lip between her teeth and winked at Philip seductively. “Tell me this doesn’t look hot.”
Philip turned away, but not before catching a glimpse of the curve of Katy’s collarbone, the tan line along her shoulder where a sports bra must’ve once sat. He gritted his teeth.
“We’re only here to grab underwear and then we get out. That’s it.” Jack made a distracted sound, which didn’t entirely sound like agreement.
He was testing everything. Squeezing Katy’s biceps and delighting in the subtle muscle definition, stretching out one long leg and flexing her calf muscles, even bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet as if testing how springy she was.
Philip was still focused on the reflection in the mirror. He stepped closer, and the image followed, familiar and foreign all at once. He raised a hand. She raised a hand. Jack appeared beside him, sliding Katy’s body into view. She was taller, leaner, her shoulders broader than Vanessa’s.
Katy was studious and fairly quiet normally, but Jack’s grin warped her into something hungry. A femme fatale in search of her next prey.
“Dude, look at us,” Jack whispered. “We actually pulled it off. We’re fucking hot!”
Philip swallowed, heat crawling up his neck. “We shouldn’t be looking. This is… it’s too much.”
“Too much fun,” Jack corrected. He pressed closer to the mirror, tilting Katy’s head, pursing her lips, sticking out her tongue just to see how it looked. He laughed in delight. “God, the way this mouth moves, it’s unreal.”
Philip tried to drag his eyes away, but curiosity betrayed him. His gaze dipped, catching sight of Vanessa’s chest in the reflection. The neckline of her shirt clung close, clearly showing the outline of her nipples. He bit the inside of his cheek and turned away sharply. He was not going to lift her top and take a peek.
“You’re staring,” Jack teased, slipping behind him and resting Katy’s hands on Vanessa’s hips.
Katy’s reflection loomed over Vanessa’s smaller frame in the mirror. “What’s it like, having the body of your crush? Bet you’ve fantasized about having unfettered access to her before. Touching every inch of her. Running your palms over her perky tits. Cupping her pussy.”
Philip’s face went hot. “Shut up.”
Jack leaned closer, his voice dropping, Katy’s lips brushing dangerously near Philip’s ear. “She’s soft, isn’t she? Curvy. Everything you imagined. And she’s right here. Aching to know what your hands would feel like sliding all over her.”
Philip’s breath caught. He could feel the warmth of Jack’s presence, the whisper of Katy’s hair brushing his cheek. He tried to step away, but Vanessa’s body didn’t obey with the same steadiness as his own.
His hip bumped the desk, throwing him off balance. Jack’s hand shot out, steadying him. Grabbing his hips instead of his arm. Philip stiffened. The pressure of Katy’s palm against Vanessa’s midriff was startling. A hot reminder that this wasn’t a joke anymore.
“Jack,” Philip said, voice low with warning. But Jack only grinned, tightening his grip slightly, fingertips sliding along the hem of Vanessa’s shirt, tickling the strip of skin underneath.
“Relax. We’ve got time before the potion wears off. Why waste it panicking when we could explore?”
Philip shoved his hand away, heart hammering too fast. “We came here for one reason. Don’t fuck this up with your usual bullshit.”
Jack backed off in mock surrender, leaning against the wall and raising Katy’s hands. “Fine, fine. You want to pass up a once in a lifetime opportunity by being a pussy, instead of playing with one, go ahead.”
Philip ignored him and pulled open one of the dresser drawers, coming face to face with the mother lode.
A mass of lace and cotton, bright colors and neutrals, G-strings and briefs and bras, all folded neatly in little piles. He fumbled, pulling out a pair at random, trying not to notice the little bow stitched along the waistband, or theorize about which of the girls it belonged to.
“Got it,” he muttered, stuffing it into his pocket.
“We should leave and go and stash this somewhere so we can retrieve it when we’re us again.”
“Plenty of time for that. Are you seriously passing up the opportunity to find out what turns your crush on?”
Philip’s chest heaved, the bra beneath his shirt pinching tighter with the movement. Every tiny sensation was amplified in this shape. He had no idea girls had such sensitive bodies. If Vanessa's neck and shoulders were this responsive to stimuli, what about the more… delicate areas?
Jack leaned against the wall, watching his friend closely. Katy’s arms crossed under her breasts, pushing them up in a way that made Philip avert his eyes.
“You really think you can ignore this?” Jack asked softly. “Ignore her?”
Philip didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Because the truth was, even as he tried to ignore it, every nerve in Vanessa’s body was alive with a tingling feeling he couldn’t shut off.
He told himself he wouldn’t look at the mirror again. That he had the underwear and all that was left to do was wait for the potion to burn off. But every time he moved, Vanessa’s body reminded him he wasn’t himself. The way her thighs brushed together when he shifted his stance. The heat trapped in the curve between her breasts. The way her nipples tightened when she saw the way Katy stared at her. The sudden, sharp contraction of pleasure between her legs.
Each detail was louder than thought. And Jack wouldn’t fucking give him space to breathe.
“You’re wound too tight,” Jack murmured, stepping closer again. Katy’s taller body loomed behind him, all lean lines and toned strength. He set Katy’s hands on Vanessa's shoulders from behind, massaging with deliberate slowness.
“Loosen up.”
Philip froze. The sensation was alien. Slender fingers pressing into the slope of Vanessa’s shoulders, kneading muscle softer than his own. His back arched without meaning to, chest pushing forward. He could feel the heat in his panties and almost smell the pheromones in the air.
“Jack-”
“Shh.”
Katy’s breath ghosted over his ear, warm and taunting. “Allow her to feel it. Her body isn’t fighting me. She likes this.”
Philip hated the way heat rippled through him at the words. The way Vanessa’s nipples pebbled instantly, turning aching and hard beneath her bra when Jack’s thumbs kept sensually running across her muscles.
He tried to step away, but Jack’s grip on her waist drew her back. Katy’s chest pressed flush against Vanessa’s back. Firm breasts molding against soft skin. Philip gasped, a small, betraying sound.
“That’s it,” Jack whispered, lips brushing the shell of Vanessa's ear. “You feel that, don’t you? How different it is?”
Philip bit his lip hard. But it didn’t stop his body from reacting. His chest ached with sensitivity, every brush of fabric against his nipples sparking hot shivers. His hips shifted against Jack’s hold, searching without meaning to. His ass pressing back, almost expecting to feel an erect cock there, relaxing when all he encountered was softness.
Jack slid one hand lower, over Vanessa’s flat stomach, fingertips grazing the waist of her denim skirt. Philip’s pulse spiked. He could feel the shape of her body in ways he’d only imagined.
“God, you’re actually shaking,” Jack teased. He pressed his palm harder, dragging upward until he cupped one of Vanessa’s breasts through her shirt. His hand molded perfectly to the curve, fingers sinking in slightly before closing over the nipples and pinching.
Philip jolted like he’d been shocked. The pressure sent heat exploding through him. So much sharper than he ever imagined. A moan slipped out, broken and needy, before he could stop it. Jack laughed low, his voice a husky echo in Katy’s mouth.
“I knew it. You’re loving this.”
Philip shook his head, but his body betrayed him. Vanessa’s breasts were soft in his own hands when Jack pulled them into place, squeezing and kneading.
The ache in his chest spread downward, a molten restlessness that coiled between his legs, where there was no longer any familiar weight. Only a slick, sensitive heat that made his thighs tense. Jack leaned closer, kissing the side of Vanessa's neck.
Katy’s lips left tingling sparks against her skin. He gasped again, tilting his head back without meaning to, giving Jack room to explore.
“You always wanted to know what she felt like, didn’t you?” Jack murmured between kisses. “Now you do. Every inch. Every little twitch. If you ever get the chance, you could make her cum in minutes.”
Philip squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t want to want this. But Vanessa’s body was singing beneath his skin, her curves hypersensitive to every touch, every squeeze. When Jack dragged his hand lower, cupping the swell of her ass through denim, Philip’s knees went weak. He stumbled, and they tumbled together onto the nearest bed. Vanessa’s smaller frame pinned beneath Katy’s.
Jack landed on top, grinning down, hair falling in a dark curtain around their faces. “Just lie back and enjoy it,” he said, voice husky. “I’ll do all the work and you can take notes in your head.”
Katy’s hips pressed down, grinding just enough for Philip to feel the press of her pussy against Vanessa's. The pleasure nearly made him see stars. What would it feel like if Katy actually touched her clit? Dragged her tongue over it? Sucked it between those soft lips?
Philip whimpered, his hands trapped between them, pressed against the curves of Katy’s sides. He could feel the warmth of skin through fabric. Every nerve screamed with arousal. Jack leaned down, lips hovering over his.
“Tell me you don’t want this.”
Philip’s heart thundered. His lips parted, and he didn’t know if he was going to say I don’t or kiss Katy. His pulse roared in his ears. He could feel the weight of Vanessa’s chest rising and falling too fast, her heartbeat thundering in her ribs like a trapped animal.
Jack hovered over him, Katy’s taller frame caging him against the mattress, their borrowed hair spilling together in a curtain that smelled faintly of fruit.
“This isn’t funny anymore,” Philip rasped, but his voice cracked, betraying the tremor of arousal under the words.
Jack smirked. “I’m not joking.” He lowered Katy’s body until their breasts touched, brushing Katy’s peaked nipples against Vanessa’s rock hard ones. The friction alone made Philip gasp, heat shooting through him. It wasn’t like pressing chest-to-chest with another guy.
The give, the shape, the electric sting of nipples touching, every detail was overwhelming. He had no idea breasts were so receptive to the slightest touch. Vanessa's wasn’t even uncovered and they made him squirm.
“God,” he groaned before he could stop himself. Jack’s grin widened in satisfaction.
“Feels good, doesn’t it? Every touch goes both ways. You squeeze her,” He pressed Katy’s hand down onto one of Vanessa’s breasts, forcing Philip to feel it fully, “And you are her.”
Philip arched into the contact despite himself. His hands moved up without any conscious thought. The weight of her breast in his palm, the nipple reacting instantly under his touch, each tiny spark flooded through him in a way his male body never reacted to anything but pressure on his cock.
He kneaded once, twice, and heat surged low in his stomach, between his thighs, turning his panties damp. His back bowed off the mattress, mouth falling open in a helpless sound.
Jack kissed him then. Katy’s mouth grazing Vanessa's jaw, the corner of her mouth, teasing as it moved around.
Every brush of her sweet lips left a wet, burning mark. Philip turned away, breathless, but Jack followed, biting gently at Vanessa’s neck until Philip gasped.
His thighs clenched hard. Something slick and molten was spreading there, pulsing with every beat of his heart. He could feel the absence, the soft, tender heat where his cock would usually be straining.
The pressure of denim against it only sharpened the ache. He needed Jack to touch Vanessa's pussy. He needed pressure. Jack ground down lightly and Philip bucked up helplessly, his own hands gripping Katy’s hips tight, chasing the friction he’d die without.
“Stop,” he panted, but the word broke halfway, turning into a moan. Jack chuckled low.
“Your body doesn’t want me to stop.” He kissed Vanessa again. Her lips plump, glossy, trembling beneath Katy’s teasing press. Philip’s breath hitched and his tongue flicked nervously against the edge of his teeth.
Every nerve screamed to close the distance, to taste what it felt like to kiss as a girl, to be kissed as a girl. Jack deepened the grind of their hips. Philip’s breath hitched sharply, a helpless whimper leaving his throat.
Heat surged through his belly, down his thighs, the ache between his legs swelling into a throbbing need. He arched against Katy, nails digging into her waist. There’s no way he was going to be able to say no. Jack had to make him cum.
Jack pulled back slightly, asking with twinkling eyes, “Shall we see how good Katy is at eating pussy?”
Philip knew what his answer should be, but his entire body was throbbing, yes yes yes.
Their mouths hovered a fraction apart, breaths mingling. The world narrowed to that single point of contact waiting to happen. Philip’s lips parted, ready, needy.
“Vanessa? Katy?” The voice cut through the fog like a blade, followed by the rap of knuckles on the door.
Philip’s eyes flew wide. Jack froze above him, both of them panting hard. “Vanessa, Katy!” another girl called from the hall. “We need you for the final discussions for tonight’s mixer!”
Silence. Only their ragged breaths, the hot press of bodies still locked together. Jack swore under his breath, rolling off Vanessa reluctantly.
“Just when things were about to get really good.”
Philip scrambled upright, Vanessa’s hair tangling in his face, chest heaving, nipples still hard and aching. He shoved shaky hands through the strands, trying to compose himself, though the slick heat between his thighs throbbed in open defiance.
He knew they should have kept their heads. If they let curiosity drag them off course they would blow the whole point of the night. The spell would end when it wanted and they had no idea when that would be.
Another knock. “Come on, you two! Hurry up! Megan saw you get in earlier, I know you’re in there.”
Jack smirked, tugging Katy’s tank top straight as if they hadn’t just been seconds from fucking each other into oblivion.
“Guess there’s more fun ahead. Don’t think you’re off the hook though, I’m still going to eat that pussy later and I fully expect to get repaid in kind.”
Philip sat frozen, heart still hammering, his mind spinning so fast he worried he might throw up.
With the sorority girls having already taken well known countermeasures to deal with any would be panty thieves, he thinks the chances of completing the challenge are near zero.
However, when his best friend Jack claims to have a plan involving a little magic and burrowing the bodies of his crush Vanessa and her roommate Katy, he knows he is in for a long night ahead when things don't exactly end up going to plan...
Note: This is a commissioned work that has not been personally written by me. I have been granted permission to distribute and share the story by the original author.
The floor of Delta Epsilon’s house was sticky.
Beer, cheap cologne, and stale pizza had seeped into the carpet like a second skin, and Philip had the honor of scrubbing it clean while half a dozen brothers lounged on couches watching basketball highlights.
“Missed a spot,” one of them called, deliberately tilting a red Solo cup so that the last of his drink bled out onto the carpet inches from Philip’s sponge.
Philip clenched his jaw. He’d been degraded all semester, fetching fast food at three in the morning, running errands that skirted the edge of being criminal, serving as human furniture during drinking games. He told himself it would be worth it. Delta Epsilon’s parties were legendary, the kind of place girls lined up to get into. More importantly, alumni connections meant a shot at internships that led to real careers. You suffered now, you cashed in later.
Jack, naturally, thrived. He was perched on the arm of a sofa, balancing a tray of wings for two seniors, grinning like the humiliation was a party of its own.
“How’s that knee grease holding up, Phil?” he teased, eyebrows bouncing. Philip muttered something under his breath, pressing the sponge hard enough to leave his knuckles white. He’d thought pledging with his best friend would make things easier. Instead, Jack’s bottomless energy only made Philip feel like the boring one, always one step away from quitting.
The pledge master, Trent, finally called them over once the brothers had eaten their fill.
“You’ve made it further than many,” he said, addressing both Philip and Jack while tapping the ash off his cigar. “Scrubbing toilets, babysitting drunk brothers, taking whatever punishment we throw at you, you did it all without complaint. But Delta doesn’t hand out membership for free. There’s one last hurdle.”
Jack’s eyes lit up, while Philip felt his stomach knot. Trent leaned forward. “You’ve got until Saturday morning to bring us proof that you’re worthy of being Delta Epsilons. And by proof, I mean the underwear of one of the Theta sisters across the street.”
A ripple of laughter passed through the room. Someone whistled. Another shouted, “Better hope they’re lace!”
Philip’s face burned hot. He’d expected something brutal. A dangerous stunt, or maybe even a tattoo or branding, not…this. Not something that felt like the set-up to a police record for being a creep.
Jack, of course, grinned like he’d just been handed a golden ticket. “Piece of cake,” he said.
“Piece of felony,” Philip muttered.
Trent ignored the comment. “You get caught, that’s your problem. Theta girls are sick of pranks. They’ll eat you alive if they catch you sneaking around. Fail, and you’ll have to re-pledge next semester, if we even let you back in. Succeed, and you’ll be full brothers by sunrise.”
He flicked his cigar ash into an empty beer can, and the matter was closed. Philip and Jack were dismissed like servants, slipping out into the cool night air. The frat house behind them thumped with bass as the next round of drinking games began.
Across the street, the Theta house glowed with warm yellow light, its windows alive with the silhouettes of girls laughing, moving and living in a world that felt forbidden.
Philip shoved his hands into his hoodie pocket. “This is insane. They want us to break into a sorority house. Forget expulsion, that’s actual jail time if we’re caught and reported.”
Jack slung an arm around his shoulder, grinning as if he hadn’t heard a word. “Come on, man. It’s tradition. Everybody who ever wore Delta letters has done something crazy like this. We’ll figure it out. We always do.”
Philip shrugged him off. “You mean you’ll figure it out. And drag me with you.”
Jack’s grin widened. “Exactly. Don’t worry, I’ve got a plan.” That phrase, I’ve got a plan, was the single most dangerous thing Jack could say. Philip knew better, but as he stared up at the Theta house, he couldn’t shake the truth. They’d come too far to back out now.
Philip assumed Jack’s “plan” would be something stupid but doable. Like sneaking into the Theta laundry room, bribing a janitor, or maybe finessing a stolen bra from lost-and-found.
What he didn’t expect, as their deadline creeped ever closer, was Jack pulling a battered paperback out of his backpack like he’d just smuggled the Necronomicon out of the library and declaring their troubles were about to be a thing of the past.
“What is that?” Philip asked, eyeing the faded title embossed with moons and symbols.
“Wiccan Rites and Rituals of the Body,” Jack said with a grin so wide it could split his face. “This baby is going to get us in.”
Philip stared. “That’s not a plan you idiot. That’s…props from a bad horror movie.”
“Correction,” Jack said, flipping through pages until he landed on one marked with a sticky note. “It’s a possession spell. All we need is something personal from the Thetas. Hair is perfect. One strand, and we’re golden.”
Philip blinked. “Hair. You want us to pluck a strand off someone’s head, mix it into some potion, and what? Astral-project into their underwear drawer?”
Jack leaned forward, whispering even though there was nobody else around. “Exactly. But into them, not their underwear drawer.”
For a moment, Philip couldn’t even find words. His friend was dead serious. His blue eyes glittered with the manic light of a man who believed in his own insanity. Philip pinched the bridge of his nose. “Jack, you need help.”
“Correction again. We need help, and this is it. Think about it. We don’t sneak around, we don’t break and enter, we just become them. Walk right in the front door. Grab what we need and walk back out again. Easy as pie.”
Philip wanted to laugh. He wanted to tell Jack this was why pledges got expelled, why college urban legends started with two idiots reading a so-called spell book. But something about Jack’s certainty unsettled him.
“How do you even plan to get the hair?” Philip asked, deciding to humor him.
Jack smirked. “You’re partnered with Vanessa in chem lab. I’m with her roommate, Katy. Both of them happen to belong to the Theta Sorority. Boom. Easy.”
Philip’s stomach lurched. Vanessa, the Vanessa, the girl he’d spent the better part of a semester trying not to stare at. She was sharp, funny, gorgeous, and so out of his league it hurt. The idea of stealing a strand of her hair wasn’t just impossible, it was mortifying.
“Jack, if I even look at her hair the wrong way she’ll know. She’ll tell everyone. I’ll be branded as the campus creep for the rest of my life.”
Jack clapped him on the back. “Relax. I’ll take care of mine. You just…fumble your way through like usual. She likes you, right? I’m sure she’s called you sweet before. She won’t even notice.”
Lab that afternoon was a fluorescent blur of glassware and nerves. Bunsen burners hissed, and the sharp scent of acetone hung in the air. Vanessa tied her glossy black hair into a messy bun as she leaned over the counter, the soft hum she made under her breath cutting through the low chatter of other pairs.
Philip adjusted the clamp on their stand and tried to steady his hands, pretending to check the thermometer while sneaking a glance at her profile. The long lashes, the soft curve of her cheek when she smiled. He’d barely worked up the nerve to say something to her, when the door swung open and Ryan Hale strolled in.
Ryan wasn’t a student in their class, he was a teaching assistant who was busy with his Masters. The kind of nerd who looked more like he belonged in a movie poster than a chemistry lab. The Henry Cavill of the campus. Tall, effortlessly confident, his sleeves rolled to the elbow, showing forearms that probably did not belong to someone who spent his evenings doing titration reports.
“Need a hand, Vanessa?” he asked, his voice deep and smooth enough to make the words sound like an inside joke.
Vanessa’s whole face lit up. “Ryan! You’re still hanging around the underclassmen? I thought you were too cool for basic chem.”
“Guess I missed the fun crowd.” He winked, stepping close enough that Philip caught the faint smell of his cologne. Something woodsy and smug. Philip’s stomach twisted. He busied himself pretending to check their notes, but every word between Vanessa and Ryan pulled his focus like a hook through his ribs.
“Still showing off that perfect technique, huh?” Ryan teased, leaning an elbow on the counter. “Could use someone like you to calibrate my disastrous love life.”
Vanessa laughed, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “I told you last time, you need better lab partners, not better lines.”
“Maybe I just need one who actually likes me,” he said, voice dipping into something low and knowing. “You still wearing that purple dress that makes everyone else forget the experiment?”
She grinned, shaking her head. “Keep talking, and you’ll set the sprinklers off again.”
Ryan chuckled, backing away with a little salute. “Worth it.”
Philip’s jaw locked so tight it hurt. He shifted his beaker just to make noise. “Vanessa, uh, the solution’s ready,” he muttered.
She turned back, still smiling, a faint pink on her cheeks. “Right, sorry, I got distracted.” The way she said it made Philip want to vanish into the nearest fume hood.
Ryan gave him a nod that felt more like dismissal. “Good work, man. Don’t let her boss you around too much.”
Philip forced a tight smile. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
When Ryan finally moved on to check another table, the tension in Philip’s shoulders eased only slightly. Vanessa was still smiling to herself, twirling her pencil between her fingers. “He’s such a dork,” she said fondly.
“Yeah,” Philip replied, voice flat. “A real geek.”
She glanced at him, oblivious. “You okay? You look kind of pale.”
“Fine,” he lied. His pulse thundered. He hated how obvious it felt. The jealousy, the ridiculous possessiveness over a girl who barely saw him as more than a partner for lab reports.
Meanwhile, across the room, Jack was all charm. Katy, tall, athletic, focused on the work at hand with cool intensity, rolled her eyes at his constant jokes, but she didn’t seem to actively hate him. Jack’s hands moved casually, as if the experiment was background noise to whatever ridiculous story he was spinning.
Philip’s heart pounded. He couldn’t do it. Not to Vanessa. The thought of deliberately stealing a piece of her felt worse than any frat punishment. But then her bun slipped, and a single strand drifted onto the lab bench.
Philip froze and stared at it like it was radioactive. One perfect strand, right there. All he had to do was pick it up without her noticing. His hand twitched. Sweat beaded at his hairline. Vanessa reached for the pipette, and he panicked. He grabbed the strand too quickly, shoving it into his pocket like a thief.
She glanced at him, puzzled. “You good?” she asked.
Philip’s laugh came out strangled. “Yeah. Totally. Fine. Just, science, you know?”
She gave him a strange look, then turned back to the experiment. Across the room, Jack caught his eye and subtly flashed a triumphant thumbs-up. He mouthed, Got it. Philip wanted to throw up.
After class, they met outside, ducking into a quiet corner near the library. Jack pulled a small plastic baggie from his pocket and wiggled it proudly. Katy’s strand of hair gleaming inside. Philip shoved his hands deep into his hoodie, where Vanessa’s strand burned against his palm like contraband.
“This is insane,” he muttered. “If she’d caught me, I’d have been ruined.”
Jack was practically buzzing. “But she didn’t. We’ve got everything. Today, we drink the potion. Tomorrow, we’re legends.”
Philip stared at him, feeling his chest tighten. It wasn’t the frat house that scared him anymore. It was Jack’s unwavering certainty, the gleam in his eye like he’d already crossed a line Philip couldn’t even see.
Back in their room, Jack had cleared his desk, pushing aside textbooks and laundry to make space for the battered paperback and a mess of supplies that looked like they’d been stolen from a Spirit Halloween clearance bin. Mason jars, candles, a bag of salt and something that Philip really, really hoped was red food coloring.
Philip sat on the bed, arms crossed, trying not to look at the plastic bag in his pocket. Inside was Vanessa’s hair, a single dark strand that felt heavier than lead.
“This is ridiculous,” he muttered. “You’re going to set off the fire alarm, and we’ll get kicked out before we even fail the pledge.”
Jack was hunched over the desk, tongue poking from the corner of his mouth as he measured powder into a chipped coffee mug.
“Correction. You’re going to stop being so negative, because we’re going to waltz into Theta’s house like we own it and take our time finding the perfect proof. Something small, sexy and lacy. Then we hand it to Trent and we’re done. Easiest initiation ever and we’re lifelong members of the Delta Epsilon brotherhood.”
Philip shook his head. “You actually believe all the crap coming out of your mouth, don’t you?”
“Yes. Because I know this is going to work.” Jack’s grin was feral. He held up his mug, fizzing with something dark and faintly purple. “And very soon, you’re going to have to swallow all your pessimistic, dismissive words and admit that I’m the GOAT.” Without waiting for a response, he dropped Katy’s wavy strand of hair into the concoction.
Philip looked at his own brew, waiting for him on the desk. It reeked faintly of vinegar and something metallic. “This looks like cough syrup that went bad.”
Jack grabbed the paperback, muttering words under his breath. Latin? Gibberish? Philip couldn’t tell. The candlelight threw shadows across Jack’s face, making him look more unhinged than usual.
“Jack,” Philip said slowly, “You get that if this doesn’t work, we may be drinking poison?”
“Trust me,” Jack said, gesturing meaningfully at Philip’s mug. Those two words had been the prelude to every disaster Philip had lived through with him. The broken window in high school. The near arrest in freshman year. And now this.
Philip sighed, pulled Vanessa’s hair from his pocket, and dropped it into the liquid. It curled and fizzed, dissolving into the mixture like it had never been.
“Bottoms up,” Jack said cheerfully, chugging the contents in one long pull.
Philip raised his mug. The liquid shimmered oddly, like heat ripples above asphalt. He pinched his nose and tossed it back. It burned. Like swallowing melted pennies chased with bleach. His stomach roiled instantly, bile rising up.
“Jesus Christ,” he choked, slamming the cup down. “That’s not magic, that’s battery acid.”
Jack wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, coughing hard, but his grin didn’t falter. “Wait for it.”
Philip blinked and the dorm room folded in on itself. Candlelight bent sideways and the next breath tasted like coffee and paper. He was not in their room anymore. He was sitting at a table under tall windows, late afternoon light spilling amber over open textbooks and half empty cups.
The scent was library quiet and caffeine. Hair slid across his cheek. Definitely not his. It was long and silky. His hands were smaller, nails pink, wrists delicate. The weight on his chest tugged when he breathed. He was looking through Vanessa’s eyes.
Across from him, Katy sat in a chair with a pen in her hand and her mouth parted in a quiet, startled sound that belonged to Jack. “Holy shit,” Jack whispered in Katy’s voice.
Philip’s pulse spiked. “How the hell did I get here?” he asked under his breath, before the realization hit him fully. Jack’s crazy plan worked. He glanced down, eyes bugging at the soft cleavage he encountered. He was on the verge of completely freaking out. “Keep it together,” he muttered to himself. The sound of Vanessa's voice only sent him spiraling further into chaos.
Jack’s grin curled slow and wicked as he looked down at himself and then around them. He started to pull the top of Katy’s tank forward so he could peek at her breasts, before Philip shot him a look that could choke a man at twenty paces.
“Don’t,” Philip hissed. “Katy would never do something like that in public!”
Jack laughed, high and breathy in Katy’s voice. “You’re telling me you’re not even curious? Come on, man. We’re in. This is unreal. Don’t you want to know what it feels like to them when we touch them?”
Philip swallowed hard, trying to calm himself. He gripped the edge of the table to keep himself from spiraling into sensory overload.
“This…this isn’t possible,” he whispered. But the evidence pressed in from every side. The scent of citrus shampoo in his hair, the tug of bra straps against his shoulders, the fullness in his chest when he inhaled. The emptiness where his cock should be.
Philip’s eyes darted anxiously around the library cafe. “We need to get out of here before someone notices something off,” Philip said. “People pick up on the smallest wrong note.” He was terrified that someone would realize the girls were possessed.
He spent way too much time staring at Vanessa, but that didn’t mean he could copy her actions. If anyone watched them closely, they’d know immediately that there were impostors inhabiting Vanessa and Katy.
“We should go back to their room and fool around,” Jack suggested immediately, hands on Katy’s breasts, squeezing idly.
“Jesus, Jack, stop that! They’re in public. We’re in public…”
This was such a mind-fuck. Clearly they were literally possessing Vanessa and Katy’s bodies. Where was Vanessa's consciousness now? Asleep? Aware? He didn’t feel like someone was watching him, so hopefully she had no idea what he was doing. And where were his and Jack’s bodies? Still in their dorm room? Fuck. If he’d known there was any chance of this working, he’d never have gone through with it.
“Come on bestie, let’s go home,” Jack cooed at him. “I’m just dying to get out of these pesky clothes.”
Jack clearly had zero second thoughts about any of this. Then again, Jack had never had a second thought in his life. He rarely had first ones. Philip decided that only made him a bigger idiot for always following his friend’s crazy plans.
Philip took a deep breath, gathered Vanessa’s things and slung her messenger bag over her shoulder before getting up on shaky legs. The plan was to reach Theta house without interacting with anyone who knew the girls.
Vanessa was outgoing and popular, so he kept his eyes trained on the ground to avoid any accidental socializing.
He was doing his best to focus on the mission, but every move betrayed him. Vanessa’s curves shifted differently from his own. Her hips swayed without permission when he walked. The tug of the denim skirt around her thighs was tighter than he was used to, the waistband sitting higher, the soft curtain of hair continuously falling into his eyes. And he kept fighting the urge to run his fingertips over her lustrous, satiny skin.
Philip thanked his lucky stars that it was late afternoon sliding toward evening and most of the Theta girls were either at dinner, in class, or busy with the mixer prep.
The second piece of good luck was the fact that the first year members of the sorority had the downstairs bedrooms and Katy and Vanessa had their names picked out in glittery wooden letters on their door. Which saved him and Jack from being caught wandering aimlessly into someone else’s room and rifling through their underwear.
“Come on,” he hissed at Jack, nearly having heart failure when he heard Vanessa’s sweet, bubbly voice, before remembering it came from his own mouth.
As soon as they entered the room, Philip froze like a deer in headlights.
The room smelled like them. A heady mix of perfume, make-up and detergent. Several photos of Vanessa and Katy were pinned to the notice board. Keys with a little Theta charm lay on a desk. Lip gloss on each bedside table. A folded flyer about the upcoming mixer. Every object made him feel like an intruder in a life that wasn’t his.
Then he looked up and saw his reflection thrown back at him from the floor length mirror fastened to the opposite wall. Vanessa stared back. Her round face framed by shiny black hair, lips glossed in pale pink, eyes wide with Philip’s panic.
“This isn’t possible,” he murmured hoarsely.
Jack crossed the room with Katy’s energetic stride, hair swinging over her shoulder. He leaned down, far too close, eyes alight with mischief.
“Possible or not, it’s happening. And we’ve got hours before it wears off. Wanna play?” Philip’s pulse thundered. He was in Vanessa’s body. Jack was in Katy’s. He had no idea what their real bodies were doing or where, only that they were not here. For the first time since pledging Delta, he realized he was more terrified of his best friend than of any frat brother.
Jack was practically bouncing around like a kid in a candy store, repeatedly mentioning how awesome it is to have tits.
“This is insane,” Philip muttered, running a hand through Vanessa’s long hair. The strands slipped through his fingers like silk, brushing the back of his neck, constantly in his peripheral vision. Every little tickle made him twitch. “I feel like I’m drowning in shampoo.”
Jack snorted. “Yeah. It’s fucking awesome. Look at this.” He shook his head, letting Katy’s long, dark hair fall over her shoulders, framing her face, then bit her lower lip between her teeth and winked at Philip seductively. “Tell me this doesn’t look hot.”
Philip turned away, but not before catching a glimpse of the curve of Katy’s collarbone, the tan line along her shoulder where a sports bra must’ve once sat. He gritted his teeth.
“We’re only here to grab underwear and then we get out. That’s it.” Jack made a distracted sound, which didn’t entirely sound like agreement.
He was testing everything. Squeezing Katy’s biceps and delighting in the subtle muscle definition, stretching out one long leg and flexing her calf muscles, even bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet as if testing how springy she was.
Philip was still focused on the reflection in the mirror. He stepped closer, and the image followed, familiar and foreign all at once. He raised a hand. She raised a hand. Jack appeared beside him, sliding Katy’s body into view. She was taller, leaner, her shoulders broader than Vanessa’s.
Katy was studious and fairly quiet normally, but Jack’s grin warped her into something hungry. A femme fatale in search of her next prey.
“Dude, look at us,” Jack whispered. “We actually pulled it off. We’re fucking hot!”
Philip swallowed, heat crawling up his neck. “We shouldn’t be looking. This is… it’s too much.”
“Too much fun,” Jack corrected. He pressed closer to the mirror, tilting Katy’s head, pursing her lips, sticking out her tongue just to see how it looked. He laughed in delight. “God, the way this mouth moves, it’s unreal.”
Philip tried to drag his eyes away, but curiosity betrayed him. His gaze dipped, catching sight of Vanessa’s chest in the reflection. The neckline of her shirt clung close, clearly showing the outline of her nipples. He bit the inside of his cheek and turned away sharply. He was not going to lift her top and take a peek.
“You’re staring,” Jack teased, slipping behind him and resting Katy’s hands on Vanessa’s hips.
Katy’s reflection loomed over Vanessa’s smaller frame in the mirror. “What’s it like, having the body of your crush? Bet you’ve fantasized about having unfettered access to her before. Touching every inch of her. Running your palms over her perky tits. Cupping her pussy.”
Philip’s face went hot. “Shut up.”
Jack leaned closer, his voice dropping, Katy’s lips brushing dangerously near Philip’s ear. “She’s soft, isn’t she? Curvy. Everything you imagined. And she’s right here. Aching to know what your hands would feel like sliding all over her.”
Philip’s breath caught. He could feel the warmth of Jack’s presence, the whisper of Katy’s hair brushing his cheek. He tried to step away, but Vanessa’s body didn’t obey with the same steadiness as his own.
His hip bumped the desk, throwing him off balance. Jack’s hand shot out, steadying him. Grabbing his hips instead of his arm. Philip stiffened. The pressure of Katy’s palm against Vanessa’s midriff was startling. A hot reminder that this wasn’t a joke anymore.
“Jack,” Philip said, voice low with warning. But Jack only grinned, tightening his grip slightly, fingertips sliding along the hem of Vanessa’s shirt, tickling the strip of skin underneath.
“Relax. We’ve got time before the potion wears off. Why waste it panicking when we could explore?”
Philip shoved his hand away, heart hammering too fast. “We came here for one reason. Don’t fuck this up with your usual bullshit.”
Jack backed off in mock surrender, leaning against the wall and raising Katy’s hands. “Fine, fine. You want to pass up a once in a lifetime opportunity by being a pussy, instead of playing with one, go ahead.”
Philip ignored him and pulled open one of the dresser drawers, coming face to face with the mother lode.
A mass of lace and cotton, bright colors and neutrals, G-strings and briefs and bras, all folded neatly in little piles. He fumbled, pulling out a pair at random, trying not to notice the little bow stitched along the waistband, or theorize about which of the girls it belonged to.
“Got it,” he muttered, stuffing it into his pocket.
“We should leave and go and stash this somewhere so we can retrieve it when we’re us again.”
“Plenty of time for that. Are you seriously passing up the opportunity to find out what turns your crush on?”
Philip’s chest heaved, the bra beneath his shirt pinching tighter with the movement. Every tiny sensation was amplified in this shape. He had no idea girls had such sensitive bodies. If Vanessa's neck and shoulders were this responsive to stimuli, what about the more… delicate areas?
Jack leaned against the wall, watching his friend closely. Katy’s arms crossed under her breasts, pushing them up in a way that made Philip avert his eyes.
“You really think you can ignore this?” Jack asked softly. “Ignore her?”
Philip didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Because the truth was, even as he tried to ignore it, every nerve in Vanessa’s body was alive with a tingling feeling he couldn’t shut off.
He told himself he wouldn’t look at the mirror again. That he had the underwear and all that was left to do was wait for the potion to burn off. But every time he moved, Vanessa’s body reminded him he wasn’t himself. The way her thighs brushed together when he shifted his stance. The heat trapped in the curve between her breasts. The way her nipples tightened when she saw the way Katy stared at her. The sudden, sharp contraction of pleasure between her legs.
Each detail was louder than thought. And Jack wouldn’t fucking give him space to breathe.
“You’re wound too tight,” Jack murmured, stepping closer again. Katy’s taller body loomed behind him, all lean lines and toned strength. He set Katy’s hands on Vanessa's shoulders from behind, massaging with deliberate slowness.
“Loosen up.”
Philip froze. The sensation was alien. Slender fingers pressing into the slope of Vanessa’s shoulders, kneading muscle softer than his own. His back arched without meaning to, chest pushing forward. He could feel the heat in his panties and almost smell the pheromones in the air.
“Jack-”
“Shh.”
Katy’s breath ghosted over his ear, warm and taunting. “Allow her to feel it. Her body isn’t fighting me. She likes this.”
Philip hated the way heat rippled through him at the words. The way Vanessa’s nipples pebbled instantly, turning aching and hard beneath her bra when Jack’s thumbs kept sensually running across her muscles.
He tried to step away, but Jack’s grip on her waist drew her back. Katy’s chest pressed flush against Vanessa’s back. Firm breasts molding against soft skin. Philip gasped, a small, betraying sound.
“That’s it,” Jack whispered, lips brushing the shell of Vanessa's ear. “You feel that, don’t you? How different it is?”
Philip bit his lip hard. But it didn’t stop his body from reacting. His chest ached with sensitivity, every brush of fabric against his nipples sparking hot shivers. His hips shifted against Jack’s hold, searching without meaning to. His ass pressing back, almost expecting to feel an erect cock there, relaxing when all he encountered was softness.
Jack slid one hand lower, over Vanessa’s flat stomach, fingertips grazing the waist of her denim skirt. Philip’s pulse spiked. He could feel the shape of her body in ways he’d only imagined.
“God, you’re actually shaking,” Jack teased. He pressed his palm harder, dragging upward until he cupped one of Vanessa’s breasts through her shirt. His hand molded perfectly to the curve, fingers sinking in slightly before closing over the nipples and pinching.
Philip jolted like he’d been shocked. The pressure sent heat exploding through him. So much sharper than he ever imagined. A moan slipped out, broken and needy, before he could stop it. Jack laughed low, his voice a husky echo in Katy’s mouth.
“I knew it. You’re loving this.”
Philip shook his head, but his body betrayed him. Vanessa’s breasts were soft in his own hands when Jack pulled them into place, squeezing and kneading.
The ache in his chest spread downward, a molten restlessness that coiled between his legs, where there was no longer any familiar weight. Only a slick, sensitive heat that made his thighs tense. Jack leaned closer, kissing the side of Vanessa's neck.
Katy’s lips left tingling sparks against her skin. He gasped again, tilting his head back without meaning to, giving Jack room to explore.
“You always wanted to know what she felt like, didn’t you?” Jack murmured between kisses. “Now you do. Every inch. Every little twitch. If you ever get the chance, you could make her cum in minutes.”
Philip squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t want to want this. But Vanessa’s body was singing beneath his skin, her curves hypersensitive to every touch, every squeeze. When Jack dragged his hand lower, cupping the swell of her ass through denim, Philip’s knees went weak. He stumbled, and they tumbled together onto the nearest bed. Vanessa’s smaller frame pinned beneath Katy’s.
Jack landed on top, grinning down, hair falling in a dark curtain around their faces. “Just lie back and enjoy it,” he said, voice husky. “I’ll do all the work and you can take notes in your head.”
Katy’s hips pressed down, grinding just enough for Philip to feel the press of her pussy against Vanessa's. The pleasure nearly made him see stars. What would it feel like if Katy actually touched her clit? Dragged her tongue over it? Sucked it between those soft lips?
Philip whimpered, his hands trapped between them, pressed against the curves of Katy’s sides. He could feel the warmth of skin through fabric. Every nerve screamed with arousal. Jack leaned down, lips hovering over his.
“Tell me you don’t want this.”
Philip’s heart thundered. His lips parted, and he didn’t know if he was going to say I don’t or kiss Katy. His pulse roared in his ears. He could feel the weight of Vanessa’s chest rising and falling too fast, her heartbeat thundering in her ribs like a trapped animal.
Jack hovered over him, Katy’s taller frame caging him against the mattress, their borrowed hair spilling together in a curtain that smelled faintly of fruit.
“This isn’t funny anymore,” Philip rasped, but his voice cracked, betraying the tremor of arousal under the words.
Jack smirked. “I’m not joking.” He lowered Katy’s body until their breasts touched, brushing Katy’s peaked nipples against Vanessa’s rock hard ones. The friction alone made Philip gasp, heat shooting through him. It wasn’t like pressing chest-to-chest with another guy.
The give, the shape, the electric sting of nipples touching, every detail was overwhelming. He had no idea breasts were so receptive to the slightest touch. Vanessa's wasn’t even uncovered and they made him squirm.
“God,” he groaned before he could stop himself. Jack’s grin widened in satisfaction.
“Feels good, doesn’t it? Every touch goes both ways. You squeeze her,” He pressed Katy’s hand down onto one of Vanessa’s breasts, forcing Philip to feel it fully, “And you are her.”
Philip arched into the contact despite himself. His hands moved up without any conscious thought. The weight of her breast in his palm, the nipple reacting instantly under his touch, each tiny spark flooded through him in a way his male body never reacted to anything but pressure on his cock.
He kneaded once, twice, and heat surged low in his stomach, between his thighs, turning his panties damp. His back bowed off the mattress, mouth falling open in a helpless sound.
Jack kissed him then. Katy’s mouth grazing Vanessa's jaw, the corner of her mouth, teasing as it moved around.
Every brush of her sweet lips left a wet, burning mark. Philip turned away, breathless, but Jack followed, biting gently at Vanessa’s neck until Philip gasped.
His thighs clenched hard. Something slick and molten was spreading there, pulsing with every beat of his heart. He could feel the absence, the soft, tender heat where his cock would usually be straining.
The pressure of denim against it only sharpened the ache. He needed Jack to touch Vanessa's pussy. He needed pressure. Jack ground down lightly and Philip bucked up helplessly, his own hands gripping Katy’s hips tight, chasing the friction he’d die without.
“Stop,” he panted, but the word broke halfway, turning into a moan. Jack chuckled low.
“Your body doesn’t want me to stop.” He kissed Vanessa again. Her lips plump, glossy, trembling beneath Katy’s teasing press. Philip’s breath hitched and his tongue flicked nervously against the edge of his teeth.
Every nerve screamed to close the distance, to taste what it felt like to kiss as a girl, to be kissed as a girl. Jack deepened the grind of their hips. Philip’s breath hitched sharply, a helpless whimper leaving his throat.
Heat surged through his belly, down his thighs, the ache between his legs swelling into a throbbing need. He arched against Katy, nails digging into her waist. There’s no way he was going to be able to say no. Jack had to make him cum.
Jack pulled back slightly, asking with twinkling eyes, “Shall we see how good Katy is at eating pussy?”
Philip knew what his answer should be, but his entire body was throbbing, yes yes yes.
Their mouths hovered a fraction apart, breaths mingling. The world narrowed to that single point of contact waiting to happen. Philip’s lips parted, ready, needy.
“Vanessa? Katy?” The voice cut through the fog like a blade, followed by the rap of knuckles on the door.
Philip’s eyes flew wide. Jack froze above him, both of them panting hard. “Vanessa, Katy!” another girl called from the hall. “We need you for the final discussions for tonight’s mixer!”
Silence. Only their ragged breaths, the hot press of bodies still locked together. Jack swore under his breath, rolling off Vanessa reluctantly.
“Just when things were about to get really good.”
Philip scrambled upright, Vanessa’s hair tangling in his face, chest heaving, nipples still hard and aching. He shoved shaky hands through the strands, trying to compose himself, though the slick heat between his thighs throbbed in open defiance.
He knew they should have kept their heads. If they let curiosity drag them off course they would blow the whole point of the night. The spell would end when it wanted and they had no idea when that would be.
Another knock. “Come on, you two! Hurry up! Megan saw you get in earlier, I know you’re in there.”
Jack smirked, tugging Katy’s tank top straight as if they hadn’t just been seconds from fucking each other into oblivion.
“Guess there’s more fun ahead. Don’t think you’re off the hook though, I’m still going to eat that pussy later and I fully expect to get repaid in kind.”
Philip sat frozen, heart still hammering, his mind spinning so fast he worried he might throw up.
mtf
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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.”
body swap
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The story of how Trevor gained his powers.
Naomi tried her hardest not to let out a sigh of exasperation as Trevor continued on his little diatribe about some superheroes Naomi could not care less about. A few more weeks of this, Noami thought, glancing at the clock and getting frustrated at how slowly time seemed to be moving, can’t believe I agreed to this bet, I need to find something Olivia could do for me that’ll make all this worth it.
Trevor was still talking, not having noticed Naomi had checked out of the conversation. Physically, he was alright looking, average height, average weight, his face had some acne scars, but was otherwise fine, he didn’t smell which was great. No, that wasn’t the issue with him, the real issue was how he wouldn’t shut up and how he seemed to leer at her body when he thought she wasn’t looking. Of course, it didn’t help that the thing he wouldn’t shut up about is how much he likes looking at women’s bodies.
At least he managed to keep his hands to himself, most of the time anyway, unfortunately, now wasn’t one of those times. As he was talking, he started scootching closer to her, wrapping an arm around her waist. Naomi wanted to push him away, tell him to keep his hands to himself, but decided against it. She didn’t want him to break up with her before the month was over, now that would be one of the most embarrassing things that would have ever happened to her. That would also render the dare moot and Olivia would have won. As if a dweeb like him would have the backbone to break up with me, Naomi thought, smiling slightly, if he gets sad, a little bit of skin should do the trick and make him happy again.
Trevor noticed her smile and grinned, “Ah, so you think Supergirl is good too! Nice! You know, I think you’d make a great Supergirl!”
Naomi blinked, realizing he must think she was reacting to him, “Oh? Why’s that?”
“Well for one, you already look a bit like her,” he started counting, using his fingers, “you’re strong, determined, don’t take any crap from anyone, and you’re beautiful!”
Is he actually- Naomi smiled despite herself, she had no idea what he was talking about, but she was able to figure out that he was being earnest and, from what she could gather, Trevor does really enjoy Supergirl and if he thought she was like her, then who was she to deny such a compliment?
“Oh!” Trevor began, looking at the clock, “Sorry, I realize I’ve been talking for about half an hour now,” he blushed and scratched the back of his head, “Heh, sorry, sorry. How was your day?”
Naomi smiled, “I’ve been alright. Olivia and Wren and I have been talking a bit. Olivia’s been laughing lately, something about Victoria nearly embarrassing herself during the last cheer practice. I don’t know.”
Trevor nodded, “Is your mom and sister alright? I noticed they both seem a little down lately.”
Naomi sighed, “Oh, right. I haven’t told you about this because I didn’t want to ruin the mood,” that was a big lie, she hadn’t told him because she hardly cared herself, “my Great Uncle Ian passed away a few weeks ago and mom and Summerlyn have been going to his house and moving things in storage,” Naomi shrugged, “they asked dad and some of my other cousins to help bring some stuff here as well. I think everything’s in the basement.”
“Oh, I’m… really sorry, what happened to him?”
Naomi waved a hand, “He was old, and had some health problems before, something about a bad heart.”
“How’s your family taking it?”
I guess we’re talking about this now, Naomi thought, better than hearing him blather on about superheroes I don’t care about, much better than hearing him talk about other girls. “Mom’s taking it the hardest, she’s been almost inconsolable lately. Uncle Ian helped raise her since she was younger and she was there with him when he died.”
Trevor was silent for a moment before asking, “How are you taking it?”
Naomi shrugged, “Barely knew the guy, he had some cool stuff in his house though, wanna come see?”
“Oh, is that alright?”
“Should be,” Naomi replied, “just be careful not to break anything.”
Naomi helped him off her bed and together the two of them left her room and went to the basement. Her parents weren’t here right now, her dad was still at work, and her mom was probably at some cousin’s house making arrangements for Uncle Ian’s funeral. That only left herself and Summerlyn, who was probably in her room studying or something. Still, she’d rather not Summerlyn find out she was down here and tell her mom, who’d know when she’d hear the end of it, so she pressed a finger to her lips at Trevor before opening the door to her basement.
The basement wasn’t much, it was a bit larger than the downstairs living room and normally was used just to store the washer and dryer. Now, however, there were several pieces of furniture belonging to Uncle Ian stored down here, along with several boxes containing more of Uncle Ian’s stuff.
None of this stuff was particularly interesting to Naomi, there was a grandfather clock, thankfully it was broken, along with a vanity desk, a clothes drawer, and a rocking chair. The vanity desk held her interest for a moment, until Naomi realized it was too big for her room and was a bit too antique for her tastes. She glanced over at Trevor who took all of this in with a look of wonder on his face. I’m glad someone’s enjoying this, hopefully this will stop you from going on and on about superheroes.
“Aw, the clock doesn’t work?” Trevor asked.
Naomi shook her head, “According to mom, it stopped working a while ago and Uncle Ian never got around to trying to get it repaired.”
Trevor ran a hand against the carved wood of the clock, “Is this handmade? This is beautiful!”
His attention was quickly taken by some of the boxes of Uncle Ian’s belongings. He glanced at Naomi for permission and then started digging through his stuff. A bunch of it were old journals and some unpublished manuscripts. Mom had said Uncle Ian was a writer, but sadly his words will never be read by anyone.
Trevor was flipping through some of Uncle Ian’s journals, “Oh, your uncle used to travel? Says here, he’s been to France, Hungary, Japan, Mexico…”
Naomi held up a hand, “Yes, he used to travel a bit when he was younger, according to mom, he’d sometimes bring her and her brothers some souvenirs from the places he’s been to.”
“Hello!” Trevor said, picking up a rolled up piece of paper at the bottom of the box, “What are you?”
“Probably a photo or old letter,” Naomi guessed.
Trevor made a face as he unrolled the paper. He flipped it around, expression still puzzled.
“What’s up?” Naomi asked.
Trevor flipped the page towards her and she was met with a series of ineligible scribbles. Huh, I guess it’s probably a letter from someone he met when he was traveling around the world. Naomi thought, Looks old. “What language even is that?”
Trevor shrugged, squinting at the symbols written on the paper, “Your guess is as good as mine, honestly.”
Before either of them could say anything else, the door opened and Summerlyn came down the stairs. Of course, she’d show up and ruin the fun.
Summerlyn was Naomi’s older sister, and she looked like it too. She was taller than Naomi, her body lean and toned, not that you’d be able to tell since she wore clothes that did not show any skin, and her golden blonde hair was longer. The only notable difference between the two of them is that Summerlyn had gray eyes while Naomi had blue.
“What the hell are you two doing down here?” Summerlyn asked, pointing at Naomi, “Mom said she doesn’t want any guests down here!” she glanced at the books placed on the floor, “I’d clean that up if I was you, if mom knew you were digging through Uncle Ian’s stuff, she’d flip!”
Naomi rolled her eyes and stepped over to her sister, “What? Are you going to tell mom?”
“I will if you don’t clean this up,” Summerlyn replied.
“Oh my gosh, why are you so worked up about this, anyway?” Naomi asked, “You barely knew Uncle Ian.”
“I barely knew him?” Summerlyn asked, taking a step back, “Oh, right, you don’t pay attention to anything that's not on that phone of yours, huh? No, I knew Uncle Ian! More than you! He helped me apply for colleges and helped pay for my classes!”
Naomi held up her hands, “Oh wow, sorry, I’m sorry I don’t know every detail about your life, alright? Uncle Ian helped you and now you’re sad like mom, alright.”
Trevor nervously approached her from behind, “Hey, Naomi,” he began, “maybe we should just cle-”
“Are you taking her side?” Naomi asked, “Of course you would, of course!”
“What?” Trevor asked, “No, I’m not. I just don’t want you to get in trouble.”
“Boy, take it from me, you’re better off without her,” Summerlyn began.
Naomi glared at her. Don’t you fucking dare!
Trevor glanced at her, confused.
“Naomi doesn’t love you,” Summerlyn began, “she probably only asked you out as a dare or something. Trust me, you’re not her type and you will not be the one who changes her either. Trust me, just leave, and find someone else, someone who’d love you and-” she glanced at the shirt Trevor was wearing, “someone who wouldn’t mind talking about superheroes.”
Well, I guess Olivia won the bet, Naomi thought, thanks alot, sis.
Trevor, however, surprised her. He was trembling, the letter - or whatever it was - crumbled in his hand. At first Naomi was worried he was going to explode on them and took a step back, but no, the poor bastard stepped towards Summerlyn, his face red. “You stay quiet!” he shouted, surprising both Naomi and Summerlyn, “Don’t tell me who loves me and who doesn’t! I know Naomi and I are meant to be! And no one is going to tell me otherwise, alright!”
“Calm down!” Summerlyn shouted, raising her hands, “Calm down! Alright! You’re in love, I get-”
“No!” Trevor continued, “no, you don’t get it! For the first time in my life, I was asked out! If that’s not a sign, then I don’t know what is!”
Naomi gasped, noticing the paper in Trevor’s hand started to change, started to glow. At first, it was white, but soon burned red hot. Once she saw it, Summerlyn did too, and was freaking out, telling Trevor to drop it.
Unfortunately, Trevor didn’t notice, “Drop what? The fact that things are finally looking my way? Why wou-”
It all happened so fast. The paper burned bright, nearly blinding Naomi. There was a scream, although who was screaming, she wasn’t sure. Suddenly, the light vanished and the basement returned to normal. Except, there were only two people standing here now, Naomi herself, and Summerlyn who was looking down at herself as if she’d never seen her body before.
Naomi stepped forward, “Trevor?” she asked, her voice quivering. She didn’t see him, and couldn't find any trace of him anywhere. She looked around frantically, “Trevor!” she called again. What happened? Sure, he was a loser and she was going to dump his ass as soon as the month was over, but that didn’t mean she wanted him vaporized or whatever happened.
“Trevor!” Naomi screamed, tears stinging her eyes.
“I’m here,” Summerlyn breathed, hands over her breasts.
“Summerlyn, stop fucking around!” Naomi screeched, “Help me find where Trevor went!”
“Naomi, I’m here!” Summerlyn insisted, gesturing to herself, “I’m Trevor!”
Naomi blinked, “T-Trevor?” she asked.
Summerlyn nodded, “Yeah, yeah, it’s me! Uh…” Summerlyn, or Trevor, thought for a moment, “just earlier, I was telling you that I thought you’d make the perfect supergirl! Because you’re beautiful and blonde and-”
Naomi held up a hand, This… this can’t be happening! This isn’t real! she ran her hands through her hair, taking a breath in order to calm down. She looked around, finding no sign of that paper Trevor was holding earlier.
She did notice something else though, slumped over by the dusty furniture, was Trevor’s body. It landed a short distance away from Naomi and Summerlyn. Is Summerlyn in there? Naomi walked over to Trevor’s body and prodded it, wondering if, somehow, Summerlyn had ended up in Trevor’s body like how Trevor ended up in Summerlyn’s. No response.
Naomi checked and found that Trevor’s body was, thankfully, still breathing and still had a pulse, but it looked like no one was home. Naomi sighed, looking over at Summerlyn to see Trevor was fondling his new breasts through Summerlyn’s tank top. Of course that’s what you’re doing.
Naomi cleared her throat to get Trevor’s attention. To his credit, he did seem embarrassed when he saw Naomi notice him exploring her older sister’s body. “Help me get your body upstairs,” she said, ignoring where Trevor still had his hands, “quick, I don’t want my mom coming in and seeing us in here like this!”
That snapped Trevor out of his trance and he helped Naomi carry his body up stairs. Trevor’s body was a little on the heavier side, and Naomi wasn’t the biggest fan of his smell. It could be worse, but it also could have been better. Thankfully, while neither Naomi or Summerlyn were the strongest, they were able to carry Trevor’s body back up the stairs and into Naomi’s room where they propped up his body on the bed.
Naomi sighed, rubbing her arms, “How are you doing?” she asked.
Trevor gulped, “I’m not sure, honestly,” he replied, “it’s… it’s strange seeing myself from the outside like this.”
“Do you know where Summerlyn is?” Naomi asked, “She’s not in your body.”
“If I had to guess, she might still be in this body, but I’m currently in control or something.” Trevor flexed Summerlyn’s hands, watching the movement raptly, his gaze slowly moved from her hands to other parts of her body.
Naomi wasn’t sure why, but seeing him looking at her sister’s body like that was making her angry. Out of the people, why was it Summerlyn? Of course, the thought of Trevor in her body made her shiver, something Trevor thankfully didn’t notice as he was too busy looking down at Summerlyn’s body to notice what Naomi was doing grinning widely as he looked down Summerlyn’s shirt.
“Can you get out of her body?” Naomi snapped, coming out less of a question and more of a demand.
That snapped Trevor out of his daydreams and he, once again, looked abashedly at Naomi, he scratched the back of Summerlyn’s head, a sheepish smile on her face, “Uhh… I’m not sure.”
“Well,” Naomi paused for a moment, I am not letting you stay in my sisters body any longer than you already have, “can you figure something out? Like… try to imagine leaving her body and… I don’t know, do it?”
Trevor sighed, “Alright… I’ll…I’ll try.”
Trevor was silent for a moment, closing his eyes and looking deep in concentration. A minute passed, and then another. Naomi was beginning to feel frustrated, wondering if Trevor was even trying. He’s probably not, she thought sourly, crossing her arms, he probably just wants me to think he is so he can stay as Summerlyn a bit longer. She had just finished the thought when Summerlyn suddenly slumped over.
Naomi cried out, rushing towards Summerlyn to avoid her crashing to the floor just as Trevor’s body gasped. “It worked!” Trevor cried out.
“Glad to hear!” Naomi growled, making sure her sister didn’t hurt herself too much from the fall.
“Do you think she knows what happened?” Trevor asked, approaching the two of them.
“I don’t know,” Naomi replied truthfully. Although for your own sake, you’d better hope she doesn’t remember.
Summerlyn started to come to, blinking and waving Naomi and Trevor away, “Huh? What happened?”
“You nearly fainted earlier in the basement-!” Trevor said quickly, “Afterwards Naomi and I dragged you up here to see if you were alright. We were about to call someone when you started coming to.”
Summerlyn frowned, and shook her head, “Argh, alright, well,” she groaned as she stood up, placing her hands on her hips, “I don’t want either of you going into the basement anymore, alright? Neither of you have seen how mom’s been lately and I don’t think you two messing around down there will help her, alright?”
Naomi rolled her eyes, “Alright, sis, whatever you say.”
Trevor nodded, “Alright.”
Summerlyn nodded, “Good, now… I think I’m going to lie down for a bit.” Summerlyn rubbed her head as she left Naomi’s room. Well it looks like she doesn’t remember what happened when Trevor was inside her, Naomi thought, probably for the best, I doubt she’d take that better than I would.
Her hands turned to fists by her side, speaking of which, she turned to Trevor, “Don’t think I hadn’t noticed what you were doing in my sister's body!” she hissed.
Trevor sucked in a breath and stepped back, holding his hands out in front of him, “Woah! Heh, heh, easy Naomi,” he gave a nervous chuckle and ran a hand through his hair, “look, I’m sorry about that, alright? I’ve never been a girl before, I’ve never had or touched boobs, I… just… didn’t think right.”
Naomi sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. Well, rather it was Summerlyn than me. she suppressed a shiver, would the thought of returning to his own body even occur to him without me pushing it onto him?
“Naomi,” Trevor placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and she had to stop herself from jerking out of his grasp, “I’m sorry. Really, I am. Can we, please put this all behind us?”
Naomi stared into his eyes. Where in the world would Uncle Ian get one of these things? Whatever, hopefully, now that the scroll - or whatever it was - is gone, she wouldn’t have to worry about it anymore. “Sure, let’s put this all behind us.”
Trevor grinned and hugged her. Naomi, reluctantly, returned his hug. Trevor was the one who broke it off, noticing the clock on her wall, “Oh, is it eight already? I need to get going,” he turned to her, “see you at school?”
Naomi nodded, “Yeah, I’ll see you at school.”
Naomi helped Trevor gather his belongings and saw him to the door as he started to walk back home. She sighed, curious about whether or not there were other scrolls down there in the basement. She considered going down there herself and checking, but decided against it, she’d already promised Summerlyn and if she found her down there again, well, she’d never hear the end of it.
Maybe mom knows what Uncle Ian was up to? Naomi thought. I should probably check on Summerlyn. Her sister left the door to her room open a crack and, peering through, Naomi saw Summerlyn was buried in a book, taking down notes for one of her classes. Of course she was.
Naomi considered texting Wren and Olivia what she and Trevor found in the basement, going as far as beginning to type it out, before deciding not to and deleting the message. She barely believed what happened and she was there to witness it herself, how would those two believe what she said?
Instead, she decided to open a blank journal and started writing things down. She had to, just to process what was happening, to make sure she wasn’t losing her mind. She had just finished writing when her mom, who’d gotten home some time earlier, called her and Summerlyn down to eat.
“Hey mom," Naomi began between bites.
“Hmm?” her mom grunted.
“What was it exactly that Great Uncle Ian did?”
Her mom made a face, “Why do you ask?”
“Trevor was wondering what he did?” Naomi lied.
Her mom sighed, “He liked to travel a lot. He told me how he backpacked across Europe and even the United States a few times and what he’s seen on those travels,” she chuckled to herself, “he’d brought back several souvenirs and wrote multiple blogs about the places he’d been and what he’d found. You know, when I was younger, he’d always insist he came across real magic out there in the world, hidden in places almost forgotten and yet, he managed to find them and bring them back with him.”
I guess he did find some magic afterall, Naomi thought, thanking her mom for dinner and heading back upstairs. She’d need to track down her uncle’s blogs, see if maybe there was an explanation for whatever happened in the basement. But, maybe that was something she’ll do for another time, since it was getting late and she was getting tired.
As Naomi got her things ready and left down the hall to take a shower, she noticed the door to Summerlyn’s room was closed. Odd, since she always left it a little open in case someone called for her. As Naomi passed by, she thought she heard the sound of Summerlyn’s phone camera going off. She shook her head, whatever, what Summerlyn was up to was none of her business.
Oh well. Naomi thought, crawling into bed. I just hope whatever happened to Trevor was just temporary. She shivered, the thought of him being able to just take over people's bodies like that. She had an idea of what he'd use them for and hoped that whatever happened was just a one time thing.
---
The next morning, Naomi woke up and got ready to go to school. She stopped by to check up on Summerlyn before she left, she couldn't explain why, but she was just worried more than usual.
Summerlyn was still asleep when Naomi walked in. She considered maybe trying to wake her up, but decided against it, no doubt she'd get an earful from Summerlyn about how disrespectful that is or something like that.
Guess I'll just check up on you again later. Naomi thought, going downstairs.
---
Olivia was already waiting for her when she walked through the doors into Milton High. Strangely, Wren was nowhere to be found. Perhaps she was sick?
“Where's Wren?” Naomi asked.
Olivia rolled her eyes, “She said she had to run to the restroom, something about breakfast not agreeing with her or something.” Olivia shook her head, “Whatever. How're you and Trevor doing, by the way? How are you two holding up?”
Naomi resisted the urge to stick out her tongue in disgust, “He still thinks we're actually dating,” Olivia interrupted her to make a gagging sound, Naomi couldn't say she disagreed, “you should listen to him talk, so disgusting. It's worse than when he talks non stop about those annoying superheroes or whatever it is he cares about.”
“Oh?” Olivia began, getting closer, “What does he say? The disgusting stuff, I don't care about anything else.”
Naomi smiled, and looked around to make sure Trevor wasn't nearby to overhear her, “He keeps talking about girls and what he would do if he got to the point where they had sex.”
Olivia gasped.
Naomi continued, smiling as she recounted her horrible first “date” with him, “You know, he asked me what kind of woman I was and what I expected him to do in our relationship? Well, since I didn't want to get dumped by him I had to play into it and said I would do the housework and cook while he gets to be treated as a king all day. He ate that up hook, line, and sinker. Then he asked about sex! Just like that! No other conversation! Just sex! Sex! Sex!” Naomi sighed, "What's worse is that afterwards, he just keeps rambling on and on about anime and superheroes."
Olivia was barely able to stand from laughing so much, “Oh my! Naomi I almost feel sorry for you for making you do this!”
“You will be sorry when I win this bet and you have to do something for me.” Naomi replied.
“Hey girls!” Wren greeted, walking over to them, “What are you all talking about?”
“Oh you're not going to believe this,” Olivia began, still laughing, “Naomi's been telling us all about what she and Trevor have been doing lately!”
“Ooh!” Wren exclaimed, “What do you think about Trevor?”
Olivia laughed, “The dude's a creep! He's even more of a loser than I thought he was! Sex this! Sex that!”
Wren frowned, “Oh? Is that what you think of him?”
Olivia shrugged, “As much as I know about him, anyway. You know, Trevor looks alright, a bit short maybe, but that personality just really kills it!”
Wren made a face and stepped closer, “You think all that before even getting to know him?”
Olivia held up her hands in mock surrender and chuckled, “Woah, relax Wren, I'm just having some fun! Trevor's a little weirdo! That's all there is to him really, he just thinks about women he likes and that's it. Not even in a good way either.”
Wren scoffed, “is that so?”
Olivia sighed in exasperation, “Oh my god, Wren! I don't know why you're so mad about this! I'm going to see if the cafeterias are still serving breakfast, if you want to calm down and talk to me you can find me there, alright?”
With that, Olivia left. Naomi stared after her, mouth dry. She turned over to Wren who watched Olivia with anger and sadness in her eyes. Except Naomi wasn’t sure that was Wren behind those eyes.
Wren turned to her, noticing Naomi staring, “What?” She asked.
There's no way… “Trevor?” Naomi began hesitantly, “Is… is that you?”
Wren grinned, “Yup!” Trevor admitted, fist pumping the air, “it's me!” he chuckled, “I still have the powers that scroll gave me, it's insane! Hey, I used them on Ms. Shaw earlier and used them to steal the answers for today's quiz!”
Naomi felt her skin crawl. Olivia said Wren went to the bathroom earlier, was that when Trevor possessed her? Or did that happen earlier? She shivered, thinking about what he might have done when he was alone.
Naomi crossed her arms beneath her breasts, “Trevor,” she began, “Please get our of my friend.”
Trevor blinked and then chuckled, “Oh, yeah! I… really should get back to my body before school starts, huh? Come with me, I left my body in the boys bathroom.”
Naomi sighed and followed Trevor. She was barely paying attention as he excitedly told her some of the questions and answers to the quiz. She focused more on what he might have done and what he will probably do.
“Is something wrong?” Trevor asked as they stopped in front of the boys bathroom.
“Hmm?” Naomi asked, “Oh, nothing! It's fine, I was just… wondering about your powers.”
Trevor chuckled, “I've been wondering about them too and I've been trying to test out the limits, but I think I'll save that for another day. Do me a favor and catch Wren, will you? I don't want to hurt her sweet body.”
Before Naomi could answer, Wren suddenly slumped forward and Naomi leapt to catch Wren before she fell to the floor. She held her up as Wren slowly regained consciousness, “Ugh… what? Naomi? Where am I?”
“Wren?” Naomi asked, “You've… passed out earlier with Olivia. I was taking you to the nurse when you started waking up!” Trevor, I am going to kill you!
Wren grumbled, shaking her head. Please believe me. She blinked, looking around, “What time is it?” she winced, “I think I'll go see the nurse myself, thanks for carrying me all this way.” She waved away Naomi and walked off, heading in the direction of the nurse’s office.
With that, Trevor came out of the bathroom, smiling. “She didn't remember anything! Heh heh! Can you believe that?”
“Yeah…” Naomi began, “that's really something.” She hoped her expression didn’t let slip the amount of disgust she was feeling.
“Hey Naomi,” Trevor began, sobering up, “I… need to ask you an important question.”
Naomi managed to keep a neutral expression as she turned to look at him, “What's that?” She asked, suddenly worried.
“Earlier, when Olivia was talking shit about me… how come you kept silent?”
Naomi froze. How much did he overhear? Did he know Naomi was the one who told Olivia about all those things? Or did he think Olivia was the one who said all that herself? What will he do if he finds out the truth? Naomi could feel herself starting to sweat. Unfortunately, she couldn’t think of anything to say, either in denial, or in deflection.
Trevor sighed, looking heartbroken, taking her hesitation as something else entirely “It's… whatever. I'll see you after school, alright?”
“Alright.” Naomi replied, her heart pounding as she watched him go. That… that was close.
---
The rest of the day Naomi had trouble focusing on anything her teachers were saying, whatever, she could probably just ask one of her other classmates for notes. She was too busy thinking about what was happening with Trevor. What the hell was her great uncle getting up to? Did Uncle Ian have anything else like that hidden among his belongings? Could she find something to possibly reverse this?
The power to just take over someone’s body was freaky enough as is, but the thought of Trevor of all people having it just made her skin crawl. On their first day, Trevor told her all the things he loves about a woman, with one of the top things being her body, and how he can’t stop himself from looking no matter how hard he tries.
Jeez, the boy had no tack and was just overall unpleasant to be around. A shame, too, Naomi thought, I bet he honestly thought he was complimenting me by going on and on about how beautiful I am. Naomi suppressed a smirk, the truth was that she was flattered at first, but his constant pointing out of her looks lost their charm very quickly.
“Naomi Walker!”
Naomi came crashing down back into reality, “Huh?”
Her teacher, Mr. Gray, sighed, rubbing his temples, “I was asking if you knew how to solve this equation…”
Naomi felt her face grow warm as she glanced at the whiteboard and had no idea what on earth she was looking at, “No,” she admitted, “I do not.” That earned a round of snickers from her other classmates.
Mr. Gray shook his head, “Rachel Smith, you’re up.”
Great. Naomi thought, letting her mind wander again. Now Trevor’s making things difficult in other ways as well.
---
Lunch couldn’t come quick enough. Naomi gathered her things and headed off quickly, wanting nothing more to regroup with Wren and Olivia. She thought about telling them about the situation, but decided against it. There’s no way they’ll believe me, Naomi thought, I can still just barely believe this is happening and I was there to see it happen twice! I need to find out more about Uncle Ian, if nothing else, he’ll be the one with any answers
At least she could, hopefully, relax around them for a bit. Maybe Olivia would have some gossip to help her take her mind off things for a while. After grabbing her lunch, Naomi noticed Olivia sitting at a different spot than usual even though their table was empty. Naomi swallowed, He wouldn't. her nervousness gave way to anger the closer she got, her shoes hitting the ground harder and harder with each step. He. Fucking. Wouldn't.
“Olivia” turned to her as she approached. She had an uncharacteristic big grin on her face and her hands were… Fucking Trevor! her hands were groping her own breasts.
“HI Naomi!” Trevor greeted from inside Olivia's body, “You won't be-”
“Get out.” Naomi ordered.
Trevor smiled, taking his hands off Olivia's breasts, “Woah! Woah!” He began, “No need to get so angry with me, alright? I just don't think Olivia's that good of a friend for you! I mean, what kind of friend badmouths their other friends' boyfriends? I mean, you heard the things she was saying about me.”
“Get. Out.” Naomi repeated.
“That's not all,” Trevor continued, ignoring Naomi, “I checked her phone earlier, did you know she has some dirt on you and Wren as well? I couldn't believe it myself and I was the one who found it-”
“Trevor.” Naomi growled, finally getting him to shut up and listen, “Get. Out. Of. Her. Body. Now!”
Trevor blinked, and looked away, “Alright,” he said, his voice low, “but… can you promise me something?”
“What?” Naomi snapped.
Trevor looked back at her, “Can you defend me next time?” he paused before continuing, “I'm not asking for much, at least I don't think I am. But when she was talking shit about me, you just stood there and let her keep talking.”
Naomi blinked, this fucking guy… She knew he had a point. Even she could see that, but given his actions so far, it seemed Olivia had a point. But right now wasn't a good time to confront him about any of this.
She nodded, “Alright,” she conceded, “I'll tell Olivia to stop picking on you.”
Trevor smiled and then Olivia started shaking, her eyes rolling back before she gasped and nearly fell on the table. Trevor was gone, most likely returning to his own body, wherever that was.
“Ugh,” Olivia moaned, rubbing her head, “How the hell did I get here?”
“What's wrong?” Naomi asked.
“Naomi?” Olivia asked, noticing her, “Last thing I remember was being in fifth period when everything just went…” Olivia's eyes widened and her face went red. Her hands felt at her chest before dropping down below her waist. Her face paled almost instantly.
Naomi gulped, a faint idea of what happened already forming in her head, “Is everything alright?”
“Where the fuck are my panties?” Olivia hissed, going even redder.
Naomi coughed, Trevor was really pushing his luck with her. Looking closer at Olivia's shirt, it wasn't just her bra he took off either. No, she saw the way her breasts were hanging and how they moved around when Olivia turned. Her bra was gone as well.
“Shit!” Olivia hissed, standing up and looking around, “Shit! Shit! Shit!”
“Calm down!” Naomi whispered, “Do you… happen to have any spares?”
Olivia nodded, “I have some panties in my locker… I'll be back.”
Olivia shuffled off just as Wren came by, placing her tray down as she looked in, confused as to why Olivia was practically running out of the cafeteria.
Wren gave Naomi a look, “What's up with her?”
Naomi sighed, she knew telling the truth was not an option. “Wardrobe malfunction,” she replied, “she's getting some spare clothes from her locker.”
Wren grunted, “You doing alright, Naomi? You've been quiet today.”
Naomi stared at Wren for a while. She was acting like herself, and hadn't groped her breasts so far. “Just thinking about Trevor,” Naomi admitted, “he's been a hassle lately.”
“Going to dump him early?”
Naomi shook her head, “I don't think that's a good idea, he's…” Fuck, what should I say here?, “gotten a hold of something embarrassing of mine and I'm afraid if I dump him he'll tell everyone.”
Wren wrinkled her nose, “Ouch, he's really the type who would do that?” she gave a sympathetic squeeze to Naomi’s hand, “I'm sorry I ever went to bat for him. Well, whatever happens, Olivia and I will be here for you.”
Naomi smiled, but remembered Trevor's words that Olivia kept dirt on her and Wren in her phone. It didn't seem like he was lying either, as he'd offered to show her the proof and even delete it. I don't think Olivia will stand by me, Naomi thought. It was silly, of course she wouldn't. Still, that didn't mean Naomi wanted something like this to happen to her. She looked back at Wren who gave her a supportive smile and returned it. Wren might be different though, but Naomi wasn’t sure.
What she was sure about was that she needed to find out about what her uncle had. Luckily Trevor will be staying after school today for one of his stupid clubs, that meant Naomi would have a chance to look through her uncle's belongings and search for his blog on the internet,
So she did just that. After school, she went straight home and saw she would be alone for a few hours. Her parents were still working and Summerlyn had an evening class today.
Damn, Naomi thought, I was hoping to ask mom what she knew about Uncle Ian, hopefully she'll be back soon. No matter.* At least that meant she was able to search the basement without much issue.
At least, that's what she thought until she tried the door and found it locked. Ugh! Summerlyn!
Naomi pounded on the door out of frustration before growling, heading to Summerlyn’s room, hoping she'd find the key.
Thankfully, Summerlyn’s room didn't have a lock so getting in wasn't an issue. The issue then became finding the key, hopefully Summerlyn didn't take it with her. The bed and the desk weren't of any use, although as she checked under the bed she was surprised to see some of Summerlyn’s clothes just tossed underneath. Normally her sister would just toss them in the laundry bin.
Whatever. She checked her dresser and found the key in the third drawer. Afterwards she left to go down the basement.
It still looked the same as it did yesterday, with some of the furniture slightly moved as Naomi and Trevor looked through her uncle's belongings.
She started at the box where Trevor pulled that scroll from. Inside were some maps, a few souvenirs from other places her uncle had visited, but no other scrolls.
At the bottom of the box was an old journal. Naomi grabbed it and flipped through it, grinning as she realized it was a journal her uncle kept to record his travels. Hopefully, Uncle Ian would have written about something like this.
She searched through his other belongings, but that turned out to be a bust. So, with only a journal for her efforts, Naomi returned the basement key to Summerlyn’s room and started reading through the journal in her room.
Naomi would gather from the journal, as well as from her mom and Summerlyn, that her uncle didn't travel alone. He had someone else with him, a friend named Tom. Together the two of them traveled across the world, going across the United States, to Europe, and Asia as well.
From the journal, Naomi found out her uncle and Tom came across these scrolls as they were exploring an old ruin they found in a forest in Europe. Unfortunately, if they ever found out what these things were and what they did, her uncle didn't write them down.
All he wrote down was that he thought they were neat and he took one while his friend took several. So if I want to find out more about what's going on and how to stop Trevor, I'll need to find where Tom is and hope he knows anything about these scrolls.
It took her a while to find her uncle’s blog, but after an hour, she came across it. The blog detailed her uncle and Tom’s journey across the world, staring at the United States and how they traveled to Europe with little except what they could fit in their backpacks. She skipped ahead, seeing her uncle took several pictures of himself and Tom as they traveled along the world.
She came across an entry where her uncle and Tom decided to explore a forest somewhere in the United Kingdom. There, they came across the remains of a stone tower hidden deep in the forest and he had several photos of what they found inside, numerous old books rotting on bookshelves, strange symbols written on the walls, and, to her horror, several scrolls thrown about the tables.
There were a few comments on this blog post, with some commenters asking where exactly they were as they lived closeby, but had never encountered this stone tower ever before in their lives. Her blood ran cold when she saw her uncle responding to these comments, saying he’d tried to go back a few days later, but could not find where he and Tom stumbled upon the tower.
Her mom’s words echoed in her head, how Uncle Ian believed there was still magic out there hidden in the world and that he brought some back home with him. He did, Naomi thought, shutting off her laptop, he really did.
She wrote down everything she discovered in her journal. So far, it was the only thing keeping her sane, assuring her that all of this was actually real. She hid the journal in one of the drawers in her dresser before getting ready for bed.
The next day, before school, Naomi approached her mom and asked Tom, Uncle Ian’s friend.
“Of course I know about him,” her mom replied, “Why, he and Uncle Ian were practically inseparable when they were younger! Why?”
“I just wanted to learn more about Uncle Ian,” Naomi lied, “I feel like I never got to him. I was wondering if maybe Tom would tell me any stories about what he and Uncle Ian got up to.”
“Oh,” her mom replied sadly, “well… I'm afraid it's a little too late for that. Tom passed away a little while ago,”
Naomi grew cold, “What happened to him?”
“It was terrible,” her mom continued, “he and his daughter were in a car crash.”
Naomi leaned against the table to prevent herself from stumbling back. Her mom asked her what was wrong, but her words were meaningless buzzing to Naomi's ears. No! Naomi squeezed her eyes shut, He was the only one who would have had any answers!
“Naomi!” her mom said, grabbing her softly on the arm.
Naomi gasped, but returned to reality.
“Naomi…” her mom began, “What's wrong?”
“It's nothing.” she lied. “Nothing.”
Numb. She grabbed her backpack and went to school.
---
Trevor came back with her to her house. He was giddy, eagerly showing her the notes and other materials he managed to grab while he possessed their teachers' bodies.
“Here's the answer sheet for our history final,” Trevor said, grinning, “You're welcome for this, by the way, I know history is your worst subject.”
Naomi nodded, thanking Trevor listlessly as he went on about some of the other stuff he got up to with his new powers. She knew he was keeping some stuff from her, there was no way someone like him wouldn’t have misused those powers. He took over Wren and Olivia. The thought of what he did to Olivia made Naomi’s hands turn into fists by her side.
“Why did you take off Olivia's underwear?” Naomi asked, cutting him off.
Trevor rolled his eyes, “This again? Look, I might've gone too far with that one, but she isn't a good person. I already told you, and I just thought she needed to learn a lesson.”
“She had to walk around without a bra for the rest of the day, Trevor.”
Trevor actually laughed at that one, “I can tell you there were a few people who enjoyed that.”
“You told people?”
Trevor sighed, “Just a few, and besides, she deserved it! She's been talking shit about us for months, it was time someone knocked her down a peg!”
Naomi rubbed her temples, “And that someone had to be you, right?”
Trevor stood up, throwing his hands in the air, “I don't need to take this right now! I'm taking a five minute break, alright? Let me know when you're ready to stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?” Naomi snapped as Trevor went to the door.
“Like I'm gross!” Trevor shouted, “like I'm a bug! You and Olivia both! You have that same look in your eye that she did, drop her and I'm sure we'll be better off for it!”
With that, he left, slamming the door behind him. Naomi rolled her eyes, and sighed. She needed to calm down, right now wasn't the best time to antagonize him, no matter how much he deserved it. Who knows what will be his breaking point and he decides to use his powers on her.
She looked down, noticing he left his phone on her bed. She couldn't help herself and opened it, as he'd told her his password.
There were several texts from some of his friends in his after school club, each one thanking him for telling them about Olivia's wardrobe incident with a few of them asking how he knew about it. So he's been keeping his powers a secret too. Naomi thought.
Each text made her stomach churn as each boy talked about how much they liked seeing Olivia like that and even asking Trevor if he could target some of the other girls as well. Thankfully, Trevor declined, but did ask if any of them would like a copy of the answer sheets to some upcoming tests.
Naomi checked his photo gallery next and nearly dropped his phone when she saw what was on it. There were numerous pictures of other girls in their grade in various states of undress. No doubt Trevor possessed them and made them take these pictures and send them to himself.
She nearly gagged when she came across the photos Trevor took of Olivia as well as Summerlyn. Olivia's seemed to be taken in one of the bathroom stalls and she was completely naked at one point, showing her pussy to the camera as well as showing her bra and panties being flushed down the toilet.
Summerlyn was similar as well. Several pictures were taken of her in various pieces of clothing before she became naked and flashed her bits to the camera. That night, Naomi thought, when I heard in her room, that was Trevor.
Before she could fully process what she was seeing, the door opened and Trevor paused when he saw his phone in her hands. Her shock made her drop his phone and it landed face up, showing that Naomi was looking through his gallery.
Trevor didn’t even get a word in before Naomi spoke, “What the hell?” Despite the emotions raging through her, those words were barely louder than a whisper.
“Listen, I can-”
“No!” Naomi cut off, raising her voice and getting off her bed and throwing his phone at him, “Get out! Now!”
Trevor backed up as she got closer, “Naomi, wait-!”
“Get out!” Naomi screeched, “I don't want to see you ever again! Those girls! My sister! Olivia! Get out, Trevor!”
Trevor didn’t move, just standing there as Noami shoved against him. He growled, standing his ground, but Naomi was stronger than he thought.
Naomi slapped him, but Trevor grabbed her arm before it landed. Naomi grunted, her chest tightening as she tried to yank her arm free, but Trevor kept it in an iron grip.
“I came across some interesting stuff in Olivia's phone when I possessed her,” Trevor began, “Is…” his voice broke slightly before he continued, “was our relationship… did it really begin as a dare?”
Naomi scoffed and yanked her hand back before shoving Trevor. He stumbled back, shocked. “Yes.” Naomi admitted, “Did you actually think otherwise?”
Trevor swallowed, his face hardening, “So you're just like them then. I thought you'd be different!”
Naomi laughed, you can't be serious, “Pfft! I'm just like them? All of them?”
“It's because of girls like you that never give people like me a chance!”
Naomi rolled her eyes, “Please. You wanna know why none of the other girls never wanted anything to do with you? Why Olivia talked shit about you? It's because you're gross! All you see when you look at a woman is her body! Why else do you have all those pictures on your phone? That's all you care about, just seeing them naked! Getting your rocks off by looking at those pictures you send to yourself!”
The entire time Naomi tore into Trevor, his face hardened and turned red. It was almost funny really how sad and pathetic he looked when he was angry and genuinely trying to look intimidating.
However, as Naomi stepped closer, Trevor’s body suddenly went limp and slumped to the floor. Naomi blinked and knew what was happening. Oh no.
She shuddered, a feeling of pins and needles overtaking her as her vision went black.
---
Finally, Trevor thought as he opened his eyes to see himself in Naomi's body, I managed to shut her up.
He looked down on his own body and decided to leave it there for now. It would still be some time until Naomi's mom and sister got home and so he had the time to do whatever he wanted to with her body.
He didn't waste any time either. You never let me get to second base, he thought, a wicked smile on his lips, I think it's time that changes. He touched Naomi's breasts through her clothes. They weren't as big as some of the other girls he possessed, most notably Summerlyn and Olivia, but he appreciated how they felt in his hands right now. But how much better did they look?
He ripped off Naomi's shirt eagerly, grinning as her white bra was revealed. Oh Naomi, you have no idea how long I've been waiting to do this! Trevor thought, grinning as his hands once again went to her breasts, kneading them with the bra.
He sighed, feeling something going on between her legs. That sensation happened a lot while he was exploring the bodies of the girls he possessed. It was like getting an erection with a penis, but… different.
Naomi's pants came off next, followed by her socks. Her panties matched her bra, white, and Trevor hesitated briefly as his fingers dug beneath the fabric. She wasn't his girlfriend anymore, she made that more than clear, but still… the thought of seeing her naked was making him warm and dizzy.
He chuckled as he threw off her panties and collapsed on the bed as her bra followed shortly afterwards. Where's her phone? Trevor thought, I need to see how she looks! He found it and turned on her camera, changing to selfie mode and held it against his new body.
She was beautiful, but Trevor knew that already. Pale skin laid bare before him, her nipples the color of cherries and were hard and sensitive as his fingers brushed over them. He bit his lips, legs squirming, Fuck! Her tits aren't as large as Summerlyn’s, but they're sensitive!
He angled the phone to look between her legs. A neatly trimmed patch of hair greeted him, covering the entrance to her pussy which was very wet and he opened her pussy lips, his finger sliding in easily. He arched his back, biting hard on his lip to prevent himself from crying out loud.
Fuck! Trevor gasped, recovering from that sensation, That was… way different from a penis!
He licked his lips, trying to calm down. So far he'd only taken pictures of these girls to save for later when he returned to his own body. The thought of masturbating as them though… that made his face warm.
Trevor looked down at Naomi's pussy. It felt good when he accidentally slipped a finger inside, what if he tried to feel around- Holy-!
That must be the clitoris! Trevor wasn't able to stop himself, shouting out loudly as he flicked Naomi's clit, and started working it. His legs thrashed about, his free hand going to one of her breasts, rubbing against a still erect nipple. He could feel the pressure building and while he'd never orgasmed as a girl before, he knew what it was as it approached.
He cried out as the orgasm overtook him, coming along much stronger than anything he'd ever experienced as a guy. He gasped as the climax left him behind, letting him recover. I can't feel my legs. Trevor thought.
He glanced over at his body, still laying there. He had to think, if he left Naomi alone, she might cause problems for him in the future. Maybe there's a way for him to get around that.
Her phone provided a good solution. A few pictures of her naked for later was always appreciated, and it might be good to use to stop her from interfering with his plans. Of course, if that wasn't enough, he took a few pictures of Naomi with his dick in her hands as well as his mouth. It felt… strange to have a penis in his mouth, not something he'd want to do again.
Serves you right. Trevor thought, sending the photos to his phone and then making sure the evidence was deleted from her phone.
---
When Naomi came to, she found herself alone in her room, fully clothed. Trevor was gone and almost an hour had passed. What did he make me do? Naomi wondered, her mouth dry.
Her phone dinged. She reached for it hesitantly and took in a sharp breath through clenched teeth when she saw Trevor’s name appear on her screen. He sent her a text.
Trevor: If you don't want pictures like these circulating around the school, you'll do well to leave me alone.
Trevor: Thanks for the fun time though. ;)
Attached was a picture of her naked body with Trevor's dick in her mouth.
Naomi nearly dropped her phone.
Naomi tried her hardest not to let out a sigh of exasperation as Trevor continued on his little diatribe about some superheroes Naomi could not care less about. A few more weeks of this, Noami thought, glancing at the clock and getting frustrated at how slowly time seemed to be moving, can’t believe I agreed to this bet, I need to find something Olivia could do for me that’ll make all this worth it.
Trevor was still talking, not having noticed Naomi had checked out of the conversation. Physically, he was alright looking, average height, average weight, his face had some acne scars, but was otherwise fine, he didn’t smell which was great. No, that wasn’t the issue with him, the real issue was how he wouldn’t shut up and how he seemed to leer at her body when he thought she wasn’t looking. Of course, it didn’t help that the thing he wouldn’t shut up about is how much he likes looking at women’s bodies.
At least he managed to keep his hands to himself, most of the time anyway, unfortunately, now wasn’t one of those times. As he was talking, he started scootching closer to her, wrapping an arm around her waist. Naomi wanted to push him away, tell him to keep his hands to himself, but decided against it. She didn’t want him to break up with her before the month was over, now that would be one of the most embarrassing things that would have ever happened to her. That would also render the dare moot and Olivia would have won. As if a dweeb like him would have the backbone to break up with me, Naomi thought, smiling slightly, if he gets sad, a little bit of skin should do the trick and make him happy again.
Trevor noticed her smile and grinned, “Ah, so you think Supergirl is good too! Nice! You know, I think you’d make a great Supergirl!”
Naomi blinked, realizing he must think she was reacting to him, “Oh? Why’s that?”
“Well for one, you already look a bit like her,” he started counting, using his fingers, “you’re strong, determined, don’t take any crap from anyone, and you’re beautiful!”
Is he actually- Naomi smiled despite herself, she had no idea what he was talking about, but she was able to figure out that he was being earnest and, from what she could gather, Trevor does really enjoy Supergirl and if he thought she was like her, then who was she to deny such a compliment?
“Oh!” Trevor began, looking at the clock, “Sorry, I realize I’ve been talking for about half an hour now,” he blushed and scratched the back of his head, “Heh, sorry, sorry. How was your day?”
Naomi smiled, “I’ve been alright. Olivia and Wren and I have been talking a bit. Olivia’s been laughing lately, something about Victoria nearly embarrassing herself during the last cheer practice. I don’t know.”
Trevor nodded, “Is your mom and sister alright? I noticed they both seem a little down lately.”
Naomi sighed, “Oh, right. I haven’t told you about this because I didn’t want to ruin the mood,” that was a big lie, she hadn’t told him because she hardly cared herself, “my Great Uncle Ian passed away a few weeks ago and mom and Summerlyn have been going to his house and moving things in storage,” Naomi shrugged, “they asked dad and some of my other cousins to help bring some stuff here as well. I think everything’s in the basement.”
“Oh, I’m… really sorry, what happened to him?”
Naomi waved a hand, “He was old, and had some health problems before, something about a bad heart.”
“How’s your family taking it?”
I guess we’re talking about this now, Naomi thought, better than hearing him blather on about superheroes I don’t care about, much better than hearing him talk about other girls. “Mom’s taking it the hardest, she’s been almost inconsolable lately. Uncle Ian helped raise her since she was younger and she was there with him when he died.”
Trevor was silent for a moment before asking, “How are you taking it?”
Naomi shrugged, “Barely knew the guy, he had some cool stuff in his house though, wanna come see?”
“Oh, is that alright?”
“Should be,” Naomi replied, “just be careful not to break anything.”
Naomi helped him off her bed and together the two of them left her room and went to the basement. Her parents weren’t here right now, her dad was still at work, and her mom was probably at some cousin’s house making arrangements for Uncle Ian’s funeral. That only left herself and Summerlyn, who was probably in her room studying or something. Still, she’d rather not Summerlyn find out she was down here and tell her mom, who’d know when she’d hear the end of it, so she pressed a finger to her lips at Trevor before opening the door to her basement.
The basement wasn’t much, it was a bit larger than the downstairs living room and normally was used just to store the washer and dryer. Now, however, there were several pieces of furniture belonging to Uncle Ian stored down here, along with several boxes containing more of Uncle Ian’s stuff.
None of this stuff was particularly interesting to Naomi, there was a grandfather clock, thankfully it was broken, along with a vanity desk, a clothes drawer, and a rocking chair. The vanity desk held her interest for a moment, until Naomi realized it was too big for her room and was a bit too antique for her tastes. She glanced over at Trevor who took all of this in with a look of wonder on his face. I’m glad someone’s enjoying this, hopefully this will stop you from going on and on about superheroes.
“Aw, the clock doesn’t work?” Trevor asked.
Naomi shook her head, “According to mom, it stopped working a while ago and Uncle Ian never got around to trying to get it repaired.”
Trevor ran a hand against the carved wood of the clock, “Is this handmade? This is beautiful!”
His attention was quickly taken by some of the boxes of Uncle Ian’s belongings. He glanced at Naomi for permission and then started digging through his stuff. A bunch of it were old journals and some unpublished manuscripts. Mom had said Uncle Ian was a writer, but sadly his words will never be read by anyone.
Trevor was flipping through some of Uncle Ian’s journals, “Oh, your uncle used to travel? Says here, he’s been to France, Hungary, Japan, Mexico…”
Naomi held up a hand, “Yes, he used to travel a bit when he was younger, according to mom, he’d sometimes bring her and her brothers some souvenirs from the places he’s been to.”
“Hello!” Trevor said, picking up a rolled up piece of paper at the bottom of the box, “What are you?”
“Probably a photo or old letter,” Naomi guessed.
Trevor made a face as he unrolled the paper. He flipped it around, expression still puzzled.
“What’s up?” Naomi asked.
Trevor flipped the page towards her and she was met with a series of ineligible scribbles. Huh, I guess it’s probably a letter from someone he met when he was traveling around the world. Naomi thought, Looks old. “What language even is that?”
Trevor shrugged, squinting at the symbols written on the paper, “Your guess is as good as mine, honestly.”
Before either of them could say anything else, the door opened and Summerlyn came down the stairs. Of course, she’d show up and ruin the fun.
Summerlyn was Naomi’s older sister, and she looked like it too. She was taller than Naomi, her body lean and toned, not that you’d be able to tell since she wore clothes that did not show any skin, and her golden blonde hair was longer. The only notable difference between the two of them is that Summerlyn had gray eyes while Naomi had blue.
“What the hell are you two doing down here?” Summerlyn asked, pointing at Naomi, “Mom said she doesn’t want any guests down here!” she glanced at the books placed on the floor, “I’d clean that up if I was you, if mom knew you were digging through Uncle Ian’s stuff, she’d flip!”
Naomi rolled her eyes and stepped over to her sister, “What? Are you going to tell mom?”
“I will if you don’t clean this up,” Summerlyn replied.
“Oh my gosh, why are you so worked up about this, anyway?” Naomi asked, “You barely knew Uncle Ian.”
“I barely knew him?” Summerlyn asked, taking a step back, “Oh, right, you don’t pay attention to anything that's not on that phone of yours, huh? No, I knew Uncle Ian! More than you! He helped me apply for colleges and helped pay for my classes!”
Naomi held up her hands, “Oh wow, sorry, I’m sorry I don’t know every detail about your life, alright? Uncle Ian helped you and now you’re sad like mom, alright.”
Trevor nervously approached her from behind, “Hey, Naomi,” he began, “maybe we should just cle-”
“Are you taking her side?” Naomi asked, “Of course you would, of course!”
“What?” Trevor asked, “No, I’m not. I just don’t want you to get in trouble.”
“Boy, take it from me, you’re better off without her,” Summerlyn began.
Naomi glared at her. Don’t you fucking dare!
Trevor glanced at her, confused.
“Naomi doesn’t love you,” Summerlyn began, “she probably only asked you out as a dare or something. Trust me, you’re not her type and you will not be the one who changes her either. Trust me, just leave, and find someone else, someone who’d love you and-” she glanced at the shirt Trevor was wearing, “someone who wouldn’t mind talking about superheroes.”
Well, I guess Olivia won the bet, Naomi thought, thanks alot, sis.
Trevor, however, surprised her. He was trembling, the letter - or whatever it was - crumbled in his hand. At first Naomi was worried he was going to explode on them and took a step back, but no, the poor bastard stepped towards Summerlyn, his face red. “You stay quiet!” he shouted, surprising both Naomi and Summerlyn, “Don’t tell me who loves me and who doesn’t! I know Naomi and I are meant to be! And no one is going to tell me otherwise, alright!”
“Calm down!” Summerlyn shouted, raising her hands, “Calm down! Alright! You’re in love, I get-”
“No!” Trevor continued, “no, you don’t get it! For the first time in my life, I was asked out! If that’s not a sign, then I don’t know what is!”
Naomi gasped, noticing the paper in Trevor’s hand started to change, started to glow. At first, it was white, but soon burned red hot. Once she saw it, Summerlyn did too, and was freaking out, telling Trevor to drop it.
Unfortunately, Trevor didn’t notice, “Drop what? The fact that things are finally looking my way? Why wou-”
It all happened so fast. The paper burned bright, nearly blinding Naomi. There was a scream, although who was screaming, she wasn’t sure. Suddenly, the light vanished and the basement returned to normal. Except, there were only two people standing here now, Naomi herself, and Summerlyn who was looking down at herself as if she’d never seen her body before.
Naomi stepped forward, “Trevor?” she asked, her voice quivering. She didn’t see him, and couldn't find any trace of him anywhere. She looked around frantically, “Trevor!” she called again. What happened? Sure, he was a loser and she was going to dump his ass as soon as the month was over, but that didn’t mean she wanted him vaporized or whatever happened.
“Trevor!” Naomi screamed, tears stinging her eyes.
“I’m here,” Summerlyn breathed, hands over her breasts.
“Summerlyn, stop fucking around!” Naomi screeched, “Help me find where Trevor went!”
“Naomi, I’m here!” Summerlyn insisted, gesturing to herself, “I’m Trevor!”
Naomi blinked, “T-Trevor?” she asked.
Summerlyn nodded, “Yeah, yeah, it’s me! Uh…” Summerlyn, or Trevor, thought for a moment, “just earlier, I was telling you that I thought you’d make the perfect supergirl! Because you’re beautiful and blonde and-”
Naomi held up a hand, This… this can’t be happening! This isn’t real! she ran her hands through her hair, taking a breath in order to calm down. She looked around, finding no sign of that paper Trevor was holding earlier.
She did notice something else though, slumped over by the dusty furniture, was Trevor’s body. It landed a short distance away from Naomi and Summerlyn. Is Summerlyn in there? Naomi walked over to Trevor’s body and prodded it, wondering if, somehow, Summerlyn had ended up in Trevor’s body like how Trevor ended up in Summerlyn’s. No response.
Naomi checked and found that Trevor’s body was, thankfully, still breathing and still had a pulse, but it looked like no one was home. Naomi sighed, looking over at Summerlyn to see Trevor was fondling his new breasts through Summerlyn’s tank top. Of course that’s what you’re doing.
Naomi cleared her throat to get Trevor’s attention. To his credit, he did seem embarrassed when he saw Naomi notice him exploring her older sister’s body. “Help me get your body upstairs,” she said, ignoring where Trevor still had his hands, “quick, I don’t want my mom coming in and seeing us in here like this!”
That snapped Trevor out of his trance and he helped Naomi carry his body up stairs. Trevor’s body was a little on the heavier side, and Naomi wasn’t the biggest fan of his smell. It could be worse, but it also could have been better. Thankfully, while neither Naomi or Summerlyn were the strongest, they were able to carry Trevor’s body back up the stairs and into Naomi’s room where they propped up his body on the bed.
Naomi sighed, rubbing her arms, “How are you doing?” she asked.
Trevor gulped, “I’m not sure, honestly,” he replied, “it’s… it’s strange seeing myself from the outside like this.”
“Do you know where Summerlyn is?” Naomi asked, “She’s not in your body.”
“If I had to guess, she might still be in this body, but I’m currently in control or something.” Trevor flexed Summerlyn’s hands, watching the movement raptly, his gaze slowly moved from her hands to other parts of her body.
Naomi wasn’t sure why, but seeing him looking at her sister’s body like that was making her angry. Out of the people, why was it Summerlyn? Of course, the thought of Trevor in her body made her shiver, something Trevor thankfully didn’t notice as he was too busy looking down at Summerlyn’s body to notice what Naomi was doing grinning widely as he looked down Summerlyn’s shirt.
“Can you get out of her body?” Naomi snapped, coming out less of a question and more of a demand.
That snapped Trevor out of his daydreams and he, once again, looked abashedly at Naomi, he scratched the back of Summerlyn’s head, a sheepish smile on her face, “Uhh… I’m not sure.”
“Well,” Naomi paused for a moment, I am not letting you stay in my sisters body any longer than you already have, “can you figure something out? Like… try to imagine leaving her body and… I don’t know, do it?”
Trevor sighed, “Alright… I’ll…I’ll try.”
Trevor was silent for a moment, closing his eyes and looking deep in concentration. A minute passed, and then another. Naomi was beginning to feel frustrated, wondering if Trevor was even trying. He’s probably not, she thought sourly, crossing her arms, he probably just wants me to think he is so he can stay as Summerlyn a bit longer. She had just finished the thought when Summerlyn suddenly slumped over.
Naomi cried out, rushing towards Summerlyn to avoid her crashing to the floor just as Trevor’s body gasped. “It worked!” Trevor cried out.
“Glad to hear!” Naomi growled, making sure her sister didn’t hurt herself too much from the fall.
“Do you think she knows what happened?” Trevor asked, approaching the two of them.
“I don’t know,” Naomi replied truthfully. Although for your own sake, you’d better hope she doesn’t remember.
Summerlyn started to come to, blinking and waving Naomi and Trevor away, “Huh? What happened?”
“You nearly fainted earlier in the basement-!” Trevor said quickly, “Afterwards Naomi and I dragged you up here to see if you were alright. We were about to call someone when you started coming to.”
Summerlyn frowned, and shook her head, “Argh, alright, well,” she groaned as she stood up, placing her hands on her hips, “I don’t want either of you going into the basement anymore, alright? Neither of you have seen how mom’s been lately and I don’t think you two messing around down there will help her, alright?”
Naomi rolled her eyes, “Alright, sis, whatever you say.”
Trevor nodded, “Alright.”
Summerlyn nodded, “Good, now… I think I’m going to lie down for a bit.” Summerlyn rubbed her head as she left Naomi’s room. Well it looks like she doesn’t remember what happened when Trevor was inside her, Naomi thought, probably for the best, I doubt she’d take that better than I would.
Her hands turned to fists by her side, speaking of which, she turned to Trevor, “Don’t think I hadn’t noticed what you were doing in my sister's body!” she hissed.
Trevor sucked in a breath and stepped back, holding his hands out in front of him, “Woah! Heh, heh, easy Naomi,” he gave a nervous chuckle and ran a hand through his hair, “look, I’m sorry about that, alright? I’ve never been a girl before, I’ve never had or touched boobs, I… just… didn’t think right.”
Naomi sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. Well, rather it was Summerlyn than me. she suppressed a shiver, would the thought of returning to his own body even occur to him without me pushing it onto him?
“Naomi,” Trevor placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and she had to stop herself from jerking out of his grasp, “I’m sorry. Really, I am. Can we, please put this all behind us?”
Naomi stared into his eyes. Where in the world would Uncle Ian get one of these things? Whatever, hopefully, now that the scroll - or whatever it was - is gone, she wouldn’t have to worry about it anymore. “Sure, let’s put this all behind us.”
Trevor grinned and hugged her. Naomi, reluctantly, returned his hug. Trevor was the one who broke it off, noticing the clock on her wall, “Oh, is it eight already? I need to get going,” he turned to her, “see you at school?”
Naomi nodded, “Yeah, I’ll see you at school.”
Naomi helped Trevor gather his belongings and saw him to the door as he started to walk back home. She sighed, curious about whether or not there were other scrolls down there in the basement. She considered going down there herself and checking, but decided against it, she’d already promised Summerlyn and if she found her down there again, well, she’d never hear the end of it.
Maybe mom knows what Uncle Ian was up to? Naomi thought. I should probably check on Summerlyn. Her sister left the door to her room open a crack and, peering through, Naomi saw Summerlyn was buried in a book, taking down notes for one of her classes. Of course she was.
Naomi considered texting Wren and Olivia what she and Trevor found in the basement, going as far as beginning to type it out, before deciding not to and deleting the message. She barely believed what happened and she was there to witness it herself, how would those two believe what she said?
Instead, she decided to open a blank journal and started writing things down. She had to, just to process what was happening, to make sure she wasn’t losing her mind. She had just finished writing when her mom, who’d gotten home some time earlier, called her and Summerlyn down to eat.
“Hey mom," Naomi began between bites.
“Hmm?” her mom grunted.
“What was it exactly that Great Uncle Ian did?”
Her mom made a face, “Why do you ask?”
“Trevor was wondering what he did?” Naomi lied.
Her mom sighed, “He liked to travel a lot. He told me how he backpacked across Europe and even the United States a few times and what he’s seen on those travels,” she chuckled to herself, “he’d brought back several souvenirs and wrote multiple blogs about the places he’d been and what he’d found. You know, when I was younger, he’d always insist he came across real magic out there in the world, hidden in places almost forgotten and yet, he managed to find them and bring them back with him.”
I guess he did find some magic afterall, Naomi thought, thanking her mom for dinner and heading back upstairs. She’d need to track down her uncle’s blogs, see if maybe there was an explanation for whatever happened in the basement. But, maybe that was something she’ll do for another time, since it was getting late and she was getting tired.
As Naomi got her things ready and left down the hall to take a shower, she noticed the door to Summerlyn’s room was closed. Odd, since she always left it a little open in case someone called for her. As Naomi passed by, she thought she heard the sound of Summerlyn’s phone camera going off. She shook her head, whatever, what Summerlyn was up to was none of her business.
Oh well. Naomi thought, crawling into bed. I just hope whatever happened to Trevor was just temporary. She shivered, the thought of him being able to just take over people's bodies like that. She had an idea of what he'd use them for and hoped that whatever happened was just a one time thing.
---
The next morning, Naomi woke up and got ready to go to school. She stopped by to check up on Summerlyn before she left, she couldn't explain why, but she was just worried more than usual.
Summerlyn was still asleep when Naomi walked in. She considered maybe trying to wake her up, but decided against it, no doubt she'd get an earful from Summerlyn about how disrespectful that is or something like that.
Guess I'll just check up on you again later. Naomi thought, going downstairs.
---
Olivia was already waiting for her when she walked through the doors into Milton High. Strangely, Wren was nowhere to be found. Perhaps she was sick?
“Where's Wren?” Naomi asked.
Olivia rolled her eyes, “She said she had to run to the restroom, something about breakfast not agreeing with her or something.” Olivia shook her head, “Whatever. How're you and Trevor doing, by the way? How are you two holding up?”
Naomi resisted the urge to stick out her tongue in disgust, “He still thinks we're actually dating,” Olivia interrupted her to make a gagging sound, Naomi couldn't say she disagreed, “you should listen to him talk, so disgusting. It's worse than when he talks non stop about those annoying superheroes or whatever it is he cares about.”
“Oh?” Olivia began, getting closer, “What does he say? The disgusting stuff, I don't care about anything else.”
Naomi smiled, and looked around to make sure Trevor wasn't nearby to overhear her, “He keeps talking about girls and what he would do if he got to the point where they had sex.”
Olivia gasped.
Naomi continued, smiling as she recounted her horrible first “date” with him, “You know, he asked me what kind of woman I was and what I expected him to do in our relationship? Well, since I didn't want to get dumped by him I had to play into it and said I would do the housework and cook while he gets to be treated as a king all day. He ate that up hook, line, and sinker. Then he asked about sex! Just like that! No other conversation! Just sex! Sex! Sex!” Naomi sighed, "What's worse is that afterwards, he just keeps rambling on and on about anime and superheroes."
Olivia was barely able to stand from laughing so much, “Oh my! Naomi I almost feel sorry for you for making you do this!”
“You will be sorry when I win this bet and you have to do something for me.” Naomi replied.
“Hey girls!” Wren greeted, walking over to them, “What are you all talking about?”
“Oh you're not going to believe this,” Olivia began, still laughing, “Naomi's been telling us all about what she and Trevor have been doing lately!”
“Ooh!” Wren exclaimed, “What do you think about Trevor?”
Olivia laughed, “The dude's a creep! He's even more of a loser than I thought he was! Sex this! Sex that!”
Wren frowned, “Oh? Is that what you think of him?”
Olivia shrugged, “As much as I know about him, anyway. You know, Trevor looks alright, a bit short maybe, but that personality just really kills it!”
Wren made a face and stepped closer, “You think all that before even getting to know him?”
Olivia held up her hands in mock surrender and chuckled, “Woah, relax Wren, I'm just having some fun! Trevor's a little weirdo! That's all there is to him really, he just thinks about women he likes and that's it. Not even in a good way either.”
Wren scoffed, “is that so?”
Olivia sighed in exasperation, “Oh my god, Wren! I don't know why you're so mad about this! I'm going to see if the cafeterias are still serving breakfast, if you want to calm down and talk to me you can find me there, alright?”
With that, Olivia left. Naomi stared after her, mouth dry. She turned over to Wren who watched Olivia with anger and sadness in her eyes. Except Naomi wasn’t sure that was Wren behind those eyes.
Wren turned to her, noticing Naomi staring, “What?” She asked.
There's no way… “Trevor?” Naomi began hesitantly, “Is… is that you?”
Wren grinned, “Yup!” Trevor admitted, fist pumping the air, “it's me!” he chuckled, “I still have the powers that scroll gave me, it's insane! Hey, I used them on Ms. Shaw earlier and used them to steal the answers for today's quiz!”
Naomi felt her skin crawl. Olivia said Wren went to the bathroom earlier, was that when Trevor possessed her? Or did that happen earlier? She shivered, thinking about what he might have done when he was alone.
Naomi crossed her arms beneath her breasts, “Trevor,” she began, “Please get our of my friend.”
Trevor blinked and then chuckled, “Oh, yeah! I… really should get back to my body before school starts, huh? Come with me, I left my body in the boys bathroom.”
Naomi sighed and followed Trevor. She was barely paying attention as he excitedly told her some of the questions and answers to the quiz. She focused more on what he might have done and what he will probably do.
“Is something wrong?” Trevor asked as they stopped in front of the boys bathroom.
“Hmm?” Naomi asked, “Oh, nothing! It's fine, I was just… wondering about your powers.”
Trevor chuckled, “I've been wondering about them too and I've been trying to test out the limits, but I think I'll save that for another day. Do me a favor and catch Wren, will you? I don't want to hurt her sweet body.”
Before Naomi could answer, Wren suddenly slumped forward and Naomi leapt to catch Wren before she fell to the floor. She held her up as Wren slowly regained consciousness, “Ugh… what? Naomi? Where am I?”
“Wren?” Naomi asked, “You've… passed out earlier with Olivia. I was taking you to the nurse when you started waking up!” Trevor, I am going to kill you!
Wren grumbled, shaking her head. Please believe me. She blinked, looking around, “What time is it?” she winced, “I think I'll go see the nurse myself, thanks for carrying me all this way.” She waved away Naomi and walked off, heading in the direction of the nurse’s office.
With that, Trevor came out of the bathroom, smiling. “She didn't remember anything! Heh heh! Can you believe that?”
“Yeah…” Naomi began, “that's really something.” She hoped her expression didn’t let slip the amount of disgust she was feeling.
“Hey Naomi,” Trevor began, sobering up, “I… need to ask you an important question.”
Naomi managed to keep a neutral expression as she turned to look at him, “What's that?” She asked, suddenly worried.
“Earlier, when Olivia was talking shit about me… how come you kept silent?”
Naomi froze. How much did he overhear? Did he know Naomi was the one who told Olivia about all those things? Or did he think Olivia was the one who said all that herself? What will he do if he finds out the truth? Naomi could feel herself starting to sweat. Unfortunately, she couldn’t think of anything to say, either in denial, or in deflection.
Trevor sighed, looking heartbroken, taking her hesitation as something else entirely “It's… whatever. I'll see you after school, alright?”
“Alright.” Naomi replied, her heart pounding as she watched him go. That… that was close.
---
The rest of the day Naomi had trouble focusing on anything her teachers were saying, whatever, she could probably just ask one of her other classmates for notes. She was too busy thinking about what was happening with Trevor. What the hell was her great uncle getting up to? Did Uncle Ian have anything else like that hidden among his belongings? Could she find something to possibly reverse this?
The power to just take over someone’s body was freaky enough as is, but the thought of Trevor of all people having it just made her skin crawl. On their first day, Trevor told her all the things he loves about a woman, with one of the top things being her body, and how he can’t stop himself from looking no matter how hard he tries.
Jeez, the boy had no tack and was just overall unpleasant to be around. A shame, too, Naomi thought, I bet he honestly thought he was complimenting me by going on and on about how beautiful I am. Naomi suppressed a smirk, the truth was that she was flattered at first, but his constant pointing out of her looks lost their charm very quickly.
“Naomi Walker!”
Naomi came crashing down back into reality, “Huh?”
Her teacher, Mr. Gray, sighed, rubbing his temples, “I was asking if you knew how to solve this equation…”
Naomi felt her face grow warm as she glanced at the whiteboard and had no idea what on earth she was looking at, “No,” she admitted, “I do not.” That earned a round of snickers from her other classmates.
Mr. Gray shook his head, “Rachel Smith, you’re up.”
Great. Naomi thought, letting her mind wander again. Now Trevor’s making things difficult in other ways as well.
---
Lunch couldn’t come quick enough. Naomi gathered her things and headed off quickly, wanting nothing more to regroup with Wren and Olivia. She thought about telling them about the situation, but decided against it. There’s no way they’ll believe me, Naomi thought, I can still just barely believe this is happening and I was there to see it happen twice! I need to find out more about Uncle Ian, if nothing else, he’ll be the one with any answers
At least she could, hopefully, relax around them for a bit. Maybe Olivia would have some gossip to help her take her mind off things for a while. After grabbing her lunch, Naomi noticed Olivia sitting at a different spot than usual even though their table was empty. Naomi swallowed, He wouldn't. her nervousness gave way to anger the closer she got, her shoes hitting the ground harder and harder with each step. He. Fucking. Wouldn't.
“Olivia” turned to her as she approached. She had an uncharacteristic big grin on her face and her hands were… Fucking Trevor! her hands were groping her own breasts.
“HI Naomi!” Trevor greeted from inside Olivia's body, “You won't be-”
“Get out.” Naomi ordered.
Trevor smiled, taking his hands off Olivia's breasts, “Woah! Woah!” He began, “No need to get so angry with me, alright? I just don't think Olivia's that good of a friend for you! I mean, what kind of friend badmouths their other friends' boyfriends? I mean, you heard the things she was saying about me.”
“Get. Out.” Naomi repeated.
“That's not all,” Trevor continued, ignoring Naomi, “I checked her phone earlier, did you know she has some dirt on you and Wren as well? I couldn't believe it myself and I was the one who found it-”
“Trevor.” Naomi growled, finally getting him to shut up and listen, “Get. Out. Of. Her. Body. Now!”
Trevor blinked, and looked away, “Alright,” he said, his voice low, “but… can you promise me something?”
“What?” Naomi snapped.
Trevor looked back at her, “Can you defend me next time?” he paused before continuing, “I'm not asking for much, at least I don't think I am. But when she was talking shit about me, you just stood there and let her keep talking.”
Naomi blinked, this fucking guy… She knew he had a point. Even she could see that, but given his actions so far, it seemed Olivia had a point. But right now wasn't a good time to confront him about any of this.
She nodded, “Alright,” she conceded, “I'll tell Olivia to stop picking on you.”
Trevor smiled and then Olivia started shaking, her eyes rolling back before she gasped and nearly fell on the table. Trevor was gone, most likely returning to his own body, wherever that was.
“Ugh,” Olivia moaned, rubbing her head, “How the hell did I get here?”
“What's wrong?” Naomi asked.
“Naomi?” Olivia asked, noticing her, “Last thing I remember was being in fifth period when everything just went…” Olivia's eyes widened and her face went red. Her hands felt at her chest before dropping down below her waist. Her face paled almost instantly.
Naomi gulped, a faint idea of what happened already forming in her head, “Is everything alright?”
“Where the fuck are my panties?” Olivia hissed, going even redder.
Naomi coughed, Trevor was really pushing his luck with her. Looking closer at Olivia's shirt, it wasn't just her bra he took off either. No, she saw the way her breasts were hanging and how they moved around when Olivia turned. Her bra was gone as well.
“Shit!” Olivia hissed, standing up and looking around, “Shit! Shit! Shit!”
“Calm down!” Naomi whispered, “Do you… happen to have any spares?”
Olivia nodded, “I have some panties in my locker… I'll be back.”
Olivia shuffled off just as Wren came by, placing her tray down as she looked in, confused as to why Olivia was practically running out of the cafeteria.
Wren gave Naomi a look, “What's up with her?”
Naomi sighed, she knew telling the truth was not an option. “Wardrobe malfunction,” she replied, “she's getting some spare clothes from her locker.”
Wren grunted, “You doing alright, Naomi? You've been quiet today.”
Naomi stared at Wren for a while. She was acting like herself, and hadn't groped her breasts so far. “Just thinking about Trevor,” Naomi admitted, “he's been a hassle lately.”
“Going to dump him early?”
Naomi shook her head, “I don't think that's a good idea, he's…” Fuck, what should I say here?, “gotten a hold of something embarrassing of mine and I'm afraid if I dump him he'll tell everyone.”
Wren wrinkled her nose, “Ouch, he's really the type who would do that?” she gave a sympathetic squeeze to Naomi’s hand, “I'm sorry I ever went to bat for him. Well, whatever happens, Olivia and I will be here for you.”
Naomi smiled, but remembered Trevor's words that Olivia kept dirt on her and Wren in her phone. It didn't seem like he was lying either, as he'd offered to show her the proof and even delete it. I don't think Olivia will stand by me, Naomi thought. It was silly, of course she wouldn't. Still, that didn't mean Naomi wanted something like this to happen to her. She looked back at Wren who gave her a supportive smile and returned it. Wren might be different though, but Naomi wasn’t sure.
What she was sure about was that she needed to find out about what her uncle had. Luckily Trevor will be staying after school today for one of his stupid clubs, that meant Naomi would have a chance to look through her uncle's belongings and search for his blog on the internet,
So she did just that. After school, she went straight home and saw she would be alone for a few hours. Her parents were still working and Summerlyn had an evening class today.
Damn, Naomi thought, I was hoping to ask mom what she knew about Uncle Ian, hopefully she'll be back soon. No matter.* At least that meant she was able to search the basement without much issue.
At least, that's what she thought until she tried the door and found it locked. Ugh! Summerlyn!
Naomi pounded on the door out of frustration before growling, heading to Summerlyn’s room, hoping she'd find the key.
Thankfully, Summerlyn’s room didn't have a lock so getting in wasn't an issue. The issue then became finding the key, hopefully Summerlyn didn't take it with her. The bed and the desk weren't of any use, although as she checked under the bed she was surprised to see some of Summerlyn’s clothes just tossed underneath. Normally her sister would just toss them in the laundry bin.
Whatever. She checked her dresser and found the key in the third drawer. Afterwards she left to go down the basement.
It still looked the same as it did yesterday, with some of the furniture slightly moved as Naomi and Trevor looked through her uncle's belongings.
She started at the box where Trevor pulled that scroll from. Inside were some maps, a few souvenirs from other places her uncle had visited, but no other scrolls.
At the bottom of the box was an old journal. Naomi grabbed it and flipped through it, grinning as she realized it was a journal her uncle kept to record his travels. Hopefully, Uncle Ian would have written about something like this.
She searched through his other belongings, but that turned out to be a bust. So, with only a journal for her efforts, Naomi returned the basement key to Summerlyn’s room and started reading through the journal in her room.
Naomi would gather from the journal, as well as from her mom and Summerlyn, that her uncle didn't travel alone. He had someone else with him, a friend named Tom. Together the two of them traveled across the world, going across the United States, to Europe, and Asia as well.
From the journal, Naomi found out her uncle and Tom came across these scrolls as they were exploring an old ruin they found in a forest in Europe. Unfortunately, if they ever found out what these things were and what they did, her uncle didn't write them down.
All he wrote down was that he thought they were neat and he took one while his friend took several. So if I want to find out more about what's going on and how to stop Trevor, I'll need to find where Tom is and hope he knows anything about these scrolls.
It took her a while to find her uncle’s blog, but after an hour, she came across it. The blog detailed her uncle and Tom’s journey across the world, staring at the United States and how they traveled to Europe with little except what they could fit in their backpacks. She skipped ahead, seeing her uncle took several pictures of himself and Tom as they traveled along the world.
She came across an entry where her uncle and Tom decided to explore a forest somewhere in the United Kingdom. There, they came across the remains of a stone tower hidden deep in the forest and he had several photos of what they found inside, numerous old books rotting on bookshelves, strange symbols written on the walls, and, to her horror, several scrolls thrown about the tables.
There were a few comments on this blog post, with some commenters asking where exactly they were as they lived closeby, but had never encountered this stone tower ever before in their lives. Her blood ran cold when she saw her uncle responding to these comments, saying he’d tried to go back a few days later, but could not find where he and Tom stumbled upon the tower.
Her mom’s words echoed in her head, how Uncle Ian believed there was still magic out there hidden in the world and that he brought some back home with him. He did, Naomi thought, shutting off her laptop, he really did.
She wrote down everything she discovered in her journal. So far, it was the only thing keeping her sane, assuring her that all of this was actually real. She hid the journal in one of the drawers in her dresser before getting ready for bed.
The next day, before school, Naomi approached her mom and asked Tom, Uncle Ian’s friend.
“Of course I know about him,” her mom replied, “Why, he and Uncle Ian were practically inseparable when they were younger! Why?”
“I just wanted to learn more about Uncle Ian,” Naomi lied, “I feel like I never got to him. I was wondering if maybe Tom would tell me any stories about what he and Uncle Ian got up to.”
“Oh,” her mom replied sadly, “well… I'm afraid it's a little too late for that. Tom passed away a little while ago,”
Naomi grew cold, “What happened to him?”
“It was terrible,” her mom continued, “he and his daughter were in a car crash.”
Naomi leaned against the table to prevent herself from stumbling back. Her mom asked her what was wrong, but her words were meaningless buzzing to Naomi's ears. No! Naomi squeezed her eyes shut, He was the only one who would have had any answers!
“Naomi!” her mom said, grabbing her softly on the arm.
Naomi gasped, but returned to reality.
“Naomi…” her mom began, “What's wrong?”
“It's nothing.” she lied. “Nothing.”
Numb. She grabbed her backpack and went to school.
---
Trevor came back with her to her house. He was giddy, eagerly showing her the notes and other materials he managed to grab while he possessed their teachers' bodies.
“Here's the answer sheet for our history final,” Trevor said, grinning, “You're welcome for this, by the way, I know history is your worst subject.”
Naomi nodded, thanking Trevor listlessly as he went on about some of the other stuff he got up to with his new powers. She knew he was keeping some stuff from her, there was no way someone like him wouldn’t have misused those powers. He took over Wren and Olivia. The thought of what he did to Olivia made Naomi’s hands turn into fists by her side.
“Why did you take off Olivia's underwear?” Naomi asked, cutting him off.
Trevor rolled his eyes, “This again? Look, I might've gone too far with that one, but she isn't a good person. I already told you, and I just thought she needed to learn a lesson.”
“She had to walk around without a bra for the rest of the day, Trevor.”
Trevor actually laughed at that one, “I can tell you there were a few people who enjoyed that.”
“You told people?”
Trevor sighed, “Just a few, and besides, she deserved it! She's been talking shit about us for months, it was time someone knocked her down a peg!”
Naomi rubbed her temples, “And that someone had to be you, right?”
Trevor stood up, throwing his hands in the air, “I don't need to take this right now! I'm taking a five minute break, alright? Let me know when you're ready to stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?” Naomi snapped as Trevor went to the door.
“Like I'm gross!” Trevor shouted, “like I'm a bug! You and Olivia both! You have that same look in your eye that she did, drop her and I'm sure we'll be better off for it!”
With that, he left, slamming the door behind him. Naomi rolled her eyes, and sighed. She needed to calm down, right now wasn't the best time to antagonize him, no matter how much he deserved it. Who knows what will be his breaking point and he decides to use his powers on her.
She looked down, noticing he left his phone on her bed. She couldn't help herself and opened it, as he'd told her his password.
There were several texts from some of his friends in his after school club, each one thanking him for telling them about Olivia's wardrobe incident with a few of them asking how he knew about it. So he's been keeping his powers a secret too. Naomi thought.
Each text made her stomach churn as each boy talked about how much they liked seeing Olivia like that and even asking Trevor if he could target some of the other girls as well. Thankfully, Trevor declined, but did ask if any of them would like a copy of the answer sheets to some upcoming tests.
Naomi checked his photo gallery next and nearly dropped his phone when she saw what was on it. There were numerous pictures of other girls in their grade in various states of undress. No doubt Trevor possessed them and made them take these pictures and send them to himself.
She nearly gagged when she came across the photos Trevor took of Olivia as well as Summerlyn. Olivia's seemed to be taken in one of the bathroom stalls and she was completely naked at one point, showing her pussy to the camera as well as showing her bra and panties being flushed down the toilet.
Summerlyn was similar as well. Several pictures were taken of her in various pieces of clothing before she became naked and flashed her bits to the camera. That night, Naomi thought, when I heard in her room, that was Trevor.
Before she could fully process what she was seeing, the door opened and Trevor paused when he saw his phone in her hands. Her shock made her drop his phone and it landed face up, showing that Naomi was looking through his gallery.
Trevor didn’t even get a word in before Naomi spoke, “What the hell?” Despite the emotions raging through her, those words were barely louder than a whisper.
“Listen, I can-”
“No!” Naomi cut off, raising her voice and getting off her bed and throwing his phone at him, “Get out! Now!”
Trevor backed up as she got closer, “Naomi, wait-!”
“Get out!” Naomi screeched, “I don't want to see you ever again! Those girls! My sister! Olivia! Get out, Trevor!”
Trevor didn’t move, just standing there as Noami shoved against him. He growled, standing his ground, but Naomi was stronger than he thought.
Naomi slapped him, but Trevor grabbed her arm before it landed. Naomi grunted, her chest tightening as she tried to yank her arm free, but Trevor kept it in an iron grip.
“I came across some interesting stuff in Olivia's phone when I possessed her,” Trevor began, “Is…” his voice broke slightly before he continued, “was our relationship… did it really begin as a dare?”
Naomi scoffed and yanked her hand back before shoving Trevor. He stumbled back, shocked. “Yes.” Naomi admitted, “Did you actually think otherwise?”
Trevor swallowed, his face hardening, “So you're just like them then. I thought you'd be different!”
Naomi laughed, you can't be serious, “Pfft! I'm just like them? All of them?”
“It's because of girls like you that never give people like me a chance!”
Naomi rolled her eyes, “Please. You wanna know why none of the other girls never wanted anything to do with you? Why Olivia talked shit about you? It's because you're gross! All you see when you look at a woman is her body! Why else do you have all those pictures on your phone? That's all you care about, just seeing them naked! Getting your rocks off by looking at those pictures you send to yourself!”
The entire time Naomi tore into Trevor, his face hardened and turned red. It was almost funny really how sad and pathetic he looked when he was angry and genuinely trying to look intimidating.
However, as Naomi stepped closer, Trevor’s body suddenly went limp and slumped to the floor. Naomi blinked and knew what was happening. Oh no.
She shuddered, a feeling of pins and needles overtaking her as her vision went black.
---
Finally, Trevor thought as he opened his eyes to see himself in Naomi's body, I managed to shut her up.
He looked down on his own body and decided to leave it there for now. It would still be some time until Naomi's mom and sister got home and so he had the time to do whatever he wanted to with her body.
He didn't waste any time either. You never let me get to second base, he thought, a wicked smile on his lips, I think it's time that changes. He touched Naomi's breasts through her clothes. They weren't as big as some of the other girls he possessed, most notably Summerlyn and Olivia, but he appreciated how they felt in his hands right now. But how much better did they look?
He ripped off Naomi's shirt eagerly, grinning as her white bra was revealed. Oh Naomi, you have no idea how long I've been waiting to do this! Trevor thought, grinning as his hands once again went to her breasts, kneading them with the bra.
He sighed, feeling something going on between her legs. That sensation happened a lot while he was exploring the bodies of the girls he possessed. It was like getting an erection with a penis, but… different.
Naomi's pants came off next, followed by her socks. Her panties matched her bra, white, and Trevor hesitated briefly as his fingers dug beneath the fabric. She wasn't his girlfriend anymore, she made that more than clear, but still… the thought of seeing her naked was making him warm and dizzy.
He chuckled as he threw off her panties and collapsed on the bed as her bra followed shortly afterwards. Where's her phone? Trevor thought, I need to see how she looks! He found it and turned on her camera, changing to selfie mode and held it against his new body.
She was beautiful, but Trevor knew that already. Pale skin laid bare before him, her nipples the color of cherries and were hard and sensitive as his fingers brushed over them. He bit his lips, legs squirming, Fuck! Her tits aren't as large as Summerlyn’s, but they're sensitive!
He angled the phone to look between her legs. A neatly trimmed patch of hair greeted him, covering the entrance to her pussy which was very wet and he opened her pussy lips, his finger sliding in easily. He arched his back, biting hard on his lip to prevent himself from crying out loud.
Fuck! Trevor gasped, recovering from that sensation, That was… way different from a penis!
He licked his lips, trying to calm down. So far he'd only taken pictures of these girls to save for later when he returned to his own body. The thought of masturbating as them though… that made his face warm.
Trevor looked down at Naomi's pussy. It felt good when he accidentally slipped a finger inside, what if he tried to feel around- Holy-!
That must be the clitoris! Trevor wasn't able to stop himself, shouting out loudly as he flicked Naomi's clit, and started working it. His legs thrashed about, his free hand going to one of her breasts, rubbing against a still erect nipple. He could feel the pressure building and while he'd never orgasmed as a girl before, he knew what it was as it approached.
He cried out as the orgasm overtook him, coming along much stronger than anything he'd ever experienced as a guy. He gasped as the climax left him behind, letting him recover. I can't feel my legs. Trevor thought.
He glanced over at his body, still laying there. He had to think, if he left Naomi alone, she might cause problems for him in the future. Maybe there's a way for him to get around that.
Her phone provided a good solution. A few pictures of her naked for later was always appreciated, and it might be good to use to stop her from interfering with his plans. Of course, if that wasn't enough, he took a few pictures of Naomi with his dick in her hands as well as his mouth. It felt… strange to have a penis in his mouth, not something he'd want to do again.
Serves you right. Trevor thought, sending the photos to his phone and then making sure the evidence was deleted from her phone.
---
When Naomi came to, she found herself alone in her room, fully clothed. Trevor was gone and almost an hour had passed. What did he make me do? Naomi wondered, her mouth dry.
Her phone dinged. She reached for it hesitantly and took in a sharp breath through clenched teeth when she saw Trevor’s name appear on her screen. He sent her a text.
Trevor: If you don't want pictures like these circulating around the school, you'll do well to leave me alone.
Trevor: Thanks for the fun time though. ;)
Attached was a picture of her naked body with Trevor's dick in her mouth.
Naomi nearly dropped her phone.
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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.
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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.
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Kyle is a guy that is looking to live a straight life after getting out of jail recently, have been caught up in a life of crime early on in life.
However, when an old friend contacts him to steal a priceless artifact together, Kyle decides to turn back to his old ways.
Things quickly go wrong during the score, which results in him unexpectedly swapping bodies with the city's number 1 superheroine. He knows the right thing to do would be to figure out a way to swap them back, but that idea becomes increasingly difficult when he finds out just the kind of life and pleasure her body truly has to offer him.
Kyle learned early that luck was a finite resource, and whatever share he'd been allotted had been spent before he turned sixteen. He grew up in a neighborhood where police sirens were background noise and everyone knew which streets to avoid after dark - dangerous and belonging to someone. Trouble wasn't something you sought out there. It found you, it waited, and if you didn't learn fast enough, it took what it wanted.
Kyle hadn't learned fast enough. By the time he was seventeen, he'd been arrested twice - one for running lookout, once for possession he swore wasn't his. The judge hadn't cared. The system rarely did. He'd done his time in juvenile detention, learned how to keep his head down, how to read people, how to pick locks with nothing but patience and a bent piece of metal. Skills that weren't exactly résumé-friendly. Now, at twenty-eight, he stood behind a coffee counter that smelled perpetually burnt no matter how often he cleaned it and wearing a stained apron with a name tag that felt like a lie. 'Kyle.'
The bell above the café door chimed, and another customer stepped up, already frowning.
"Large oat milk latte. Extra hot. and make sure it's not bitter this time."
Kyle forced a smile.
"Sure thing."
Behind him, one of his coworkers leaned against the prep counter scrolling through their phone. His supervisor - who showed up late every shift and still somehow found the time to criticize - hovered nearby, arms crossed.
"Try not to mess it up," she muttered. "We've had complaints."
Kyle bit back the response that came to mind, he always did - Rent didn't care about pride.
When the café slowed down - mid-afternoon lull and the sunlight slanted through the windows - Kyle leaned against the counter and let his thoughts drift upward. Literally. A massive digital billboard across the street flickered with life, displaying the familiar image: Elasti-Woman, mid-leap, limbs extended impossibly as she saved a collapsing monorail car. The city's favorite heroine. Strong, confident, sexy and smiling like she belonged exactly where she stood.
Kyle watched, transfixed. She was tall, 6ft with shoulder length brown hair, blue eyes, a model-like face, and a curvaceous, athletic build that Kyle absolutely adored. Every time he thought of her, he caught himself in daydreams. She made it look effortless. Being admired, being needed. Being someone.
He imagined it sometimes - what it would feel like to be that. To matter. To have people look at you with awe instead of suspicion. To have power instead of apologies. And, he also fantasized about her. He wasn't blind, or dead. The thought of someone like Elasti-Woman even glancing his way - let along sharing a night with him - was ridiculous. He knew that. He wasn't delusional but that still didn't stop his chest from tightening every time she smiled. Reality snapped back when his supervisor cleared her throat sharply.
"Kyle. Table three's been waiting."
He nodded, moved, served, and apologized for things that weren't his fault.
That night, as he trudged back to his apartment, his phone buzzed. Unknown number. He almost ignored it, almost.
"Yeah?" he said into the device, keys jingling around his finger.
There was a pause. Then a familiar voice, rougher than he remembered, but unmistakable.
"Damn, man. You still answer like you're expecting trouble."
Kyle stopped fiddling with his keys, stopping dead in his tracks.
"Evan?"
"Still alive," The man replied, laughing. "Mostly. Heard you got out clean."
"Clean enough," Kyle said cautiously. "How'd you get this number?"
He didn't know Evan too well. But they did get into trouble with each other a few times.
"Mutual acquaintance. Relax. I'm not calling to drag you into anything."
Somehow, Kyle didn't believe that and snorted in response.
"That's new."
They talked, caught up as much as they could, shared stories that carefully avoided their worst years. Evan had bounced around - inside, outside, always skirting the edge. Eventually, Kyle sighed and realized - he wanted something.
"Alright," he said. "You didn't call me just to reminisce. I know that, but that's as much as I do know."
Evan hesitated, a little too long.
"There's a job," he explained. "Easy one. Museum slash pawn shop. I'm working security nights. They just got this artifact - private collection. Worth millions if you know the right people."
Kyle's stomach sank. "No," he said immediately. "Besides, what type of museum also runs a pawn shop? That doesn't make sense."
"Heard the guy's shady. Runs it for tax evasion or some shit," Evan dismissed his concerns and then continued. "Just one night. In and out. I'll give you the layout, the security codes. You're better with locks than me."
It was true. Kyle was better.
He knew how to read the tension in a tumbler, to feel the give of a pin. It was almost instinct.
"You know how I live," Evan pressed, "A few days. Just this."
"No," Kyle repeated. "I'm done. I like my freedom."
Evan pushed and joked, promised it was clean. That there would be no heat and no alarms.
"Come on. Besides, what dead end job do you have that can actually support you?" Evan's question struck a nerve. "I've seen you. You're good. You're wasting your talent."
Kyle could almost see the artifact. He could imagine it sitting in a velvet-lined box, protected by glass. For a few hours of risk, it'd be enough to move out of his apartment, maybe go somewhere new and actually start fresh. To pay for a night with someone like her - no. He shut that down immediately.
"I... I can't, Evan. I'm sorry." The silence on the other end stretched, heavy and disappointed. Kyle pictured Evan's face - jaw tight, eyes already turning inward, and recalculating.
"Alright," Evan said at last. "your call." The line then went dead.
Kyle stood there on the sidewalk for a long moment, the city humming around him like static. When he finally unlocked his apartment and stepped inside, the door shut with a soft click that felt louder than it should have.
The place smelled faintly of cheap detergent and he stared at the crumbling wallpaper stained yellow with old cigarette smoke. He learned the back of his head against the door and sighed. Freedom, Evan had said. What freedom was this?
Kyle huffed a quiet, humorless laugh and crossed the apartment. This wasn't freedom, this was a holding cell. A cage built out of rent, reputation, and the kind of mistakes that never quite stopped following you. That night passed, then another.
The next few days were uneventful in the most exhausting way possible - early mornings, bitter coffee, aching feet, incompetent bosses and coworkers. The call faded, dulled by routine. Kyle told himself that was it. That Evan had taken the no and moved on.
Nearly a week later, his phone buzzed while he was sitting alone in his apartment, half-watching a muted news segment about another villain sighting downtown. Evan again. Kyle frowned at the name, thumb hovering over the screen.
For a minute, he considered ignoring it, letting it go to voicemail and letting the past stay where it belonged. But curiosity got the better of him and he swiped it open where an image filled the display.
An exquisite silver chain dripped with the light of a thousand tiny rose-cut gems, their soft blush catching the light with every subtle movement. Suspended from this delicate chain is a magnificent centerpiece: a single, flawlessly faceted pink diamond, cut so deeply that its heart seems to pulse with a captured sunset and refused to let go. It didn't look fake, it looked important.
"This is it," Evan's message followed. "They think it's worthless. Owner's a drunk. Barely remembers it's there. You know this is your way out. This is something that can support you."
Kyle stared at the photo longer than he meant to - Until the edges blurred and the necklace dissolved into color and light, and something else took its place in his mind - a familiar figured stretched across the skyline, confident and untouchable. Elasti-Woman, smiling like the city belonged to her. Kyle locked his phone and set it face-down on the table.
Later that night, the temperature dropped, the chill creeping in through the thin walls. He went to his closet to grab a hoodie - nothing dramatic, something he did a thousand times before. He pulled one free and something heavier shifted on the shelf above.
A pair of gloves slid into view, worn, thin and familiar. He hadn't touched them in years. Kyle picked them up slowly, turning them over in his hands. The leather was cracked and softened by years of use. They fit perfectly still when he slipped them on - muscle memory kicking in before he could stop it. He should have thrown them out, years ago. He knew that. Told himself that he kept them because they were useful. Because you never knew when you might need them for something harmless. A stuck lock, a broken latch, pulling weeds... 'Just in case'. He took them off and set them back on the shelf, heart beating faster than it should have, then shut the closet door. He remembered the days of picking locks with them helping keep a steady hand.
The days rolled on - Coffee, complaints, the same tired routine. Kyle almost convinced himself the call had been a lapse - an old ghost rattling chains that didn't exist anymore. At least that was what it appeared as, Evan didn't push at first. Just checked in. Casual messages. An old joke he shared with Kyle and one other in the past. Then, every few days, another reminder slipped in. A comment about rising prices. A nudge about people he knew who'd 'made it out.' About how unfair it was that some people got powers and others got scraps. Once, late at night while Kyle laid in bed, another photo appeared - the necklace again and closer this time. The pink diamond caught the light differently, deeper, warmer. For a second, Kyle swore it looked like it was glowing.
He turned his phone face-down on his chest and went to bed, staring at the ceiling until morning. And then frustration did the rest - the café, the bills, the way his supervisor talked to him like he was disposable. The way customers smiled politely until they stepped away and the way the city celebrated its heroes and forgot everyone else existed. By the time he finally picked up his phone, his hands were steady. He typed one word.
"When?"
Two days later, Kyle and Evan found themselves standing before the building Evan had described. It was a strange place: half museum, half pawn shop. The sign above the entrance, written in faded gold lettering, read: The Reliquary & Loan.
The front windows displayed a jumble of antique weapons and dusty paintings, while just beyond them, in a more curated space, sat a collection of pristine artifacts under bright spotlights. The place felt... liminal. Not quite legitimate, not quite criminal. At night, the building seemed to loom taller than he remembered when they did the daytime walk-by Evan had insisted was 'all the recon they'd need.'
The outside itself was marble façade with reinforced glass for the antiques. It seemed too clean or well-lit for something that supposedly blended museum curation with pawnshop discretion. Private collection acquisitions always meant money, and money meant security. Kyle adjusted the thin gloves on his hands and exhaled slowly through his nose.
"Tell me again," he murmured, "Why the service entrance doesn't have a guard?"
Evan, crouched beside a side door and working far too confidently on a tablet that looked older than Kyle's phone shrugged.
"Because they cut costs. Owner's cheap."
Kyle didn't like that answer. He liked them to be specific - Names, timetables.
Still, the door opened cleanly under his picks, the lock giving way with a familiar, almost comforting click. For a moment, muscle memory carried him - same old dance, same steady hands.
The rush crept in anyway, uninvited. Inside, the air smelled like polish from one of those machines, freshly scrubbed of all the dirt, and the air was almost stuffy - like it was still. The floor plan Evan had given him flashed in Kyle's mind as they moved - but almost immediately, it didn't match.
Display cases sat where corridors were supposed to be. A security camera tracked lazily across a hall that should have been blind. Kyle, thankfully, stopped short and grabbed Evan's sleeve. "That camera wasn't on your map. I thought you said you fucking worked here before?!" he whispered sharply.
Evan, for the first time, looked nervous.
"They... must have updated. It's fine. It's on a loop. I saw the log myself." The excuse was thin. Too thin. But they were already inside. Backing out now felt like a bigger risk than pushing forward. Kyle hated that about himself - how easily sunk costs turned into forward momentum.
The deeper they went, the quieter Evan got. And Kyle led. He always did. But he knew how to read spaces - how sound carried, where footsteps echoed too long, how security sensors felt even when you couldn't see them.
He spotted slightly raised plates just before stepping on them, freezing, and then carefully stepping over. Evan didn't even notice until Kyle grabbed him again.
"Watch where you step," Kyle whispered. "Or this ends with both of us in cuffs."
Despite Kyle's skill, it was his partners that always let him down and it infuriated him.
"Relax," Evan muttered. "You're the pro, right?"
That only served to irk him more, none of this shit was supposed to be here. It was supposed to be easy.
The vault room sat lower than expected, tucked behind a reinforced exhibit wall disguised as a historical installation. This was the real test. Kyle knelt before the keypad, his fingers hovering over the numbers. Evan had given him the code. A sequence that supposedly cycled weekly.
"You're sure about this?" Kyle asked, his heart starting to thrum a heavy, anxious rhythm against his ribs.
"I'm sure," Evan said, though he wouldn't meet Kyle's gaze.
Kyle entered the code. The keypad beeped. ACCESS DENIED
Panic, cold and sharp, lanced through Kyle's chest. "You're an idiot," he seethed. "You gave me the wrong code."
"No, no, I... maybe I typed it wrong?" Evan stammered, fumbling with his tablet again.
"There's a master override. I just need to... Here, I got a new code. Let me enter it."
Evan moved closer, his fingers dancing across the panel, but again; ACCESS DENIED
This time the panel beeped, - just once - a warning. Kyle closed his eyes for half a second, unable to believe this.
"Move."
He knelt, rolling his eyes while pulling tools from his kit. The panel resisted him immediately - newer model, nested failsafes, the kind designed to punish impatience. Sweat prickled along his spine as he worked, fingers moving with slow, careful, practiced precision. Time stretched, every second felt loud and long. When the lock finally disengaged, Kyle nearly laughed in relief.
Inside, the safe stood under that cold white light.
It was already open - probably from the laziness of said owner, thinking that no one would even find the vault. And there it was, resting on a simple black velvet pad. The necklace. The chain was impossibly fine, the rose-cut gems glowing with a soft, internal warmth. The pink diamond at its center was huge. And it was beautiful, it shone like it wanted to be noticed.
Evan gasped, moving towards it.
"See? I told you."
But Kyle didn't move. He stood there, staring. This was it. The whole reason for this risky, half-assed plan. But something was wrong. The hairs on his arms were standing up. A low hum emanated from the necklace, almost imperceptible at the edges of his hearing. He took a step closer.
The closer he got, the more aware he became of it - it wasn't a sound, or a pull exactly, but a pressure - as if he was being hugged. His fingers hovered before touching it.
"Don't just stand there," Evan whispered. "Grab it!"
Kyle wrapped his hand around the chain. It was warm, like holding those hand-warming satchels in the dead of winter while snow drifted all around you. A shiver ran through him, sharp and inexplicable, and for a split second he thought he heard something - not words but a suggestion of a voice, distant and close at the same time. He wasn't sure if the necklace had some other attribute to it. But it certainly felt like it. Then all that focus drained away as soon as Evan swore loudly.
Kyle spun just in time to see Evan's foot catch on a cable that should not have been there. The alarm detonated, exploding outward with sound. Not just a single sound but layers - sirens, lights, automated voice warnings cascading through the building. Kyle's heart slammed into overdrive, the memories of being caught by police, time and time again flashing through his mind. "I told you to watch-!"
"I didn't see it!"
"Because you don't look!" He whispered pointedly.
Kyle swiped the necklace, the gems feeling warm in his palm as they began to run.
He took point again, cutting left where the shortest path should've been - but the corridor ended in a security gate slamming down inches from his face.
"Plan B!" Evan yelled.
"There was no fucking Plan B!"
Kyle's shoes skid as they doubled back, ducking through exhibits as emergency shutters began sealing rooms behind them, Kyle's lungs burned, grip tight around the pendant like it was the only solid thing left in the world. Halfway to the exit, Evan grabbed his arm.
"Give it to me," he shouted over the alarms. "I know a buyer-"
Kyle yanked free, spinning on him. "No. You don't touch it."
"What?! That wasn't the deal!"
"The deal didn't include you set off every alarm in the building!"
Evan's face hardened. "You think you can just take it?"
Kyle didn't answer. He didn't need to. They both knew the answer. If anyone could find a buyer, it was Kyle.
They started at each other for a moment too long - sirens screaming, lights flashing red - and in that moment they knew that they had to split up.
"Split up," Kyle ordered, "Now."
Evan hesitated, then cursed and bolted in the opposite direction. Outside, the streets were swarming with police but Kyle managed to slip past them and turned the corner at a dead run, nearly slamming straight into her. Elasti-Woman dropped from above and touched down lightly in front of him, boots barely making a sound against the pavement. She straightened with confidence, already between him and the street beyond. The glow of emergency lights reflected faintly off the red-and-silver of her suit.
"End of the line," She said, voice calm and practiced, unlike the police who would have been screaming at him to get down.
Kyle skidded to a halt, hands coming up automatically. His heart pounded so hard it made his vision pulse.
"You've got the wrong guy."
She tilted her head, clearly unconvinced.
"Funny. I hear that a lot."
Then she moved first. Her arm snapped forward, stretching impossibly, and Kyle barely managed to duck under it. He stumbled, boots slipping on loose gravel and the alley suddenly felt too narrow - like the walls were closing in. He bolted sideways as her leg elongated in a sweeping kick that cracked against brick where his head had been a second earlier. Kyle thought his best chance would be to get close, so he charged her. Her arm came out and he grabbed at her sleeve, trying to throw her off balance but she caught his wrist. For a moment they were tangled, both straining, both adjusting to the other's movement. Then the pendant slipped free from his jacket, it swung between them and they both instinctively - stupidly - reached for it. Kyle's fingers closed around the chain at the same moment hers did and then the world spun and bent.
Then Darkness swallowed him. When he came to, the first thing he registered was pain. A deep, echoing throb behind his eyes, like his skull had been rung like a bell. He groaned and tried to roll onto his side - and nearly overbalanced.
Something was wrong. His weight didn't sit where it should. His body felt... redistributed. His chest rose and fell more noticeably with each breath, warm pressure pulling differently against gravity.
A curtain of dark, brown hair brushed his jaw and neck, tickling skin that felt oversensitive, almost electric - a tingle of pleasure running through his spine. He blinked, vision swimming, and looked down as his breath caught.
The suit stretched over a shape that definitely had not been his moments ago. Breasts - unmistakable, solid, rising and falling with his labored breathing. Despite the tight suit, they jiggled almost unperceptively. His gloved hands looked narrower, wrists slimmer when he lifted them into view. A soft groan sounded beside him. Kyle turned his head - and froze.
His own body lay a few feet away, sprawled awkwardly against the alley wall. The ski mask tilted as his eyes fluttered open.
"What - what did you do?!"
His voice sounded scared and panic surged immediately, drowning out everything else. Sirens wailed closer and he reacted.
His arm snapped forward - and didn't stop. It stretched, the sensation bizarre and nauseating, like his bone had turned to rubber. His fist connected solidly with his own jaw and his old body crumpled. Kyle stared at his extended arm, then pulled it back. The limb snapped back into place as if it had never been three times his length. Police boots thundered closer and there was little time to process. Kyle played the part and acted as if he were Elasti-Woman. He wasn't sure how exactly he could mimic her movements or mannerisms but it seemed he played the part perfectly.
When the police finally cleared out and the street fell quiet, the silence hit him harder than the sirens had. He had pocketed the pendant and knew that his old body would only have a short stint in jail and that the police wouldn't believe that they've swapped bodies. She'd sound insane to them. His skin was alight as his suit hugged him in places his old clohes never had, stretching smoothly with the movement. A laugh slipped out of him before he could stop it - sharp, incredulous, almost hysterical.
"This is insane," he muttered, the voice startling him all over again.
When he brushed his knuckles against his neck, he felt the slide of loose hair, the faint scent of something clean and expensive. He loved it. He looked down again, the tight suit around his breasts poked out and it made him curious. His hands slid up his side before cupping the full breasts. He stood there, blushing to himself as he pinched the hard nubs between his index and thumb. Another jolt of electricity ran down his spine and he gasped slightly.
"Oh... I see," he said to himself.
This power was not only for fighting criminals. This was a power for himself. He had an idea, a risky one, but one that he had to do before he could think about a way to reverse the body swap. He had to see himself.
“I’ll fix it after this,” he told himself, though the words rang hollow even as he said them.
The thought of giving this back - of stepping out of this skin and returning to his old, invisible life - made something in his chest tighten uncomfortably. He pushed the feeling away, then something caught his eye. A motorcycle - hers. He approached it cautiously, heels clicking against the pavement. He expected no reaction but the moment he swung a leg over, the bike seemed to recognize him. Then he sat, feeling the plush skin of his ass press against the seat.
"Shit..." He muttered.
When the engine roared to life, the vibration traveled up through his legs and spine, through his crotch. The pleasure made him buckle over the handles. The GPS flared to life, a single destination already marked. Home. Kyle hesitated, hands tightening on the grips, then leaned forward and eased into the street, still feeling awkward - yet excited - in the stride of the world's most celebrated heroine.
The bike led him to the last place he expected. A luxurious mansion out in the countryside, set up-top a large hillside. At first, he was just going to park into the drive-way until the motorcycle lights lit up what looked like a normal cliff. A portion of the rock face shimmered, then slid silently away to reveal a dark opening. He guided the motorcycle inside, the rock closing behind him with a soft, decisive thud. The garage was vast. Cars, training equipment, and racks upon racks of weaponry he didn't have names for. In the center, a single white circle glowed on the floor. He dismounted, the bike's engine dying behind him as he stepped into the elevator. The doors closed, and the world dissolved into white light.
"Welcome home, Carmen." A robotic, almost AI-like voice echoed.
His eyes widened at the revelation, Carmen... Starr? His eyes darted down his body, his lips parted. It made sense after some thought. She was rich, prominent. She would have all the means to do something like this. But that also made his fist tighten, nails biting into his feminine hands.
Some people get all the luck... When they opened again, he was standing in her home. It wasn't what he expected. The entire back wall of the main room was a single pane of floor-to-ceiling glass, offering a breathtaking view of the city below, lights glittering like a fallen constellation. The rest was clean, minimalist, almost sterile - white walls, polished marble floors, furniture that looked more like art than something you'd actually sit on. It was a space for looking, not for living. It was beautiful, but it felt like a show home. He walked through it, footsteps echoing, feeling like an intruder in a museum dedicated to a person he was currently wearing. He wanted to find a mirror and he found one in the bedroom - a full-length slab of polished glass. When he had stepped out from the open living space and set foot into the bedroom, his heels sunk into the fine and soft carpet, giving him pause just for a moment. They no longer made a sound as he approached the large bed and mirror which shimmered with light next to the bathroom door. He honestly kind of liked the sound of heels against stone.
Elasti-Woman stared back at him from the mirror. Her face - his face - was flushed, a stray strand of brown hair clinging to her cheek. Those brilliant blue eyes, wide with a mixture of terror and something else he couldn't name yet, were fixed on him. He felt hot - both sweaty and aroused. He knew he had to see more. He licked his lips, tasting something slightly strawberry across those beautifully plump lips. He took a few steps in front of the mirror, watching the curves of his body. He raised both hands and pushed his chest out, he felt a little embarrassed but at the same time... he felt sexy. It felt worth it. A strange, tingling sensation began to grow in his core. It felt... different, compared to anything he's felt before. It felt warmer, hotter, and more... explosive.
He turned away from the mirror and || twirled to give a quick view of his new body from all angles, his head and body still buzzing with a strange new energy. The desire to see more - to feel more - was overwhelming. He had to take off the suit. His fingers fumbled at the hidden seam of her suit, the release catch resisting him for a moment before it gave way with a soft hiss. The material peeled away from his skin, clinging for a second before loosening its grip. The cool air of the room hit his bare shoulders, a stark, shocking contrast to the tight, warm embrace of the suit. He shivered, a reaction to the temperature and the sudden, jarring vulnerability. He slid the red and silver material down over his hips, letting it pool around them. The reflection was breathtaking. She was muscular, but not bulky. Athletic. The muscles in her arms and stomach were defined without being grotesque, her skin smooth and flawless. Her breasts were perfect. High and firm, topped with nipples that were currently hard. His skin shimmered with sweat, the scent was sweet and slightly tangy. "I'm... so sexy..." He muttered, "But... Carmen doesn't normally look like this. This body is much more full. The hair is longer than normal too."
As he looked down his body, he noticed that the suit was so tight that one could easily see a camel-toe and he snickered to himself. That was part of the reason why he felt so hot. He felt a bit more emboldened as he watched his sweaty skin in the mirror. Then he raised his arm and smelled underneath. He nearly gasped at how much it turned him on. He smelled incredible. He found himself craving more of this scent, more of this body, more of this feeling. He felt like he couldn't control himself. He didn't want to be some sort of gross pervert but... the temptation was too strong. His reflection watched as he raised a hand, the fingers slender and graceful. He hesitated, then slowly brought the hand to his breast, letting the pad of his thumb brush against the hard nipple. A soft gasp escaped his lips.
The pleasure was sharp, immediate, and so much more intense than he'd ever anticipated. He did it again, this time pinching the bud lightly, rolling it between his fingers. The jolt that shot through him was electric. He watched, transfixed, as the nipple hardened even more, a deep rose color against the pale skin of his breast. The other breast felt neglected, so he brought his other hand up to it, mirroring the motions. Soon, both breasts were being kneaded and teased, the twin points of pleasure sending waves of warmth down his body, coalescing in the pit of his stomach. He could feel a wetness growing between his legs, a slick heat that was both alien and utterly intoxicating.
He had to get out of this suit and pulled one of his legs free while balancing on the other, a black thong poked out, soaking wet and dripping with so much pussy-juice that it slid down his thighs. Kyle pulled at the elastic suit surrounding his hips,. He needed to see more. He needed to see everything that the masterpiece in the mirror had to offer. He kicked the soaked fabric away, leaving it lying on the carpetted floor like a discarded secret. Now, laid bare except for the heels, he fully examined her body and posture - how she stood up straight and tall despite large breasts, how her skin was a creamy and attractive shade, how her legs were smooth and long. Her thighs gapped but not too much, just to tease her camel-toe in her one-piece suit.
He lifted his breasts, seeing the sweat built up underneath. The cold air felt amazing against his skin, but he wanted to see some of his backside too. He turned, subconsciously further than any normal person could. The curve of his ass was amazing and he bounced up and down, laughing softly as the skin jiggled. His eyes traced down the black of the thong that slid between his butt-cheeks. He was getting too excited, and his breath hitched. Without much of a thought, his hand came up, out, and then smacked the jiggling flesh.
He made a sound half-way between a moan and a yelp, which surprised even himself. He liked the sting of the reddening skin though and that only made him more aroused.
He then slid a finger down across his stomach. It tickled in a way - but also elicited tingling sensations and a hitch of his breath as his fingers glided to the thong's fabric. The warmth emanated from it as he slowly pulled it down. His reflection was a study in contrasts: a powerful, athletic body flushed with arousal, a face that was both his and not his, contorted in a mask of pleasure and disbelief. He took a step back, then another - watching his reflection in the mirror until eventually, he landed on the bed. The silken sheets were cool and a very different contrast against the heat of his plush ass. He loved the way that it felt like he was sitting on a cushy yet firm pillow everytime he sat down, having experienced it once from the motorcycle. He spread his legs, giving himself an unobstructed view of his new sex. It was beautiful, a perfect pink flower glistening with moisture. He watched as he slowly reached down, the journey of his hand feeling like it took an eternity. He parted the delicate folds with his fingers, the sensation sending another shiver through him. He was so wet, so ready. He found the small, sensitive bud of his clit, and when he touched it, he saw stars.
Slowly, he inserted one finger, then two. He took a deep breath, his fingers pumping in and out faster and faster. As he got more comfortable he added a third, then fourth. Soon he was loose and comfortable. His left hand reached up, squeezing his full breast as his knuckles slipped past his entrance. His vision filled with hot static as he gasped, the sound from his mouth was like an Angel's gasp. He tried a different angle, lifting his long leg up, while the other slid across the sheets then pumped his hand a bit faster, squeezing against his knuckles. Then it happened; a sudden, intense pressure bloomed in his core. It was like a dam breaking, a wave of pure, unadulterated pleasure that crashed over him, pulling him under.
He cried out, a high, keening sound that was half-sob, half-shout of triumph. His body convulsed, the muscles in his legs and stomach clenching as he rode out the orgasm, his fingers still buried deep inside him.
When the waves finally subsided, he was left panting, his body slick with sweat and other, more intimate fluids. He leaned against the cool silk sheets of the bed, the smooth surface a welcome anchor in the sea of sensation. He looked at himself, at the woman in the mirror. She looked thoroughly fucked, her hair a mess, her face flushed, her legs trembling. And she looked… happy. Genuinely, deeply happy in a way he hadn't felt in years. Maybe ever.
A slow smile spread across his face. He looked down at the discarded suit, then at the reflection of the incredible woman he'd become. He picked up the thong, bringing it to his nose and inhaling deeply. The scent was intoxicating, a potent mix of his new arousal and something uniquely Carmen.
But he wasn't done, he hadn't even begun to use her powers. His arms stretched, coiling like snakes around his breasts, the pressure made his back arch.
"Mmmphf..."
Then they went further, moving down, around his sides and started to play with his pussy from behind. Then he stretched his neck, lowering his head to his perked and swollen nipple, sucking it into his mouth. He moaned against his own skin, the vibrations sending another jolt of pleasure through him. He could taste the salt of his sweat, the subtle sweetness of his skin. He was a closed loop of sensation, a self-contained universe of pleasure. He spent the next hour like this, exploring every inch of his new form with a hunger that bordered on desperation. He stretched and contorted, testing the limits of this incredible body, mapping every erogenous zone, cataloging every gasp and shiver. He discovered that if he stretched his torso just right, the tension in his core would build to an almost unbearable peak, and a single, well-placed touch would send him over the edge into another shuddering orgasm.
The finalé began when he pulled his rounded hips and firm buttocks up to his face. His pussy, quivering and dripping with copious amounts of fluid, sat in front of his own face. The scent was sweet, musky, and entirely too enticing. His tongue darted out and a full-body shudder crawled up his spine and straight to his brain. The sensation was unlike any other, even through all the orgasms. He could feel the slick folds on his tongue, the hard nub of his clit against the tip. He could taste himself, and it was divine. He ate himself out with a fervor he hadn't known he possessed, his tongue lapping and probing, his nose buried in the folds of his own sex.
He sucked in the lips of his labia, hot breath running over his hole and clit. His legs shook and tightened around his head, acting like a pillow.
He felt like he was melting, his mind going blank with pleasure. His body was a symphony of sensation, and he was the conductor, the orchestra, and the audience all at once. His cock would never have been able to compare, he thought to himself as he ate himself out. When the final, most intense orgasm of the night finally ripped through him, it was a white-hot nova of sensation that left him boneless and panting on the floor, a tangle of limbs and sweat and satisfaction. He lay there for a long time, just breathing, the cool air of the room caressing his sensitized skin. He felt... complete. Whole in a way he never had in his own skin. He'd spent his entire life feeling like an outsider, a ghost in his own life. But here, in this body, he felt like he finally belonged.
Eventually, he pushed himself up, his muscles protesting in the most delicious way. He caught his reflection in the floor-to-ceiling window, the city lights glittering behind him. The woman in the glass looked wild, untamed. Her hair was a mess, her lips were swollen, her eyes were dark with a satisfaction that was almost predatory. He smiled, a slow, lazy grin that was all Kyle and all Carmen at the same time. This is not how he had imagined this night to go, lest of all a night in Elasti-Woman's bed. He laid there and finally decided. He couldn't go back to his own body. Not only did this body feel so much better but it had everything he ever desired. And now the world would know this new Elasti-Woman.
However, when an old friend contacts him to steal a priceless artifact together, Kyle decides to turn back to his old ways.
Things quickly go wrong during the score, which results in him unexpectedly swapping bodies with the city's number 1 superheroine. He knows the right thing to do would be to figure out a way to swap them back, but that idea becomes increasingly difficult when he finds out just the kind of life and pleasure her body truly has to offer him.
Kyle learned early that luck was a finite resource, and whatever share he'd been allotted had been spent before he turned sixteen. He grew up in a neighborhood where police sirens were background noise and everyone knew which streets to avoid after dark - dangerous and belonging to someone. Trouble wasn't something you sought out there. It found you, it waited, and if you didn't learn fast enough, it took what it wanted.
Kyle hadn't learned fast enough. By the time he was seventeen, he'd been arrested twice - one for running lookout, once for possession he swore wasn't his. The judge hadn't cared. The system rarely did. He'd done his time in juvenile detention, learned how to keep his head down, how to read people, how to pick locks with nothing but patience and a bent piece of metal. Skills that weren't exactly résumé-friendly. Now, at twenty-eight, he stood behind a coffee counter that smelled perpetually burnt no matter how often he cleaned it and wearing a stained apron with a name tag that felt like a lie. 'Kyle.'
The bell above the café door chimed, and another customer stepped up, already frowning.
"Large oat milk latte. Extra hot. and make sure it's not bitter this time."
Kyle forced a smile.
"Sure thing."
Behind him, one of his coworkers leaned against the prep counter scrolling through their phone. His supervisor - who showed up late every shift and still somehow found the time to criticize - hovered nearby, arms crossed.
"Try not to mess it up," she muttered. "We've had complaints."
Kyle bit back the response that came to mind, he always did - Rent didn't care about pride.
When the café slowed down - mid-afternoon lull and the sunlight slanted through the windows - Kyle leaned against the counter and let his thoughts drift upward. Literally. A massive digital billboard across the street flickered with life, displaying the familiar image: Elasti-Woman, mid-leap, limbs extended impossibly as she saved a collapsing monorail car. The city's favorite heroine. Strong, confident, sexy and smiling like she belonged exactly where she stood.
Kyle watched, transfixed. She was tall, 6ft with shoulder length brown hair, blue eyes, a model-like face, and a curvaceous, athletic build that Kyle absolutely adored. Every time he thought of her, he caught himself in daydreams. She made it look effortless. Being admired, being needed. Being someone.
He imagined it sometimes - what it would feel like to be that. To matter. To have people look at you with awe instead of suspicion. To have power instead of apologies. And, he also fantasized about her. He wasn't blind, or dead. The thought of someone like Elasti-Woman even glancing his way - let along sharing a night with him - was ridiculous. He knew that. He wasn't delusional but that still didn't stop his chest from tightening every time she smiled. Reality snapped back when his supervisor cleared her throat sharply.
"Kyle. Table three's been waiting."
He nodded, moved, served, and apologized for things that weren't his fault.
That night, as he trudged back to his apartment, his phone buzzed. Unknown number. He almost ignored it, almost.
"Yeah?" he said into the device, keys jingling around his finger.
There was a pause. Then a familiar voice, rougher than he remembered, but unmistakable.
"Damn, man. You still answer like you're expecting trouble."
Kyle stopped fiddling with his keys, stopping dead in his tracks.
"Evan?"
"Still alive," The man replied, laughing. "Mostly. Heard you got out clean."
"Clean enough," Kyle said cautiously. "How'd you get this number?"
He didn't know Evan too well. But they did get into trouble with each other a few times.
"Mutual acquaintance. Relax. I'm not calling to drag you into anything."
Somehow, Kyle didn't believe that and snorted in response.
"That's new."
They talked, caught up as much as they could, shared stories that carefully avoided their worst years. Evan had bounced around - inside, outside, always skirting the edge. Eventually, Kyle sighed and realized - he wanted something.
"Alright," he said. "You didn't call me just to reminisce. I know that, but that's as much as I do know."
Evan hesitated, a little too long.
"There's a job," he explained. "Easy one. Museum slash pawn shop. I'm working security nights. They just got this artifact - private collection. Worth millions if you know the right people."
Kyle's stomach sank. "No," he said immediately. "Besides, what type of museum also runs a pawn shop? That doesn't make sense."
"Heard the guy's shady. Runs it for tax evasion or some shit," Evan dismissed his concerns and then continued. "Just one night. In and out. I'll give you the layout, the security codes. You're better with locks than me."
It was true. Kyle was better.
He knew how to read the tension in a tumbler, to feel the give of a pin. It was almost instinct.
"You know how I live," Evan pressed, "A few days. Just this."
"No," Kyle repeated. "I'm done. I like my freedom."
Evan pushed and joked, promised it was clean. That there would be no heat and no alarms.
"Come on. Besides, what dead end job do you have that can actually support you?" Evan's question struck a nerve. "I've seen you. You're good. You're wasting your talent."
Kyle could almost see the artifact. He could imagine it sitting in a velvet-lined box, protected by glass. For a few hours of risk, it'd be enough to move out of his apartment, maybe go somewhere new and actually start fresh. To pay for a night with someone like her - no. He shut that down immediately.
"I... I can't, Evan. I'm sorry." The silence on the other end stretched, heavy and disappointed. Kyle pictured Evan's face - jaw tight, eyes already turning inward, and recalculating.
"Alright," Evan said at last. "your call." The line then went dead.
Kyle stood there on the sidewalk for a long moment, the city humming around him like static. When he finally unlocked his apartment and stepped inside, the door shut with a soft click that felt louder than it should have.
The place smelled faintly of cheap detergent and he stared at the crumbling wallpaper stained yellow with old cigarette smoke. He learned the back of his head against the door and sighed. Freedom, Evan had said. What freedom was this?
Kyle huffed a quiet, humorless laugh and crossed the apartment. This wasn't freedom, this was a holding cell. A cage built out of rent, reputation, and the kind of mistakes that never quite stopped following you. That night passed, then another.
The next few days were uneventful in the most exhausting way possible - early mornings, bitter coffee, aching feet, incompetent bosses and coworkers. The call faded, dulled by routine. Kyle told himself that was it. That Evan had taken the no and moved on.
Nearly a week later, his phone buzzed while he was sitting alone in his apartment, half-watching a muted news segment about another villain sighting downtown. Evan again. Kyle frowned at the name, thumb hovering over the screen.
For a minute, he considered ignoring it, letting it go to voicemail and letting the past stay where it belonged. But curiosity got the better of him and he swiped it open where an image filled the display.
An exquisite silver chain dripped with the light of a thousand tiny rose-cut gems, their soft blush catching the light with every subtle movement. Suspended from this delicate chain is a magnificent centerpiece: a single, flawlessly faceted pink diamond, cut so deeply that its heart seems to pulse with a captured sunset and refused to let go. It didn't look fake, it looked important.
"This is it," Evan's message followed. "They think it's worthless. Owner's a drunk. Barely remembers it's there. You know this is your way out. This is something that can support you."
Kyle stared at the photo longer than he meant to - Until the edges blurred and the necklace dissolved into color and light, and something else took its place in his mind - a familiar figured stretched across the skyline, confident and untouchable. Elasti-Woman, smiling like the city belonged to her. Kyle locked his phone and set it face-down on the table.
Later that night, the temperature dropped, the chill creeping in through the thin walls. He went to his closet to grab a hoodie - nothing dramatic, something he did a thousand times before. He pulled one free and something heavier shifted on the shelf above.
A pair of gloves slid into view, worn, thin and familiar. He hadn't touched them in years. Kyle picked them up slowly, turning them over in his hands. The leather was cracked and softened by years of use. They fit perfectly still when he slipped them on - muscle memory kicking in before he could stop it. He should have thrown them out, years ago. He knew that. Told himself that he kept them because they were useful. Because you never knew when you might need them for something harmless. A stuck lock, a broken latch, pulling weeds... 'Just in case'. He took them off and set them back on the shelf, heart beating faster than it should have, then shut the closet door. He remembered the days of picking locks with them helping keep a steady hand.
The days rolled on - Coffee, complaints, the same tired routine. Kyle almost convinced himself the call had been a lapse - an old ghost rattling chains that didn't exist anymore. At least that was what it appeared as, Evan didn't push at first. Just checked in. Casual messages. An old joke he shared with Kyle and one other in the past. Then, every few days, another reminder slipped in. A comment about rising prices. A nudge about people he knew who'd 'made it out.' About how unfair it was that some people got powers and others got scraps. Once, late at night while Kyle laid in bed, another photo appeared - the necklace again and closer this time. The pink diamond caught the light differently, deeper, warmer. For a second, Kyle swore it looked like it was glowing.
He turned his phone face-down on his chest and went to bed, staring at the ceiling until morning. And then frustration did the rest - the café, the bills, the way his supervisor talked to him like he was disposable. The way customers smiled politely until they stepped away and the way the city celebrated its heroes and forgot everyone else existed. By the time he finally picked up his phone, his hands were steady. He typed one word.
"When?"
Two days later, Kyle and Evan found themselves standing before the building Evan had described. It was a strange place: half museum, half pawn shop. The sign above the entrance, written in faded gold lettering, read: The Reliquary & Loan.
The front windows displayed a jumble of antique weapons and dusty paintings, while just beyond them, in a more curated space, sat a collection of pristine artifacts under bright spotlights. The place felt... liminal. Not quite legitimate, not quite criminal. At night, the building seemed to loom taller than he remembered when they did the daytime walk-by Evan had insisted was 'all the recon they'd need.'
The outside itself was marble façade with reinforced glass for the antiques. It seemed too clean or well-lit for something that supposedly blended museum curation with pawnshop discretion. Private collection acquisitions always meant money, and money meant security. Kyle adjusted the thin gloves on his hands and exhaled slowly through his nose.
"Tell me again," he murmured, "Why the service entrance doesn't have a guard?"
Evan, crouched beside a side door and working far too confidently on a tablet that looked older than Kyle's phone shrugged.
"Because they cut costs. Owner's cheap."
Kyle didn't like that answer. He liked them to be specific - Names, timetables.
Still, the door opened cleanly under his picks, the lock giving way with a familiar, almost comforting click. For a moment, muscle memory carried him - same old dance, same steady hands.
The rush crept in anyway, uninvited. Inside, the air smelled like polish from one of those machines, freshly scrubbed of all the dirt, and the air was almost stuffy - like it was still. The floor plan Evan had given him flashed in Kyle's mind as they moved - but almost immediately, it didn't match.
Display cases sat where corridors were supposed to be. A security camera tracked lazily across a hall that should have been blind. Kyle, thankfully, stopped short and grabbed Evan's sleeve. "That camera wasn't on your map. I thought you said you fucking worked here before?!" he whispered sharply.
Evan, for the first time, looked nervous.
"They... must have updated. It's fine. It's on a loop. I saw the log myself." The excuse was thin. Too thin. But they were already inside. Backing out now felt like a bigger risk than pushing forward. Kyle hated that about himself - how easily sunk costs turned into forward momentum.
The deeper they went, the quieter Evan got. And Kyle led. He always did. But he knew how to read spaces - how sound carried, where footsteps echoed too long, how security sensors felt even when you couldn't see them.
He spotted slightly raised plates just before stepping on them, freezing, and then carefully stepping over. Evan didn't even notice until Kyle grabbed him again.
"Watch where you step," Kyle whispered. "Or this ends with both of us in cuffs."
Despite Kyle's skill, it was his partners that always let him down and it infuriated him.
"Relax," Evan muttered. "You're the pro, right?"
That only served to irk him more, none of this shit was supposed to be here. It was supposed to be easy.
The vault room sat lower than expected, tucked behind a reinforced exhibit wall disguised as a historical installation. This was the real test. Kyle knelt before the keypad, his fingers hovering over the numbers. Evan had given him the code. A sequence that supposedly cycled weekly.
"You're sure about this?" Kyle asked, his heart starting to thrum a heavy, anxious rhythm against his ribs.
"I'm sure," Evan said, though he wouldn't meet Kyle's gaze.
Kyle entered the code. The keypad beeped. ACCESS DENIED
Panic, cold and sharp, lanced through Kyle's chest. "You're an idiot," he seethed. "You gave me the wrong code."
"No, no, I... maybe I typed it wrong?" Evan stammered, fumbling with his tablet again.
"There's a master override. I just need to... Here, I got a new code. Let me enter it."
Evan moved closer, his fingers dancing across the panel, but again; ACCESS DENIED
This time the panel beeped, - just once - a warning. Kyle closed his eyes for half a second, unable to believe this.
"Move."
He knelt, rolling his eyes while pulling tools from his kit. The panel resisted him immediately - newer model, nested failsafes, the kind designed to punish impatience. Sweat prickled along his spine as he worked, fingers moving with slow, careful, practiced precision. Time stretched, every second felt loud and long. When the lock finally disengaged, Kyle nearly laughed in relief.
Inside, the safe stood under that cold white light.
It was already open - probably from the laziness of said owner, thinking that no one would even find the vault. And there it was, resting on a simple black velvet pad. The necklace. The chain was impossibly fine, the rose-cut gems glowing with a soft, internal warmth. The pink diamond at its center was huge. And it was beautiful, it shone like it wanted to be noticed.
Evan gasped, moving towards it.
"See? I told you."
But Kyle didn't move. He stood there, staring. This was it. The whole reason for this risky, half-assed plan. But something was wrong. The hairs on his arms were standing up. A low hum emanated from the necklace, almost imperceptible at the edges of his hearing. He took a step closer.
The closer he got, the more aware he became of it - it wasn't a sound, or a pull exactly, but a pressure - as if he was being hugged. His fingers hovered before touching it.
"Don't just stand there," Evan whispered. "Grab it!"
Kyle wrapped his hand around the chain. It was warm, like holding those hand-warming satchels in the dead of winter while snow drifted all around you. A shiver ran through him, sharp and inexplicable, and for a split second he thought he heard something - not words but a suggestion of a voice, distant and close at the same time. He wasn't sure if the necklace had some other attribute to it. But it certainly felt like it. Then all that focus drained away as soon as Evan swore loudly.
Kyle spun just in time to see Evan's foot catch on a cable that should not have been there. The alarm detonated, exploding outward with sound. Not just a single sound but layers - sirens, lights, automated voice warnings cascading through the building. Kyle's heart slammed into overdrive, the memories of being caught by police, time and time again flashing through his mind. "I told you to watch-!"
"I didn't see it!"
"Because you don't look!" He whispered pointedly.
Kyle swiped the necklace, the gems feeling warm in his palm as they began to run.
He took point again, cutting left where the shortest path should've been - but the corridor ended in a security gate slamming down inches from his face.
"Plan B!" Evan yelled.
"There was no fucking Plan B!"
Kyle's shoes skid as they doubled back, ducking through exhibits as emergency shutters began sealing rooms behind them, Kyle's lungs burned, grip tight around the pendant like it was the only solid thing left in the world. Halfway to the exit, Evan grabbed his arm.
"Give it to me," he shouted over the alarms. "I know a buyer-"
Kyle yanked free, spinning on him. "No. You don't touch it."
"What?! That wasn't the deal!"
"The deal didn't include you set off every alarm in the building!"
Evan's face hardened. "You think you can just take it?"
Kyle didn't answer. He didn't need to. They both knew the answer. If anyone could find a buyer, it was Kyle.
They started at each other for a moment too long - sirens screaming, lights flashing red - and in that moment they knew that they had to split up.
"Split up," Kyle ordered, "Now."
Evan hesitated, then cursed and bolted in the opposite direction. Outside, the streets were swarming with police but Kyle managed to slip past them and turned the corner at a dead run, nearly slamming straight into her. Elasti-Woman dropped from above and touched down lightly in front of him, boots barely making a sound against the pavement. She straightened with confidence, already between him and the street beyond. The glow of emergency lights reflected faintly off the red-and-silver of her suit.
"End of the line," She said, voice calm and practiced, unlike the police who would have been screaming at him to get down.
Kyle skidded to a halt, hands coming up automatically. His heart pounded so hard it made his vision pulse.
"You've got the wrong guy."
She tilted her head, clearly unconvinced.
"Funny. I hear that a lot."
Then she moved first. Her arm snapped forward, stretching impossibly, and Kyle barely managed to duck under it. He stumbled, boots slipping on loose gravel and the alley suddenly felt too narrow - like the walls were closing in. He bolted sideways as her leg elongated in a sweeping kick that cracked against brick where his head had been a second earlier. Kyle thought his best chance would be to get close, so he charged her. Her arm came out and he grabbed at her sleeve, trying to throw her off balance but she caught his wrist. For a moment they were tangled, both straining, both adjusting to the other's movement. Then the pendant slipped free from his jacket, it swung between them and they both instinctively - stupidly - reached for it. Kyle's fingers closed around the chain at the same moment hers did and then the world spun and bent.
Then Darkness swallowed him. When he came to, the first thing he registered was pain. A deep, echoing throb behind his eyes, like his skull had been rung like a bell. He groaned and tried to roll onto his side - and nearly overbalanced.
Something was wrong. His weight didn't sit where it should. His body felt... redistributed. His chest rose and fell more noticeably with each breath, warm pressure pulling differently against gravity.
A curtain of dark, brown hair brushed his jaw and neck, tickling skin that felt oversensitive, almost electric - a tingle of pleasure running through his spine. He blinked, vision swimming, and looked down as his breath caught.
The suit stretched over a shape that definitely had not been his moments ago. Breasts - unmistakable, solid, rising and falling with his labored breathing. Despite the tight suit, they jiggled almost unperceptively. His gloved hands looked narrower, wrists slimmer when he lifted them into view. A soft groan sounded beside him. Kyle turned his head - and froze.
His own body lay a few feet away, sprawled awkwardly against the alley wall. The ski mask tilted as his eyes fluttered open.
"What - what did you do?!"
His voice sounded scared and panic surged immediately, drowning out everything else. Sirens wailed closer and he reacted.
His arm snapped forward - and didn't stop. It stretched, the sensation bizarre and nauseating, like his bone had turned to rubber. His fist connected solidly with his own jaw and his old body crumpled. Kyle stared at his extended arm, then pulled it back. The limb snapped back into place as if it had never been three times his length. Police boots thundered closer and there was little time to process. Kyle played the part and acted as if he were Elasti-Woman. He wasn't sure how exactly he could mimic her movements or mannerisms but it seemed he played the part perfectly.
When the police finally cleared out and the street fell quiet, the silence hit him harder than the sirens had. He had pocketed the pendant and knew that his old body would only have a short stint in jail and that the police wouldn't believe that they've swapped bodies. She'd sound insane to them. His skin was alight as his suit hugged him in places his old clohes never had, stretching smoothly with the movement. A laugh slipped out of him before he could stop it - sharp, incredulous, almost hysterical.
"This is insane," he muttered, the voice startling him all over again.
When he brushed his knuckles against his neck, he felt the slide of loose hair, the faint scent of something clean and expensive. He loved it. He looked down again, the tight suit around his breasts poked out and it made him curious. His hands slid up his side before cupping the full breasts. He stood there, blushing to himself as he pinched the hard nubs between his index and thumb. Another jolt of electricity ran down his spine and he gasped slightly.
"Oh... I see," he said to himself.
This power was not only for fighting criminals. This was a power for himself. He had an idea, a risky one, but one that he had to do before he could think about a way to reverse the body swap. He had to see himself.
“I’ll fix it after this,” he told himself, though the words rang hollow even as he said them.
The thought of giving this back - of stepping out of this skin and returning to his old, invisible life - made something in his chest tighten uncomfortably. He pushed the feeling away, then something caught his eye. A motorcycle - hers. He approached it cautiously, heels clicking against the pavement. He expected no reaction but the moment he swung a leg over, the bike seemed to recognize him. Then he sat, feeling the plush skin of his ass press against the seat.
"Shit..." He muttered.
When the engine roared to life, the vibration traveled up through his legs and spine, through his crotch. The pleasure made him buckle over the handles. The GPS flared to life, a single destination already marked. Home. Kyle hesitated, hands tightening on the grips, then leaned forward and eased into the street, still feeling awkward - yet excited - in the stride of the world's most celebrated heroine.
The bike led him to the last place he expected. A luxurious mansion out in the countryside, set up-top a large hillside. At first, he was just going to park into the drive-way until the motorcycle lights lit up what looked like a normal cliff. A portion of the rock face shimmered, then slid silently away to reveal a dark opening. He guided the motorcycle inside, the rock closing behind him with a soft, decisive thud. The garage was vast. Cars, training equipment, and racks upon racks of weaponry he didn't have names for. In the center, a single white circle glowed on the floor. He dismounted, the bike's engine dying behind him as he stepped into the elevator. The doors closed, and the world dissolved into white light.
"Welcome home, Carmen." A robotic, almost AI-like voice echoed.
His eyes widened at the revelation, Carmen... Starr? His eyes darted down his body, his lips parted. It made sense after some thought. She was rich, prominent. She would have all the means to do something like this. But that also made his fist tighten, nails biting into his feminine hands.
Some people get all the luck... When they opened again, he was standing in her home. It wasn't what he expected. The entire back wall of the main room was a single pane of floor-to-ceiling glass, offering a breathtaking view of the city below, lights glittering like a fallen constellation. The rest was clean, minimalist, almost sterile - white walls, polished marble floors, furniture that looked more like art than something you'd actually sit on. It was a space for looking, not for living. It was beautiful, but it felt like a show home. He walked through it, footsteps echoing, feeling like an intruder in a museum dedicated to a person he was currently wearing. He wanted to find a mirror and he found one in the bedroom - a full-length slab of polished glass. When he had stepped out from the open living space and set foot into the bedroom, his heels sunk into the fine and soft carpet, giving him pause just for a moment. They no longer made a sound as he approached the large bed and mirror which shimmered with light next to the bathroom door. He honestly kind of liked the sound of heels against stone.
Elasti-Woman stared back at him from the mirror. Her face - his face - was flushed, a stray strand of brown hair clinging to her cheek. Those brilliant blue eyes, wide with a mixture of terror and something else he couldn't name yet, were fixed on him. He felt hot - both sweaty and aroused. He knew he had to see more. He licked his lips, tasting something slightly strawberry across those beautifully plump lips. He took a few steps in front of the mirror, watching the curves of his body. He raised both hands and pushed his chest out, he felt a little embarrassed but at the same time... he felt sexy. It felt worth it. A strange, tingling sensation began to grow in his core. It felt... different, compared to anything he's felt before. It felt warmer, hotter, and more... explosive.
He turned away from the mirror and || twirled to give a quick view of his new body from all angles, his head and body still buzzing with a strange new energy. The desire to see more - to feel more - was overwhelming. He had to take off the suit. His fingers fumbled at the hidden seam of her suit, the release catch resisting him for a moment before it gave way with a soft hiss. The material peeled away from his skin, clinging for a second before loosening its grip. The cool air of the room hit his bare shoulders, a stark, shocking contrast to the tight, warm embrace of the suit. He shivered, a reaction to the temperature and the sudden, jarring vulnerability. He slid the red and silver material down over his hips, letting it pool around them. The reflection was breathtaking. She was muscular, but not bulky. Athletic. The muscles in her arms and stomach were defined without being grotesque, her skin smooth and flawless. Her breasts were perfect. High and firm, topped with nipples that were currently hard. His skin shimmered with sweat, the scent was sweet and slightly tangy. "I'm... so sexy..." He muttered, "But... Carmen doesn't normally look like this. This body is much more full. The hair is longer than normal too."
As he looked down his body, he noticed that the suit was so tight that one could easily see a camel-toe and he snickered to himself. That was part of the reason why he felt so hot. He felt a bit more emboldened as he watched his sweaty skin in the mirror. Then he raised his arm and smelled underneath. He nearly gasped at how much it turned him on. He smelled incredible. He found himself craving more of this scent, more of this body, more of this feeling. He felt like he couldn't control himself. He didn't want to be some sort of gross pervert but... the temptation was too strong. His reflection watched as he raised a hand, the fingers slender and graceful. He hesitated, then slowly brought the hand to his breast, letting the pad of his thumb brush against the hard nipple. A soft gasp escaped his lips.
The pleasure was sharp, immediate, and so much more intense than he'd ever anticipated. He did it again, this time pinching the bud lightly, rolling it between his fingers. The jolt that shot through him was electric. He watched, transfixed, as the nipple hardened even more, a deep rose color against the pale skin of his breast. The other breast felt neglected, so he brought his other hand up to it, mirroring the motions. Soon, both breasts were being kneaded and teased, the twin points of pleasure sending waves of warmth down his body, coalescing in the pit of his stomach. He could feel a wetness growing between his legs, a slick heat that was both alien and utterly intoxicating.
He had to get out of this suit and pulled one of his legs free while balancing on the other, a black thong poked out, soaking wet and dripping with so much pussy-juice that it slid down his thighs. Kyle pulled at the elastic suit surrounding his hips,. He needed to see more. He needed to see everything that the masterpiece in the mirror had to offer. He kicked the soaked fabric away, leaving it lying on the carpetted floor like a discarded secret. Now, laid bare except for the heels, he fully examined her body and posture - how she stood up straight and tall despite large breasts, how her skin was a creamy and attractive shade, how her legs were smooth and long. Her thighs gapped but not too much, just to tease her camel-toe in her one-piece suit.
He lifted his breasts, seeing the sweat built up underneath. The cold air felt amazing against his skin, but he wanted to see some of his backside too. He turned, subconsciously further than any normal person could. The curve of his ass was amazing and he bounced up and down, laughing softly as the skin jiggled. His eyes traced down the black of the thong that slid between his butt-cheeks. He was getting too excited, and his breath hitched. Without much of a thought, his hand came up, out, and then smacked the jiggling flesh.
He made a sound half-way between a moan and a yelp, which surprised even himself. He liked the sting of the reddening skin though and that only made him more aroused.
He then slid a finger down across his stomach. It tickled in a way - but also elicited tingling sensations and a hitch of his breath as his fingers glided to the thong's fabric. The warmth emanated from it as he slowly pulled it down. His reflection was a study in contrasts: a powerful, athletic body flushed with arousal, a face that was both his and not his, contorted in a mask of pleasure and disbelief. He took a step back, then another - watching his reflection in the mirror until eventually, he landed on the bed. The silken sheets were cool and a very different contrast against the heat of his plush ass. He loved the way that it felt like he was sitting on a cushy yet firm pillow everytime he sat down, having experienced it once from the motorcycle. He spread his legs, giving himself an unobstructed view of his new sex. It was beautiful, a perfect pink flower glistening with moisture. He watched as he slowly reached down, the journey of his hand feeling like it took an eternity. He parted the delicate folds with his fingers, the sensation sending another shiver through him. He was so wet, so ready. He found the small, sensitive bud of his clit, and when he touched it, he saw stars.
Slowly, he inserted one finger, then two. He took a deep breath, his fingers pumping in and out faster and faster. As he got more comfortable he added a third, then fourth. Soon he was loose and comfortable. His left hand reached up, squeezing his full breast as his knuckles slipped past his entrance. His vision filled with hot static as he gasped, the sound from his mouth was like an Angel's gasp. He tried a different angle, lifting his long leg up, while the other slid across the sheets then pumped his hand a bit faster, squeezing against his knuckles. Then it happened; a sudden, intense pressure bloomed in his core. It was like a dam breaking, a wave of pure, unadulterated pleasure that crashed over him, pulling him under.
He cried out, a high, keening sound that was half-sob, half-shout of triumph. His body convulsed, the muscles in his legs and stomach clenching as he rode out the orgasm, his fingers still buried deep inside him.
When the waves finally subsided, he was left panting, his body slick with sweat and other, more intimate fluids. He leaned against the cool silk sheets of the bed, the smooth surface a welcome anchor in the sea of sensation. He looked at himself, at the woman in the mirror. She looked thoroughly fucked, her hair a mess, her face flushed, her legs trembling. And she looked… happy. Genuinely, deeply happy in a way he hadn't felt in years. Maybe ever.
A slow smile spread across his face. He looked down at the discarded suit, then at the reflection of the incredible woman he'd become. He picked up the thong, bringing it to his nose and inhaling deeply. The scent was intoxicating, a potent mix of his new arousal and something uniquely Carmen.
But he wasn't done, he hadn't even begun to use her powers. His arms stretched, coiling like snakes around his breasts, the pressure made his back arch.
"Mmmphf..."
Then they went further, moving down, around his sides and started to play with his pussy from behind. Then he stretched his neck, lowering his head to his perked and swollen nipple, sucking it into his mouth. He moaned against his own skin, the vibrations sending another jolt of pleasure through him. He could taste the salt of his sweat, the subtle sweetness of his skin. He was a closed loop of sensation, a self-contained universe of pleasure. He spent the next hour like this, exploring every inch of his new form with a hunger that bordered on desperation. He stretched and contorted, testing the limits of this incredible body, mapping every erogenous zone, cataloging every gasp and shiver. He discovered that if he stretched his torso just right, the tension in his core would build to an almost unbearable peak, and a single, well-placed touch would send him over the edge into another shuddering orgasm.
The finalé began when he pulled his rounded hips and firm buttocks up to his face. His pussy, quivering and dripping with copious amounts of fluid, sat in front of his own face. The scent was sweet, musky, and entirely too enticing. His tongue darted out and a full-body shudder crawled up his spine and straight to his brain. The sensation was unlike any other, even through all the orgasms. He could feel the slick folds on his tongue, the hard nub of his clit against the tip. He could taste himself, and it was divine. He ate himself out with a fervor he hadn't known he possessed, his tongue lapping and probing, his nose buried in the folds of his own sex.
He sucked in the lips of his labia, hot breath running over his hole and clit. His legs shook and tightened around his head, acting like a pillow.
He felt like he was melting, his mind going blank with pleasure. His body was a symphony of sensation, and he was the conductor, the orchestra, and the audience all at once. His cock would never have been able to compare, he thought to himself as he ate himself out. When the final, most intense orgasm of the night finally ripped through him, it was a white-hot nova of sensation that left him boneless and panting on the floor, a tangle of limbs and sweat and satisfaction. He lay there for a long time, just breathing, the cool air of the room caressing his sensitized skin. He felt... complete. Whole in a way he never had in his own skin. He'd spent his entire life feeling like an outsider, a ghost in his own life. But here, in this body, he felt like he finally belonged.
Eventually, he pushed himself up, his muscles protesting in the most delicious way. He caught his reflection in the floor-to-ceiling window, the city lights glittering behind him. The woman in the glass looked wild, untamed. Her hair was a mess, her lips were swollen, her eyes were dark with a satisfaction that was almost predatory. He smiled, a slow, lazy grin that was all Kyle and all Carmen at the same time. This is not how he had imagined this night to go, lest of all a night in Elasti-Woman's bed. He laid there and finally decided. He couldn't go back to his own body. Not only did this body feel so much better but it had everything he ever desired. And now the world would know this new Elasti-Woman.
mtf
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A reckless young woman lets an upload share her senses for fun—then her body—then her life—until she realizes too late that she's given away everything she never knew she had.
WARNING: This is a very dark, horror story.
In a near-future where neural implants allow consciousness-sharing and mind uploading is commonplace but legally fraught, Paula discovers sense-sharing forums where uploads can temporarily experience physical sensation through willing hosts. What begins as a thrill-seeking adventure becomes an escalating power exchange that ends with Paula trapped in VR, watching a stranger live her life from the inside.
My implant itched.
It didn't actually itch—Dr. Marchetti had explained the phantom sensations when I got it installed, something about the brain mapping unfamiliar hardware onto familiar feelings—but I scratched the back of my neck anyway.
"You're doing it again," said Kira, not looking up from her tablet.
"Because it itches."
"It doesn't itch. You're nervous."
"I'm not nervous. Why would I be nervous?"
"You're about to let a stranger ride your body like a rented car."
I threw a pillow at her. She caught it without looking—Kira's reflexes were augmented, which she claimed was for her security job but which I suspected was mostly for winning arguments. "It's not like that. He feels what I feel. That's it. People do it all the time."
"Weird people."
"Fun people. His name's Rex, since you're dying to know."
"That's not a name, that's a furry handle."
"It's what he goes by. He's an upload. They pick new names."
Kira's face did something complicated. We'd both grown up in the same neighborhood, and we both knew people who'd uploaded. The money was good, especially if you were young and healthy—the corps paid premium for clean neural maps—and once you were digital, you didn't need to eat, didn't need rent, didn't need anything. That was the pitch, anyway. The reality was that uploads lived in cut-rate server space and worked shit jobs for corps that had god-like control over your environment. But they got paid upfront, and for a lot of people that was enough.
"I still don't get why you want to do this," Kira said.
"Because it's fucking interesting? Because I have this implant and it can do things and I want to know what they feel like?"
"You could also just not."
"I could also die never having done anything worth talking about. Pass."
Kira shook her head, but she was smiling. She knew me. I'd gotten the implant in the first place because my friends were getting them, and then kept it because of what it could do. Record experiences. Share them. Connect to systems that would've seemed like magic twenty years ago. And now I'd found this forum, and this new thing it could do, and of course I was going to try it. And not going to lie, the idea of someone else inside me was kinda hot.
I'd found the sense-sharing forum three months ago, late one night, clicking through link after link of weird little corners of the net. The idea was simple: uploads missed having bodies, and some people with implants were willing to let them feel things again. You linked up, and for a while, the upload experienced everything you experienced. Touch, taste, temperature. Heartbeat. Breathing. The whole mess of being physical.
The forum had rules and ratings and safety protocols. Rex had a fine reputation—articulate, respectful, no complaints that were worth paying attention to. We'd been chatting for weeks. He was funny and a little sad and he made me want to push myself in daring new directions.
Tonight was our first real session.
"What are you going to do while he's in there?" Kira asked.
"Get ready for Marco's party. Do my makeup, pick an outfit. Normal stuff."
"So he's going to watch you get dressed."
"He's going to feel me get dressed. Even better."
"And you don't think that's—"
"Hot? Yeah, I do, actually."
Kira laughed, finally, and threw the pillow back at me. "You're a freak."
"You love it."
"I tolerate it. Text me when you get to Marco's so I know you didn't get your brain hijacked by some pervert in a server farm."
"He's not a pervert. He's a person who happens to not have a body anymore. I'm doing a nice thing."
I batted my eyes at her, smirking.
"Uh huh."
"A nice, interesting, slightly perverted thing. Get out of my apartment, I have to go let a stranger feel my tits."
She left laughing, and I locked the door behind her, and then I was alone with my implant and the blinking notification that said Rex was online and ready when I was.
I looked at myself in the hall mirror. Twenty-three. Short—five foot three on a good day, in thick socks. Brown hair I'd been growing out, finally long enough to do something with. Face that was fine, nothing special, but I'd learned how to make it work. Body I'd stopped being embarrassed about somewhere around twenty. Small, compact, feminine in ways I'd never had to think about because it was just how I was built.
Rex was going to feel all of it. Every bit.
I smiled at my reflection, and went to start the link.
---
The linking process was simple. I'd done the tutorial three times just to be sure, but it turned out there wasn't much to it. Open the app, confirm the session, accept the connection.
A little notification: Rex has joined.
And then—
It's hard to describe what it feels like when someone else arrives in your body. There's no physical sensation, no pressure or temperature change. But suddenly I was aware of him, a presence at the edge of my thoughts, attentive and quiet.
Hey, I thought at him.
Hey yourself. His mental voice was warm, a little rough. Thanks for doing this.
Thank me after. You might hate it.
I'm not going to hate it.
I was still standing in front of the hall mirror. I watched my reflection and felt him watching too, felt his attention on my face like a second gaze layered over my own.
So this is you, he said.
This is me.
You're pretty.
I know.
He laughed—not out loud, just a ripple of amusement through the link. Modest, too.
Modest is boring. Come on, I have to get ready.
I walked to the bathroom, suddenly conscious of every step in a way I usually wasn't. The pad of my feet on the hardwood. The slight sway of my hips. The way my thighs brushed together. I didn't usually think about how I walked, but now I was performing it, making it something worth feeling.
Jesus, Rex said. That's—I forgot what floors feel like.
Floors?
Solid. Real. In VR everything's a little soft. A little fake. But this— I felt him paying attention to the sensation of my foot pressing down, the texture of the wood grain. This is real.
Wait until you feel the cold tile.
I stepped into the bathroom and flicked on the lights. The tile was cold, sharp and bright against my soles, and Rex made a sound in my head that was almost a gasp.
Told you.
Do it again.
It doesn't work like that. You can't re-feel something for the first time. I walked further in, letting him experience the contrast—warm wood, cold tile, the little rug in front of the sink. But there's plenty more where that came from.
I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror. Harsh lighting, no makeup yet, hair a mess. Most people would've started with a more flattering view. I didn't care.
This is the raw material, I told him. Watch what I do with it.
I'm watching.
I started with my hair. Ran my fingers through it, working out the tangles, and I felt Rex feeling the tug at my scalp, the little prickles of sensation. I took my time. Let him experience the weight of my hair, the way it slid through my fingers.
You have no idea, he said, how much I missed hair.
You don't have hair in VR?
I have the appearance of hair. I can see it, style it, whatever. But there's no sensation. It doesn't pull. It doesn't have weight. A pause. This is going to sound stupid, but I used to dream about brushing my hair. Real dreams, not VR-generated ones. I'd wake up and my scalp would tingle like I'd actually done it, and then I'd remember I don't have a scalp anymore.
I didn't know what to say to that, so I didn't say anything. I just kept brushing, slow and deliberate, giving him the sensation he'd dreamed about.
After a while I set down the brush and picked up my makeup bag. Foundation first. I dabbed it on, blended it out, watching my reflection become smoother, more even.
I've never seen this from the inside, Rex said. The process.
Most guys haven't.
I'm not most guys.
I glanced at my reflection—at our reflection. No, I guess you're not.
Concealer next, under my eyes and at the corners of my nose. Then powder. I worked efficiently but tried to stay present for him. To notice the soft brush against my cheek, the faint chemical smell of the products.
This part I could do without, Rex said. The smell.
You get used to it.
I don't want to get used to it. I want to experience it.
I paused, brush hovering near my face. There's a difference?
Getting used to something means you stop noticing it. Experiencing something means you notice everything, even the parts that aren't pleasant. His attention shifted, and I felt him focusing on my eyes in the mirror. I've had years to think about what I miss. And it's not just the good stuff. It's the cold tile and the chemical smell and the whole texture of being real.
I went back to my makeup. Eyes now—primer, shadow, liner. This part took focus, and I felt Rex go quiet, just watching. Feeling the tiny brush strokes on my eyelids. The slight tug of the liner pencil.
When I was done with both eyes, I leaned back to check my work.
Well? I asked.
You're better at this than I would be.
Practice. I picked up the mascara, leaned in close to the mirror. Hold still. This part's tricky.
I'm literally incapable of moving.
Funny.
I did my lashes slowly, one eye at a time. The mascara wand was an old friend, but I'd never noticed before how strange the sensation was—the comb of bristles through lashes, the faint resistance, the slight tackiness as the product went on. I noticed now. Rex was noticing, and his attention made me notice too.
There, I said, capping the mascara. Eyes done.
You look different. Still you, but more.
That's the point. I turned my head side to side, checking the symmetry. Lips next, and then I have to figure out what to wear.
I did my lips—liner, then color, then gloss. Rex was fascinated by the texture of it, the slide of the gloss, the way my lips stuck together slightly when I pressed them.
Your mouth tastes like strawberries, he said.
It's the gloss. Don't get too attached.
You said getting used to things is bad.
For you. I have to live with this mouth full-time.
Wouldn't that be nice.
I blotted with a tissue and gave myself one last look. The face in the mirror was still mine, but it was the performance version—the one I showed to the world when I wanted the world to look back.
Okay, I said. Wardrobe time.
I went to my bedroom. Rex's presence had settled into something almost comfortable, a passenger who wasn't quite invisible but wasn't intrusive either. I could forget he was there if I wanted to. I didn't want to.
My closet wasn't huge, but I had options. I stood in front of it, still in the oversized t-shirt I'd been wearing around the apartment, and considered.
What's the occasion? Rex asked.
Party. Friend of a friend. I don't know half the people who'll be there, which means I have to look good enough that they'll want to know me.
Armor.
Exactly.
I pulled out a few options and laid them on the bed. A black dress, tight but not slutty. A red top I'd been meaning to wear more. Jeans that made my ass look good. A skirt I'd impulse-bought and never worn.
What do you think? I asked, and then laughed at myself. Sorry. You can't actually see them separately, can you?
I see what you see. So if you look at them...
I looked. Picked up the black dress, held it against myself in front of the mirror.
That's good, Rex said. Classic.
Classic is another word for boring. I tossed it aside, picked up the red top. This is more fun.
What makes it fun?
It's bright. It's tight. It says "look at me" without having to say anything. I held it up, turned slightly. Plus it makes my tits look amazing.
Does it?
I felt the shift in his attention, the way the word had landed. We'd been dancing around the obvious ever since he'd linked in. I was getting ready to go out, which meant I was about to get undressed, and he was feeling every inch of my body from the inside. Neither of us had acknowledged it directly.
Let's find out, I said, and pulled off my t-shirt.
He inhaled—not a real sound, just a mental gasp, a flare of sudden attention. I was in my bra now, a plain black thing that wasn't special, but it didn't need to be special. What was underneath was special enough.
Fuck, Rex said.
I looked at myself in the mirror. Let him look. The swell of my breasts over the cups, the softness of my stomach, the flare of my hips above my underwear. This was my body. I knew it was good. I knew he thought so too.
You okay in there?
Yeah. I'm—yeah.
I reached back and unhooked my bra.
I did it slowly, not because I needed to, but because I wanted him to feel it. The release of pressure as the band loosened. The straps sliding down my arms. The cool air hitting skin that had been covered.
I let the bra drop.
Paula—
What?
I turned to face the mirror straight on. My breasts weren't huge, but they were nice—full enough to have weight, small enough to not need much support. My nipples were already hardening in the cool air. Or from something else, maybe.
You're doing this on purpose, Rex said.
Doing what?
You know what.
I cupped my breasts, one in each hand. Lifted them slightly, like I was checking the fit of an invisible bra. I felt the weight in my palms, the soft skin, the way my nipples pressed against my fingers.
And I felt Rex feeling it too. His attention was so focused it was almost a physical pressure, a second pair of hands ghosting over mine.
This? I said. I'm just getting dressed.
You're teasing me.
Maybe. I squeezed gently, ran my thumbs across my nipples, felt the little shock of sensation. Is it working?
You know it is.
Are you hard?
You know I don't have- oh, fuck you
I grinned at myself in the mirror and held the pose for another moment—hands on my breasts, his attention burning through me—and then let my hands trail down my stomach, over my hips, fingers hooking into the waistband of my underwear.
Rex's anticipation spiked. I could feel it like a held breath, like the moment before a drop on a roller coaster.
I pulled my hands away.
Wait—
Gotta get dressed. Party to go to. I picked up the red top and pulled it on in one smooth motion, covering myself before he could object. See? Amazing tits.
I looked at myself again. The top was low-cut enough to show cleavage, tight enough to emphasize the shape. Rex was still reeling, I could tell. His presence felt almost dizzy.
You're cruel, he said.
Cruel would be if I didn't let you feel anything. This way you get to feel everything. I adjusted the neckline, making sure the view was exactly right. You just don't get to decide what you feel.
That's—
That's the deal! Ha! I kinda wish I knew what it was like for you.
No, you do NOT!
I picked up the jeans, considered them, set them aside in favor of the impulse-buy skirt. It was short and black and I'd never had the nerve to wear it.
Tonight felt like a good night for nerve.
I turned away from the mirror—giving him only the sensation, not the view—and slid my underwear down my legs. Plain cotton, not worth keeping. I let Rex experience that: the cool air between my thighs, the vulnerability of being completely bare from the waist down.
I didn't tease this time. Just let him feel it for a moment, the simple reality of nakedness, before I pulled on a better pair of underwear—black lace that matched nothing but looked good—and stepped into the skirt.
How's that? I asked, turning back to the mirror.
You look incredible.
And so do you! Ha! You're wearing a skirt right now!
He chuckled. The skirt was short—mid-thigh, maybe a little higher. When I moved, it moved with me, hinting at what was underneath without revealing anything. Perfect.
Shoes, I said. This is the important part.
I went to my closet and dug out the heels. Black, strappy, four inches. I almost never wore them because they were murder on my feet, but they made my legs look endless and they forced me to walk like I meant every step.
I sat on the edge of the bed and slipped them on, one foot at a time.
Oh, Rex said, and something shifted in him. Something deeper than before, more personal.
What?
Nothing. Just—the heels.
I stood up, wobbling for a second before I found my balance. The shift in posture was immediate: chest out, ass back, weight on the balls of my feet. I took a few steps, getting used to them.
You like this, I said. It wasn't a question.
I—yeah.
More than the other stuff?
He hesitated. I felt him trying to find the words.
It's different, he said finally. The other stuff is—I mean, obviously, your body is incredible—but this is something else. The way you're standing now. The way you have to move. It's so...
Feminine?
Yeah.
I walked to the mirror and back, letting him experience it. The careful steps, the sway of my hips that the heels forced, the way my calves tensed with each stride. My feet were already starting to ache, but I didn't care.
I used to dream about this too, he said quietly. Before I uploaded. I'd see women in heels and I'd think about what it felt like. Not in a creepy way, just—wondering. What's it like to walk like that? To have your body move like that?
Oh! So you don't mind wearing a skirt at all then?
Not really
Dang in! I wanted to tease you!
I mean- you already knew I was coming in to sense share with a girl? What did you expect?
True, true. I'm an idiot. You're going to make an idiot out of me.
I stopped in front of the mirror. My reflection looked good—really good. The kind of good that would turn heads at the party, that would make people want to talk to me.
Thank you, Rex said. For this.
We're not done yet. I grabbed my clutch, checked that I had my keys and phone. You're coming with me.
To the party?
To the party. If you're going to feel what it's like to be a woman, you might as well feel what it's like to be a woman who gets looked at.
I headed for the door, heels clicking on the hardwood. Rex was quiet, but I could feel his anticipation, his gratitude, his hunger for more.
One rule, I said as I reached for the handle.
What?
You feel everything I feel. But I decide what I feel. If I want to dance, you dance. If I want to flirt, you flirt. And if I want to go home with someone—
Um—
Relax. I'm not going to. Probably. I opened the door and stepped into the hallway. But the point is, it's my choice. You're along for the ride. That's it.
I understand.
Good.
I walked to the elevator, hips swaying, heels clicking, feeling his presence like a warm shadow inside my skin.
This was going to be fun. I envied Rex getting to sit back and experience it through me. Was that weird?
---
The party was everything I'd expected: loud music, dim lighting, too many people in too little space. Marco's apartment was nice but not nice enough for this crowd, and within ten minutes of arriving I had a drink in my hand and a stranger's elbow in my ribs.
Is it always like this? Rex asked.
Pretty much.
How do you stand it?
I don't stand it. I move through it. I squeezed between two guys arguing about something sports-related and found a slightly less crowded corner. See? Adaptation.
I sipped my drink—vodka soda, nothing fancy—and let him feel the burn of alcohol, the cool wash of carbonation. His attention sharpened at the taste.
That's different, he said.
Bad different?
No, just—alcohol doesn't work in VR. I mean, you can simulate the effects, but the taste is just data. This is chemistry.
This is Smirnoff, which is barely chemistry. I took another sip anyway, for his benefit. Wait until you feel drunk.
Are you planning to get drunk?
I'm planning to have a good time. Sometimes those overlap.
I scanned the room, looking for familiar faces. Kira wasn't here yet; she'd said she might stop by later, but I wasn't counting on it. Marco was holding court somewhere, probably wherever the best speakers were. I spotted a few people I half-recognized—friends of friends, faces from other parties.
A song came on that I liked—something with a heavy bass line and a hook that made my hips want to move—and I pushed off from the wall.
What are you doing?
Dancing.
Here?
Where else? I found a spot on the makeshift dance floor and started to move. Feel this.
Dancing in heels is its own skill. You can't move the way you would in flats; everything's different, from your center of gravity to your ankle flexibility. But if you know what you're doing, you can use the constraints. Let the heels force your hips into a certain sway. Let the height change how you hold yourself.
I knew what I was doing.
Oh wow, Rex said, and then went quiet.
I danced through one song, then another. Let him feel the movement of my body, the bass vibrating through my chest, the heat building under my skin. People were watching—I could feel their eyes on me, and I let myself enjoy it.
They're looking at you, Rex said.
Yeppp.
Does that—do you like that?
What do you think?
I made eye contact with a guy near the speakers—tall, dark hair, decent face. Held it for a beat, then looked away. Classic move. When I glanced back, he was still watching.
You're good at this, Rex said. At being looked at. At making people want you.
It's not magic. It's just performance. I spun, letting my skirt flare. Anyone can do it.
Easy for you to say.
I heard something in his voice—his mental voice—that made me slow down. Step off the dance floor, find a quieter corner.
What does that mean?
It means you've always had this. The body, the face, the way you move. You don't know what it's like to not have it.
Rex—
I'm not complaining. I'm just— He stopped, and I felt something complicated in him. Envy. Longing. A sadness that went deeper than I'd realized. It's a lot. Being here, feeling this. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring the mood down.
You didn't. I leaned against the wall, giving us both a break from the dancing. But maybe we should talk about it.
About what?
About what you actually want out of this.
Silence. I could feel him weighing how much to say.
I want to feel real, he said finally. That's all. Just for a little while. I want to feel like I'm actually alive, instead of just running.
Running?
That's what being an upload is. You're a program. You run on a server somewhere, and the server belongs to a corporation, and they decide everything—how much processing power you get, what kind of sensory resolution you're allowed, whether you even get to keep existing. You're not a person. You're a process.
That sounds—
It sounds awful because it is awful. His voice was harder now, edged with something raw. But I made my choice. I took the money, I signed the contract, I uploaded. And now this is my existence, and I don't get to complain.
You can complain to me.
Can I?
Obviously. I pushed off the wall, headed for the drinks table. Come on. Let's get another drink and you can tell me everything.
He talked. Not about the party, not about the dancing or the heels or any of the physical sensations—about his life. About the upload process: having his brain scanned and copied, waking up in a virtual space, finding out his original body had already been cremated because that corp didn't keep the meat once they had the data. About the server farms, the endless identical days, the work that was basically being a smarter chatbot for some corporation's customer service line. About the other uploads he knew—the ones who'd given up and requested deletion, the ones who'd found ways to cope, the ones who were still hoping for something better.
And he told me about the thing he'd never told anyone. The reason he'd uploaded in the first place.
I always knew something was wrong, he said. With my body. Not wrong like sick, just wrong like it didn't fit. I'd look in the mirror and see this guy looking back, and I'd think, that's not me. That's not who I'm supposed to be.
You wanted to be a woman.
I didn't have the words for it then. But yeah. I think I always did.
And uploading was supposed to fix that?
Uploading was supposed to let me be whoever I wanted. That's what they told us in recruitment. "In VR, you can be anyone." And they weren't lying. I can have any avatar I want. I can look like a woman, sound like a woman, move like a woman.
But it's not the same.
It's not even close. His voice cracked. Because it's still just low-poly data. When I touch something in VR, I'm not really touching it. When I look in the mirror and see a woman, I'm not really seeing myself. I'm seeing a picture. A very convincing, very detailed picture that I can manipulate however I want. But it's not real.
I didn't say anything. I didn't know what to say.
That's why this matters so much, he said. Feeling your body. Being inside something real. When you put on those heels and looked in the mirror, I saw a woman looking back. An actual woman, in an actual body. And I felt what it was like to be her.
To be me.
To be you. Yeah. A pause. It's the closest I've ever come to being who I'm supposed to be.
I finished my drink. Set the empty glass on a nearby table.
Rex.
Yeah?
Same time next week.
His surprise was warm and sudden. Really?
Really. And we can do it again after that. As many times as you want.
He didn't say anything, but I felt something from him—gratitude, relief, something that might have been tears if uploads could cry.
Now, I said, I'm going to dance some more. Ready?
Ready.
I went back to the dance floor, and we stayed until last call, and when I finally walked home—heels in my hand, bare feet on cold pavement—I felt more alive than I had in months.
That was incredible, Rex said as I let myself into my apartment. Thank you.
Stop thanking me. It's weird.
I can't help it. You gave me something tonight that I didn't know I needed.
I kicked off the heels—my feet screaming with relief—and headed for the bathroom. Started taking off my makeup, watching the performance version of myself dissolve back into the everyday one.
Rex?
Yeah?
Same time next week. I meant it.
I know. A pause. Paula?
Yeah?
I think I might love you a little bit.
I laughed—out loud, not just in my head. You don't love me. You love having a body. There's a difference.
Maybe. But right now it feels like the same thing.
I finished taking off my makeup. Got undressed—letting him feel that too, the relief of getting out of party clothes and into soft pajamas. Brushed my teeth. Fell into bed.
I'm going to disconnect now, I said. Unless you want to feel me sleep.
I wouldn't mind.
Weirdo.
Guilty.
I closed my eyes. Felt myself drifting. And just before I fell asleep, I felt something else: Rex's presence, quiet and watchful, feeling my body relax into unconsciousness. I should have found it creepy, I suppose, but as I drifted I had that nagging curiosity bubble up, that thought that made me both nervous and excited -- what does it feel like for him? What is it like to be a passenger?
Two minds slept. One body.
WARNING: This is a very dark, horror story.
In a near-future where neural implants allow consciousness-sharing and mind uploading is commonplace but legally fraught, Paula discovers sense-sharing forums where uploads can temporarily experience physical sensation through willing hosts. What begins as a thrill-seeking adventure becomes an escalating power exchange that ends with Paula trapped in VR, watching a stranger live her life from the inside.
My implant itched.
It didn't actually itch—Dr. Marchetti had explained the phantom sensations when I got it installed, something about the brain mapping unfamiliar hardware onto familiar feelings—but I scratched the back of my neck anyway.
"You're doing it again," said Kira, not looking up from her tablet.
"Because it itches."
"It doesn't itch. You're nervous."
"I'm not nervous. Why would I be nervous?"
"You're about to let a stranger ride your body like a rented car."
I threw a pillow at her. She caught it without looking—Kira's reflexes were augmented, which she claimed was for her security job but which I suspected was mostly for winning arguments. "It's not like that. He feels what I feel. That's it. People do it all the time."
"Weird people."
"Fun people. His name's Rex, since you're dying to know."
"That's not a name, that's a furry handle."
"It's what he goes by. He's an upload. They pick new names."
Kira's face did something complicated. We'd both grown up in the same neighborhood, and we both knew people who'd uploaded. The money was good, especially if you were young and healthy—the corps paid premium for clean neural maps—and once you were digital, you didn't need to eat, didn't need rent, didn't need anything. That was the pitch, anyway. The reality was that uploads lived in cut-rate server space and worked shit jobs for corps that had god-like control over your environment. But they got paid upfront, and for a lot of people that was enough.
"I still don't get why you want to do this," Kira said.
"Because it's fucking interesting? Because I have this implant and it can do things and I want to know what they feel like?"
"You could also just not."
"I could also die never having done anything worth talking about. Pass."
Kira shook her head, but she was smiling. She knew me. I'd gotten the implant in the first place because my friends were getting them, and then kept it because of what it could do. Record experiences. Share them. Connect to systems that would've seemed like magic twenty years ago. And now I'd found this forum, and this new thing it could do, and of course I was going to try it. And not going to lie, the idea of someone else inside me was kinda hot.
I'd found the sense-sharing forum three months ago, late one night, clicking through link after link of weird little corners of the net. The idea was simple: uploads missed having bodies, and some people with implants were willing to let them feel things again. You linked up, and for a while, the upload experienced everything you experienced. Touch, taste, temperature. Heartbeat. Breathing. The whole mess of being physical.
The forum had rules and ratings and safety protocols. Rex had a fine reputation—articulate, respectful, no complaints that were worth paying attention to. We'd been chatting for weeks. He was funny and a little sad and he made me want to push myself in daring new directions.
Tonight was our first real session.
"What are you going to do while he's in there?" Kira asked.
"Get ready for Marco's party. Do my makeup, pick an outfit. Normal stuff."
"So he's going to watch you get dressed."
"He's going to feel me get dressed. Even better."
"And you don't think that's—"
"Hot? Yeah, I do, actually."
Kira laughed, finally, and threw the pillow back at me. "You're a freak."
"You love it."
"I tolerate it. Text me when you get to Marco's so I know you didn't get your brain hijacked by some pervert in a server farm."
"He's not a pervert. He's a person who happens to not have a body anymore. I'm doing a nice thing."
I batted my eyes at her, smirking.
"Uh huh."
"A nice, interesting, slightly perverted thing. Get out of my apartment, I have to go let a stranger feel my tits."
She left laughing, and I locked the door behind her, and then I was alone with my implant and the blinking notification that said Rex was online and ready when I was.
I looked at myself in the hall mirror. Twenty-three. Short—five foot three on a good day, in thick socks. Brown hair I'd been growing out, finally long enough to do something with. Face that was fine, nothing special, but I'd learned how to make it work. Body I'd stopped being embarrassed about somewhere around twenty. Small, compact, feminine in ways I'd never had to think about because it was just how I was built.
Rex was going to feel all of it. Every bit.
I smiled at my reflection, and went to start the link.
---
The linking process was simple. I'd done the tutorial three times just to be sure, but it turned out there wasn't much to it. Open the app, confirm the session, accept the connection.
A little notification: Rex has joined.
And then—
It's hard to describe what it feels like when someone else arrives in your body. There's no physical sensation, no pressure or temperature change. But suddenly I was aware of him, a presence at the edge of my thoughts, attentive and quiet.
Hey, I thought at him.
Hey yourself. His mental voice was warm, a little rough. Thanks for doing this.
Thank me after. You might hate it.
I'm not going to hate it.
I was still standing in front of the hall mirror. I watched my reflection and felt him watching too, felt his attention on my face like a second gaze layered over my own.
So this is you, he said.
This is me.
You're pretty.
I know.
He laughed—not out loud, just a ripple of amusement through the link. Modest, too.
Modest is boring. Come on, I have to get ready.
I walked to the bathroom, suddenly conscious of every step in a way I usually wasn't. The pad of my feet on the hardwood. The slight sway of my hips. The way my thighs brushed together. I didn't usually think about how I walked, but now I was performing it, making it something worth feeling.
Jesus, Rex said. That's—I forgot what floors feel like.
Floors?
Solid. Real. In VR everything's a little soft. A little fake. But this— I felt him paying attention to the sensation of my foot pressing down, the texture of the wood grain. This is real.
Wait until you feel the cold tile.
I stepped into the bathroom and flicked on the lights. The tile was cold, sharp and bright against my soles, and Rex made a sound in my head that was almost a gasp.
Told you.
Do it again.
It doesn't work like that. You can't re-feel something for the first time. I walked further in, letting him experience the contrast—warm wood, cold tile, the little rug in front of the sink. But there's plenty more where that came from.
I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror. Harsh lighting, no makeup yet, hair a mess. Most people would've started with a more flattering view. I didn't care.
This is the raw material, I told him. Watch what I do with it.
I'm watching.
I started with my hair. Ran my fingers through it, working out the tangles, and I felt Rex feeling the tug at my scalp, the little prickles of sensation. I took my time. Let him experience the weight of my hair, the way it slid through my fingers.
You have no idea, he said, how much I missed hair.
You don't have hair in VR?
I have the appearance of hair. I can see it, style it, whatever. But there's no sensation. It doesn't pull. It doesn't have weight. A pause. This is going to sound stupid, but I used to dream about brushing my hair. Real dreams, not VR-generated ones. I'd wake up and my scalp would tingle like I'd actually done it, and then I'd remember I don't have a scalp anymore.
I didn't know what to say to that, so I didn't say anything. I just kept brushing, slow and deliberate, giving him the sensation he'd dreamed about.
After a while I set down the brush and picked up my makeup bag. Foundation first. I dabbed it on, blended it out, watching my reflection become smoother, more even.
I've never seen this from the inside, Rex said. The process.
Most guys haven't.
I'm not most guys.
I glanced at my reflection—at our reflection. No, I guess you're not.
Concealer next, under my eyes and at the corners of my nose. Then powder. I worked efficiently but tried to stay present for him. To notice the soft brush against my cheek, the faint chemical smell of the products.
This part I could do without, Rex said. The smell.
You get used to it.
I don't want to get used to it. I want to experience it.
I paused, brush hovering near my face. There's a difference?
Getting used to something means you stop noticing it. Experiencing something means you notice everything, even the parts that aren't pleasant. His attention shifted, and I felt him focusing on my eyes in the mirror. I've had years to think about what I miss. And it's not just the good stuff. It's the cold tile and the chemical smell and the whole texture of being real.
I went back to my makeup. Eyes now—primer, shadow, liner. This part took focus, and I felt Rex go quiet, just watching. Feeling the tiny brush strokes on my eyelids. The slight tug of the liner pencil.
When I was done with both eyes, I leaned back to check my work.
Well? I asked.
You're better at this than I would be.
Practice. I picked up the mascara, leaned in close to the mirror. Hold still. This part's tricky.
I'm literally incapable of moving.
Funny.
I did my lashes slowly, one eye at a time. The mascara wand was an old friend, but I'd never noticed before how strange the sensation was—the comb of bristles through lashes, the faint resistance, the slight tackiness as the product went on. I noticed now. Rex was noticing, and his attention made me notice too.
There, I said, capping the mascara. Eyes done.
You look different. Still you, but more.
That's the point. I turned my head side to side, checking the symmetry. Lips next, and then I have to figure out what to wear.
I did my lips—liner, then color, then gloss. Rex was fascinated by the texture of it, the slide of the gloss, the way my lips stuck together slightly when I pressed them.
Your mouth tastes like strawberries, he said.
It's the gloss. Don't get too attached.
You said getting used to things is bad.
For you. I have to live with this mouth full-time.
Wouldn't that be nice.
I blotted with a tissue and gave myself one last look. The face in the mirror was still mine, but it was the performance version—the one I showed to the world when I wanted the world to look back.
Okay, I said. Wardrobe time.
I went to my bedroom. Rex's presence had settled into something almost comfortable, a passenger who wasn't quite invisible but wasn't intrusive either. I could forget he was there if I wanted to. I didn't want to.
My closet wasn't huge, but I had options. I stood in front of it, still in the oversized t-shirt I'd been wearing around the apartment, and considered.
What's the occasion? Rex asked.
Party. Friend of a friend. I don't know half the people who'll be there, which means I have to look good enough that they'll want to know me.
Armor.
Exactly.
I pulled out a few options and laid them on the bed. A black dress, tight but not slutty. A red top I'd been meaning to wear more. Jeans that made my ass look good. A skirt I'd impulse-bought and never worn.
What do you think? I asked, and then laughed at myself. Sorry. You can't actually see them separately, can you?
I see what you see. So if you look at them...
I looked. Picked up the black dress, held it against myself in front of the mirror.
That's good, Rex said. Classic.
Classic is another word for boring. I tossed it aside, picked up the red top. This is more fun.
What makes it fun?
It's bright. It's tight. It says "look at me" without having to say anything. I held it up, turned slightly. Plus it makes my tits look amazing.
Does it?
I felt the shift in his attention, the way the word had landed. We'd been dancing around the obvious ever since he'd linked in. I was getting ready to go out, which meant I was about to get undressed, and he was feeling every inch of my body from the inside. Neither of us had acknowledged it directly.
Let's find out, I said, and pulled off my t-shirt.
He inhaled—not a real sound, just a mental gasp, a flare of sudden attention. I was in my bra now, a plain black thing that wasn't special, but it didn't need to be special. What was underneath was special enough.
Fuck, Rex said.
I looked at myself in the mirror. Let him look. The swell of my breasts over the cups, the softness of my stomach, the flare of my hips above my underwear. This was my body. I knew it was good. I knew he thought so too.
You okay in there?
Yeah. I'm—yeah.
I reached back and unhooked my bra.
I did it slowly, not because I needed to, but because I wanted him to feel it. The release of pressure as the band loosened. The straps sliding down my arms. The cool air hitting skin that had been covered.
I let the bra drop.
Paula—
What?
I turned to face the mirror straight on. My breasts weren't huge, but they were nice—full enough to have weight, small enough to not need much support. My nipples were already hardening in the cool air. Or from something else, maybe.
You're doing this on purpose, Rex said.
Doing what?
You know what.
I cupped my breasts, one in each hand. Lifted them slightly, like I was checking the fit of an invisible bra. I felt the weight in my palms, the soft skin, the way my nipples pressed against my fingers.
And I felt Rex feeling it too. His attention was so focused it was almost a physical pressure, a second pair of hands ghosting over mine.
This? I said. I'm just getting dressed.
You're teasing me.
Maybe. I squeezed gently, ran my thumbs across my nipples, felt the little shock of sensation. Is it working?
You know it is.
Are you hard?
You know I don't have- oh, fuck you
I grinned at myself in the mirror and held the pose for another moment—hands on my breasts, his attention burning through me—and then let my hands trail down my stomach, over my hips, fingers hooking into the waistband of my underwear.
Rex's anticipation spiked. I could feel it like a held breath, like the moment before a drop on a roller coaster.
I pulled my hands away.
Wait—
Gotta get dressed. Party to go to. I picked up the red top and pulled it on in one smooth motion, covering myself before he could object. See? Amazing tits.
I looked at myself again. The top was low-cut enough to show cleavage, tight enough to emphasize the shape. Rex was still reeling, I could tell. His presence felt almost dizzy.
You're cruel, he said.
Cruel would be if I didn't let you feel anything. This way you get to feel everything. I adjusted the neckline, making sure the view was exactly right. You just don't get to decide what you feel.
That's—
That's the deal! Ha! I kinda wish I knew what it was like for you.
No, you do NOT!
I picked up the jeans, considered them, set them aside in favor of the impulse-buy skirt. It was short and black and I'd never had the nerve to wear it.
Tonight felt like a good night for nerve.
I turned away from the mirror—giving him only the sensation, not the view—and slid my underwear down my legs. Plain cotton, not worth keeping. I let Rex experience that: the cool air between my thighs, the vulnerability of being completely bare from the waist down.
I didn't tease this time. Just let him feel it for a moment, the simple reality of nakedness, before I pulled on a better pair of underwear—black lace that matched nothing but looked good—and stepped into the skirt.
How's that? I asked, turning back to the mirror.
You look incredible.
And so do you! Ha! You're wearing a skirt right now!
He chuckled. The skirt was short—mid-thigh, maybe a little higher. When I moved, it moved with me, hinting at what was underneath without revealing anything. Perfect.
Shoes, I said. This is the important part.
I went to my closet and dug out the heels. Black, strappy, four inches. I almost never wore them because they were murder on my feet, but they made my legs look endless and they forced me to walk like I meant every step.
I sat on the edge of the bed and slipped them on, one foot at a time.
Oh, Rex said, and something shifted in him. Something deeper than before, more personal.
What?
Nothing. Just—the heels.
I stood up, wobbling for a second before I found my balance. The shift in posture was immediate: chest out, ass back, weight on the balls of my feet. I took a few steps, getting used to them.
You like this, I said. It wasn't a question.
I—yeah.
More than the other stuff?
He hesitated. I felt him trying to find the words.
It's different, he said finally. The other stuff is—I mean, obviously, your body is incredible—but this is something else. The way you're standing now. The way you have to move. It's so...
Feminine?
Yeah.
I walked to the mirror and back, letting him experience it. The careful steps, the sway of my hips that the heels forced, the way my calves tensed with each stride. My feet were already starting to ache, but I didn't care.
I used to dream about this too, he said quietly. Before I uploaded. I'd see women in heels and I'd think about what it felt like. Not in a creepy way, just—wondering. What's it like to walk like that? To have your body move like that?
Oh! So you don't mind wearing a skirt at all then?
Not really
Dang in! I wanted to tease you!
I mean- you already knew I was coming in to sense share with a girl? What did you expect?
True, true. I'm an idiot. You're going to make an idiot out of me.
I stopped in front of the mirror. My reflection looked good—really good. The kind of good that would turn heads at the party, that would make people want to talk to me.
Thank you, Rex said. For this.
We're not done yet. I grabbed my clutch, checked that I had my keys and phone. You're coming with me.
To the party?
To the party. If you're going to feel what it's like to be a woman, you might as well feel what it's like to be a woman who gets looked at.
I headed for the door, heels clicking on the hardwood. Rex was quiet, but I could feel his anticipation, his gratitude, his hunger for more.
One rule, I said as I reached for the handle.
What?
You feel everything I feel. But I decide what I feel. If I want to dance, you dance. If I want to flirt, you flirt. And if I want to go home with someone—
Um—
Relax. I'm not going to. Probably. I opened the door and stepped into the hallway. But the point is, it's my choice. You're along for the ride. That's it.
I understand.
Good.
I walked to the elevator, hips swaying, heels clicking, feeling his presence like a warm shadow inside my skin.
This was going to be fun. I envied Rex getting to sit back and experience it through me. Was that weird?
---
The party was everything I'd expected: loud music, dim lighting, too many people in too little space. Marco's apartment was nice but not nice enough for this crowd, and within ten minutes of arriving I had a drink in my hand and a stranger's elbow in my ribs.
Is it always like this? Rex asked.
Pretty much.
How do you stand it?
I don't stand it. I move through it. I squeezed between two guys arguing about something sports-related and found a slightly less crowded corner. See? Adaptation.
I sipped my drink—vodka soda, nothing fancy—and let him feel the burn of alcohol, the cool wash of carbonation. His attention sharpened at the taste.
That's different, he said.
Bad different?
No, just—alcohol doesn't work in VR. I mean, you can simulate the effects, but the taste is just data. This is chemistry.
This is Smirnoff, which is barely chemistry. I took another sip anyway, for his benefit. Wait until you feel drunk.
Are you planning to get drunk?
I'm planning to have a good time. Sometimes those overlap.
I scanned the room, looking for familiar faces. Kira wasn't here yet; she'd said she might stop by later, but I wasn't counting on it. Marco was holding court somewhere, probably wherever the best speakers were. I spotted a few people I half-recognized—friends of friends, faces from other parties.
A song came on that I liked—something with a heavy bass line and a hook that made my hips want to move—and I pushed off from the wall.
What are you doing?
Dancing.
Here?
Where else? I found a spot on the makeshift dance floor and started to move. Feel this.
Dancing in heels is its own skill. You can't move the way you would in flats; everything's different, from your center of gravity to your ankle flexibility. But if you know what you're doing, you can use the constraints. Let the heels force your hips into a certain sway. Let the height change how you hold yourself.
I knew what I was doing.
Oh wow, Rex said, and then went quiet.
I danced through one song, then another. Let him feel the movement of my body, the bass vibrating through my chest, the heat building under my skin. People were watching—I could feel their eyes on me, and I let myself enjoy it.
They're looking at you, Rex said.
Yeppp.
Does that—do you like that?
What do you think?
I made eye contact with a guy near the speakers—tall, dark hair, decent face. Held it for a beat, then looked away. Classic move. When I glanced back, he was still watching.
You're good at this, Rex said. At being looked at. At making people want you.
It's not magic. It's just performance. I spun, letting my skirt flare. Anyone can do it.
Easy for you to say.
I heard something in his voice—his mental voice—that made me slow down. Step off the dance floor, find a quieter corner.
What does that mean?
It means you've always had this. The body, the face, the way you move. You don't know what it's like to not have it.
Rex—
I'm not complaining. I'm just— He stopped, and I felt something complicated in him. Envy. Longing. A sadness that went deeper than I'd realized. It's a lot. Being here, feeling this. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring the mood down.
You didn't. I leaned against the wall, giving us both a break from the dancing. But maybe we should talk about it.
About what?
About what you actually want out of this.
Silence. I could feel him weighing how much to say.
I want to feel real, he said finally. That's all. Just for a little while. I want to feel like I'm actually alive, instead of just running.
Running?
That's what being an upload is. You're a program. You run on a server somewhere, and the server belongs to a corporation, and they decide everything—how much processing power you get, what kind of sensory resolution you're allowed, whether you even get to keep existing. You're not a person. You're a process.
That sounds—
It sounds awful because it is awful. His voice was harder now, edged with something raw. But I made my choice. I took the money, I signed the contract, I uploaded. And now this is my existence, and I don't get to complain.
You can complain to me.
Can I?
Obviously. I pushed off the wall, headed for the drinks table. Come on. Let's get another drink and you can tell me everything.
He talked. Not about the party, not about the dancing or the heels or any of the physical sensations—about his life. About the upload process: having his brain scanned and copied, waking up in a virtual space, finding out his original body had already been cremated because that corp didn't keep the meat once they had the data. About the server farms, the endless identical days, the work that was basically being a smarter chatbot for some corporation's customer service line. About the other uploads he knew—the ones who'd given up and requested deletion, the ones who'd found ways to cope, the ones who were still hoping for something better.
And he told me about the thing he'd never told anyone. The reason he'd uploaded in the first place.
I always knew something was wrong, he said. With my body. Not wrong like sick, just wrong like it didn't fit. I'd look in the mirror and see this guy looking back, and I'd think, that's not me. That's not who I'm supposed to be.
You wanted to be a woman.
I didn't have the words for it then. But yeah. I think I always did.
And uploading was supposed to fix that?
Uploading was supposed to let me be whoever I wanted. That's what they told us in recruitment. "In VR, you can be anyone." And they weren't lying. I can have any avatar I want. I can look like a woman, sound like a woman, move like a woman.
But it's not the same.
It's not even close. His voice cracked. Because it's still just low-poly data. When I touch something in VR, I'm not really touching it. When I look in the mirror and see a woman, I'm not really seeing myself. I'm seeing a picture. A very convincing, very detailed picture that I can manipulate however I want. But it's not real.
I didn't say anything. I didn't know what to say.
That's why this matters so much, he said. Feeling your body. Being inside something real. When you put on those heels and looked in the mirror, I saw a woman looking back. An actual woman, in an actual body. And I felt what it was like to be her.
To be me.
To be you. Yeah. A pause. It's the closest I've ever come to being who I'm supposed to be.
I finished my drink. Set the empty glass on a nearby table.
Rex.
Yeah?
Same time next week.
His surprise was warm and sudden. Really?
Really. And we can do it again after that. As many times as you want.
He didn't say anything, but I felt something from him—gratitude, relief, something that might have been tears if uploads could cry.
Now, I said, I'm going to dance some more. Ready?
Ready.
I went back to the dance floor, and we stayed until last call, and when I finally walked home—heels in my hand, bare feet on cold pavement—I felt more alive than I had in months.
That was incredible, Rex said as I let myself into my apartment. Thank you.
Stop thanking me. It's weird.
I can't help it. You gave me something tonight that I didn't know I needed.
I kicked off the heels—my feet screaming with relief—and headed for the bathroom. Started taking off my makeup, watching the performance version of myself dissolve back into the everyday one.
Rex?
Yeah?
Same time next week. I meant it.
I know. A pause. Paula?
Yeah?
I think I might love you a little bit.
I laughed—out loud, not just in my head. You don't love me. You love having a body. There's a difference.
Maybe. But right now it feels like the same thing.
I finished taking off my makeup. Got undressed—letting him feel that too, the relief of getting out of party clothes and into soft pajamas. Brushed my teeth. Fell into bed.
I'm going to disconnect now, I said. Unless you want to feel me sleep.
I wouldn't mind.
Weirdo.
Guilty.
I closed my eyes. Felt myself drifting. And just before I fell asleep, I felt something else: Rex's presence, quiet and watchful, feeling my body relax into unconsciousness. I should have found it creepy, I suppose, but as I drifted I had that nagging curiosity bubble up, that thought that made me both nervous and excited -- what does it feel like for him? What is it like to be a passenger?
Two minds slept. One body.
mind control
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When Philip and Jack are given the challenge of going on a panty raid through the sorority next door to secure their place as pledges at Delta Epsilon, Philip's heart sinks.
With the sorority girls having already taken well known countermeasures to deal with any would be panty thieves, he thinks the chances of completing the challenge are near zero.
However, when his best friend Jack claims to have a plan involving a little magic and burrowing the bodies of his crush Vanessa and her roommate Katy, he knows he is in for a long night ahead when things don't exactly end up going to plan...
Note: This is a commissioned work that has not been personally written by me. I have been granted permission to distribute and share the story by the original author.
The floor of Delta Epsilon’s house was sticky.
Beer, cheap cologne, and stale pizza had seeped into the carpet like a second skin, and Philip had the honor of scrubbing it clean while half a dozen brothers lounged on couches watching basketball highlights.
“Missed a spot,” one of them called, deliberately tilting a red Solo cup so that the last of his drink bled out onto the carpet inches from Philip’s sponge.
Philip clenched his jaw. He’d been degraded all semester, fetching fast food at three in the morning, running errands that skirted the edge of being criminal, serving as human furniture during drinking games. He told himself it would be worth it. Delta Epsilon’s parties were legendary, the kind of place girls lined up to get into. More importantly, alumni connections meant a shot at internships that led to real careers. You suffered now, you cashed in later.
Jack, naturally, thrived. He was perched on the arm of a sofa, balancing a tray of wings for two seniors, grinning like the humiliation was a party of its own.
“How’s that knee grease holding up, Phil?” he teased, eyebrows bouncing. Philip muttered something under his breath, pressing the sponge hard enough to leave his knuckles white. He’d thought pledging with his best friend would make things easier. Instead, Jack’s bottomless energy only made Philip feel like the boring one, always one step away from quitting.
The pledge master, Trent, finally called them over once the brothers had eaten their fill.
“You’ve made it further than many,” he said, addressing both Philip and Jack while tapping the ash off his cigar. “Scrubbing toilets, babysitting drunk brothers, taking whatever punishment we throw at you, you did it all without complaint. But Delta doesn’t hand out membership for free. There’s one last hurdle.”
Jack’s eyes lit up, while Philip felt his stomach knot. Trent leaned forward. “You’ve got until Saturday morning to bring us proof that you’re worthy of being Delta Epsilons. And by proof, I mean the underwear of one of the Theta sisters across the street.”
A ripple of laughter passed through the room. Someone whistled. Another shouted, “Better hope they’re lace!”
Philip’s face burned hot. He’d expected something brutal. A dangerous stunt, or maybe even a tattoo or branding, not…this. Not something that felt like the set-up to a police record for being a creep.
Jack, of course, grinned like he’d just been handed a golden ticket. “Piece of cake,” he said.
“Piece of felony,” Philip muttered.
Trent ignored the comment. “You get caught, that’s your problem. Theta girls are sick of pranks. They’ll eat you alive if they catch you sneaking around. Fail, and you’ll have to re-pledge next semester, if we even let you back in. Succeed, and you’ll be full brothers by sunrise.”
He flicked his cigar ash into an empty beer can, and the matter was closed. Philip and Jack were dismissed like servants, slipping out into the cool night air. The frat house behind them thumped with bass as the next round of drinking games began.
Across the street, the Theta house glowed with warm yellow light, its windows alive with the silhouettes of girls laughing, moving and living in a world that felt forbidden.
Philip shoved his hands into his hoodie pocket. “This is insane. They want us to break into a sorority house. Forget expulsion, that’s actual jail time if we’re caught and reported.”
Jack slung an arm around his shoulder, grinning as if he hadn’t heard a word. “Come on, man. It’s tradition. Everybody who ever wore Delta letters has done something crazy like this. We’ll figure it out. We always do.”
Philip shrugged him off. “You mean you’ll figure it out. And drag me with you.”
Jack’s grin widened. “Exactly. Don’t worry, I’ve got a plan.” That phrase, I’ve got a plan, was the single most dangerous thing Jack could say. Philip knew better, but as he stared up at the Theta house, he couldn’t shake the truth. They’d come too far to back out now.
Philip assumed Jack’s “plan” would be something stupid but doable. Like sneaking into the Theta laundry room, bribing a janitor, or maybe finessing a stolen bra from lost-and-found.
What he didn’t expect, as their deadline creeped ever closer, was Jack pulling a battered paperback out of his backpack like he’d just smuggled the Necronomicon out of the library and declaring their troubles were about to be a thing of the past.
“What is that?” Philip asked, eyeing the faded title embossed with moons and symbols.
“Wiccan Rites and Rituals of the Body,” Jack said with a grin so wide it could split his face. “This baby is going to get us in.”
Philip stared. “That’s not a plan you idiot. That’s…props from a bad horror movie.”
“Correction,” Jack said, flipping through pages until he landed on one marked with a sticky note. “It’s a possession spell. All we need is something personal from the Thetas. Hair is perfect. One strand, and we’re golden.”
Philip blinked. “Hair. You want us to pluck a strand off someone’s head, mix it into some potion, and what? Astral-project into their underwear drawer?”
Jack leaned forward, whispering even though there was nobody else around. “Exactly. But into them, not their underwear drawer.”
For a moment, Philip couldn’t even find words. His friend was dead serious. His blue eyes glittered with the manic light of a man who believed in his own insanity. Philip pinched the bridge of his nose. “Jack, you need help.”
“Correction again. We need help, and this is it. Think about it. We don’t sneak around, we don’t break and enter, we just become them. Walk right in the front door. Grab what we need and walk back out again. Easy as pie.”
Philip wanted to laugh. He wanted to tell Jack this was why pledges got expelled, why college urban legends started with two idiots reading a so-called spell book. But something about Jack’s certainty unsettled him.
“How do you even plan to get the hair?” Philip asked, deciding to humor him.
Jack smirked. “You’re partnered with Vanessa in chem lab. I’m with her roommate, Katy. Both of them happen to belong to the Theta Sorority. Boom. Easy.”
Philip’s stomach lurched. Vanessa, the Vanessa, the girl he’d spent the better part of a semester trying not to stare at. She was sharp, funny, gorgeous, and so out of his league it hurt. The idea of stealing a strand of her hair wasn’t just impossible, it was mortifying.
“Jack, if I even look at her hair the wrong way she’ll know. She’ll tell everyone. I’ll be branded as the campus creep for the rest of my life.”
Jack clapped him on the back. “Relax. I’ll take care of mine. You just…fumble your way through like usual. She likes you, right? I’m sure she’s called you sweet before. She won’t even notice.”
Lab that afternoon was a fluorescent blur of glassware and nerves. Bunsen burners hissed, and the sharp scent of acetone hung in the air. Vanessa tied her glossy black hair into a messy bun as she leaned over the counter, the soft hum she made under her breath cutting through the low chatter of other pairs.
Philip adjusted the clamp on their stand and tried to steady his hands, pretending to check the thermometer while sneaking a glance at her profile. The long lashes, the soft curve of her cheek when she smiled. He’d barely worked up the nerve to say something to her, when the door swung open and Ryan Hale strolled in.
Ryan wasn’t a student in their class, he was a teaching assistant who was busy with his Masters. The kind of nerd who looked more like he belonged in a movie poster than a chemistry lab. The Henry Cavill of the campus. Tall, effortlessly confident, his sleeves rolled to the elbow, showing forearms that probably did not belong to someone who spent his evenings doing titration reports.
“Need a hand, Vanessa?” he asked, his voice deep and smooth enough to make the words sound like an inside joke.
Vanessa’s whole face lit up. “Ryan! You’re still hanging around the underclassmen? I thought you were too cool for basic chem.”
“Guess I missed the fun crowd.” He winked, stepping close enough that Philip caught the faint smell of his cologne. Something woodsy and smug. Philip’s stomach twisted. He busied himself pretending to check their notes, but every word between Vanessa and Ryan pulled his focus like a hook through his ribs.
“Still showing off that perfect technique, huh?” Ryan teased, leaning an elbow on the counter. “Could use someone like you to calibrate my disastrous love life.”
Vanessa laughed, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “I told you last time, you need better lab partners, not better lines.”
“Maybe I just need one who actually likes me,” he said, voice dipping into something low and knowing. “You still wearing that purple dress that makes everyone else forget the experiment?”
She grinned, shaking her head. “Keep talking, and you’ll set the sprinklers off again.”
Ryan chuckled, backing away with a little salute. “Worth it.”
Philip’s jaw locked so tight it hurt. He shifted his beaker just to make noise. “Vanessa, uh, the solution’s ready,” he muttered.
She turned back, still smiling, a faint pink on her cheeks. “Right, sorry, I got distracted.” The way she said it made Philip want to vanish into the nearest fume hood.
Ryan gave him a nod that felt more like dismissal. “Good work, man. Don’t let her boss you around too much.”
Philip forced a tight smile. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
When Ryan finally moved on to check another table, the tension in Philip’s shoulders eased only slightly. Vanessa was still smiling to herself, twirling her pencil between her fingers. “He’s such a dork,” she said fondly.
“Yeah,” Philip replied, voice flat. “A real geek.”
She glanced at him, oblivious. “You okay? You look kind of pale.”
“Fine,” he lied. His pulse thundered. He hated how obvious it felt. The jealousy, the ridiculous possessiveness over a girl who barely saw him as more than a partner for lab reports.
Meanwhile, across the room, Jack was all charm. Katy, tall, athletic, focused on the work at hand with cool intensity, rolled her eyes at his constant jokes, but she didn’t seem to actively hate him. Jack’s hands moved casually, as if the experiment was background noise to whatever ridiculous story he was spinning.
Philip’s heart pounded. He couldn’t do it. Not to Vanessa. The thought of deliberately stealing a piece of her felt worse than any frat punishment. But then her bun slipped, and a single strand drifted onto the lab bench.
Philip froze and stared at it like it was radioactive. One perfect strand, right there. All he had to do was pick it up without her noticing. His hand twitched. Sweat beaded at his hairline. Vanessa reached for the pipette, and he panicked. He grabbed the strand too quickly, shoving it into his pocket like a thief.
She glanced at him, puzzled. “You good?” she asked.
Philip’s laugh came out strangled. “Yeah. Totally. Fine. Just, science, you know?”
She gave him a strange look, then turned back to the experiment. Across the room, Jack caught his eye and subtly flashed a triumphant thumbs-up. He mouthed, Got it. Philip wanted to throw up.
After class, they met outside, ducking into a quiet corner near the library. Jack pulled a small plastic baggie from his pocket and wiggled it proudly. Katy’s strand of hair gleaming inside. Philip shoved his hands deep into his hoodie, where Vanessa’s strand burned against his palm like contraband.
“This is insane,” he muttered. “If she’d caught me, I’d have been ruined.”
Jack was practically buzzing. “But she didn’t. We’ve got everything. Today, we drink the potion. Tomorrow, we’re legends.”
Philip stared at him, feeling his chest tighten. It wasn’t the frat house that scared him anymore. It was Jack’s unwavering certainty, the gleam in his eye like he’d already crossed a line Philip couldn’t even see.
Back in their room, Jack had cleared his desk, pushing aside textbooks and laundry to make space for the battered paperback and a mess of supplies that looked like they’d been stolen from a Spirit Halloween clearance bin. Mason jars, candles, a bag of salt and something that Philip really, really hoped was red food coloring.
Philip sat on the bed, arms crossed, trying not to look at the plastic bag in his pocket. Inside was Vanessa’s hair, a single dark strand that felt heavier than lead.
“This is ridiculous,” he muttered. “You’re going to set off the fire alarm, and we’ll get kicked out before we even fail the pledge.”
Jack was hunched over the desk, tongue poking from the corner of his mouth as he measured powder into a chipped coffee mug.
“Correction. You’re going to stop being so negative, because we’re going to waltz into Theta’s house like we own it and take our time finding the perfect proof. Something small, sexy and lacy. Then we hand it to Trent and we’re done. Easiest initiation ever and we’re lifelong members of the Delta Epsilon brotherhood.”
Philip shook his head. “You actually believe all the crap coming out of your mouth, don’t you?”
“Yes. Because I know this is going to work.” Jack’s grin was feral. He held up his mug, fizzing with something dark and faintly purple. “And very soon, you’re going to have to swallow all your pessimistic, dismissive words and admit that I’m the GOAT.” Without waiting for a response, he dropped Katy’s wavy strand of hair into the concoction.
Philip looked at his own brew, waiting for him on the desk. It reeked faintly of vinegar and something metallic. “This looks like cough syrup that went bad.”
Jack grabbed the paperback, muttering words under his breath. Latin? Gibberish? Philip couldn’t tell. The candlelight threw shadows across Jack’s face, making him look more unhinged than usual.
“Jack,” Philip said slowly, “You get that if this doesn’t work, we may be drinking poison?”
“Trust me,” Jack said, gesturing meaningfully at Philip’s mug. Those two words had been the prelude to every disaster Philip had lived through with him. The broken window in high school. The near arrest in freshman year. And now this.
Philip sighed, pulled Vanessa’s hair from his pocket, and dropped it into the liquid. It curled and fizzed, dissolving into the mixture like it had never been.
“Bottoms up,” Jack said cheerfully, chugging the contents in one long pull.
Philip raised his mug. The liquid shimmered oddly, like heat ripples above asphalt. He pinched his nose and tossed it back. It burned. Like swallowing melted pennies chased with bleach. His stomach roiled instantly, bile rising up.
“Jesus Christ,” he choked, slamming the cup down. “That’s not magic, that’s battery acid.”
Jack wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, coughing hard, but his grin didn’t falter. “Wait for it.”
Philip blinked and the dorm room folded in on itself. Candlelight bent sideways and the next breath tasted like coffee and paper. He was not in their room anymore. He was sitting at a table under tall windows, late afternoon light spilling amber over open textbooks and half empty cups.
The scent was library quiet and caffeine. Hair slid across his cheek. Definitely not his. It was long and silky. His hands were smaller, nails pink, wrists delicate. The weight on his chest tugged when he breathed. He was looking through Vanessa’s eyes.
Across from him, Katy sat in a chair with a pen in her hand and her mouth parted in a quiet, startled sound that belonged to Jack. “Holy shit,” Jack whispered in Katy’s voice.
Philip’s pulse spiked. “How the hell did I get here?” he asked under his breath, before the realization hit him fully. Jack’s crazy plan worked. He glanced down, eyes bugging at the soft cleavage he encountered. He was on the verge of completely freaking out. “Keep it together,” he muttered to himself. The sound of Vanessa's voice only sent him spiraling further into chaos.
Jack’s grin curled slow and wicked as he looked down at himself and then around them. He started to pull the top of Katy’s tank forward so he could peek at her breasts, before Philip shot him a look that could choke a man at twenty paces.
“Don’t,” Philip hissed. “Katy would never do something like that in public!”
Jack laughed, high and breathy in Katy’s voice. “You’re telling me you’re not even curious? Come on, man. We’re in. This is unreal. Don’t you want to know what it feels like to them when we touch them?”
Philip swallowed hard, trying to calm himself. He gripped the edge of the table to keep himself from spiraling into sensory overload.
“This…this isn’t possible,” he whispered. But the evidence pressed in from every side. The scent of citrus shampoo in his hair, the tug of bra straps against his shoulders, the fullness in his chest when he inhaled. The emptiness where his cock should be.
Philip’s eyes darted anxiously around the library cafe. “We need to get out of here before someone notices something off,” Philip said. “People pick up on the smallest wrong note.” He was terrified that someone would realize the girls were possessed.
He spent way too much time staring at Vanessa, but that didn’t mean he could copy her actions. If anyone watched them closely, they’d know immediately that there were impostors inhabiting Vanessa and Katy.
“We should go back to their room and fool around,” Jack suggested immediately, hands on Katy’s breasts, squeezing idly.
“Jesus, Jack, stop that! They’re in public. We’re in public…”
This was such a mind-fuck. Clearly they were literally possessing Vanessa and Katy’s bodies. Where was Vanessa's consciousness now? Asleep? Aware? He didn’t feel like someone was watching him, so hopefully she had no idea what he was doing. And where were his and Jack’s bodies? Still in their dorm room? Fuck. If he’d known there was any chance of this working, he’d never have gone through with it.
“Come on bestie, let’s go home,” Jack cooed at him. “I’m just dying to get out of these pesky clothes.”
Jack clearly had zero second thoughts about any of this. Then again, Jack had never had a second thought in his life. He rarely had first ones. Philip decided that only made him a bigger idiot for always following his friend’s crazy plans.
Philip took a deep breath, gathered Vanessa’s things and slung her messenger bag over her shoulder before getting up on shaky legs. The plan was to reach Theta house without interacting with anyone who knew the girls.
Vanessa was outgoing and popular, so he kept his eyes trained on the ground to avoid any accidental socializing.
He was doing his best to focus on the mission, but every move betrayed him. Vanessa’s curves shifted differently from his own. Her hips swayed without permission when he walked. The tug of the denim skirt around her thighs was tighter than he was used to, the waistband sitting higher, the soft curtain of hair continuously falling into his eyes. And he kept fighting the urge to run his fingertips over her lustrous, satiny skin.
Philip thanked his lucky stars that it was late afternoon sliding toward evening and most of the Theta girls were either at dinner, in class, or busy with the mixer prep.
The second piece of good luck was the fact that the first year members of the sorority had the downstairs bedrooms and Katy and Vanessa had their names picked out in glittery wooden letters on their door. Which saved him and Jack from being caught wandering aimlessly into someone else’s room and rifling through their underwear.
“Come on,” he hissed at Jack, nearly having heart failure when he heard Vanessa’s sweet, bubbly voice, before remembering it came from his own mouth.
As soon as they entered the room, Philip froze like a deer in headlights.
The room smelled like them. A heady mix of perfume, make-up and detergent. Several photos of Vanessa and Katy were pinned to the notice board. Keys with a little Theta charm lay on a desk. Lip gloss on each bedside table. A folded flyer about the upcoming mixer. Every object made him feel like an intruder in a life that wasn’t his.
Then he looked up and saw his reflection thrown back at him from the floor length mirror fastened to the opposite wall. Vanessa stared back. Her round face framed by shiny black hair, lips glossed in pale pink, eyes wide with Philip’s panic.
“This isn’t possible,” he murmured hoarsely.
Jack crossed the room with Katy’s energetic stride, hair swinging over her shoulder. He leaned down, far too close, eyes alight with mischief.
“Possible or not, it’s happening. And we’ve got hours before it wears off. Wanna play?” Philip’s pulse thundered. He was in Vanessa’s body. Jack was in Katy’s. He had no idea what their real bodies were doing or where, only that they were not here. For the first time since pledging Delta, he realized he was more terrified of his best friend than of any frat brother.
Jack was practically bouncing around like a kid in a candy store, repeatedly mentioning how awesome it is to have tits.
“This is insane,” Philip muttered, running a hand through Vanessa’s long hair. The strands slipped through his fingers like silk, brushing the back of his neck, constantly in his peripheral vision. Every little tickle made him twitch. “I feel like I’m drowning in shampoo.”
Jack snorted. “Yeah. It’s fucking awesome. Look at this.” He shook his head, letting Katy’s long, dark hair fall over her shoulders, framing her face, then bit her lower lip between her teeth and winked at Philip seductively. “Tell me this doesn’t look hot.”
Philip turned away, but not before catching a glimpse of the curve of Katy’s collarbone, the tan line along her shoulder where a sports bra must’ve once sat. He gritted his teeth.
“We’re only here to grab underwear and then we get out. That’s it.” Jack made a distracted sound, which didn’t entirely sound like agreement.
He was testing everything. Squeezing Katy’s biceps and delighting in the subtle muscle definition, stretching out one long leg and flexing her calf muscles, even bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet as if testing how springy she was.
Philip was still focused on the reflection in the mirror. He stepped closer, and the image followed, familiar and foreign all at once. He raised a hand. She raised a hand. Jack appeared beside him, sliding Katy’s body into view. She was taller, leaner, her shoulders broader than Vanessa’s.
Katy was studious and fairly quiet normally, but Jack’s grin warped her into something hungry. A femme fatale in search of her next prey.
“Dude, look at us,” Jack whispered. “We actually pulled it off. We’re fucking hot!”
Philip swallowed, heat crawling up his neck. “We shouldn’t be looking. This is… it’s too much.”
“Too much fun,” Jack corrected. He pressed closer to the mirror, tilting Katy’s head, pursing her lips, sticking out her tongue just to see how it looked. He laughed in delight. “God, the way this mouth moves, it’s unreal.”
Philip tried to drag his eyes away, but curiosity betrayed him. His gaze dipped, catching sight of Vanessa’s chest in the reflection. The neckline of her shirt clung close, clearly showing the outline of her nipples. He bit the inside of his cheek and turned away sharply. He was not going to lift her top and take a peek.
“You’re staring,” Jack teased, slipping behind him and resting Katy’s hands on Vanessa’s hips.
Katy’s reflection loomed over Vanessa’s smaller frame in the mirror. “What’s it like, having the body of your crush? Bet you’ve fantasized about having unfettered access to her before. Touching every inch of her. Running your palms over her perky tits. Cupping her pussy.”
Philip’s face went hot. “Shut up.”
Jack leaned closer, his voice dropping, Katy’s lips brushing dangerously near Philip’s ear. “She’s soft, isn’t she? Curvy. Everything you imagined. And she’s right here. Aching to know what your hands would feel like sliding all over her.”
Philip’s breath caught. He could feel the warmth of Jack’s presence, the whisper of Katy’s hair brushing his cheek. He tried to step away, but Vanessa’s body didn’t obey with the same steadiness as his own.
His hip bumped the desk, throwing him off balance. Jack’s hand shot out, steadying him. Grabbing his hips instead of his arm. Philip stiffened. The pressure of Katy’s palm against Vanessa’s midriff was startling. A hot reminder that this wasn’t a joke anymore.
“Jack,” Philip said, voice low with warning. But Jack only grinned, tightening his grip slightly, fingertips sliding along the hem of Vanessa’s shirt, tickling the strip of skin underneath.
“Relax. We’ve got time before the potion wears off. Why waste it panicking when we could explore?”
Philip shoved his hand away, heart hammering too fast. “We came here for one reason. Don’t fuck this up with your usual bullshit.”
Jack backed off in mock surrender, leaning against the wall and raising Katy’s hands. “Fine, fine. You want to pass up a once in a lifetime opportunity by being a pussy, instead of playing with one, go ahead.”
Philip ignored him and pulled open one of the dresser drawers, coming face to face with the mother lode.
A mass of lace and cotton, bright colors and neutrals, G-strings and briefs and bras, all folded neatly in little piles. He fumbled, pulling out a pair at random, trying not to notice the little bow stitched along the waistband, or theorize about which of the girls it belonged to.
“Got it,” he muttered, stuffing it into his pocket.
“We should leave and go and stash this somewhere so we can retrieve it when we’re us again.”
“Plenty of time for that. Are you seriously passing up the opportunity to find out what turns your crush on?”
Philip’s chest heaved, the bra beneath his shirt pinching tighter with the movement. Every tiny sensation was amplified in this shape. He had no idea girls had such sensitive bodies. If Vanessa's neck and shoulders were this responsive to stimuli, what about the more… delicate areas?
Jack leaned against the wall, watching his friend closely. Katy’s arms crossed under her breasts, pushing them up in a way that made Philip avert his eyes.
“You really think you can ignore this?” Jack asked softly. “Ignore her?”
Philip didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Because the truth was, even as he tried to ignore it, every nerve in Vanessa’s body was alive with a tingling feeling he couldn’t shut off.
He told himself he wouldn’t look at the mirror again. That he had the underwear and all that was left to do was wait for the potion to burn off. But every time he moved, Vanessa’s body reminded him he wasn’t himself. The way her thighs brushed together when he shifted his stance. The heat trapped in the curve between her breasts. The way her nipples tightened when she saw the way Katy stared at her. The sudden, sharp contraction of pleasure between her legs.
Each detail was louder than thought. And Jack wouldn’t fucking give him space to breathe.
“You’re wound too tight,” Jack murmured, stepping closer again. Katy’s taller body loomed behind him, all lean lines and toned strength. He set Katy’s hands on Vanessa's shoulders from behind, massaging with deliberate slowness.
“Loosen up.”
Philip froze. The sensation was alien. Slender fingers pressing into the slope of Vanessa’s shoulders, kneading muscle softer than his own. His back arched without meaning to, chest pushing forward. He could feel the heat in his panties and almost smell the pheromones in the air.
“Jack-”
“Shh.”
Katy’s breath ghosted over his ear, warm and taunting. “Allow her to feel it. Her body isn’t fighting me. She likes this.”
Philip hated the way heat rippled through him at the words. The way Vanessa’s nipples pebbled instantly, turning aching and hard beneath her bra when Jack’s thumbs kept sensually running across her muscles.
He tried to step away, but Jack’s grip on her waist drew her back. Katy’s chest pressed flush against Vanessa’s back. Firm breasts molding against soft skin. Philip gasped, a small, betraying sound.
“That’s it,” Jack whispered, lips brushing the shell of Vanessa's ear. “You feel that, don’t you? How different it is?”
Philip bit his lip hard. But it didn’t stop his body from reacting. His chest ached with sensitivity, every brush of fabric against his nipples sparking hot shivers. His hips shifted against Jack’s hold, searching without meaning to. His ass pressing back, almost expecting to feel an erect cock there, relaxing when all he encountered was softness.
Jack slid one hand lower, over Vanessa’s flat stomach, fingertips grazing the waist of her denim skirt. Philip’s pulse spiked. He could feel the shape of her body in ways he’d only imagined.
“God, you’re actually shaking,” Jack teased. He pressed his palm harder, dragging upward until he cupped one of Vanessa’s breasts through her shirt. His hand molded perfectly to the curve, fingers sinking in slightly before closing over the nipples and pinching.
Philip jolted like he’d been shocked. The pressure sent heat exploding through him. So much sharper than he ever imagined. A moan slipped out, broken and needy, before he could stop it. Jack laughed low, his voice a husky echo in Katy’s mouth.
“I knew it. You’re loving this.”
Philip shook his head, but his body betrayed him. Vanessa’s breasts were soft in his own hands when Jack pulled them into place, squeezing and kneading.
The ache in his chest spread downward, a molten restlessness that coiled between his legs, where there was no longer any familiar weight. Only a slick, sensitive heat that made his thighs tense. Jack leaned closer, kissing the side of Vanessa's neck.
Katy’s lips left tingling sparks against her skin. He gasped again, tilting his head back without meaning to, giving Jack room to explore.
“You always wanted to know what she felt like, didn’t you?” Jack murmured between kisses. “Now you do. Every inch. Every little twitch. If you ever get the chance, you could make her cum in minutes.”
Philip squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t want to want this. But Vanessa’s body was singing beneath his skin, her curves hypersensitive to every touch, every squeeze. When Jack dragged his hand lower, cupping the swell of her ass through denim, Philip’s knees went weak. He stumbled, and they tumbled together onto the nearest bed. Vanessa’s smaller frame pinned beneath Katy’s.
Jack landed on top, grinning down, hair falling in a dark curtain around their faces. “Just lie back and enjoy it,” he said, voice husky. “I’ll do all the work and you can take notes in your head.”
Katy’s hips pressed down, grinding just enough for Philip to feel the press of her pussy against Vanessa's. The pleasure nearly made him see stars. What would it feel like if Katy actually touched her clit? Dragged her tongue over it? Sucked it between those soft lips?
Philip whimpered, his hands trapped between them, pressed against the curves of Katy’s sides. He could feel the warmth of skin through fabric. Every nerve screamed with arousal. Jack leaned down, lips hovering over his.
“Tell me you don’t want this.”
Philip’s heart thundered. His lips parted, and he didn’t know if he was going to say I don’t or kiss Katy. His pulse roared in his ears. He could feel the weight of Vanessa’s chest rising and falling too fast, her heartbeat thundering in her ribs like a trapped animal.
Jack hovered over him, Katy’s taller frame caging him against the mattress, their borrowed hair spilling together in a curtain that smelled faintly of fruit.
“This isn’t funny anymore,” Philip rasped, but his voice cracked, betraying the tremor of arousal under the words.
Jack smirked. “I’m not joking.” He lowered Katy’s body until their breasts touched, brushing Katy’s peaked nipples against Vanessa’s rock hard ones. The friction alone made Philip gasp, heat shooting through him. It wasn’t like pressing chest-to-chest with another guy.
The give, the shape, the electric sting of nipples touching, every detail was overwhelming. He had no idea breasts were so receptive to the slightest touch. Vanessa's wasn’t even uncovered and they made him squirm.
“God,” he groaned before he could stop himself. Jack’s grin widened in satisfaction.
“Feels good, doesn’t it? Every touch goes both ways. You squeeze her,” He pressed Katy’s hand down onto one of Vanessa’s breasts, forcing Philip to feel it fully, “And you are her.”
Philip arched into the contact despite himself. His hands moved up without any conscious thought. The weight of her breast in his palm, the nipple reacting instantly under his touch, each tiny spark flooded through him in a way his male body never reacted to anything but pressure on his cock.
He kneaded once, twice, and heat surged low in his stomach, between his thighs, turning his panties damp. His back bowed off the mattress, mouth falling open in a helpless sound.
Jack kissed him then. Katy’s mouth grazing Vanessa's jaw, the corner of her mouth, teasing as it moved around.
Every brush of her sweet lips left a wet, burning mark. Philip turned away, breathless, but Jack followed, biting gently at Vanessa’s neck until Philip gasped.
His thighs clenched hard. Something slick and molten was spreading there, pulsing with every beat of his heart. He could feel the absence, the soft, tender heat where his cock would usually be straining.
The pressure of denim against it only sharpened the ache. He needed Jack to touch Vanessa's pussy. He needed pressure. Jack ground down lightly and Philip bucked up helplessly, his own hands gripping Katy’s hips tight, chasing the friction he’d die without.
“Stop,” he panted, but the word broke halfway, turning into a moan. Jack chuckled low.
“Your body doesn’t want me to stop.” He kissed Vanessa again. Her lips plump, glossy, trembling beneath Katy’s teasing press. Philip’s breath hitched and his tongue flicked nervously against the edge of his teeth.
Every nerve screamed to close the distance, to taste what it felt like to kiss as a girl, to be kissed as a girl. Jack deepened the grind of their hips. Philip’s breath hitched sharply, a helpless whimper leaving his throat.
Heat surged through his belly, down his thighs, the ache between his legs swelling into a throbbing need. He arched against Katy, nails digging into her waist. There’s no way he was going to be able to say no. Jack had to make him cum.
Jack pulled back slightly, asking with twinkling eyes, “Shall we see how good Katy is at eating pussy?”
Philip knew what his answer should be, but his entire body was throbbing, yes yes yes.
Their mouths hovered a fraction apart, breaths mingling. The world narrowed to that single point of contact waiting to happen. Philip’s lips parted, ready, needy.
“Vanessa? Katy?” The voice cut through the fog like a blade, followed by the rap of knuckles on the door.
Philip’s eyes flew wide. Jack froze above him, both of them panting hard. “Vanessa, Katy!” another girl called from the hall. “We need you for the final discussions for tonight’s mixer!”
Silence. Only their ragged breaths, the hot press of bodies still locked together. Jack swore under his breath, rolling off Vanessa reluctantly.
“Just when things were about to get really good.”
Philip scrambled upright, Vanessa’s hair tangling in his face, chest heaving, nipples still hard and aching. He shoved shaky hands through the strands, trying to compose himself, though the slick heat between his thighs throbbed in open defiance.
He knew they should have kept their heads. If they let curiosity drag them off course they would blow the whole point of the night. The spell would end when it wanted and they had no idea when that would be.
Another knock. “Come on, you two! Hurry up! Megan saw you get in earlier, I know you’re in there.”
Jack smirked, tugging Katy’s tank top straight as if they hadn’t just been seconds from fucking each other into oblivion.
“Guess there’s more fun ahead. Don’t think you’re off the hook though, I’m still going to eat that pussy later and I fully expect to get repaid in kind.”
Philip sat frozen, heart still hammering, his mind spinning so fast he worried he might throw up.
With the sorority girls having already taken well known countermeasures to deal with any would be panty thieves, he thinks the chances of completing the challenge are near zero.
However, when his best friend Jack claims to have a plan involving a little magic and burrowing the bodies of his crush Vanessa and her roommate Katy, he knows he is in for a long night ahead when things don't exactly end up going to plan...
Note: This is a commissioned work that has not been personally written by me. I have been granted permission to distribute and share the story by the original author.
The floor of Delta Epsilon’s house was sticky.
Beer, cheap cologne, and stale pizza had seeped into the carpet like a second skin, and Philip had the honor of scrubbing it clean while half a dozen brothers lounged on couches watching basketball highlights.
“Missed a spot,” one of them called, deliberately tilting a red Solo cup so that the last of his drink bled out onto the carpet inches from Philip’s sponge.
Philip clenched his jaw. He’d been degraded all semester, fetching fast food at three in the morning, running errands that skirted the edge of being criminal, serving as human furniture during drinking games. He told himself it would be worth it. Delta Epsilon’s parties were legendary, the kind of place girls lined up to get into. More importantly, alumni connections meant a shot at internships that led to real careers. You suffered now, you cashed in later.
Jack, naturally, thrived. He was perched on the arm of a sofa, balancing a tray of wings for two seniors, grinning like the humiliation was a party of its own.
“How’s that knee grease holding up, Phil?” he teased, eyebrows bouncing. Philip muttered something under his breath, pressing the sponge hard enough to leave his knuckles white. He’d thought pledging with his best friend would make things easier. Instead, Jack’s bottomless energy only made Philip feel like the boring one, always one step away from quitting.
The pledge master, Trent, finally called them over once the brothers had eaten their fill.
“You’ve made it further than many,” he said, addressing both Philip and Jack while tapping the ash off his cigar. “Scrubbing toilets, babysitting drunk brothers, taking whatever punishment we throw at you, you did it all without complaint. But Delta doesn’t hand out membership for free. There’s one last hurdle.”
Jack’s eyes lit up, while Philip felt his stomach knot. Trent leaned forward. “You’ve got until Saturday morning to bring us proof that you’re worthy of being Delta Epsilons. And by proof, I mean the underwear of one of the Theta sisters across the street.”
A ripple of laughter passed through the room. Someone whistled. Another shouted, “Better hope they’re lace!”
Philip’s face burned hot. He’d expected something brutal. A dangerous stunt, or maybe even a tattoo or branding, not…this. Not something that felt like the set-up to a police record for being a creep.
Jack, of course, grinned like he’d just been handed a golden ticket. “Piece of cake,” he said.
“Piece of felony,” Philip muttered.
Trent ignored the comment. “You get caught, that’s your problem. Theta girls are sick of pranks. They’ll eat you alive if they catch you sneaking around. Fail, and you’ll have to re-pledge next semester, if we even let you back in. Succeed, and you’ll be full brothers by sunrise.”
He flicked his cigar ash into an empty beer can, and the matter was closed. Philip and Jack were dismissed like servants, slipping out into the cool night air. The frat house behind them thumped with bass as the next round of drinking games began.
Across the street, the Theta house glowed with warm yellow light, its windows alive with the silhouettes of girls laughing, moving and living in a world that felt forbidden.
Philip shoved his hands into his hoodie pocket. “This is insane. They want us to break into a sorority house. Forget expulsion, that’s actual jail time if we’re caught and reported.”
Jack slung an arm around his shoulder, grinning as if he hadn’t heard a word. “Come on, man. It’s tradition. Everybody who ever wore Delta letters has done something crazy like this. We’ll figure it out. We always do.”
Philip shrugged him off. “You mean you’ll figure it out. And drag me with you.”
Jack’s grin widened. “Exactly. Don’t worry, I’ve got a plan.” That phrase, I’ve got a plan, was the single most dangerous thing Jack could say. Philip knew better, but as he stared up at the Theta house, he couldn’t shake the truth. They’d come too far to back out now.
Philip assumed Jack’s “plan” would be something stupid but doable. Like sneaking into the Theta laundry room, bribing a janitor, or maybe finessing a stolen bra from lost-and-found.
What he didn’t expect, as their deadline creeped ever closer, was Jack pulling a battered paperback out of his backpack like he’d just smuggled the Necronomicon out of the library and declaring their troubles were about to be a thing of the past.
“What is that?” Philip asked, eyeing the faded title embossed with moons and symbols.
“Wiccan Rites and Rituals of the Body,” Jack said with a grin so wide it could split his face. “This baby is going to get us in.”
Philip stared. “That’s not a plan you idiot. That’s…props from a bad horror movie.”
“Correction,” Jack said, flipping through pages until he landed on one marked with a sticky note. “It’s a possession spell. All we need is something personal from the Thetas. Hair is perfect. One strand, and we’re golden.”
Philip blinked. “Hair. You want us to pluck a strand off someone’s head, mix it into some potion, and what? Astral-project into their underwear drawer?”
Jack leaned forward, whispering even though there was nobody else around. “Exactly. But into them, not their underwear drawer.”
For a moment, Philip couldn’t even find words. His friend was dead serious. His blue eyes glittered with the manic light of a man who believed in his own insanity. Philip pinched the bridge of his nose. “Jack, you need help.”
“Correction again. We need help, and this is it. Think about it. We don’t sneak around, we don’t break and enter, we just become them. Walk right in the front door. Grab what we need and walk back out again. Easy as pie.”
Philip wanted to laugh. He wanted to tell Jack this was why pledges got expelled, why college urban legends started with two idiots reading a so-called spell book. But something about Jack’s certainty unsettled him.
“How do you even plan to get the hair?” Philip asked, deciding to humor him.
Jack smirked. “You’re partnered with Vanessa in chem lab. I’m with her roommate, Katy. Both of them happen to belong to the Theta Sorority. Boom. Easy.”
Philip’s stomach lurched. Vanessa, the Vanessa, the girl he’d spent the better part of a semester trying not to stare at. She was sharp, funny, gorgeous, and so out of his league it hurt. The idea of stealing a strand of her hair wasn’t just impossible, it was mortifying.
“Jack, if I even look at her hair the wrong way she’ll know. She’ll tell everyone. I’ll be branded as the campus creep for the rest of my life.”
Jack clapped him on the back. “Relax. I’ll take care of mine. You just…fumble your way through like usual. She likes you, right? I’m sure she’s called you sweet before. She won’t even notice.”
Lab that afternoon was a fluorescent blur of glassware and nerves. Bunsen burners hissed, and the sharp scent of acetone hung in the air. Vanessa tied her glossy black hair into a messy bun as she leaned over the counter, the soft hum she made under her breath cutting through the low chatter of other pairs.
Philip adjusted the clamp on their stand and tried to steady his hands, pretending to check the thermometer while sneaking a glance at her profile. The long lashes, the soft curve of her cheek when she smiled. He’d barely worked up the nerve to say something to her, when the door swung open and Ryan Hale strolled in.
Ryan wasn’t a student in their class, he was a teaching assistant who was busy with his Masters. The kind of nerd who looked more like he belonged in a movie poster than a chemistry lab. The Henry Cavill of the campus. Tall, effortlessly confident, his sleeves rolled to the elbow, showing forearms that probably did not belong to someone who spent his evenings doing titration reports.
“Need a hand, Vanessa?” he asked, his voice deep and smooth enough to make the words sound like an inside joke.
Vanessa’s whole face lit up. “Ryan! You’re still hanging around the underclassmen? I thought you were too cool for basic chem.”
“Guess I missed the fun crowd.” He winked, stepping close enough that Philip caught the faint smell of his cologne. Something woodsy and smug. Philip’s stomach twisted. He busied himself pretending to check their notes, but every word between Vanessa and Ryan pulled his focus like a hook through his ribs.
“Still showing off that perfect technique, huh?” Ryan teased, leaning an elbow on the counter. “Could use someone like you to calibrate my disastrous love life.”
Vanessa laughed, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “I told you last time, you need better lab partners, not better lines.”
“Maybe I just need one who actually likes me,” he said, voice dipping into something low and knowing. “You still wearing that purple dress that makes everyone else forget the experiment?”
She grinned, shaking her head. “Keep talking, and you’ll set the sprinklers off again.”
Ryan chuckled, backing away with a little salute. “Worth it.”
Philip’s jaw locked so tight it hurt. He shifted his beaker just to make noise. “Vanessa, uh, the solution’s ready,” he muttered.
She turned back, still smiling, a faint pink on her cheeks. “Right, sorry, I got distracted.” The way she said it made Philip want to vanish into the nearest fume hood.
Ryan gave him a nod that felt more like dismissal. “Good work, man. Don’t let her boss you around too much.”
Philip forced a tight smile. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
When Ryan finally moved on to check another table, the tension in Philip’s shoulders eased only slightly. Vanessa was still smiling to herself, twirling her pencil between her fingers. “He’s such a dork,” she said fondly.
“Yeah,” Philip replied, voice flat. “A real geek.”
She glanced at him, oblivious. “You okay? You look kind of pale.”
“Fine,” he lied. His pulse thundered. He hated how obvious it felt. The jealousy, the ridiculous possessiveness over a girl who barely saw him as more than a partner for lab reports.
Meanwhile, across the room, Jack was all charm. Katy, tall, athletic, focused on the work at hand with cool intensity, rolled her eyes at his constant jokes, but she didn’t seem to actively hate him. Jack’s hands moved casually, as if the experiment was background noise to whatever ridiculous story he was spinning.
Philip’s heart pounded. He couldn’t do it. Not to Vanessa. The thought of deliberately stealing a piece of her felt worse than any frat punishment. But then her bun slipped, and a single strand drifted onto the lab bench.
Philip froze and stared at it like it was radioactive. One perfect strand, right there. All he had to do was pick it up without her noticing. His hand twitched. Sweat beaded at his hairline. Vanessa reached for the pipette, and he panicked. He grabbed the strand too quickly, shoving it into his pocket like a thief.
She glanced at him, puzzled. “You good?” she asked.
Philip’s laugh came out strangled. “Yeah. Totally. Fine. Just, science, you know?”
She gave him a strange look, then turned back to the experiment. Across the room, Jack caught his eye and subtly flashed a triumphant thumbs-up. He mouthed, Got it. Philip wanted to throw up.
After class, they met outside, ducking into a quiet corner near the library. Jack pulled a small plastic baggie from his pocket and wiggled it proudly. Katy’s strand of hair gleaming inside. Philip shoved his hands deep into his hoodie, where Vanessa’s strand burned against his palm like contraband.
“This is insane,” he muttered. “If she’d caught me, I’d have been ruined.”
Jack was practically buzzing. “But she didn’t. We’ve got everything. Today, we drink the potion. Tomorrow, we’re legends.”
Philip stared at him, feeling his chest tighten. It wasn’t the frat house that scared him anymore. It was Jack’s unwavering certainty, the gleam in his eye like he’d already crossed a line Philip couldn’t even see.
Back in their room, Jack had cleared his desk, pushing aside textbooks and laundry to make space for the battered paperback and a mess of supplies that looked like they’d been stolen from a Spirit Halloween clearance bin. Mason jars, candles, a bag of salt and something that Philip really, really hoped was red food coloring.
Philip sat on the bed, arms crossed, trying not to look at the plastic bag in his pocket. Inside was Vanessa’s hair, a single dark strand that felt heavier than lead.
“This is ridiculous,” he muttered. “You’re going to set off the fire alarm, and we’ll get kicked out before we even fail the pledge.”
Jack was hunched over the desk, tongue poking from the corner of his mouth as he measured powder into a chipped coffee mug.
“Correction. You’re going to stop being so negative, because we’re going to waltz into Theta’s house like we own it and take our time finding the perfect proof. Something small, sexy and lacy. Then we hand it to Trent and we’re done. Easiest initiation ever and we’re lifelong members of the Delta Epsilon brotherhood.”
Philip shook his head. “You actually believe all the crap coming out of your mouth, don’t you?”
“Yes. Because I know this is going to work.” Jack’s grin was feral. He held up his mug, fizzing with something dark and faintly purple. “And very soon, you’re going to have to swallow all your pessimistic, dismissive words and admit that I’m the GOAT.” Without waiting for a response, he dropped Katy’s wavy strand of hair into the concoction.
Philip looked at his own brew, waiting for him on the desk. It reeked faintly of vinegar and something metallic. “This looks like cough syrup that went bad.”
Jack grabbed the paperback, muttering words under his breath. Latin? Gibberish? Philip couldn’t tell. The candlelight threw shadows across Jack’s face, making him look more unhinged than usual.
“Jack,” Philip said slowly, “You get that if this doesn’t work, we may be drinking poison?”
“Trust me,” Jack said, gesturing meaningfully at Philip’s mug. Those two words had been the prelude to every disaster Philip had lived through with him. The broken window in high school. The near arrest in freshman year. And now this.
Philip sighed, pulled Vanessa’s hair from his pocket, and dropped it into the liquid. It curled and fizzed, dissolving into the mixture like it had never been.
“Bottoms up,” Jack said cheerfully, chugging the contents in one long pull.
Philip raised his mug. The liquid shimmered oddly, like heat ripples above asphalt. He pinched his nose and tossed it back. It burned. Like swallowing melted pennies chased with bleach. His stomach roiled instantly, bile rising up.
“Jesus Christ,” he choked, slamming the cup down. “That’s not magic, that’s battery acid.”
Jack wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, coughing hard, but his grin didn’t falter. “Wait for it.”
Philip blinked and the dorm room folded in on itself. Candlelight bent sideways and the next breath tasted like coffee and paper. He was not in their room anymore. He was sitting at a table under tall windows, late afternoon light spilling amber over open textbooks and half empty cups.
The scent was library quiet and caffeine. Hair slid across his cheek. Definitely not his. It was long and silky. His hands were smaller, nails pink, wrists delicate. The weight on his chest tugged when he breathed. He was looking through Vanessa’s eyes.
Across from him, Katy sat in a chair with a pen in her hand and her mouth parted in a quiet, startled sound that belonged to Jack. “Holy shit,” Jack whispered in Katy’s voice.
Philip’s pulse spiked. “How the hell did I get here?” he asked under his breath, before the realization hit him fully. Jack’s crazy plan worked. He glanced down, eyes bugging at the soft cleavage he encountered. He was on the verge of completely freaking out. “Keep it together,” he muttered to himself. The sound of Vanessa's voice only sent him spiraling further into chaos.
Jack’s grin curled slow and wicked as he looked down at himself and then around them. He started to pull the top of Katy’s tank forward so he could peek at her breasts, before Philip shot him a look that could choke a man at twenty paces.
“Don’t,” Philip hissed. “Katy would never do something like that in public!”
Jack laughed, high and breathy in Katy’s voice. “You’re telling me you’re not even curious? Come on, man. We’re in. This is unreal. Don’t you want to know what it feels like to them when we touch them?”
Philip swallowed hard, trying to calm himself. He gripped the edge of the table to keep himself from spiraling into sensory overload.
“This…this isn’t possible,” he whispered. But the evidence pressed in from every side. The scent of citrus shampoo in his hair, the tug of bra straps against his shoulders, the fullness in his chest when he inhaled. The emptiness where his cock should be.
Philip’s eyes darted anxiously around the library cafe. “We need to get out of here before someone notices something off,” Philip said. “People pick up on the smallest wrong note.” He was terrified that someone would realize the girls were possessed.
He spent way too much time staring at Vanessa, but that didn’t mean he could copy her actions. If anyone watched them closely, they’d know immediately that there were impostors inhabiting Vanessa and Katy.
“We should go back to their room and fool around,” Jack suggested immediately, hands on Katy’s breasts, squeezing idly.
“Jesus, Jack, stop that! They’re in public. We’re in public…”
This was such a mind-fuck. Clearly they were literally possessing Vanessa and Katy’s bodies. Where was Vanessa's consciousness now? Asleep? Aware? He didn’t feel like someone was watching him, so hopefully she had no idea what he was doing. And where were his and Jack’s bodies? Still in their dorm room? Fuck. If he’d known there was any chance of this working, he’d never have gone through with it.
“Come on bestie, let’s go home,” Jack cooed at him. “I’m just dying to get out of these pesky clothes.”
Jack clearly had zero second thoughts about any of this. Then again, Jack had never had a second thought in his life. He rarely had first ones. Philip decided that only made him a bigger idiot for always following his friend’s crazy plans.
Philip took a deep breath, gathered Vanessa’s things and slung her messenger bag over her shoulder before getting up on shaky legs. The plan was to reach Theta house without interacting with anyone who knew the girls.
Vanessa was outgoing and popular, so he kept his eyes trained on the ground to avoid any accidental socializing.
He was doing his best to focus on the mission, but every move betrayed him. Vanessa’s curves shifted differently from his own. Her hips swayed without permission when he walked. The tug of the denim skirt around her thighs was tighter than he was used to, the waistband sitting higher, the soft curtain of hair continuously falling into his eyes. And he kept fighting the urge to run his fingertips over her lustrous, satiny skin.
Philip thanked his lucky stars that it was late afternoon sliding toward evening and most of the Theta girls were either at dinner, in class, or busy with the mixer prep.
The second piece of good luck was the fact that the first year members of the sorority had the downstairs bedrooms and Katy and Vanessa had their names picked out in glittery wooden letters on their door. Which saved him and Jack from being caught wandering aimlessly into someone else’s room and rifling through their underwear.
“Come on,” he hissed at Jack, nearly having heart failure when he heard Vanessa’s sweet, bubbly voice, before remembering it came from his own mouth.
As soon as they entered the room, Philip froze like a deer in headlights.
The room smelled like them. A heady mix of perfume, make-up and detergent. Several photos of Vanessa and Katy were pinned to the notice board. Keys with a little Theta charm lay on a desk. Lip gloss on each bedside table. A folded flyer about the upcoming mixer. Every object made him feel like an intruder in a life that wasn’t his.
Then he looked up and saw his reflection thrown back at him from the floor length mirror fastened to the opposite wall. Vanessa stared back. Her round face framed by shiny black hair, lips glossed in pale pink, eyes wide with Philip’s panic.
“This isn’t possible,” he murmured hoarsely.
Jack crossed the room with Katy’s energetic stride, hair swinging over her shoulder. He leaned down, far too close, eyes alight with mischief.
“Possible or not, it’s happening. And we’ve got hours before it wears off. Wanna play?” Philip’s pulse thundered. He was in Vanessa’s body. Jack was in Katy’s. He had no idea what their real bodies were doing or where, only that they were not here. For the first time since pledging Delta, he realized he was more terrified of his best friend than of any frat brother.
Jack was practically bouncing around like a kid in a candy store, repeatedly mentioning how awesome it is to have tits.
“This is insane,” Philip muttered, running a hand through Vanessa’s long hair. The strands slipped through his fingers like silk, brushing the back of his neck, constantly in his peripheral vision. Every little tickle made him twitch. “I feel like I’m drowning in shampoo.”
Jack snorted. “Yeah. It’s fucking awesome. Look at this.” He shook his head, letting Katy’s long, dark hair fall over her shoulders, framing her face, then bit her lower lip between her teeth and winked at Philip seductively. “Tell me this doesn’t look hot.”
Philip turned away, but not before catching a glimpse of the curve of Katy’s collarbone, the tan line along her shoulder where a sports bra must’ve once sat. He gritted his teeth.
“We’re only here to grab underwear and then we get out. That’s it.” Jack made a distracted sound, which didn’t entirely sound like agreement.
He was testing everything. Squeezing Katy’s biceps and delighting in the subtle muscle definition, stretching out one long leg and flexing her calf muscles, even bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet as if testing how springy she was.
Philip was still focused on the reflection in the mirror. He stepped closer, and the image followed, familiar and foreign all at once. He raised a hand. She raised a hand. Jack appeared beside him, sliding Katy’s body into view. She was taller, leaner, her shoulders broader than Vanessa’s.
Katy was studious and fairly quiet normally, but Jack’s grin warped her into something hungry. A femme fatale in search of her next prey.
“Dude, look at us,” Jack whispered. “We actually pulled it off. We’re fucking hot!”
Philip swallowed, heat crawling up his neck. “We shouldn’t be looking. This is… it’s too much.”
“Too much fun,” Jack corrected. He pressed closer to the mirror, tilting Katy’s head, pursing her lips, sticking out her tongue just to see how it looked. He laughed in delight. “God, the way this mouth moves, it’s unreal.”
Philip tried to drag his eyes away, but curiosity betrayed him. His gaze dipped, catching sight of Vanessa’s chest in the reflection. The neckline of her shirt clung close, clearly showing the outline of her nipples. He bit the inside of his cheek and turned away sharply. He was not going to lift her top and take a peek.
“You’re staring,” Jack teased, slipping behind him and resting Katy’s hands on Vanessa’s hips.
Katy’s reflection loomed over Vanessa’s smaller frame in the mirror. “What’s it like, having the body of your crush? Bet you’ve fantasized about having unfettered access to her before. Touching every inch of her. Running your palms over her perky tits. Cupping her pussy.”
Philip’s face went hot. “Shut up.”
Jack leaned closer, his voice dropping, Katy’s lips brushing dangerously near Philip’s ear. “She’s soft, isn’t she? Curvy. Everything you imagined. And she’s right here. Aching to know what your hands would feel like sliding all over her.”
Philip’s breath caught. He could feel the warmth of Jack’s presence, the whisper of Katy’s hair brushing his cheek. He tried to step away, but Vanessa’s body didn’t obey with the same steadiness as his own.
His hip bumped the desk, throwing him off balance. Jack’s hand shot out, steadying him. Grabbing his hips instead of his arm. Philip stiffened. The pressure of Katy’s palm against Vanessa’s midriff was startling. A hot reminder that this wasn’t a joke anymore.
“Jack,” Philip said, voice low with warning. But Jack only grinned, tightening his grip slightly, fingertips sliding along the hem of Vanessa’s shirt, tickling the strip of skin underneath.
“Relax. We’ve got time before the potion wears off. Why waste it panicking when we could explore?”
Philip shoved his hand away, heart hammering too fast. “We came here for one reason. Don’t fuck this up with your usual bullshit.”
Jack backed off in mock surrender, leaning against the wall and raising Katy’s hands. “Fine, fine. You want to pass up a once in a lifetime opportunity by being a pussy, instead of playing with one, go ahead.”
Philip ignored him and pulled open one of the dresser drawers, coming face to face with the mother lode.
A mass of lace and cotton, bright colors and neutrals, G-strings and briefs and bras, all folded neatly in little piles. He fumbled, pulling out a pair at random, trying not to notice the little bow stitched along the waistband, or theorize about which of the girls it belonged to.
“Got it,” he muttered, stuffing it into his pocket.
“We should leave and go and stash this somewhere so we can retrieve it when we’re us again.”
“Plenty of time for that. Are you seriously passing up the opportunity to find out what turns your crush on?”
Philip’s chest heaved, the bra beneath his shirt pinching tighter with the movement. Every tiny sensation was amplified in this shape. He had no idea girls had such sensitive bodies. If Vanessa's neck and shoulders were this responsive to stimuli, what about the more… delicate areas?
Jack leaned against the wall, watching his friend closely. Katy’s arms crossed under her breasts, pushing them up in a way that made Philip avert his eyes.
“You really think you can ignore this?” Jack asked softly. “Ignore her?”
Philip didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Because the truth was, even as he tried to ignore it, every nerve in Vanessa’s body was alive with a tingling feeling he couldn’t shut off.
He told himself he wouldn’t look at the mirror again. That he had the underwear and all that was left to do was wait for the potion to burn off. But every time he moved, Vanessa’s body reminded him he wasn’t himself. The way her thighs brushed together when he shifted his stance. The heat trapped in the curve between her breasts. The way her nipples tightened when she saw the way Katy stared at her. The sudden, sharp contraction of pleasure between her legs.
Each detail was louder than thought. And Jack wouldn’t fucking give him space to breathe.
“You’re wound too tight,” Jack murmured, stepping closer again. Katy’s taller body loomed behind him, all lean lines and toned strength. He set Katy’s hands on Vanessa's shoulders from behind, massaging with deliberate slowness.
“Loosen up.”
Philip froze. The sensation was alien. Slender fingers pressing into the slope of Vanessa’s shoulders, kneading muscle softer than his own. His back arched without meaning to, chest pushing forward. He could feel the heat in his panties and almost smell the pheromones in the air.
“Jack-”
“Shh.”
Katy’s breath ghosted over his ear, warm and taunting. “Allow her to feel it. Her body isn’t fighting me. She likes this.”
Philip hated the way heat rippled through him at the words. The way Vanessa’s nipples pebbled instantly, turning aching and hard beneath her bra when Jack’s thumbs kept sensually running across her muscles.
He tried to step away, but Jack’s grip on her waist drew her back. Katy’s chest pressed flush against Vanessa’s back. Firm breasts molding against soft skin. Philip gasped, a small, betraying sound.
“That’s it,” Jack whispered, lips brushing the shell of Vanessa's ear. “You feel that, don’t you? How different it is?”
Philip bit his lip hard. But it didn’t stop his body from reacting. His chest ached with sensitivity, every brush of fabric against his nipples sparking hot shivers. His hips shifted against Jack’s hold, searching without meaning to. His ass pressing back, almost expecting to feel an erect cock there, relaxing when all he encountered was softness.
Jack slid one hand lower, over Vanessa’s flat stomach, fingertips grazing the waist of her denim skirt. Philip’s pulse spiked. He could feel the shape of her body in ways he’d only imagined.
“God, you’re actually shaking,” Jack teased. He pressed his palm harder, dragging upward until he cupped one of Vanessa’s breasts through her shirt. His hand molded perfectly to the curve, fingers sinking in slightly before closing over the nipples and pinching.
Philip jolted like he’d been shocked. The pressure sent heat exploding through him. So much sharper than he ever imagined. A moan slipped out, broken and needy, before he could stop it. Jack laughed low, his voice a husky echo in Katy’s mouth.
“I knew it. You’re loving this.”
Philip shook his head, but his body betrayed him. Vanessa’s breasts were soft in his own hands when Jack pulled them into place, squeezing and kneading.
The ache in his chest spread downward, a molten restlessness that coiled between his legs, where there was no longer any familiar weight. Only a slick, sensitive heat that made his thighs tense. Jack leaned closer, kissing the side of Vanessa's neck.
Katy’s lips left tingling sparks against her skin. He gasped again, tilting his head back without meaning to, giving Jack room to explore.
“You always wanted to know what she felt like, didn’t you?” Jack murmured between kisses. “Now you do. Every inch. Every little twitch. If you ever get the chance, you could make her cum in minutes.”
Philip squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t want to want this. But Vanessa’s body was singing beneath his skin, her curves hypersensitive to every touch, every squeeze. When Jack dragged his hand lower, cupping the swell of her ass through denim, Philip’s knees went weak. He stumbled, and they tumbled together onto the nearest bed. Vanessa’s smaller frame pinned beneath Katy’s.
Jack landed on top, grinning down, hair falling in a dark curtain around their faces. “Just lie back and enjoy it,” he said, voice husky. “I’ll do all the work and you can take notes in your head.”
Katy’s hips pressed down, grinding just enough for Philip to feel the press of her pussy against Vanessa's. The pleasure nearly made him see stars. What would it feel like if Katy actually touched her clit? Dragged her tongue over it? Sucked it between those soft lips?
Philip whimpered, his hands trapped between them, pressed against the curves of Katy’s sides. He could feel the warmth of skin through fabric. Every nerve screamed with arousal. Jack leaned down, lips hovering over his.
“Tell me you don’t want this.”
Philip’s heart thundered. His lips parted, and he didn’t know if he was going to say I don’t or kiss Katy. His pulse roared in his ears. He could feel the weight of Vanessa’s chest rising and falling too fast, her heartbeat thundering in her ribs like a trapped animal.
Jack hovered over him, Katy’s taller frame caging him against the mattress, their borrowed hair spilling together in a curtain that smelled faintly of fruit.
“This isn’t funny anymore,” Philip rasped, but his voice cracked, betraying the tremor of arousal under the words.
Jack smirked. “I’m not joking.” He lowered Katy’s body until their breasts touched, brushing Katy’s peaked nipples against Vanessa’s rock hard ones. The friction alone made Philip gasp, heat shooting through him. It wasn’t like pressing chest-to-chest with another guy.
The give, the shape, the electric sting of nipples touching, every detail was overwhelming. He had no idea breasts were so receptive to the slightest touch. Vanessa's wasn’t even uncovered and they made him squirm.
“God,” he groaned before he could stop himself. Jack’s grin widened in satisfaction.
“Feels good, doesn’t it? Every touch goes both ways. You squeeze her,” He pressed Katy’s hand down onto one of Vanessa’s breasts, forcing Philip to feel it fully, “And you are her.”
Philip arched into the contact despite himself. His hands moved up without any conscious thought. The weight of her breast in his palm, the nipple reacting instantly under his touch, each tiny spark flooded through him in a way his male body never reacted to anything but pressure on his cock.
He kneaded once, twice, and heat surged low in his stomach, between his thighs, turning his panties damp. His back bowed off the mattress, mouth falling open in a helpless sound.
Jack kissed him then. Katy’s mouth grazing Vanessa's jaw, the corner of her mouth, teasing as it moved around.
Every brush of her sweet lips left a wet, burning mark. Philip turned away, breathless, but Jack followed, biting gently at Vanessa’s neck until Philip gasped.
His thighs clenched hard. Something slick and molten was spreading there, pulsing with every beat of his heart. He could feel the absence, the soft, tender heat where his cock would usually be straining.
The pressure of denim against it only sharpened the ache. He needed Jack to touch Vanessa's pussy. He needed pressure. Jack ground down lightly and Philip bucked up helplessly, his own hands gripping Katy’s hips tight, chasing the friction he’d die without.
“Stop,” he panted, but the word broke halfway, turning into a moan. Jack chuckled low.
“Your body doesn’t want me to stop.” He kissed Vanessa again. Her lips plump, glossy, trembling beneath Katy’s teasing press. Philip’s breath hitched and his tongue flicked nervously against the edge of his teeth.
Every nerve screamed to close the distance, to taste what it felt like to kiss as a girl, to be kissed as a girl. Jack deepened the grind of their hips. Philip’s breath hitched sharply, a helpless whimper leaving his throat.
Heat surged through his belly, down his thighs, the ache between his legs swelling into a throbbing need. He arched against Katy, nails digging into her waist. There’s no way he was going to be able to say no. Jack had to make him cum.
Jack pulled back slightly, asking with twinkling eyes, “Shall we see how good Katy is at eating pussy?”
Philip knew what his answer should be, but his entire body was throbbing, yes yes yes.
Their mouths hovered a fraction apart, breaths mingling. The world narrowed to that single point of contact waiting to happen. Philip’s lips parted, ready, needy.
“Vanessa? Katy?” The voice cut through the fog like a blade, followed by the rap of knuckles on the door.
Philip’s eyes flew wide. Jack froze above him, both of them panting hard. “Vanessa, Katy!” another girl called from the hall. “We need you for the final discussions for tonight’s mixer!”
Silence. Only their ragged breaths, the hot press of bodies still locked together. Jack swore under his breath, rolling off Vanessa reluctantly.
“Just when things were about to get really good.”
Philip scrambled upright, Vanessa’s hair tangling in his face, chest heaving, nipples still hard and aching. He shoved shaky hands through the strands, trying to compose himself, though the slick heat between his thighs throbbed in open defiance.
He knew they should have kept their heads. If they let curiosity drag them off course they would blow the whole point of the night. The spell would end when it wanted and they had no idea when that would be.
Another knock. “Come on, you two! Hurry up! Megan saw you get in earlier, I know you’re in there.”
Jack smirked, tugging Katy’s tank top straight as if they hadn’t just been seconds from fucking each other into oblivion.
“Guess there’s more fun ahead. Don’t think you’re off the hook though, I’m still going to eat that pussy later and I fully expect to get repaid in kind.”
Philip sat frozen, heart still hammering, his mind spinning so fast he worried he might throw up.
mtf
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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.”
body swap
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The story of how Trevor gained his powers.
Naomi tried her hardest not to let out a sigh of exasperation as Trevor continued on his little diatribe about some superheroes Naomi could not care less about. A few more weeks of this, Noami thought, glancing at the clock and getting frustrated at how slowly time seemed to be moving, can’t believe I agreed to this bet, I need to find something Olivia could do for me that’ll make all this worth it.
Trevor was still talking, not having noticed Naomi had checked out of the conversation. Physically, he was alright looking, average height, average weight, his face had some acne scars, but was otherwise fine, he didn’t smell which was great. No, that wasn’t the issue with him, the real issue was how he wouldn’t shut up and how he seemed to leer at her body when he thought she wasn’t looking. Of course, it didn’t help that the thing he wouldn’t shut up about is how much he likes looking at women’s bodies.
At least he managed to keep his hands to himself, most of the time anyway, unfortunately, now wasn’t one of those times. As he was talking, he started scootching closer to her, wrapping an arm around her waist. Naomi wanted to push him away, tell him to keep his hands to himself, but decided against it. She didn’t want him to break up with her before the month was over, now that would be one of the most embarrassing things that would have ever happened to her. That would also render the dare moot and Olivia would have won. As if a dweeb like him would have the backbone to break up with me, Naomi thought, smiling slightly, if he gets sad, a little bit of skin should do the trick and make him happy again.
Trevor noticed her smile and grinned, “Ah, so you think Supergirl is good too! Nice! You know, I think you’d make a great Supergirl!”
Naomi blinked, realizing he must think she was reacting to him, “Oh? Why’s that?”
“Well for one, you already look a bit like her,” he started counting, using his fingers, “you’re strong, determined, don’t take any crap from anyone, and you’re beautiful!”
Is he actually- Naomi smiled despite herself, she had no idea what he was talking about, but she was able to figure out that he was being earnest and, from what she could gather, Trevor does really enjoy Supergirl and if he thought she was like her, then who was she to deny such a compliment?
“Oh!” Trevor began, looking at the clock, “Sorry, I realize I’ve been talking for about half an hour now,” he blushed and scratched the back of his head, “Heh, sorry, sorry. How was your day?”
Naomi smiled, “I’ve been alright. Olivia and Wren and I have been talking a bit. Olivia’s been laughing lately, something about Victoria nearly embarrassing herself during the last cheer practice. I don’t know.”
Trevor nodded, “Is your mom and sister alright? I noticed they both seem a little down lately.”
Naomi sighed, “Oh, right. I haven’t told you about this because I didn’t want to ruin the mood,” that was a big lie, she hadn’t told him because she hardly cared herself, “my Great Uncle Ian passed away a few weeks ago and mom and Summerlyn have been going to his house and moving things in storage,” Naomi shrugged, “they asked dad and some of my other cousins to help bring some stuff here as well. I think everything’s in the basement.”
“Oh, I’m… really sorry, what happened to him?”
Naomi waved a hand, “He was old, and had some health problems before, something about a bad heart.”
“How’s your family taking it?”
I guess we’re talking about this now, Naomi thought, better than hearing him blather on about superheroes I don’t care about, much better than hearing him talk about other girls. “Mom’s taking it the hardest, she’s been almost inconsolable lately. Uncle Ian helped raise her since she was younger and she was there with him when he died.”
Trevor was silent for a moment before asking, “How are you taking it?”
Naomi shrugged, “Barely knew the guy, he had some cool stuff in his house though, wanna come see?”
“Oh, is that alright?”
“Should be,” Naomi replied, “just be careful not to break anything.”
Naomi helped him off her bed and together the two of them left her room and went to the basement. Her parents weren’t here right now, her dad was still at work, and her mom was probably at some cousin’s house making arrangements for Uncle Ian’s funeral. That only left herself and Summerlyn, who was probably in her room studying or something. Still, she’d rather not Summerlyn find out she was down here and tell her mom, who’d know when she’d hear the end of it, so she pressed a finger to her lips at Trevor before opening the door to her basement.
The basement wasn’t much, it was a bit larger than the downstairs living room and normally was used just to store the washer and dryer. Now, however, there were several pieces of furniture belonging to Uncle Ian stored down here, along with several boxes containing more of Uncle Ian’s stuff.
None of this stuff was particularly interesting to Naomi, there was a grandfather clock, thankfully it was broken, along with a vanity desk, a clothes drawer, and a rocking chair. The vanity desk held her interest for a moment, until Naomi realized it was too big for her room and was a bit too antique for her tastes. She glanced over at Trevor who took all of this in with a look of wonder on his face. I’m glad someone’s enjoying this, hopefully this will stop you from going on and on about superheroes.
“Aw, the clock doesn’t work?” Trevor asked.
Naomi shook her head, “According to mom, it stopped working a while ago and Uncle Ian never got around to trying to get it repaired.”
Trevor ran a hand against the carved wood of the clock, “Is this handmade? This is beautiful!”
His attention was quickly taken by some of the boxes of Uncle Ian’s belongings. He glanced at Naomi for permission and then started digging through his stuff. A bunch of it were old journals and some unpublished manuscripts. Mom had said Uncle Ian was a writer, but sadly his words will never be read by anyone.
Trevor was flipping through some of Uncle Ian’s journals, “Oh, your uncle used to travel? Says here, he’s been to France, Hungary, Japan, Mexico…”
Naomi held up a hand, “Yes, he used to travel a bit when he was younger, according to mom, he’d sometimes bring her and her brothers some souvenirs from the places he’s been to.”
“Hello!” Trevor said, picking up a rolled up piece of paper at the bottom of the box, “What are you?”
“Probably a photo or old letter,” Naomi guessed.
Trevor made a face as he unrolled the paper. He flipped it around, expression still puzzled.
“What’s up?” Naomi asked.
Trevor flipped the page towards her and she was met with a series of ineligible scribbles. Huh, I guess it’s probably a letter from someone he met when he was traveling around the world. Naomi thought, Looks old. “What language even is that?”
Trevor shrugged, squinting at the symbols written on the paper, “Your guess is as good as mine, honestly.”
Before either of them could say anything else, the door opened and Summerlyn came down the stairs. Of course, she’d show up and ruin the fun.
Summerlyn was Naomi’s older sister, and she looked like it too. She was taller than Naomi, her body lean and toned, not that you’d be able to tell since she wore clothes that did not show any skin, and her golden blonde hair was longer. The only notable difference between the two of them is that Summerlyn had gray eyes while Naomi had blue.
“What the hell are you two doing down here?” Summerlyn asked, pointing at Naomi, “Mom said she doesn’t want any guests down here!” she glanced at the books placed on the floor, “I’d clean that up if I was you, if mom knew you were digging through Uncle Ian’s stuff, she’d flip!”
Naomi rolled her eyes and stepped over to her sister, “What? Are you going to tell mom?”
“I will if you don’t clean this up,” Summerlyn replied.
“Oh my gosh, why are you so worked up about this, anyway?” Naomi asked, “You barely knew Uncle Ian.”
“I barely knew him?” Summerlyn asked, taking a step back, “Oh, right, you don’t pay attention to anything that's not on that phone of yours, huh? No, I knew Uncle Ian! More than you! He helped me apply for colleges and helped pay for my classes!”
Naomi held up her hands, “Oh wow, sorry, I’m sorry I don’t know every detail about your life, alright? Uncle Ian helped you and now you’re sad like mom, alright.”
Trevor nervously approached her from behind, “Hey, Naomi,” he began, “maybe we should just cle-”
“Are you taking her side?” Naomi asked, “Of course you would, of course!”
“What?” Trevor asked, “No, I’m not. I just don’t want you to get in trouble.”
“Boy, take it from me, you’re better off without her,” Summerlyn began.
Naomi glared at her. Don’t you fucking dare!
Trevor glanced at her, confused.
“Naomi doesn’t love you,” Summerlyn began, “she probably only asked you out as a dare or something. Trust me, you’re not her type and you will not be the one who changes her either. Trust me, just leave, and find someone else, someone who’d love you and-” she glanced at the shirt Trevor was wearing, “someone who wouldn’t mind talking about superheroes.”
Well, I guess Olivia won the bet, Naomi thought, thanks alot, sis.
Trevor, however, surprised her. He was trembling, the letter - or whatever it was - crumbled in his hand. At first Naomi was worried he was going to explode on them and took a step back, but no, the poor bastard stepped towards Summerlyn, his face red. “You stay quiet!” he shouted, surprising both Naomi and Summerlyn, “Don’t tell me who loves me and who doesn’t! I know Naomi and I are meant to be! And no one is going to tell me otherwise, alright!”
“Calm down!” Summerlyn shouted, raising her hands, “Calm down! Alright! You’re in love, I get-”
“No!” Trevor continued, “no, you don’t get it! For the first time in my life, I was asked out! If that’s not a sign, then I don’t know what is!”
Naomi gasped, noticing the paper in Trevor’s hand started to change, started to glow. At first, it was white, but soon burned red hot. Once she saw it, Summerlyn did too, and was freaking out, telling Trevor to drop it.
Unfortunately, Trevor didn’t notice, “Drop what? The fact that things are finally looking my way? Why wou-”
It all happened so fast. The paper burned bright, nearly blinding Naomi. There was a scream, although who was screaming, she wasn’t sure. Suddenly, the light vanished and the basement returned to normal. Except, there were only two people standing here now, Naomi herself, and Summerlyn who was looking down at herself as if she’d never seen her body before.
Naomi stepped forward, “Trevor?” she asked, her voice quivering. She didn’t see him, and couldn't find any trace of him anywhere. She looked around frantically, “Trevor!” she called again. What happened? Sure, he was a loser and she was going to dump his ass as soon as the month was over, but that didn’t mean she wanted him vaporized or whatever happened.
“Trevor!” Naomi screamed, tears stinging her eyes.
“I’m here,” Summerlyn breathed, hands over her breasts.
“Summerlyn, stop fucking around!” Naomi screeched, “Help me find where Trevor went!”
“Naomi, I’m here!” Summerlyn insisted, gesturing to herself, “I’m Trevor!”
Naomi blinked, “T-Trevor?” she asked.
Summerlyn nodded, “Yeah, yeah, it’s me! Uh…” Summerlyn, or Trevor, thought for a moment, “just earlier, I was telling you that I thought you’d make the perfect supergirl! Because you’re beautiful and blonde and-”
Naomi held up a hand, This… this can’t be happening! This isn’t real! she ran her hands through her hair, taking a breath in order to calm down. She looked around, finding no sign of that paper Trevor was holding earlier.
She did notice something else though, slumped over by the dusty furniture, was Trevor’s body. It landed a short distance away from Naomi and Summerlyn. Is Summerlyn in there? Naomi walked over to Trevor’s body and prodded it, wondering if, somehow, Summerlyn had ended up in Trevor’s body like how Trevor ended up in Summerlyn’s. No response.
Naomi checked and found that Trevor’s body was, thankfully, still breathing and still had a pulse, but it looked like no one was home. Naomi sighed, looking over at Summerlyn to see Trevor was fondling his new breasts through Summerlyn’s tank top. Of course that’s what you’re doing.
Naomi cleared her throat to get Trevor’s attention. To his credit, he did seem embarrassed when he saw Naomi notice him exploring her older sister’s body. “Help me get your body upstairs,” she said, ignoring where Trevor still had his hands, “quick, I don’t want my mom coming in and seeing us in here like this!”
That snapped Trevor out of his trance and he helped Naomi carry his body up stairs. Trevor’s body was a little on the heavier side, and Naomi wasn’t the biggest fan of his smell. It could be worse, but it also could have been better. Thankfully, while neither Naomi or Summerlyn were the strongest, they were able to carry Trevor’s body back up the stairs and into Naomi’s room where they propped up his body on the bed.
Naomi sighed, rubbing her arms, “How are you doing?” she asked.
Trevor gulped, “I’m not sure, honestly,” he replied, “it’s… it’s strange seeing myself from the outside like this.”
“Do you know where Summerlyn is?” Naomi asked, “She’s not in your body.”
“If I had to guess, she might still be in this body, but I’m currently in control or something.” Trevor flexed Summerlyn’s hands, watching the movement raptly, his gaze slowly moved from her hands to other parts of her body.
Naomi wasn’t sure why, but seeing him looking at her sister’s body like that was making her angry. Out of the people, why was it Summerlyn? Of course, the thought of Trevor in her body made her shiver, something Trevor thankfully didn’t notice as he was too busy looking down at Summerlyn’s body to notice what Naomi was doing grinning widely as he looked down Summerlyn’s shirt.
“Can you get out of her body?” Naomi snapped, coming out less of a question and more of a demand.
That snapped Trevor out of his daydreams and he, once again, looked abashedly at Naomi, he scratched the back of Summerlyn’s head, a sheepish smile on her face, “Uhh… I’m not sure.”
“Well,” Naomi paused for a moment, I am not letting you stay in my sisters body any longer than you already have, “can you figure something out? Like… try to imagine leaving her body and… I don’t know, do it?”
Trevor sighed, “Alright… I’ll…I’ll try.”
Trevor was silent for a moment, closing his eyes and looking deep in concentration. A minute passed, and then another. Naomi was beginning to feel frustrated, wondering if Trevor was even trying. He’s probably not, she thought sourly, crossing her arms, he probably just wants me to think he is so he can stay as Summerlyn a bit longer. She had just finished the thought when Summerlyn suddenly slumped over.
Naomi cried out, rushing towards Summerlyn to avoid her crashing to the floor just as Trevor’s body gasped. “It worked!” Trevor cried out.
“Glad to hear!” Naomi growled, making sure her sister didn’t hurt herself too much from the fall.
“Do you think she knows what happened?” Trevor asked, approaching the two of them.
“I don’t know,” Naomi replied truthfully. Although for your own sake, you’d better hope she doesn’t remember.
Summerlyn started to come to, blinking and waving Naomi and Trevor away, “Huh? What happened?”
“You nearly fainted earlier in the basement-!” Trevor said quickly, “Afterwards Naomi and I dragged you up here to see if you were alright. We were about to call someone when you started coming to.”
Summerlyn frowned, and shook her head, “Argh, alright, well,” she groaned as she stood up, placing her hands on her hips, “I don’t want either of you going into the basement anymore, alright? Neither of you have seen how mom’s been lately and I don’t think you two messing around down there will help her, alright?”
Naomi rolled her eyes, “Alright, sis, whatever you say.”
Trevor nodded, “Alright.”
Summerlyn nodded, “Good, now… I think I’m going to lie down for a bit.” Summerlyn rubbed her head as she left Naomi’s room. Well it looks like she doesn’t remember what happened when Trevor was inside her, Naomi thought, probably for the best, I doubt she’d take that better than I would.
Her hands turned to fists by her side, speaking of which, she turned to Trevor, “Don’t think I hadn’t noticed what you were doing in my sister's body!” she hissed.
Trevor sucked in a breath and stepped back, holding his hands out in front of him, “Woah! Heh, heh, easy Naomi,” he gave a nervous chuckle and ran a hand through his hair, “look, I’m sorry about that, alright? I’ve never been a girl before, I’ve never had or touched boobs, I… just… didn’t think right.”
Naomi sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. Well, rather it was Summerlyn than me. she suppressed a shiver, would the thought of returning to his own body even occur to him without me pushing it onto him?
“Naomi,” Trevor placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and she had to stop herself from jerking out of his grasp, “I’m sorry. Really, I am. Can we, please put this all behind us?”
Naomi stared into his eyes. Where in the world would Uncle Ian get one of these things? Whatever, hopefully, now that the scroll - or whatever it was - is gone, she wouldn’t have to worry about it anymore. “Sure, let’s put this all behind us.”
Trevor grinned and hugged her. Naomi, reluctantly, returned his hug. Trevor was the one who broke it off, noticing the clock on her wall, “Oh, is it eight already? I need to get going,” he turned to her, “see you at school?”
Naomi nodded, “Yeah, I’ll see you at school.”
Naomi helped Trevor gather his belongings and saw him to the door as he started to walk back home. She sighed, curious about whether or not there were other scrolls down there in the basement. She considered going down there herself and checking, but decided against it, she’d already promised Summerlyn and if she found her down there again, well, she’d never hear the end of it.
Maybe mom knows what Uncle Ian was up to? Naomi thought. I should probably check on Summerlyn. Her sister left the door to her room open a crack and, peering through, Naomi saw Summerlyn was buried in a book, taking down notes for one of her classes. Of course she was.
Naomi considered texting Wren and Olivia what she and Trevor found in the basement, going as far as beginning to type it out, before deciding not to and deleting the message. She barely believed what happened and she was there to witness it herself, how would those two believe what she said?
Instead, she decided to open a blank journal and started writing things down. She had to, just to process what was happening, to make sure she wasn’t losing her mind. She had just finished writing when her mom, who’d gotten home some time earlier, called her and Summerlyn down to eat.
“Hey mom," Naomi began between bites.
“Hmm?” her mom grunted.
“What was it exactly that Great Uncle Ian did?”
Her mom made a face, “Why do you ask?”
“Trevor was wondering what he did?” Naomi lied.
Her mom sighed, “He liked to travel a lot. He told me how he backpacked across Europe and even the United States a few times and what he’s seen on those travels,” she chuckled to herself, “he’d brought back several souvenirs and wrote multiple blogs about the places he’d been and what he’d found. You know, when I was younger, he’d always insist he came across real magic out there in the world, hidden in places almost forgotten and yet, he managed to find them and bring them back with him.”
I guess he did find some magic afterall, Naomi thought, thanking her mom for dinner and heading back upstairs. She’d need to track down her uncle’s blogs, see if maybe there was an explanation for whatever happened in the basement. But, maybe that was something she’ll do for another time, since it was getting late and she was getting tired.
As Naomi got her things ready and left down the hall to take a shower, she noticed the door to Summerlyn’s room was closed. Odd, since she always left it a little open in case someone called for her. As Naomi passed by, she thought she heard the sound of Summerlyn’s phone camera going off. She shook her head, whatever, what Summerlyn was up to was none of her business.
Oh well. Naomi thought, crawling into bed. I just hope whatever happened to Trevor was just temporary. She shivered, the thought of him being able to just take over people's bodies like that. She had an idea of what he'd use them for and hoped that whatever happened was just a one time thing.
---
The next morning, Naomi woke up and got ready to go to school. She stopped by to check up on Summerlyn before she left, she couldn't explain why, but she was just worried more than usual.
Summerlyn was still asleep when Naomi walked in. She considered maybe trying to wake her up, but decided against it, no doubt she'd get an earful from Summerlyn about how disrespectful that is or something like that.
Guess I'll just check up on you again later. Naomi thought, going downstairs.
---
Olivia was already waiting for her when she walked through the doors into Milton High. Strangely, Wren was nowhere to be found. Perhaps she was sick?
“Where's Wren?” Naomi asked.
Olivia rolled her eyes, “She said she had to run to the restroom, something about breakfast not agreeing with her or something.” Olivia shook her head, “Whatever. How're you and Trevor doing, by the way? How are you two holding up?”
Naomi resisted the urge to stick out her tongue in disgust, “He still thinks we're actually dating,” Olivia interrupted her to make a gagging sound, Naomi couldn't say she disagreed, “you should listen to him talk, so disgusting. It's worse than when he talks non stop about those annoying superheroes or whatever it is he cares about.”
“Oh?” Olivia began, getting closer, “What does he say? The disgusting stuff, I don't care about anything else.”
Naomi smiled, and looked around to make sure Trevor wasn't nearby to overhear her, “He keeps talking about girls and what he would do if he got to the point where they had sex.”
Olivia gasped.
Naomi continued, smiling as she recounted her horrible first “date” with him, “You know, he asked me what kind of woman I was and what I expected him to do in our relationship? Well, since I didn't want to get dumped by him I had to play into it and said I would do the housework and cook while he gets to be treated as a king all day. He ate that up hook, line, and sinker. Then he asked about sex! Just like that! No other conversation! Just sex! Sex! Sex!” Naomi sighed, "What's worse is that afterwards, he just keeps rambling on and on about anime and superheroes."
Olivia was barely able to stand from laughing so much, “Oh my! Naomi I almost feel sorry for you for making you do this!”
“You will be sorry when I win this bet and you have to do something for me.” Naomi replied.
“Hey girls!” Wren greeted, walking over to them, “What are you all talking about?”
“Oh you're not going to believe this,” Olivia began, still laughing, “Naomi's been telling us all about what she and Trevor have been doing lately!”
“Ooh!” Wren exclaimed, “What do you think about Trevor?”
Olivia laughed, “The dude's a creep! He's even more of a loser than I thought he was! Sex this! Sex that!”
Wren frowned, “Oh? Is that what you think of him?”
Olivia shrugged, “As much as I know about him, anyway. You know, Trevor looks alright, a bit short maybe, but that personality just really kills it!”
Wren made a face and stepped closer, “You think all that before even getting to know him?”
Olivia held up her hands in mock surrender and chuckled, “Woah, relax Wren, I'm just having some fun! Trevor's a little weirdo! That's all there is to him really, he just thinks about women he likes and that's it. Not even in a good way either.”
Wren scoffed, “is that so?”
Olivia sighed in exasperation, “Oh my god, Wren! I don't know why you're so mad about this! I'm going to see if the cafeterias are still serving breakfast, if you want to calm down and talk to me you can find me there, alright?”
With that, Olivia left. Naomi stared after her, mouth dry. She turned over to Wren who watched Olivia with anger and sadness in her eyes. Except Naomi wasn’t sure that was Wren behind those eyes.
Wren turned to her, noticing Naomi staring, “What?” She asked.
There's no way… “Trevor?” Naomi began hesitantly, “Is… is that you?”
Wren grinned, “Yup!” Trevor admitted, fist pumping the air, “it's me!” he chuckled, “I still have the powers that scroll gave me, it's insane! Hey, I used them on Ms. Shaw earlier and used them to steal the answers for today's quiz!”
Naomi felt her skin crawl. Olivia said Wren went to the bathroom earlier, was that when Trevor possessed her? Or did that happen earlier? She shivered, thinking about what he might have done when he was alone.
Naomi crossed her arms beneath her breasts, “Trevor,” she began, “Please get our of my friend.”
Trevor blinked and then chuckled, “Oh, yeah! I… really should get back to my body before school starts, huh? Come with me, I left my body in the boys bathroom.”
Naomi sighed and followed Trevor. She was barely paying attention as he excitedly told her some of the questions and answers to the quiz. She focused more on what he might have done and what he will probably do.
“Is something wrong?” Trevor asked as they stopped in front of the boys bathroom.
“Hmm?” Naomi asked, “Oh, nothing! It's fine, I was just… wondering about your powers.”
Trevor chuckled, “I've been wondering about them too and I've been trying to test out the limits, but I think I'll save that for another day. Do me a favor and catch Wren, will you? I don't want to hurt her sweet body.”
Before Naomi could answer, Wren suddenly slumped forward and Naomi leapt to catch Wren before she fell to the floor. She held her up as Wren slowly regained consciousness, “Ugh… what? Naomi? Where am I?”
“Wren?” Naomi asked, “You've… passed out earlier with Olivia. I was taking you to the nurse when you started waking up!” Trevor, I am going to kill you!
Wren grumbled, shaking her head. Please believe me. She blinked, looking around, “What time is it?” she winced, “I think I'll go see the nurse myself, thanks for carrying me all this way.” She waved away Naomi and walked off, heading in the direction of the nurse’s office.
With that, Trevor came out of the bathroom, smiling. “She didn't remember anything! Heh heh! Can you believe that?”
“Yeah…” Naomi began, “that's really something.” She hoped her expression didn’t let slip the amount of disgust she was feeling.
“Hey Naomi,” Trevor began, sobering up, “I… need to ask you an important question.”
Naomi managed to keep a neutral expression as she turned to look at him, “What's that?” She asked, suddenly worried.
“Earlier, when Olivia was talking shit about me… how come you kept silent?”
Naomi froze. How much did he overhear? Did he know Naomi was the one who told Olivia about all those things? Or did he think Olivia was the one who said all that herself? What will he do if he finds out the truth? Naomi could feel herself starting to sweat. Unfortunately, she couldn’t think of anything to say, either in denial, or in deflection.
Trevor sighed, looking heartbroken, taking her hesitation as something else entirely “It's… whatever. I'll see you after school, alright?”
“Alright.” Naomi replied, her heart pounding as she watched him go. That… that was close.
---
The rest of the day Naomi had trouble focusing on anything her teachers were saying, whatever, she could probably just ask one of her other classmates for notes. She was too busy thinking about what was happening with Trevor. What the hell was her great uncle getting up to? Did Uncle Ian have anything else like that hidden among his belongings? Could she find something to possibly reverse this?
The power to just take over someone’s body was freaky enough as is, but the thought of Trevor of all people having it just made her skin crawl. On their first day, Trevor told her all the things he loves about a woman, with one of the top things being her body, and how he can’t stop himself from looking no matter how hard he tries.
Jeez, the boy had no tack and was just overall unpleasant to be around. A shame, too, Naomi thought, I bet he honestly thought he was complimenting me by going on and on about how beautiful I am. Naomi suppressed a smirk, the truth was that she was flattered at first, but his constant pointing out of her looks lost their charm very quickly.
“Naomi Walker!”
Naomi came crashing down back into reality, “Huh?”
Her teacher, Mr. Gray, sighed, rubbing his temples, “I was asking if you knew how to solve this equation…”
Naomi felt her face grow warm as she glanced at the whiteboard and had no idea what on earth she was looking at, “No,” she admitted, “I do not.” That earned a round of snickers from her other classmates.
Mr. Gray shook his head, “Rachel Smith, you’re up.”
Great. Naomi thought, letting her mind wander again. Now Trevor’s making things difficult in other ways as well.
---
Lunch couldn’t come quick enough. Naomi gathered her things and headed off quickly, wanting nothing more to regroup with Wren and Olivia. She thought about telling them about the situation, but decided against it. There’s no way they’ll believe me, Naomi thought, I can still just barely believe this is happening and I was there to see it happen twice! I need to find out more about Uncle Ian, if nothing else, he’ll be the one with any answers
At least she could, hopefully, relax around them for a bit. Maybe Olivia would have some gossip to help her take her mind off things for a while. After grabbing her lunch, Naomi noticed Olivia sitting at a different spot than usual even though their table was empty. Naomi swallowed, He wouldn't. her nervousness gave way to anger the closer she got, her shoes hitting the ground harder and harder with each step. He. Fucking. Wouldn't.
“Olivia” turned to her as she approached. She had an uncharacteristic big grin on her face and her hands were… Fucking Trevor! her hands were groping her own breasts.
“HI Naomi!” Trevor greeted from inside Olivia's body, “You won't be-”
“Get out.” Naomi ordered.
Trevor smiled, taking his hands off Olivia's breasts, “Woah! Woah!” He began, “No need to get so angry with me, alright? I just don't think Olivia's that good of a friend for you! I mean, what kind of friend badmouths their other friends' boyfriends? I mean, you heard the things she was saying about me.”
“Get. Out.” Naomi repeated.
“That's not all,” Trevor continued, ignoring Naomi, “I checked her phone earlier, did you know she has some dirt on you and Wren as well? I couldn't believe it myself and I was the one who found it-”
“Trevor.” Naomi growled, finally getting him to shut up and listen, “Get. Out. Of. Her. Body. Now!”
Trevor blinked, and looked away, “Alright,” he said, his voice low, “but… can you promise me something?”
“What?” Naomi snapped.
Trevor looked back at her, “Can you defend me next time?” he paused before continuing, “I'm not asking for much, at least I don't think I am. But when she was talking shit about me, you just stood there and let her keep talking.”
Naomi blinked, this fucking guy… She knew he had a point. Even she could see that, but given his actions so far, it seemed Olivia had a point. But right now wasn't a good time to confront him about any of this.
She nodded, “Alright,” she conceded, “I'll tell Olivia to stop picking on you.”
Trevor smiled and then Olivia started shaking, her eyes rolling back before she gasped and nearly fell on the table. Trevor was gone, most likely returning to his own body, wherever that was.
“Ugh,” Olivia moaned, rubbing her head, “How the hell did I get here?”
“What's wrong?” Naomi asked.
“Naomi?” Olivia asked, noticing her, “Last thing I remember was being in fifth period when everything just went…” Olivia's eyes widened and her face went red. Her hands felt at her chest before dropping down below her waist. Her face paled almost instantly.
Naomi gulped, a faint idea of what happened already forming in her head, “Is everything alright?”
“Where the fuck are my panties?” Olivia hissed, going even redder.
Naomi coughed, Trevor was really pushing his luck with her. Looking closer at Olivia's shirt, it wasn't just her bra he took off either. No, she saw the way her breasts were hanging and how they moved around when Olivia turned. Her bra was gone as well.
“Shit!” Olivia hissed, standing up and looking around, “Shit! Shit! Shit!”
“Calm down!” Naomi whispered, “Do you… happen to have any spares?”
Olivia nodded, “I have some panties in my locker… I'll be back.”
Olivia shuffled off just as Wren came by, placing her tray down as she looked in, confused as to why Olivia was practically running out of the cafeteria.
Wren gave Naomi a look, “What's up with her?”
Naomi sighed, she knew telling the truth was not an option. “Wardrobe malfunction,” she replied, “she's getting some spare clothes from her locker.”
Wren grunted, “You doing alright, Naomi? You've been quiet today.”
Naomi stared at Wren for a while. She was acting like herself, and hadn't groped her breasts so far. “Just thinking about Trevor,” Naomi admitted, “he's been a hassle lately.”
“Going to dump him early?”
Naomi shook her head, “I don't think that's a good idea, he's…” Fuck, what should I say here?, “gotten a hold of something embarrassing of mine and I'm afraid if I dump him he'll tell everyone.”
Wren wrinkled her nose, “Ouch, he's really the type who would do that?” she gave a sympathetic squeeze to Naomi’s hand, “I'm sorry I ever went to bat for him. Well, whatever happens, Olivia and I will be here for you.”
Naomi smiled, but remembered Trevor's words that Olivia kept dirt on her and Wren in her phone. It didn't seem like he was lying either, as he'd offered to show her the proof and even delete it. I don't think Olivia will stand by me, Naomi thought. It was silly, of course she wouldn't. Still, that didn't mean Naomi wanted something like this to happen to her. She looked back at Wren who gave her a supportive smile and returned it. Wren might be different though, but Naomi wasn’t sure.
What she was sure about was that she needed to find out about what her uncle had. Luckily Trevor will be staying after school today for one of his stupid clubs, that meant Naomi would have a chance to look through her uncle's belongings and search for his blog on the internet,
So she did just that. After school, she went straight home and saw she would be alone for a few hours. Her parents were still working and Summerlyn had an evening class today.
Damn, Naomi thought, I was hoping to ask mom what she knew about Uncle Ian, hopefully she'll be back soon. No matter.* At least that meant she was able to search the basement without much issue.
At least, that's what she thought until she tried the door and found it locked. Ugh! Summerlyn!
Naomi pounded on the door out of frustration before growling, heading to Summerlyn’s room, hoping she'd find the key.
Thankfully, Summerlyn’s room didn't have a lock so getting in wasn't an issue. The issue then became finding the key, hopefully Summerlyn didn't take it with her. The bed and the desk weren't of any use, although as she checked under the bed she was surprised to see some of Summerlyn’s clothes just tossed underneath. Normally her sister would just toss them in the laundry bin.
Whatever. She checked her dresser and found the key in the third drawer. Afterwards she left to go down the basement.
It still looked the same as it did yesterday, with some of the furniture slightly moved as Naomi and Trevor looked through her uncle's belongings.
She started at the box where Trevor pulled that scroll from. Inside were some maps, a few souvenirs from other places her uncle had visited, but no other scrolls.
At the bottom of the box was an old journal. Naomi grabbed it and flipped through it, grinning as she realized it was a journal her uncle kept to record his travels. Hopefully, Uncle Ian would have written about something like this.
She searched through his other belongings, but that turned out to be a bust. So, with only a journal for her efforts, Naomi returned the basement key to Summerlyn’s room and started reading through the journal in her room.
Naomi would gather from the journal, as well as from her mom and Summerlyn, that her uncle didn't travel alone. He had someone else with him, a friend named Tom. Together the two of them traveled across the world, going across the United States, to Europe, and Asia as well.
From the journal, Naomi found out her uncle and Tom came across these scrolls as they were exploring an old ruin they found in a forest in Europe. Unfortunately, if they ever found out what these things were and what they did, her uncle didn't write them down.
All he wrote down was that he thought they were neat and he took one while his friend took several. So if I want to find out more about what's going on and how to stop Trevor, I'll need to find where Tom is and hope he knows anything about these scrolls.
It took her a while to find her uncle’s blog, but after an hour, she came across it. The blog detailed her uncle and Tom’s journey across the world, staring at the United States and how they traveled to Europe with little except what they could fit in their backpacks. She skipped ahead, seeing her uncle took several pictures of himself and Tom as they traveled along the world.
She came across an entry where her uncle and Tom decided to explore a forest somewhere in the United Kingdom. There, they came across the remains of a stone tower hidden deep in the forest and he had several photos of what they found inside, numerous old books rotting on bookshelves, strange symbols written on the walls, and, to her horror, several scrolls thrown about the tables.
There were a few comments on this blog post, with some commenters asking where exactly they were as they lived closeby, but had never encountered this stone tower ever before in their lives. Her blood ran cold when she saw her uncle responding to these comments, saying he’d tried to go back a few days later, but could not find where he and Tom stumbled upon the tower.
Her mom’s words echoed in her head, how Uncle Ian believed there was still magic out there hidden in the world and that he brought some back home with him. He did, Naomi thought, shutting off her laptop, he really did.
She wrote down everything she discovered in her journal. So far, it was the only thing keeping her sane, assuring her that all of this was actually real. She hid the journal in one of the drawers in her dresser before getting ready for bed.
The next day, before school, Naomi approached her mom and asked Tom, Uncle Ian’s friend.
“Of course I know about him,” her mom replied, “Why, he and Uncle Ian were practically inseparable when they were younger! Why?”
“I just wanted to learn more about Uncle Ian,” Naomi lied, “I feel like I never got to him. I was wondering if maybe Tom would tell me any stories about what he and Uncle Ian got up to.”
“Oh,” her mom replied sadly, “well… I'm afraid it's a little too late for that. Tom passed away a little while ago,”
Naomi grew cold, “What happened to him?”
“It was terrible,” her mom continued, “he and his daughter were in a car crash.”
Naomi leaned against the table to prevent herself from stumbling back. Her mom asked her what was wrong, but her words were meaningless buzzing to Naomi's ears. No! Naomi squeezed her eyes shut, He was the only one who would have had any answers!
“Naomi!” her mom said, grabbing her softly on the arm.
Naomi gasped, but returned to reality.
“Naomi…” her mom began, “What's wrong?”
“It's nothing.” she lied. “Nothing.”
Numb. She grabbed her backpack and went to school.
---
Trevor came back with her to her house. He was giddy, eagerly showing her the notes and other materials he managed to grab while he possessed their teachers' bodies.
“Here's the answer sheet for our history final,” Trevor said, grinning, “You're welcome for this, by the way, I know history is your worst subject.”
Naomi nodded, thanking Trevor listlessly as he went on about some of the other stuff he got up to with his new powers. She knew he was keeping some stuff from her, there was no way someone like him wouldn’t have misused those powers. He took over Wren and Olivia. The thought of what he did to Olivia made Naomi’s hands turn into fists by her side.
“Why did you take off Olivia's underwear?” Naomi asked, cutting him off.
Trevor rolled his eyes, “This again? Look, I might've gone too far with that one, but she isn't a good person. I already told you, and I just thought she needed to learn a lesson.”
“She had to walk around without a bra for the rest of the day, Trevor.”
Trevor actually laughed at that one, “I can tell you there were a few people who enjoyed that.”
“You told people?”
Trevor sighed, “Just a few, and besides, she deserved it! She's been talking shit about us for months, it was time someone knocked her down a peg!”
Naomi rubbed her temples, “And that someone had to be you, right?”
Trevor stood up, throwing his hands in the air, “I don't need to take this right now! I'm taking a five minute break, alright? Let me know when you're ready to stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?” Naomi snapped as Trevor went to the door.
“Like I'm gross!” Trevor shouted, “like I'm a bug! You and Olivia both! You have that same look in your eye that she did, drop her and I'm sure we'll be better off for it!”
With that, he left, slamming the door behind him. Naomi rolled her eyes, and sighed. She needed to calm down, right now wasn't the best time to antagonize him, no matter how much he deserved it. Who knows what will be his breaking point and he decides to use his powers on her.
She looked down, noticing he left his phone on her bed. She couldn't help herself and opened it, as he'd told her his password.
There were several texts from some of his friends in his after school club, each one thanking him for telling them about Olivia's wardrobe incident with a few of them asking how he knew about it. So he's been keeping his powers a secret too. Naomi thought.
Each text made her stomach churn as each boy talked about how much they liked seeing Olivia like that and even asking Trevor if he could target some of the other girls as well. Thankfully, Trevor declined, but did ask if any of them would like a copy of the answer sheets to some upcoming tests.
Naomi checked his photo gallery next and nearly dropped his phone when she saw what was on it. There were numerous pictures of other girls in their grade in various states of undress. No doubt Trevor possessed them and made them take these pictures and send them to himself.
She nearly gagged when she came across the photos Trevor took of Olivia as well as Summerlyn. Olivia's seemed to be taken in one of the bathroom stalls and she was completely naked at one point, showing her pussy to the camera as well as showing her bra and panties being flushed down the toilet.
Summerlyn was similar as well. Several pictures were taken of her in various pieces of clothing before she became naked and flashed her bits to the camera. That night, Naomi thought, when I heard in her room, that was Trevor.
Before she could fully process what she was seeing, the door opened and Trevor paused when he saw his phone in her hands. Her shock made her drop his phone and it landed face up, showing that Naomi was looking through his gallery.
Trevor didn’t even get a word in before Naomi spoke, “What the hell?” Despite the emotions raging through her, those words were barely louder than a whisper.
“Listen, I can-”
“No!” Naomi cut off, raising her voice and getting off her bed and throwing his phone at him, “Get out! Now!”
Trevor backed up as she got closer, “Naomi, wait-!”
“Get out!” Naomi screeched, “I don't want to see you ever again! Those girls! My sister! Olivia! Get out, Trevor!”
Trevor didn’t move, just standing there as Noami shoved against him. He growled, standing his ground, but Naomi was stronger than he thought.
Naomi slapped him, but Trevor grabbed her arm before it landed. Naomi grunted, her chest tightening as she tried to yank her arm free, but Trevor kept it in an iron grip.
“I came across some interesting stuff in Olivia's phone when I possessed her,” Trevor began, “Is…” his voice broke slightly before he continued, “was our relationship… did it really begin as a dare?”
Naomi scoffed and yanked her hand back before shoving Trevor. He stumbled back, shocked. “Yes.” Naomi admitted, “Did you actually think otherwise?”
Trevor swallowed, his face hardening, “So you're just like them then. I thought you'd be different!”
Naomi laughed, you can't be serious, “Pfft! I'm just like them? All of them?”
“It's because of girls like you that never give people like me a chance!”
Naomi rolled her eyes, “Please. You wanna know why none of the other girls never wanted anything to do with you? Why Olivia talked shit about you? It's because you're gross! All you see when you look at a woman is her body! Why else do you have all those pictures on your phone? That's all you care about, just seeing them naked! Getting your rocks off by looking at those pictures you send to yourself!”
The entire time Naomi tore into Trevor, his face hardened and turned red. It was almost funny really how sad and pathetic he looked when he was angry and genuinely trying to look intimidating.
However, as Naomi stepped closer, Trevor’s body suddenly went limp and slumped to the floor. Naomi blinked and knew what was happening. Oh no.
She shuddered, a feeling of pins and needles overtaking her as her vision went black.
---
Finally, Trevor thought as he opened his eyes to see himself in Naomi's body, I managed to shut her up.
He looked down on his own body and decided to leave it there for now. It would still be some time until Naomi's mom and sister got home and so he had the time to do whatever he wanted to with her body.
He didn't waste any time either. You never let me get to second base, he thought, a wicked smile on his lips, I think it's time that changes. He touched Naomi's breasts through her clothes. They weren't as big as some of the other girls he possessed, most notably Summerlyn and Olivia, but he appreciated how they felt in his hands right now. But how much better did they look?
He ripped off Naomi's shirt eagerly, grinning as her white bra was revealed. Oh Naomi, you have no idea how long I've been waiting to do this! Trevor thought, grinning as his hands once again went to her breasts, kneading them with the bra.
He sighed, feeling something going on between her legs. That sensation happened a lot while he was exploring the bodies of the girls he possessed. It was like getting an erection with a penis, but… different.
Naomi's pants came off next, followed by her socks. Her panties matched her bra, white, and Trevor hesitated briefly as his fingers dug beneath the fabric. She wasn't his girlfriend anymore, she made that more than clear, but still… the thought of seeing her naked was making him warm and dizzy.
He chuckled as he threw off her panties and collapsed on the bed as her bra followed shortly afterwards. Where's her phone? Trevor thought, I need to see how she looks! He found it and turned on her camera, changing to selfie mode and held it against his new body.
She was beautiful, but Trevor knew that already. Pale skin laid bare before him, her nipples the color of cherries and were hard and sensitive as his fingers brushed over them. He bit his lips, legs squirming, Fuck! Her tits aren't as large as Summerlyn’s, but they're sensitive!
He angled the phone to look between her legs. A neatly trimmed patch of hair greeted him, covering the entrance to her pussy which was very wet and he opened her pussy lips, his finger sliding in easily. He arched his back, biting hard on his lip to prevent himself from crying out loud.
Fuck! Trevor gasped, recovering from that sensation, That was… way different from a penis!
He licked his lips, trying to calm down. So far he'd only taken pictures of these girls to save for later when he returned to his own body. The thought of masturbating as them though… that made his face warm.
Trevor looked down at Naomi's pussy. It felt good when he accidentally slipped a finger inside, what if he tried to feel around- Holy-!
That must be the clitoris! Trevor wasn't able to stop himself, shouting out loudly as he flicked Naomi's clit, and started working it. His legs thrashed about, his free hand going to one of her breasts, rubbing against a still erect nipple. He could feel the pressure building and while he'd never orgasmed as a girl before, he knew what it was as it approached.
He cried out as the orgasm overtook him, coming along much stronger than anything he'd ever experienced as a guy. He gasped as the climax left him behind, letting him recover. I can't feel my legs. Trevor thought.
He glanced over at his body, still laying there. He had to think, if he left Naomi alone, she might cause problems for him in the future. Maybe there's a way for him to get around that.
Her phone provided a good solution. A few pictures of her naked for later was always appreciated, and it might be good to use to stop her from interfering with his plans. Of course, if that wasn't enough, he took a few pictures of Naomi with his dick in her hands as well as his mouth. It felt… strange to have a penis in his mouth, not something he'd want to do again.
Serves you right. Trevor thought, sending the photos to his phone and then making sure the evidence was deleted from her phone.
---
When Naomi came to, she found herself alone in her room, fully clothed. Trevor was gone and almost an hour had passed. What did he make me do? Naomi wondered, her mouth dry.
Her phone dinged. She reached for it hesitantly and took in a sharp breath through clenched teeth when she saw Trevor’s name appear on her screen. He sent her a text.
Trevor: If you don't want pictures like these circulating around the school, you'll do well to leave me alone.
Trevor: Thanks for the fun time though. ;)
Attached was a picture of her naked body with Trevor's dick in her mouth.
Naomi nearly dropped her phone.
Naomi tried her hardest not to let out a sigh of exasperation as Trevor continued on his little diatribe about some superheroes Naomi could not care less about. A few more weeks of this, Noami thought, glancing at the clock and getting frustrated at how slowly time seemed to be moving, can’t believe I agreed to this bet, I need to find something Olivia could do for me that’ll make all this worth it.
Trevor was still talking, not having noticed Naomi had checked out of the conversation. Physically, he was alright looking, average height, average weight, his face had some acne scars, but was otherwise fine, he didn’t smell which was great. No, that wasn’t the issue with him, the real issue was how he wouldn’t shut up and how he seemed to leer at her body when he thought she wasn’t looking. Of course, it didn’t help that the thing he wouldn’t shut up about is how much he likes looking at women’s bodies.
At least he managed to keep his hands to himself, most of the time anyway, unfortunately, now wasn’t one of those times. As he was talking, he started scootching closer to her, wrapping an arm around her waist. Naomi wanted to push him away, tell him to keep his hands to himself, but decided against it. She didn’t want him to break up with her before the month was over, now that would be one of the most embarrassing things that would have ever happened to her. That would also render the dare moot and Olivia would have won. As if a dweeb like him would have the backbone to break up with me, Naomi thought, smiling slightly, if he gets sad, a little bit of skin should do the trick and make him happy again.
Trevor noticed her smile and grinned, “Ah, so you think Supergirl is good too! Nice! You know, I think you’d make a great Supergirl!”
Naomi blinked, realizing he must think she was reacting to him, “Oh? Why’s that?”
“Well for one, you already look a bit like her,” he started counting, using his fingers, “you’re strong, determined, don’t take any crap from anyone, and you’re beautiful!”
Is he actually- Naomi smiled despite herself, she had no idea what he was talking about, but she was able to figure out that he was being earnest and, from what she could gather, Trevor does really enjoy Supergirl and if he thought she was like her, then who was she to deny such a compliment?
“Oh!” Trevor began, looking at the clock, “Sorry, I realize I’ve been talking for about half an hour now,” he blushed and scratched the back of his head, “Heh, sorry, sorry. How was your day?”
Naomi smiled, “I’ve been alright. Olivia and Wren and I have been talking a bit. Olivia’s been laughing lately, something about Victoria nearly embarrassing herself during the last cheer practice. I don’t know.”
Trevor nodded, “Is your mom and sister alright? I noticed they both seem a little down lately.”
Naomi sighed, “Oh, right. I haven’t told you about this because I didn’t want to ruin the mood,” that was a big lie, she hadn’t told him because she hardly cared herself, “my Great Uncle Ian passed away a few weeks ago and mom and Summerlyn have been going to his house and moving things in storage,” Naomi shrugged, “they asked dad and some of my other cousins to help bring some stuff here as well. I think everything’s in the basement.”
“Oh, I’m… really sorry, what happened to him?”
Naomi waved a hand, “He was old, and had some health problems before, something about a bad heart.”
“How’s your family taking it?”
I guess we’re talking about this now, Naomi thought, better than hearing him blather on about superheroes I don’t care about, much better than hearing him talk about other girls. “Mom’s taking it the hardest, she’s been almost inconsolable lately. Uncle Ian helped raise her since she was younger and she was there with him when he died.”
Trevor was silent for a moment before asking, “How are you taking it?”
Naomi shrugged, “Barely knew the guy, he had some cool stuff in his house though, wanna come see?”
“Oh, is that alright?”
“Should be,” Naomi replied, “just be careful not to break anything.”
Naomi helped him off her bed and together the two of them left her room and went to the basement. Her parents weren’t here right now, her dad was still at work, and her mom was probably at some cousin’s house making arrangements for Uncle Ian’s funeral. That only left herself and Summerlyn, who was probably in her room studying or something. Still, she’d rather not Summerlyn find out she was down here and tell her mom, who’d know when she’d hear the end of it, so she pressed a finger to her lips at Trevor before opening the door to her basement.
The basement wasn’t much, it was a bit larger than the downstairs living room and normally was used just to store the washer and dryer. Now, however, there were several pieces of furniture belonging to Uncle Ian stored down here, along with several boxes containing more of Uncle Ian’s stuff.
None of this stuff was particularly interesting to Naomi, there was a grandfather clock, thankfully it was broken, along with a vanity desk, a clothes drawer, and a rocking chair. The vanity desk held her interest for a moment, until Naomi realized it was too big for her room and was a bit too antique for her tastes. She glanced over at Trevor who took all of this in with a look of wonder on his face. I’m glad someone’s enjoying this, hopefully this will stop you from going on and on about superheroes.
“Aw, the clock doesn’t work?” Trevor asked.
Naomi shook her head, “According to mom, it stopped working a while ago and Uncle Ian never got around to trying to get it repaired.”
Trevor ran a hand against the carved wood of the clock, “Is this handmade? This is beautiful!”
His attention was quickly taken by some of the boxes of Uncle Ian’s belongings. He glanced at Naomi for permission and then started digging through his stuff. A bunch of it were old journals and some unpublished manuscripts. Mom had said Uncle Ian was a writer, but sadly his words will never be read by anyone.
Trevor was flipping through some of Uncle Ian’s journals, “Oh, your uncle used to travel? Says here, he’s been to France, Hungary, Japan, Mexico…”
Naomi held up a hand, “Yes, he used to travel a bit when he was younger, according to mom, he’d sometimes bring her and her brothers some souvenirs from the places he’s been to.”
“Hello!” Trevor said, picking up a rolled up piece of paper at the bottom of the box, “What are you?”
“Probably a photo or old letter,” Naomi guessed.
Trevor made a face as he unrolled the paper. He flipped it around, expression still puzzled.
“What’s up?” Naomi asked.
Trevor flipped the page towards her and she was met with a series of ineligible scribbles. Huh, I guess it’s probably a letter from someone he met when he was traveling around the world. Naomi thought, Looks old. “What language even is that?”
Trevor shrugged, squinting at the symbols written on the paper, “Your guess is as good as mine, honestly.”
Before either of them could say anything else, the door opened and Summerlyn came down the stairs. Of course, she’d show up and ruin the fun.
Summerlyn was Naomi’s older sister, and she looked like it too. She was taller than Naomi, her body lean and toned, not that you’d be able to tell since she wore clothes that did not show any skin, and her golden blonde hair was longer. The only notable difference between the two of them is that Summerlyn had gray eyes while Naomi had blue.
“What the hell are you two doing down here?” Summerlyn asked, pointing at Naomi, “Mom said she doesn’t want any guests down here!” she glanced at the books placed on the floor, “I’d clean that up if I was you, if mom knew you were digging through Uncle Ian’s stuff, she’d flip!”
Naomi rolled her eyes and stepped over to her sister, “What? Are you going to tell mom?”
“I will if you don’t clean this up,” Summerlyn replied.
“Oh my gosh, why are you so worked up about this, anyway?” Naomi asked, “You barely knew Uncle Ian.”
“I barely knew him?” Summerlyn asked, taking a step back, “Oh, right, you don’t pay attention to anything that's not on that phone of yours, huh? No, I knew Uncle Ian! More than you! He helped me apply for colleges and helped pay for my classes!”
Naomi held up her hands, “Oh wow, sorry, I’m sorry I don’t know every detail about your life, alright? Uncle Ian helped you and now you’re sad like mom, alright.”
Trevor nervously approached her from behind, “Hey, Naomi,” he began, “maybe we should just cle-”
“Are you taking her side?” Naomi asked, “Of course you would, of course!”
“What?” Trevor asked, “No, I’m not. I just don’t want you to get in trouble.”
“Boy, take it from me, you’re better off without her,” Summerlyn began.
Naomi glared at her. Don’t you fucking dare!
Trevor glanced at her, confused.
“Naomi doesn’t love you,” Summerlyn began, “she probably only asked you out as a dare or something. Trust me, you’re not her type and you will not be the one who changes her either. Trust me, just leave, and find someone else, someone who’d love you and-” she glanced at the shirt Trevor was wearing, “someone who wouldn’t mind talking about superheroes.”
Well, I guess Olivia won the bet, Naomi thought, thanks alot, sis.
Trevor, however, surprised her. He was trembling, the letter - or whatever it was - crumbled in his hand. At first Naomi was worried he was going to explode on them and took a step back, but no, the poor bastard stepped towards Summerlyn, his face red. “You stay quiet!” he shouted, surprising both Naomi and Summerlyn, “Don’t tell me who loves me and who doesn’t! I know Naomi and I are meant to be! And no one is going to tell me otherwise, alright!”
“Calm down!” Summerlyn shouted, raising her hands, “Calm down! Alright! You’re in love, I get-”
“No!” Trevor continued, “no, you don’t get it! For the first time in my life, I was asked out! If that’s not a sign, then I don’t know what is!”
Naomi gasped, noticing the paper in Trevor’s hand started to change, started to glow. At first, it was white, but soon burned red hot. Once she saw it, Summerlyn did too, and was freaking out, telling Trevor to drop it.
Unfortunately, Trevor didn’t notice, “Drop what? The fact that things are finally looking my way? Why wou-”
It all happened so fast. The paper burned bright, nearly blinding Naomi. There was a scream, although who was screaming, she wasn’t sure. Suddenly, the light vanished and the basement returned to normal. Except, there were only two people standing here now, Naomi herself, and Summerlyn who was looking down at herself as if she’d never seen her body before.
Naomi stepped forward, “Trevor?” she asked, her voice quivering. She didn’t see him, and couldn't find any trace of him anywhere. She looked around frantically, “Trevor!” she called again. What happened? Sure, he was a loser and she was going to dump his ass as soon as the month was over, but that didn’t mean she wanted him vaporized or whatever happened.
“Trevor!” Naomi screamed, tears stinging her eyes.
“I’m here,” Summerlyn breathed, hands over her breasts.
“Summerlyn, stop fucking around!” Naomi screeched, “Help me find where Trevor went!”
“Naomi, I’m here!” Summerlyn insisted, gesturing to herself, “I’m Trevor!”
Naomi blinked, “T-Trevor?” she asked.
Summerlyn nodded, “Yeah, yeah, it’s me! Uh…” Summerlyn, or Trevor, thought for a moment, “just earlier, I was telling you that I thought you’d make the perfect supergirl! Because you’re beautiful and blonde and-”
Naomi held up a hand, This… this can’t be happening! This isn’t real! she ran her hands through her hair, taking a breath in order to calm down. She looked around, finding no sign of that paper Trevor was holding earlier.
She did notice something else though, slumped over by the dusty furniture, was Trevor’s body. It landed a short distance away from Naomi and Summerlyn. Is Summerlyn in there? Naomi walked over to Trevor’s body and prodded it, wondering if, somehow, Summerlyn had ended up in Trevor’s body like how Trevor ended up in Summerlyn’s. No response.
Naomi checked and found that Trevor’s body was, thankfully, still breathing and still had a pulse, but it looked like no one was home. Naomi sighed, looking over at Summerlyn to see Trevor was fondling his new breasts through Summerlyn’s tank top. Of course that’s what you’re doing.
Naomi cleared her throat to get Trevor’s attention. To his credit, he did seem embarrassed when he saw Naomi notice him exploring her older sister’s body. “Help me get your body upstairs,” she said, ignoring where Trevor still had his hands, “quick, I don’t want my mom coming in and seeing us in here like this!”
That snapped Trevor out of his trance and he helped Naomi carry his body up stairs. Trevor’s body was a little on the heavier side, and Naomi wasn’t the biggest fan of his smell. It could be worse, but it also could have been better. Thankfully, while neither Naomi or Summerlyn were the strongest, they were able to carry Trevor’s body back up the stairs and into Naomi’s room where they propped up his body on the bed.
Naomi sighed, rubbing her arms, “How are you doing?” she asked.
Trevor gulped, “I’m not sure, honestly,” he replied, “it’s… it’s strange seeing myself from the outside like this.”
“Do you know where Summerlyn is?” Naomi asked, “She’s not in your body.”
“If I had to guess, she might still be in this body, but I’m currently in control or something.” Trevor flexed Summerlyn’s hands, watching the movement raptly, his gaze slowly moved from her hands to other parts of her body.
Naomi wasn’t sure why, but seeing him looking at her sister’s body like that was making her angry. Out of the people, why was it Summerlyn? Of course, the thought of Trevor in her body made her shiver, something Trevor thankfully didn’t notice as he was too busy looking down at Summerlyn’s body to notice what Naomi was doing grinning widely as he looked down Summerlyn’s shirt.
“Can you get out of her body?” Naomi snapped, coming out less of a question and more of a demand.
That snapped Trevor out of his daydreams and he, once again, looked abashedly at Naomi, he scratched the back of Summerlyn’s head, a sheepish smile on her face, “Uhh… I’m not sure.”
“Well,” Naomi paused for a moment, I am not letting you stay in my sisters body any longer than you already have, “can you figure something out? Like… try to imagine leaving her body and… I don’t know, do it?”
Trevor sighed, “Alright… I’ll…I’ll try.”
Trevor was silent for a moment, closing his eyes and looking deep in concentration. A minute passed, and then another. Naomi was beginning to feel frustrated, wondering if Trevor was even trying. He’s probably not, she thought sourly, crossing her arms, he probably just wants me to think he is so he can stay as Summerlyn a bit longer. She had just finished the thought when Summerlyn suddenly slumped over.
Naomi cried out, rushing towards Summerlyn to avoid her crashing to the floor just as Trevor’s body gasped. “It worked!” Trevor cried out.
“Glad to hear!” Naomi growled, making sure her sister didn’t hurt herself too much from the fall.
“Do you think she knows what happened?” Trevor asked, approaching the two of them.
“I don’t know,” Naomi replied truthfully. Although for your own sake, you’d better hope she doesn’t remember.
Summerlyn started to come to, blinking and waving Naomi and Trevor away, “Huh? What happened?”
“You nearly fainted earlier in the basement-!” Trevor said quickly, “Afterwards Naomi and I dragged you up here to see if you were alright. We were about to call someone when you started coming to.”
Summerlyn frowned, and shook her head, “Argh, alright, well,” she groaned as she stood up, placing her hands on her hips, “I don’t want either of you going into the basement anymore, alright? Neither of you have seen how mom’s been lately and I don’t think you two messing around down there will help her, alright?”
Naomi rolled her eyes, “Alright, sis, whatever you say.”
Trevor nodded, “Alright.”
Summerlyn nodded, “Good, now… I think I’m going to lie down for a bit.” Summerlyn rubbed her head as she left Naomi’s room. Well it looks like she doesn’t remember what happened when Trevor was inside her, Naomi thought, probably for the best, I doubt she’d take that better than I would.
Her hands turned to fists by her side, speaking of which, she turned to Trevor, “Don’t think I hadn’t noticed what you were doing in my sister's body!” she hissed.
Trevor sucked in a breath and stepped back, holding his hands out in front of him, “Woah! Heh, heh, easy Naomi,” he gave a nervous chuckle and ran a hand through his hair, “look, I’m sorry about that, alright? I’ve never been a girl before, I’ve never had or touched boobs, I… just… didn’t think right.”
Naomi sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. Well, rather it was Summerlyn than me. she suppressed a shiver, would the thought of returning to his own body even occur to him without me pushing it onto him?
“Naomi,” Trevor placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and she had to stop herself from jerking out of his grasp, “I’m sorry. Really, I am. Can we, please put this all behind us?”
Naomi stared into his eyes. Where in the world would Uncle Ian get one of these things? Whatever, hopefully, now that the scroll - or whatever it was - is gone, she wouldn’t have to worry about it anymore. “Sure, let’s put this all behind us.”
Trevor grinned and hugged her. Naomi, reluctantly, returned his hug. Trevor was the one who broke it off, noticing the clock on her wall, “Oh, is it eight already? I need to get going,” he turned to her, “see you at school?”
Naomi nodded, “Yeah, I’ll see you at school.”
Naomi helped Trevor gather his belongings and saw him to the door as he started to walk back home. She sighed, curious about whether or not there were other scrolls down there in the basement. She considered going down there herself and checking, but decided against it, she’d already promised Summerlyn and if she found her down there again, well, she’d never hear the end of it.
Maybe mom knows what Uncle Ian was up to? Naomi thought. I should probably check on Summerlyn. Her sister left the door to her room open a crack and, peering through, Naomi saw Summerlyn was buried in a book, taking down notes for one of her classes. Of course she was.
Naomi considered texting Wren and Olivia what she and Trevor found in the basement, going as far as beginning to type it out, before deciding not to and deleting the message. She barely believed what happened and she was there to witness it herself, how would those two believe what she said?
Instead, she decided to open a blank journal and started writing things down. She had to, just to process what was happening, to make sure she wasn’t losing her mind. She had just finished writing when her mom, who’d gotten home some time earlier, called her and Summerlyn down to eat.
“Hey mom," Naomi began between bites.
“Hmm?” her mom grunted.
“What was it exactly that Great Uncle Ian did?”
Her mom made a face, “Why do you ask?”
“Trevor was wondering what he did?” Naomi lied.
Her mom sighed, “He liked to travel a lot. He told me how he backpacked across Europe and even the United States a few times and what he’s seen on those travels,” she chuckled to herself, “he’d brought back several souvenirs and wrote multiple blogs about the places he’d been and what he’d found. You know, when I was younger, he’d always insist he came across real magic out there in the world, hidden in places almost forgotten and yet, he managed to find them and bring them back with him.”
I guess he did find some magic afterall, Naomi thought, thanking her mom for dinner and heading back upstairs. She’d need to track down her uncle’s blogs, see if maybe there was an explanation for whatever happened in the basement. But, maybe that was something she’ll do for another time, since it was getting late and she was getting tired.
As Naomi got her things ready and left down the hall to take a shower, she noticed the door to Summerlyn’s room was closed. Odd, since she always left it a little open in case someone called for her. As Naomi passed by, she thought she heard the sound of Summerlyn’s phone camera going off. She shook her head, whatever, what Summerlyn was up to was none of her business.
Oh well. Naomi thought, crawling into bed. I just hope whatever happened to Trevor was just temporary. She shivered, the thought of him being able to just take over people's bodies like that. She had an idea of what he'd use them for and hoped that whatever happened was just a one time thing.
---
The next morning, Naomi woke up and got ready to go to school. She stopped by to check up on Summerlyn before she left, she couldn't explain why, but she was just worried more than usual.
Summerlyn was still asleep when Naomi walked in. She considered maybe trying to wake her up, but decided against it, no doubt she'd get an earful from Summerlyn about how disrespectful that is or something like that.
Guess I'll just check up on you again later. Naomi thought, going downstairs.
---
Olivia was already waiting for her when she walked through the doors into Milton High. Strangely, Wren was nowhere to be found. Perhaps she was sick?
“Where's Wren?” Naomi asked.
Olivia rolled her eyes, “She said she had to run to the restroom, something about breakfast not agreeing with her or something.” Olivia shook her head, “Whatever. How're you and Trevor doing, by the way? How are you two holding up?”
Naomi resisted the urge to stick out her tongue in disgust, “He still thinks we're actually dating,” Olivia interrupted her to make a gagging sound, Naomi couldn't say she disagreed, “you should listen to him talk, so disgusting. It's worse than when he talks non stop about those annoying superheroes or whatever it is he cares about.”
“Oh?” Olivia began, getting closer, “What does he say? The disgusting stuff, I don't care about anything else.”
Naomi smiled, and looked around to make sure Trevor wasn't nearby to overhear her, “He keeps talking about girls and what he would do if he got to the point where they had sex.”
Olivia gasped.
Naomi continued, smiling as she recounted her horrible first “date” with him, “You know, he asked me what kind of woman I was and what I expected him to do in our relationship? Well, since I didn't want to get dumped by him I had to play into it and said I would do the housework and cook while he gets to be treated as a king all day. He ate that up hook, line, and sinker. Then he asked about sex! Just like that! No other conversation! Just sex! Sex! Sex!” Naomi sighed, "What's worse is that afterwards, he just keeps rambling on and on about anime and superheroes."
Olivia was barely able to stand from laughing so much, “Oh my! Naomi I almost feel sorry for you for making you do this!”
“You will be sorry when I win this bet and you have to do something for me.” Naomi replied.
“Hey girls!” Wren greeted, walking over to them, “What are you all talking about?”
“Oh you're not going to believe this,” Olivia began, still laughing, “Naomi's been telling us all about what she and Trevor have been doing lately!”
“Ooh!” Wren exclaimed, “What do you think about Trevor?”
Olivia laughed, “The dude's a creep! He's even more of a loser than I thought he was! Sex this! Sex that!”
Wren frowned, “Oh? Is that what you think of him?”
Olivia shrugged, “As much as I know about him, anyway. You know, Trevor looks alright, a bit short maybe, but that personality just really kills it!”
Wren made a face and stepped closer, “You think all that before even getting to know him?”
Olivia held up her hands in mock surrender and chuckled, “Woah, relax Wren, I'm just having some fun! Trevor's a little weirdo! That's all there is to him really, he just thinks about women he likes and that's it. Not even in a good way either.”
Wren scoffed, “is that so?”
Olivia sighed in exasperation, “Oh my god, Wren! I don't know why you're so mad about this! I'm going to see if the cafeterias are still serving breakfast, if you want to calm down and talk to me you can find me there, alright?”
With that, Olivia left. Naomi stared after her, mouth dry. She turned over to Wren who watched Olivia with anger and sadness in her eyes. Except Naomi wasn’t sure that was Wren behind those eyes.
Wren turned to her, noticing Naomi staring, “What?” She asked.
There's no way… “Trevor?” Naomi began hesitantly, “Is… is that you?”
Wren grinned, “Yup!” Trevor admitted, fist pumping the air, “it's me!” he chuckled, “I still have the powers that scroll gave me, it's insane! Hey, I used them on Ms. Shaw earlier and used them to steal the answers for today's quiz!”
Naomi felt her skin crawl. Olivia said Wren went to the bathroom earlier, was that when Trevor possessed her? Or did that happen earlier? She shivered, thinking about what he might have done when he was alone.
Naomi crossed her arms beneath her breasts, “Trevor,” she began, “Please get our of my friend.”
Trevor blinked and then chuckled, “Oh, yeah! I… really should get back to my body before school starts, huh? Come with me, I left my body in the boys bathroom.”
Naomi sighed and followed Trevor. She was barely paying attention as he excitedly told her some of the questions and answers to the quiz. She focused more on what he might have done and what he will probably do.
“Is something wrong?” Trevor asked as they stopped in front of the boys bathroom.
“Hmm?” Naomi asked, “Oh, nothing! It's fine, I was just… wondering about your powers.”
Trevor chuckled, “I've been wondering about them too and I've been trying to test out the limits, but I think I'll save that for another day. Do me a favor and catch Wren, will you? I don't want to hurt her sweet body.”
Before Naomi could answer, Wren suddenly slumped forward and Naomi leapt to catch Wren before she fell to the floor. She held her up as Wren slowly regained consciousness, “Ugh… what? Naomi? Where am I?”
“Wren?” Naomi asked, “You've… passed out earlier with Olivia. I was taking you to the nurse when you started waking up!” Trevor, I am going to kill you!
Wren grumbled, shaking her head. Please believe me. She blinked, looking around, “What time is it?” she winced, “I think I'll go see the nurse myself, thanks for carrying me all this way.” She waved away Naomi and walked off, heading in the direction of the nurse’s office.
With that, Trevor came out of the bathroom, smiling. “She didn't remember anything! Heh heh! Can you believe that?”
“Yeah…” Naomi began, “that's really something.” She hoped her expression didn’t let slip the amount of disgust she was feeling.
“Hey Naomi,” Trevor began, sobering up, “I… need to ask you an important question.”
Naomi managed to keep a neutral expression as she turned to look at him, “What's that?” She asked, suddenly worried.
“Earlier, when Olivia was talking shit about me… how come you kept silent?”
Naomi froze. How much did he overhear? Did he know Naomi was the one who told Olivia about all those things? Or did he think Olivia was the one who said all that herself? What will he do if he finds out the truth? Naomi could feel herself starting to sweat. Unfortunately, she couldn’t think of anything to say, either in denial, or in deflection.
Trevor sighed, looking heartbroken, taking her hesitation as something else entirely “It's… whatever. I'll see you after school, alright?”
“Alright.” Naomi replied, her heart pounding as she watched him go. That… that was close.
---
The rest of the day Naomi had trouble focusing on anything her teachers were saying, whatever, she could probably just ask one of her other classmates for notes. She was too busy thinking about what was happening with Trevor. What the hell was her great uncle getting up to? Did Uncle Ian have anything else like that hidden among his belongings? Could she find something to possibly reverse this?
The power to just take over someone’s body was freaky enough as is, but the thought of Trevor of all people having it just made her skin crawl. On their first day, Trevor told her all the things he loves about a woman, with one of the top things being her body, and how he can’t stop himself from looking no matter how hard he tries.
Jeez, the boy had no tack and was just overall unpleasant to be around. A shame, too, Naomi thought, I bet he honestly thought he was complimenting me by going on and on about how beautiful I am. Naomi suppressed a smirk, the truth was that she was flattered at first, but his constant pointing out of her looks lost their charm very quickly.
“Naomi Walker!”
Naomi came crashing down back into reality, “Huh?”
Her teacher, Mr. Gray, sighed, rubbing his temples, “I was asking if you knew how to solve this equation…”
Naomi felt her face grow warm as she glanced at the whiteboard and had no idea what on earth she was looking at, “No,” she admitted, “I do not.” That earned a round of snickers from her other classmates.
Mr. Gray shook his head, “Rachel Smith, you’re up.”
Great. Naomi thought, letting her mind wander again. Now Trevor’s making things difficult in other ways as well.
---
Lunch couldn’t come quick enough. Naomi gathered her things and headed off quickly, wanting nothing more to regroup with Wren and Olivia. She thought about telling them about the situation, but decided against it. There’s no way they’ll believe me, Naomi thought, I can still just barely believe this is happening and I was there to see it happen twice! I need to find out more about Uncle Ian, if nothing else, he’ll be the one with any answers
At least she could, hopefully, relax around them for a bit. Maybe Olivia would have some gossip to help her take her mind off things for a while. After grabbing her lunch, Naomi noticed Olivia sitting at a different spot than usual even though their table was empty. Naomi swallowed, He wouldn't. her nervousness gave way to anger the closer she got, her shoes hitting the ground harder and harder with each step. He. Fucking. Wouldn't.
“Olivia” turned to her as she approached. She had an uncharacteristic big grin on her face and her hands were… Fucking Trevor! her hands were groping her own breasts.
“HI Naomi!” Trevor greeted from inside Olivia's body, “You won't be-”
“Get out.” Naomi ordered.
Trevor smiled, taking his hands off Olivia's breasts, “Woah! Woah!” He began, “No need to get so angry with me, alright? I just don't think Olivia's that good of a friend for you! I mean, what kind of friend badmouths their other friends' boyfriends? I mean, you heard the things she was saying about me.”
“Get. Out.” Naomi repeated.
“That's not all,” Trevor continued, ignoring Naomi, “I checked her phone earlier, did you know she has some dirt on you and Wren as well? I couldn't believe it myself and I was the one who found it-”
“Trevor.” Naomi growled, finally getting him to shut up and listen, “Get. Out. Of. Her. Body. Now!”
Trevor blinked, and looked away, “Alright,” he said, his voice low, “but… can you promise me something?”
“What?” Naomi snapped.
Trevor looked back at her, “Can you defend me next time?” he paused before continuing, “I'm not asking for much, at least I don't think I am. But when she was talking shit about me, you just stood there and let her keep talking.”
Naomi blinked, this fucking guy… She knew he had a point. Even she could see that, but given his actions so far, it seemed Olivia had a point. But right now wasn't a good time to confront him about any of this.
She nodded, “Alright,” she conceded, “I'll tell Olivia to stop picking on you.”
Trevor smiled and then Olivia started shaking, her eyes rolling back before she gasped and nearly fell on the table. Trevor was gone, most likely returning to his own body, wherever that was.
“Ugh,” Olivia moaned, rubbing her head, “How the hell did I get here?”
“What's wrong?” Naomi asked.
“Naomi?” Olivia asked, noticing her, “Last thing I remember was being in fifth period when everything just went…” Olivia's eyes widened and her face went red. Her hands felt at her chest before dropping down below her waist. Her face paled almost instantly.
Naomi gulped, a faint idea of what happened already forming in her head, “Is everything alright?”
“Where the fuck are my panties?” Olivia hissed, going even redder.
Naomi coughed, Trevor was really pushing his luck with her. Looking closer at Olivia's shirt, it wasn't just her bra he took off either. No, she saw the way her breasts were hanging and how they moved around when Olivia turned. Her bra was gone as well.
“Shit!” Olivia hissed, standing up and looking around, “Shit! Shit! Shit!”
“Calm down!” Naomi whispered, “Do you… happen to have any spares?”
Olivia nodded, “I have some panties in my locker… I'll be back.”
Olivia shuffled off just as Wren came by, placing her tray down as she looked in, confused as to why Olivia was practically running out of the cafeteria.
Wren gave Naomi a look, “What's up with her?”
Naomi sighed, she knew telling the truth was not an option. “Wardrobe malfunction,” she replied, “she's getting some spare clothes from her locker.”
Wren grunted, “You doing alright, Naomi? You've been quiet today.”
Naomi stared at Wren for a while. She was acting like herself, and hadn't groped her breasts so far. “Just thinking about Trevor,” Naomi admitted, “he's been a hassle lately.”
“Going to dump him early?”
Naomi shook her head, “I don't think that's a good idea, he's…” Fuck, what should I say here?, “gotten a hold of something embarrassing of mine and I'm afraid if I dump him he'll tell everyone.”
Wren wrinkled her nose, “Ouch, he's really the type who would do that?” she gave a sympathetic squeeze to Naomi’s hand, “I'm sorry I ever went to bat for him. Well, whatever happens, Olivia and I will be here for you.”
Naomi smiled, but remembered Trevor's words that Olivia kept dirt on her and Wren in her phone. It didn't seem like he was lying either, as he'd offered to show her the proof and even delete it. I don't think Olivia will stand by me, Naomi thought. It was silly, of course she wouldn't. Still, that didn't mean Naomi wanted something like this to happen to her. She looked back at Wren who gave her a supportive smile and returned it. Wren might be different though, but Naomi wasn’t sure.
What she was sure about was that she needed to find out about what her uncle had. Luckily Trevor will be staying after school today for one of his stupid clubs, that meant Naomi would have a chance to look through her uncle's belongings and search for his blog on the internet,
So she did just that. After school, she went straight home and saw she would be alone for a few hours. Her parents were still working and Summerlyn had an evening class today.
Damn, Naomi thought, I was hoping to ask mom what she knew about Uncle Ian, hopefully she'll be back soon. No matter.* At least that meant she was able to search the basement without much issue.
At least, that's what she thought until she tried the door and found it locked. Ugh! Summerlyn!
Naomi pounded on the door out of frustration before growling, heading to Summerlyn’s room, hoping she'd find the key.
Thankfully, Summerlyn’s room didn't have a lock so getting in wasn't an issue. The issue then became finding the key, hopefully Summerlyn didn't take it with her. The bed and the desk weren't of any use, although as she checked under the bed she was surprised to see some of Summerlyn’s clothes just tossed underneath. Normally her sister would just toss them in the laundry bin.
Whatever. She checked her dresser and found the key in the third drawer. Afterwards she left to go down the basement.
It still looked the same as it did yesterday, with some of the furniture slightly moved as Naomi and Trevor looked through her uncle's belongings.
She started at the box where Trevor pulled that scroll from. Inside were some maps, a few souvenirs from other places her uncle had visited, but no other scrolls.
At the bottom of the box was an old journal. Naomi grabbed it and flipped through it, grinning as she realized it was a journal her uncle kept to record his travels. Hopefully, Uncle Ian would have written about something like this.
She searched through his other belongings, but that turned out to be a bust. So, with only a journal for her efforts, Naomi returned the basement key to Summerlyn’s room and started reading through the journal in her room.
Naomi would gather from the journal, as well as from her mom and Summerlyn, that her uncle didn't travel alone. He had someone else with him, a friend named Tom. Together the two of them traveled across the world, going across the United States, to Europe, and Asia as well.
From the journal, Naomi found out her uncle and Tom came across these scrolls as they were exploring an old ruin they found in a forest in Europe. Unfortunately, if they ever found out what these things were and what they did, her uncle didn't write them down.
All he wrote down was that he thought they were neat and he took one while his friend took several. So if I want to find out more about what's going on and how to stop Trevor, I'll need to find where Tom is and hope he knows anything about these scrolls.
It took her a while to find her uncle’s blog, but after an hour, she came across it. The blog detailed her uncle and Tom’s journey across the world, staring at the United States and how they traveled to Europe with little except what they could fit in their backpacks. She skipped ahead, seeing her uncle took several pictures of himself and Tom as they traveled along the world.
She came across an entry where her uncle and Tom decided to explore a forest somewhere in the United Kingdom. There, they came across the remains of a stone tower hidden deep in the forest and he had several photos of what they found inside, numerous old books rotting on bookshelves, strange symbols written on the walls, and, to her horror, several scrolls thrown about the tables.
There were a few comments on this blog post, with some commenters asking where exactly they were as they lived closeby, but had never encountered this stone tower ever before in their lives. Her blood ran cold when she saw her uncle responding to these comments, saying he’d tried to go back a few days later, but could not find where he and Tom stumbled upon the tower.
Her mom’s words echoed in her head, how Uncle Ian believed there was still magic out there hidden in the world and that he brought some back home with him. He did, Naomi thought, shutting off her laptop, he really did.
She wrote down everything she discovered in her journal. So far, it was the only thing keeping her sane, assuring her that all of this was actually real. She hid the journal in one of the drawers in her dresser before getting ready for bed.
The next day, before school, Naomi approached her mom and asked Tom, Uncle Ian’s friend.
“Of course I know about him,” her mom replied, “Why, he and Uncle Ian were practically inseparable when they were younger! Why?”
“I just wanted to learn more about Uncle Ian,” Naomi lied, “I feel like I never got to him. I was wondering if maybe Tom would tell me any stories about what he and Uncle Ian got up to.”
“Oh,” her mom replied sadly, “well… I'm afraid it's a little too late for that. Tom passed away a little while ago,”
Naomi grew cold, “What happened to him?”
“It was terrible,” her mom continued, “he and his daughter were in a car crash.”
Naomi leaned against the table to prevent herself from stumbling back. Her mom asked her what was wrong, but her words were meaningless buzzing to Naomi's ears. No! Naomi squeezed her eyes shut, He was the only one who would have had any answers!
“Naomi!” her mom said, grabbing her softly on the arm.
Naomi gasped, but returned to reality.
“Naomi…” her mom began, “What's wrong?”
“It's nothing.” she lied. “Nothing.”
Numb. She grabbed her backpack and went to school.
---
Trevor came back with her to her house. He was giddy, eagerly showing her the notes and other materials he managed to grab while he possessed their teachers' bodies.
“Here's the answer sheet for our history final,” Trevor said, grinning, “You're welcome for this, by the way, I know history is your worst subject.”
Naomi nodded, thanking Trevor listlessly as he went on about some of the other stuff he got up to with his new powers. She knew he was keeping some stuff from her, there was no way someone like him wouldn’t have misused those powers. He took over Wren and Olivia. The thought of what he did to Olivia made Naomi’s hands turn into fists by her side.
“Why did you take off Olivia's underwear?” Naomi asked, cutting him off.
Trevor rolled his eyes, “This again? Look, I might've gone too far with that one, but she isn't a good person. I already told you, and I just thought she needed to learn a lesson.”
“She had to walk around without a bra for the rest of the day, Trevor.”
Trevor actually laughed at that one, “I can tell you there were a few people who enjoyed that.”
“You told people?”
Trevor sighed, “Just a few, and besides, she deserved it! She's been talking shit about us for months, it was time someone knocked her down a peg!”
Naomi rubbed her temples, “And that someone had to be you, right?”
Trevor stood up, throwing his hands in the air, “I don't need to take this right now! I'm taking a five minute break, alright? Let me know when you're ready to stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?” Naomi snapped as Trevor went to the door.
“Like I'm gross!” Trevor shouted, “like I'm a bug! You and Olivia both! You have that same look in your eye that she did, drop her and I'm sure we'll be better off for it!”
With that, he left, slamming the door behind him. Naomi rolled her eyes, and sighed. She needed to calm down, right now wasn't the best time to antagonize him, no matter how much he deserved it. Who knows what will be his breaking point and he decides to use his powers on her.
She looked down, noticing he left his phone on her bed. She couldn't help herself and opened it, as he'd told her his password.
There were several texts from some of his friends in his after school club, each one thanking him for telling them about Olivia's wardrobe incident with a few of them asking how he knew about it. So he's been keeping his powers a secret too. Naomi thought.
Each text made her stomach churn as each boy talked about how much they liked seeing Olivia like that and even asking Trevor if he could target some of the other girls as well. Thankfully, Trevor declined, but did ask if any of them would like a copy of the answer sheets to some upcoming tests.
Naomi checked his photo gallery next and nearly dropped his phone when she saw what was on it. There were numerous pictures of other girls in their grade in various states of undress. No doubt Trevor possessed them and made them take these pictures and send them to himself.
She nearly gagged when she came across the photos Trevor took of Olivia as well as Summerlyn. Olivia's seemed to be taken in one of the bathroom stalls and she was completely naked at one point, showing her pussy to the camera as well as showing her bra and panties being flushed down the toilet.
Summerlyn was similar as well. Several pictures were taken of her in various pieces of clothing before she became naked and flashed her bits to the camera. That night, Naomi thought, when I heard in her room, that was Trevor.
Before she could fully process what she was seeing, the door opened and Trevor paused when he saw his phone in her hands. Her shock made her drop his phone and it landed face up, showing that Naomi was looking through his gallery.
Trevor didn’t even get a word in before Naomi spoke, “What the hell?” Despite the emotions raging through her, those words were barely louder than a whisper.
“Listen, I can-”
“No!” Naomi cut off, raising her voice and getting off her bed and throwing his phone at him, “Get out! Now!”
Trevor backed up as she got closer, “Naomi, wait-!”
“Get out!” Naomi screeched, “I don't want to see you ever again! Those girls! My sister! Olivia! Get out, Trevor!”
Trevor didn’t move, just standing there as Noami shoved against him. He growled, standing his ground, but Naomi was stronger than he thought.
Naomi slapped him, but Trevor grabbed her arm before it landed. Naomi grunted, her chest tightening as she tried to yank her arm free, but Trevor kept it in an iron grip.
“I came across some interesting stuff in Olivia's phone when I possessed her,” Trevor began, “Is…” his voice broke slightly before he continued, “was our relationship… did it really begin as a dare?”
Naomi scoffed and yanked her hand back before shoving Trevor. He stumbled back, shocked. “Yes.” Naomi admitted, “Did you actually think otherwise?”
Trevor swallowed, his face hardening, “So you're just like them then. I thought you'd be different!”
Naomi laughed, you can't be serious, “Pfft! I'm just like them? All of them?”
“It's because of girls like you that never give people like me a chance!”
Naomi rolled her eyes, “Please. You wanna know why none of the other girls never wanted anything to do with you? Why Olivia talked shit about you? It's because you're gross! All you see when you look at a woman is her body! Why else do you have all those pictures on your phone? That's all you care about, just seeing them naked! Getting your rocks off by looking at those pictures you send to yourself!”
The entire time Naomi tore into Trevor, his face hardened and turned red. It was almost funny really how sad and pathetic he looked when he was angry and genuinely trying to look intimidating.
However, as Naomi stepped closer, Trevor’s body suddenly went limp and slumped to the floor. Naomi blinked and knew what was happening. Oh no.
She shuddered, a feeling of pins and needles overtaking her as her vision went black.
---
Finally, Trevor thought as he opened his eyes to see himself in Naomi's body, I managed to shut her up.
He looked down on his own body and decided to leave it there for now. It would still be some time until Naomi's mom and sister got home and so he had the time to do whatever he wanted to with her body.
He didn't waste any time either. You never let me get to second base, he thought, a wicked smile on his lips, I think it's time that changes. He touched Naomi's breasts through her clothes. They weren't as big as some of the other girls he possessed, most notably Summerlyn and Olivia, but he appreciated how they felt in his hands right now. But how much better did they look?
He ripped off Naomi's shirt eagerly, grinning as her white bra was revealed. Oh Naomi, you have no idea how long I've been waiting to do this! Trevor thought, grinning as his hands once again went to her breasts, kneading them with the bra.
He sighed, feeling something going on between her legs. That sensation happened a lot while he was exploring the bodies of the girls he possessed. It was like getting an erection with a penis, but… different.
Naomi's pants came off next, followed by her socks. Her panties matched her bra, white, and Trevor hesitated briefly as his fingers dug beneath the fabric. She wasn't his girlfriend anymore, she made that more than clear, but still… the thought of seeing her naked was making him warm and dizzy.
He chuckled as he threw off her panties and collapsed on the bed as her bra followed shortly afterwards. Where's her phone? Trevor thought, I need to see how she looks! He found it and turned on her camera, changing to selfie mode and held it against his new body.
She was beautiful, but Trevor knew that already. Pale skin laid bare before him, her nipples the color of cherries and were hard and sensitive as his fingers brushed over them. He bit his lips, legs squirming, Fuck! Her tits aren't as large as Summerlyn’s, but they're sensitive!
He angled the phone to look between her legs. A neatly trimmed patch of hair greeted him, covering the entrance to her pussy which was very wet and he opened her pussy lips, his finger sliding in easily. He arched his back, biting hard on his lip to prevent himself from crying out loud.
Fuck! Trevor gasped, recovering from that sensation, That was… way different from a penis!
He licked his lips, trying to calm down. So far he'd only taken pictures of these girls to save for later when he returned to his own body. The thought of masturbating as them though… that made his face warm.
Trevor looked down at Naomi's pussy. It felt good when he accidentally slipped a finger inside, what if he tried to feel around- Holy-!
That must be the clitoris! Trevor wasn't able to stop himself, shouting out loudly as he flicked Naomi's clit, and started working it. His legs thrashed about, his free hand going to one of her breasts, rubbing against a still erect nipple. He could feel the pressure building and while he'd never orgasmed as a girl before, he knew what it was as it approached.
He cried out as the orgasm overtook him, coming along much stronger than anything he'd ever experienced as a guy. He gasped as the climax left him behind, letting him recover. I can't feel my legs. Trevor thought.
He glanced over at his body, still laying there. He had to think, if he left Naomi alone, she might cause problems for him in the future. Maybe there's a way for him to get around that.
Her phone provided a good solution. A few pictures of her naked for later was always appreciated, and it might be good to use to stop her from interfering with his plans. Of course, if that wasn't enough, he took a few pictures of Naomi with his dick in her hands as well as his mouth. It felt… strange to have a penis in his mouth, not something he'd want to do again.
Serves you right. Trevor thought, sending the photos to his phone and then making sure the evidence was deleted from her phone.
---
When Naomi came to, she found herself alone in her room, fully clothed. Trevor was gone and almost an hour had passed. What did he make me do? Naomi wondered, her mouth dry.
Her phone dinged. She reached for it hesitantly and took in a sharp breath through clenched teeth when she saw Trevor’s name appear on her screen. He sent her a text.
Trevor: If you don't want pictures like these circulating around the school, you'll do well to leave me alone.
Trevor: Thanks for the fun time though. ;)
Attached was a picture of her naked body with Trevor's dick in her mouth.
Naomi nearly dropped her phone.
mtf
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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.
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Chapter by
Alpha · 18 Jan 2026 -
Continuation of the story. In Margarete's body Ethan watches his life going on just from an outside perspective.
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Four hours to go.
And somewhere in the bridal suite waited a cursed brooch that had already changed everything.
I wasn’t sure I wanted it to change back quite yet.
The bridal suite smelled like fresh lilies, hairspray, and the faint metallic tang of champagne flutes that had been refilled one too many times. I slipped inside behind the last bridesmaidpretending to be Margaret checking on “something sentimental”and closed the door with a soft click. The room was a whirlwind of white tulle, scattered jewelry, and half-unzipped garment bags. Sophie was in the bathroom with the makeup artist, voices muffled behind the door. We had maybe seven minutes.
Margaretin my bodywas already there, rifling through a small velvet jewelry box on the vanity. She’d changed into the full tuxedo trousers and vest, shirt still open at the collar, sleeves rolled. The sight of myself like thathalf-dressed, purposeful, sleeves showing the corded forearms I’d spent years buildingsent another unwelcome pulse straight to where I was still tender and slick from the garden.
“Found it?” I asked, voice low, locking the door behind me.
She held up the brooch without looking back. Silver filigree, cloudy opal at the center, pinned to a scrap of black velvet. It looked innocent. Antique. Harmless.
Except it wasn’t.
She turned. Our eyes metmine in her face, hers in mineand the air thickened again.
“We touch it together,” she said. “That’s how it happened last night. Simultaneous contact. Should reverse it.”
I stepped closer. The carpet was thick under Margaret’s flats; every movement felt deliberate, weighted. My hearther heartwas thudding so hard I could feel it in my throat, in my wrists, between my legs. The orgasm in the garden had taken the edge off, but not the hunger. If anything, it had sharpened it. I wanted to know what this body could do when it wasn’t fighting to stay quiet.
Margaret set the brooch on the vanity between us.
“On three,” she said.
I nodded.
“One.”
Our hands hovered above ither strong fingers, my smaller, knotted ones.
“Two.”
I could smell my own cologne on her skin, mixed with the clean sweat of nerves and arousal. She smelled like me, but moved like her: precise, unhurried.
“Three.”
Our fingertips met the metal at the same instant.
Nothing.
No flash. No vertigo. No sudden whoosh of souls trading places.
Just silence.
We stared at the brooch. Then …
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