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Rumors about a possession themed website on the dark web have been going around. A man named John and his four friends, Kevin, James, Steve, and Russel, come across the website by chance, and they all think it's just some fake website... but they decide to try it out, given the first hour of possession was free for new users. They signed up and opted to just possess the bodies of John's neighbors, the Drews. The family consisted of a MILF mom, a fitness model dad, a med student daughter, and two fraternal twins (a male and female) who had just started their freshman year in college.
John and his friends were surprised the site actually worked, and their curiosity got the better of them. They had sex in every possible combination: mother and son, father and daughters, sisters and brother, mother and sister... lets just say that John and his friends became frequent users of the site, with the Drew family being their main hosts!
John and his friends were surprised the site actually worked, and their curiosity got the better of them. They had sex in every possible combination: mother and son, father and daughters, sisters and brother, mother and sister... lets just say that John and his friends became frequent users of the site, with the Drew family being their main hosts!
possession incest sex smut
by
AziAzi
· 14 Sep 2025
John successfully possessed Henry's body, and when he went back to his apartment to tell the guys, it seemed they had already figure out it works, and possessed the rest of the Drews while John was heading back. John quickly heads to the Drew's apartment, only to see that his friends had already started to get acquainted with their borrowed bodies!
possession
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by
AziAzi
· 14 Sep 2025
John quickly joins in with his friends, and thus starts the wild night the friends were going to have...
possession
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Lucas and Emily are best friends who stumble upon a strange remote at a garage sale. Lucas buys it on a whim, joking that it looks cool—and that he needs a new TV remote anyway. Curious, the two decide to test it out, and to Lucas’s relief, it actually works.
Later that night, they’re catching up on an episode of One Piece when Lucas feels a sudden impulse to press the remote’s glowing red button. Within seconds, everything blurs, and both of them are violently sucked into the TV.
When they regain consciousness, Lucas’s living room is gone. Instead, they find themselves at a bustling port, standing on a boat—and inhabiting different, yet strangely familiar, bodies. It doesn’t take long for the truth to sink in: Lucas has somehow become Nami, while Emily has become Luffy. Even stranger, the mysterious remote is tucked safely into Lucas’s pocket.
Panicked, they try to use the remote to escape, only to discover that it’s on some kind of cooldown. With no way back and no idea how long the effect will last, Emily and Lucas are forced to remain trapped in the One Piece world—living as its characters for who knows how long.
The sun beat down on the cracked asphalt of the suburban cul-de-sac, turning the Saturday morning garage sale into a shimmering mirage of discarded memories. Emily nudged Lucas with her elbow, gesturing toward a folding table buried under a tangle of old cables and yellowed electronics manuals. “See anything cool, tech wizard?”
Lucas, ever the tinkerer, was already sifting through the box. “Mostly junk. VCR manuals from 1998. A busted graphing calculator.” His hand paused, fingers closing around something sleek and black. “Whoa. Okay, this is weird.”
He pulled it out. It was a standard universal remote, but it felt significant. It was heavier than it should be, made of a cold, brushed metal, and had a simple layout: Power, Volume Up/Down, a directional pad, a button with a simple TV icon, and one solitary, ominous red button set slightly apart. A faint, almost imperceptible LED glowed near the top.
“That looks… intense,” Emily said, peering over his shoulder. “Think it works?”
“Only one way to find out,” Lucas grinned. He aimed it at a dusty old tube TV sitting on the grass with a ‘$5’ sticker on it. He pressed the power button. With a soft click and a hum, the TV flickered to life, displaying static snow. Lucas laughed, a sound of pure relief. “Holy crap, it does work. And it’s not even paired to it. Score. I do need a new remote anyway.”
“Maybe it really is universal,” Emily mused.
An elderly woman with soft silver hair pulled into a bun shuffled over, her smile warm but tinged with a deep, lingering sadness. “Oh, you found Albert’s little project,” she said, her voice like rustling paper. “My husband. He was an electrical engineer, retired. In his last few months… he became quite obsessed with fiddling with that thing. In his spare time, right up until the end.”
Lucas turned the remote over in his hands. “It’s really well-made. What was he trying to do?”
The woman’s gaze grew distant. “On his deathbed, he was delirious with the pain medication. He kept holding that remote, babbling about harmonics and dimensional frequencies. He said he’d tuned it not to channels, but to worlds. Said it was a portal device.” She gave a soft, sad laugh. “He told me I should use it when my time comes. He said the transportation takes ‘life energy’ to sustain, and that I’d have enough left for one last trip. Can you imagine? The fancies of a dying mind.”
Emily and Lucas exchanged a look, a mix of skepticism and intrigue.
“I didn’t believe him, of course,” the woman continued, wiping a speck of dust from a picture frame of a smiling couple. “I thought it was just the sickness talking. After he passed… all these gadgets, all these reminders of those final, confusing days… I couldn’t bear to look at them. So, out they came. A fresh start.” She gestured to the table. “If you want it, dear, it’s five dollars. At least it’ll be a conversation piece.”
Lucas fished a crumpled bill from his pocket. “Sold.”
Back at Lucas’s apartment that evening, the remote sat on the coffee table between them like a shrine relic while they argued over what to watch. “It’s just a remote, Em,” Lucas said, though he kept glancing at it. “A fancy one with a tragic, weird backstory.”
“A tragic weird backstory about portals,” Emily corrected, grabbing a handful of popcorn. “Your new TV remote is an interdimensional philosopher.”
“Shut up and pick something. We’re behind on One Piece.”
They settled in, the epic saga of the Straw Hat Pirates filling the screen. Luffy was mid-transformation into Gear Fifth, his rubbery body a whirling cyclone of joy and power, his infectious laughter echoing through the speakers. Nami was shouting navigational commands from the helm of the Thousand Sunny, her orange hair whipping in a stylized gale. As the episode reached its crescendo, Lucas’s hand, almost of its own volition, drifted from his lap. His fingers found the cold metal of the remote. The solitary red button was glowing now, a deep, pulsing crimson it hadn’t been before.
“Dude, what are you doing?” Emily asked, mid-chew.
“I don’t know,” Lucas said, his voice oddly hollow. A compulsion, thick and magnetic, settled in his bones. His thumb pressed down on the red button.
The world dissolved.
It wasn’t a fade—it was a violent, screaming rip. The sound of the TV became a deafening roar, and the screen didn’t just display the Thousand Sunny; it opened. A vortex of swirling color and cartoon physics yawned before them. Emily’s popcorn bowl flew from her hands as an impossible suction grabbed them both, yanking them off the couch. Lucas felt a scream tear from his throat, but no sound emerged—the air was being stolen from his lungs. He saw Emily, eyes wide with terror, her form elongating and distorting as she was pulled toward the maelstrom of light a split-second before he was. Then, everything was pain, pressure, and a sensation of being crumpled like a piece of paper and thrown across an infinite distance.
Consciousness returned in a nauseating lurch. Lucas gasped, his head throbbing. The soft, familiar fabric of his couch was gone. Beneath him was coarse, sun-warmed wood. The air smelled of salt, tar, and exotic spices. His ears were filled with a cacophony he’d only ever heard through headphones: the shouts of dockworkers, the cries of gulls, the creak of rigging and splash of waves against a hull.
He tried to sit up and immediately flailed, his center of gravity all wrong. His body felt… different. Lighter, yet strangely top-heavy. He looked down.
And saw orange.
A cascade of bright orange hair fell over his shoulders. His perspective was lower to the deck. His hands, which came up to clutch his head, were smaller, with slender fingers tipped with short, polished nails. And the shirt he was wearing… it was a low-cut, blue and white striped bikini top, barely containing a soft, generous swell of cleavage that most definitely had not been there a minute ago. A familiar, intricate tattoo—Nami’s iconic tattoo—adorning the shoulder his new hair didn’t cover.
A wave of dizzying horror washed over him. He was on the deck of the Thousand Sunny. And he was in Nami’s body.
“Whoa.” The voice that came from beside him was deeper, richer, and crackled with a boundless energy that was utterly foreign. “This is… AWESOME!”
Lucas turned his head. Sitting up, rubbing a rubbery neck with a stretchy hand, was Monkey D. Luffy. But the grin splitting that familiar face was pure, unadulterated Emily. She pounded a fist into her—his?—other palm, the smack echoing with a thwack.
“Lucas! Look! I’m made of rubber!” Emily exclaimed, and to prove it, she reeled back and punched herself in the cheek. Her face distorted, squishing inward before snapping back into place with a boing. She burst out laughing, the sound exactly like the Captain’s. “This is the coolest thing that has ever happened to anyone, ever!”
“Emily, shut up!” Lucas hissed, his voice emerging as Nami’s higher, sharper tone. Panic, cold and sharp, clawed at his throat. He scrambled to his feet, his new body moving with an unfamiliar, agile grace that felt like a betrayal. He patted himself down, and his hand—her hand—slid into the pocket of Nami’s short denim shorts. His fingers closed around cold, hard metal.
He pulled out the universal remote. The LED was dark. Desperately, he pointed it back in the vague direction from which they’d come, at the bright blue sky over the bustling port of wherever the hell they were, and mashed the power button. Nothing. He mashed the red button again and again. It was inert, just a dead piece of tech.
“It’s not working,” he whispered, the dread settling into his new bones. “It’s not working!”
Emily stopped bouncing and peered at the remote. “Maybe it needs to recharge? Like a cooldown period?”
“A cooldown? You don’t put a cooldown on a fucking universe-hopping remote!” Lucas snapped, Nami’s usual irritation coloring his panic perfectly.
“I dunno, seems reasonable. That trip probably used a lot of power,” Emily said, shrugging her massive rubbery shoulders. She looked around, her straw hat tipping back. “So. We’re in One Piece. I’m Luffy. You’re Nami.” A huge, gleaming grin spread across her face again. “This is officially a top-tier adventure. We should find Zoro! Or Sanji! Oh my god, Lucas, Sanji is going to freak out when he sees you!”
The reality of their situation crashed down on Lucas with the weight of the Grand Line. He was trapped. Trapped in the body of the Straw Hats’ navigator, in a world of pirates and Marines and sea monsters, with his best friend gleefully incarnated as a rubber maniac in his head. He clutched the useless remote, the only tether to their old life, as the bright, dangerous world of One Piece bustled around them. The cooldown, if that’s what it was, could be minutes. It could be days.
Or it could be forever. And they had no choice but to start living it.
Later that night, they’re catching up on an episode of One Piece when Lucas feels a sudden impulse to press the remote’s glowing red button. Within seconds, everything blurs, and both of them are violently sucked into the TV.
When they regain consciousness, Lucas’s living room is gone. Instead, they find themselves at a bustling port, standing on a boat—and inhabiting different, yet strangely familiar, bodies. It doesn’t take long for the truth to sink in: Lucas has somehow become Nami, while Emily has become Luffy. Even stranger, the mysterious remote is tucked safely into Lucas’s pocket.
Panicked, they try to use the remote to escape, only to discover that it’s on some kind of cooldown. With no way back and no idea how long the effect will last, Emily and Lucas are forced to remain trapped in the One Piece world—living as its characters for who knows how long.
The sun beat down on the cracked asphalt of the suburban cul-de-sac, turning the Saturday morning garage sale into a shimmering mirage of discarded memories. Emily nudged Lucas with her elbow, gesturing toward a folding table buried under a tangle of old cables and yellowed electronics manuals. “See anything cool, tech wizard?”
Lucas, ever the tinkerer, was already sifting through the box. “Mostly junk. VCR manuals from 1998. A busted graphing calculator.” His hand paused, fingers closing around something sleek and black. “Whoa. Okay, this is weird.”
He pulled it out. It was a standard universal remote, but it felt significant. It was heavier than it should be, made of a cold, brushed metal, and had a simple layout: Power, Volume Up/Down, a directional pad, a button with a simple TV icon, and one solitary, ominous red button set slightly apart. A faint, almost imperceptible LED glowed near the top.
“That looks… intense,” Emily said, peering over his shoulder. “Think it works?”
“Only one way to find out,” Lucas grinned. He aimed it at a dusty old tube TV sitting on the grass with a ‘$5’ sticker on it. He pressed the power button. With a soft click and a hum, the TV flickered to life, displaying static snow. Lucas laughed, a sound of pure relief. “Holy crap, it does work. And it’s not even paired to it. Score. I do need a new remote anyway.”
“Maybe it really is universal,” Emily mused.
An elderly woman with soft silver hair pulled into a bun shuffled over, her smile warm but tinged with a deep, lingering sadness. “Oh, you found Albert’s little project,” she said, her voice like rustling paper. “My husband. He was an electrical engineer, retired. In his last few months… he became quite obsessed with fiddling with that thing. In his spare time, right up until the end.”
Lucas turned the remote over in his hands. “It’s really well-made. What was he trying to do?”
The woman’s gaze grew distant. “On his deathbed, he was delirious with the pain medication. He kept holding that remote, babbling about harmonics and dimensional frequencies. He said he’d tuned it not to channels, but to worlds. Said it was a portal device.” She gave a soft, sad laugh. “He told me I should use it when my time comes. He said the transportation takes ‘life energy’ to sustain, and that I’d have enough left for one last trip. Can you imagine? The fancies of a dying mind.”
Emily and Lucas exchanged a look, a mix of skepticism and intrigue.
“I didn’t believe him, of course,” the woman continued, wiping a speck of dust from a picture frame of a smiling couple. “I thought it was just the sickness talking. After he passed… all these gadgets, all these reminders of those final, confusing days… I couldn’t bear to look at them. So, out they came. A fresh start.” She gestured to the table. “If you want it, dear, it’s five dollars. At least it’ll be a conversation piece.”
Lucas fished a crumpled bill from his pocket. “Sold.”
Back at Lucas’s apartment that evening, the remote sat on the coffee table between them like a shrine relic while they argued over what to watch. “It’s just a remote, Em,” Lucas said, though he kept glancing at it. “A fancy one with a tragic, weird backstory.”
“A tragic weird backstory about portals,” Emily corrected, grabbing a handful of popcorn. “Your new TV remote is an interdimensional philosopher.”
“Shut up and pick something. We’re behind on One Piece.”
They settled in, the epic saga of the Straw Hat Pirates filling the screen. Luffy was mid-transformation into Gear Fifth, his rubbery body a whirling cyclone of joy and power, his infectious laughter echoing through the speakers. Nami was shouting navigational commands from the helm of the Thousand Sunny, her orange hair whipping in a stylized gale. As the episode reached its crescendo, Lucas’s hand, almost of its own volition, drifted from his lap. His fingers found the cold metal of the remote. The solitary red button was glowing now, a deep, pulsing crimson it hadn’t been before.
“Dude, what are you doing?” Emily asked, mid-chew.
“I don’t know,” Lucas said, his voice oddly hollow. A compulsion, thick and magnetic, settled in his bones. His thumb pressed down on the red button.
The world dissolved.
It wasn’t a fade—it was a violent, screaming rip. The sound of the TV became a deafening roar, and the screen didn’t just display the Thousand Sunny; it opened. A vortex of swirling color and cartoon physics yawned before them. Emily’s popcorn bowl flew from her hands as an impossible suction grabbed them both, yanking them off the couch. Lucas felt a scream tear from his throat, but no sound emerged—the air was being stolen from his lungs. He saw Emily, eyes wide with terror, her form elongating and distorting as she was pulled toward the maelstrom of light a split-second before he was. Then, everything was pain, pressure, and a sensation of being crumpled like a piece of paper and thrown across an infinite distance.
Consciousness returned in a nauseating lurch. Lucas gasped, his head throbbing. The soft, familiar fabric of his couch was gone. Beneath him was coarse, sun-warmed wood. The air smelled of salt, tar, and exotic spices. His ears were filled with a cacophony he’d only ever heard through headphones: the shouts of dockworkers, the cries of gulls, the creak of rigging and splash of waves against a hull.
He tried to sit up and immediately flailed, his center of gravity all wrong. His body felt… different. Lighter, yet strangely top-heavy. He looked down.
And saw orange.
A cascade of bright orange hair fell over his shoulders. His perspective was lower to the deck. His hands, which came up to clutch his head, were smaller, with slender fingers tipped with short, polished nails. And the shirt he was wearing… it was a low-cut, blue and white striped bikini top, barely containing a soft, generous swell of cleavage that most definitely had not been there a minute ago. A familiar, intricate tattoo—Nami’s iconic tattoo—adorning the shoulder his new hair didn’t cover.
A wave of dizzying horror washed over him. He was on the deck of the Thousand Sunny. And he was in Nami’s body.
“Whoa.” The voice that came from beside him was deeper, richer, and crackled with a boundless energy that was utterly foreign. “This is… AWESOME!”
Lucas turned his head. Sitting up, rubbing a rubbery neck with a stretchy hand, was Monkey D. Luffy. But the grin splitting that familiar face was pure, unadulterated Emily. She pounded a fist into her—his?—other palm, the smack echoing with a thwack.
“Lucas! Look! I’m made of rubber!” Emily exclaimed, and to prove it, she reeled back and punched herself in the cheek. Her face distorted, squishing inward before snapping back into place with a boing. She burst out laughing, the sound exactly like the Captain’s. “This is the coolest thing that has ever happened to anyone, ever!”
“Emily, shut up!” Lucas hissed, his voice emerging as Nami’s higher, sharper tone. Panic, cold and sharp, clawed at his throat. He scrambled to his feet, his new body moving with an unfamiliar, agile grace that felt like a betrayal. He patted himself down, and his hand—her hand—slid into the pocket of Nami’s short denim shorts. His fingers closed around cold, hard metal.
He pulled out the universal remote. The LED was dark. Desperately, he pointed it back in the vague direction from which they’d come, at the bright blue sky over the bustling port of wherever the hell they were, and mashed the power button. Nothing. He mashed the red button again and again. It was inert, just a dead piece of tech.
“It’s not working,” he whispered, the dread settling into his new bones. “It’s not working!”
Emily stopped bouncing and peered at the remote. “Maybe it needs to recharge? Like a cooldown period?”
“A cooldown? You don’t put a cooldown on a fucking universe-hopping remote!” Lucas snapped, Nami’s usual irritation coloring his panic perfectly.
“I dunno, seems reasonable. That trip probably used a lot of power,” Emily said, shrugging her massive rubbery shoulders. She looked around, her straw hat tipping back. “So. We’re in One Piece. I’m Luffy. You’re Nami.” A huge, gleaming grin spread across her face again. “This is officially a top-tier adventure. We should find Zoro! Or Sanji! Oh my god, Lucas, Sanji is going to freak out when he sees you!”
The reality of their situation crashed down on Lucas with the weight of the Grand Line. He was trapped. Trapped in the body of the Straw Hats’ navigator, in a world of pirates and Marines and sea monsters, with his best friend gleefully incarnated as a rubber maniac in his head. He clutched the useless remote, the only tether to their old life, as the bright, dangerous world of One Piece bustled around them. The cooldown, if that’s what it was, could be minutes. It could be days.
Or it could be forever. And they had no choice but to start living it.
mtf
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1
1.5K
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You and your group of friends won a raffle that awarded you with five tickets to Spooky Island! It was the new resort island being endorsed by Sydney Sweeney, it’s gimmick was supposedly a spooky and entertaining summer experience, and since you guys were on summer break, you definitely thought it was a sign to enjoy the island.
Little did you know that the island held a dark secret. It was secretly the den of a clan of demons who steal human bodies with a relic called the Daemon Ritus. They luckily managed to steal Sydney Sweeneys body when she visited the island for a photo shoot… and now she and her fellow demons trick people into going to the island to steal their bodies. You found out about this secret and promised to help out, so long as you get some benefits…
The email notification pinged on my phone just as I was stuffing it into my backpack, and the bold subject line made my heart skip: CONGRATULATIONS! YOU AND YOUR FRIENDS HAVE WON A VIP TRIP TO SPOOKY ISLAND!
"Guys, check this out!" I practically shouted, nearly knocking over Kaori’s iced coffee as I jumped up from the tiny café table. Nate, Jade, Kaori, and Trisha all turned—mid-bickering over who had to sit in the middle seat on the train later—as I shook my phone at them. "We just won an all-expenses-paid trip to Spooky Island!"
Nate snatched the phone out of my hands, scrolling with the urgency of a man about to abandon all responsibilities. "The Spooky Island? The one with the Sydney Sweeney ads where everyone is making out in slow motion?" His grin widened. "Private villas, endless drinks, adult-friendly activities—hell yes."
Trisha flicked a sugar packet at his forehead. "Or, y’know, we end up in some weird Satanic beach ritual à la Midsommar."
Jade smirked, swirling her latte. "Worth it."
Kaori tucked a strand of pink-streaked hair behind her ear and shrugged. "Sydney Sweeney wouldn’t lie. She’s got integrity."
Before Trisha could list all the ways we’d probably get kidnapped, I hit CONFIRM.
Four days later, we landed on the island, and the second the plane doors opened, the heat and the bassline hit us like a wave. The beach ahead was alive—palm trees strung with glowing lanterns, groups of glossy-skinned people tangled in hammocks, and the distant sound of someone moaning like they’d just discovered pleasure for the first time.
Nate pushed his sunglasses onto his head, his expression pure delight. "Oh, we’re definitely supposed to be naked here."
He wasn’t wrong. Down by the shoreline, a girl in nothing but body paint was twerking against a guy wearing only a very loose cowboy hat. A group of guys sprinted past, their tans suddenly very even, and two girls were locked in a kiss so aggressive they nearly toppled into the surf.
Trisha’s eyebrows shot up. "Okay, I take it back. This is exactly my brand of cult activity."
A staff member—wearing what could barely be called a bikini—bounced over, dangling neon wristbands in front of us. "Welcome to your best summer ever!" she cheered, snapping them onto our wrists. "Rules are simple: No clothes, no shame, no regrets!"
Behind her, someone shrieked as they jumped off a pier naked, cannonballing into a cheering crowd. Another couple had tequila poured straight onto their bodies, licking it off each other’s stomachs between laughter.
Jade nudged me with her elbow. "Told you we should’ve packed more than sunscreen."
Nate stretched his arms out, breathing in the salty, debauchery-filled air. "This is the kind of horror story I can get behind."
The staff member motioned for us to follow her toward the hotel, her barely-there bikini bottoms swaying hypnotically with every step. Nate and I exchanged a glance, both of us shamelessly locked onto the mesmerizing rhythm of her ass.
"Eyes up here, you two," Trisha snapped, smacking me upside the head hard enough to make my teeth click.
Kaori and Jade flanked Nate, each grabbing a handful of his cheeks—one pinching, the other twisting—until he yelped.
"Ow! Okay, okay!" Nate rubbed his face, grinning despite himself. "What? Like you weren’t looking."
Jade rolled her eyes. "We were. But we have manners."
Kaori smirked, adjusting her sunglasses. "And better poker faces."
The staff member glanced back over her shoulder, clearly aware of the chaos behind her, and winked. "Don’t worry, boys. You’ll have plenty to stare at soon enough."
Trisha groaned. "Oh, we’re doomed."
Once we arrived at the hotel we followed a new staff member—a guy this time—through the hotel’s sleek, glass-walled lobby. His fitted polo barely contained his sculpted shoulders, and the way his tan shorts clung to his thighs was downright criminal. Every step made the fabric shift in ways that had even Trisha biting her lip.
The suite was exactly like the one from the ad—plush white couches, floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing the ocean, and what looked like a champagne tub big enough for six. The staff member turned with a grin, dangling a keycard between his fingers. "Private beach access, 24-hour room service, anything you need." His voice dipped lower. "Just give me a call."
Jade and Kaori were not subtle about their gaze dragging from his chest down to the very noticeable bulge in his shorts. Nate nudged me, smirking.
"Eyes up," I stage-whispered, mimicking Trisha’s earlier scolding.
Trisha didn’t even have the decency to look guilty. "Oh, shut up. Like you two weren’t drooling over the last one."
The staff member chuckled, stretching his arms overhead in a way that made the hem of his polo ride up, revealing a strip of toned abs. "Enjoy your stay," he murmured, tossing the keycard onto the counter with deliberate slowness.
The second the door shut behind him, Nate muttered, "That was absolutely on purpose."
Kaori fanned herself with a menu. "And I respect the hustle."
Jade flopped onto the couch, sighing. "We should just accept that we’re all terrible people."
Trisha popped open the champagne with a satisfying pop. "No regrets, right?"
Nate stretched out on the couch with an exaggerated sigh, tilting his head toward the balcony where we could hear the distant laughter from the beach. "Alright, who's brave enough to hit the nude beach with me?"
Trisha scoffed into her champagne glass. "Oh, come on. You're literally just asking so you can see one of us naked."
Nate didn't even try to deny it, shrugging with a shameless grin. "Guilty as charged. But can you blame me? Like, look at you three." He gestured lazily between them. "Jade, you’ve got that whole goddess of temptation thing going on, Trish, you’re built like a Bond girl, and Kaori—" His smirk deepened. "Kaori’s the real mystery. Always covered up, even in swimsuits. Rash guards? Shorts? I mean, what’s under there, huh?"
Kaori almost choked on her drink, her cheeks flushing pink as she immediately broke into rapid-fire Japanese, hands gesturing wildly like she was trying to bat the words out of the air.
Trisha and Jade practically launched themselves at Nate—Trisha delivering a sharp slap to his chest while Jade went straight for his face, flicking his nose hard. "You animal," Jade hissed, though her lips were twitching with amusement.
I scooted closer to Kaori, rubbing her back while she kept murmuring in Japanese, her fingers twisting nervously in the hem of her oversized shirt. "Hey, ignore him," I said softly. "You know Nate—zero brain-to-mouth filter."
Kaori groaned, pressing her palms to her burning cheeks. "Baka!"
Nate just grinned, rubbing his sore nose. "Worth."
Kaori took a deep breath, fingers finally relaxing from their death grip on her shirt. She turned to me with a small, grateful smile. "Thanks, Jason," she murmured, smoothing her shirt down. "But—under no circumstances am I going to that nude beach." She shot Nate a sharp glare. "And no bikinis."
Nate groaned dramatically, flopping back onto the couch. "You're killing me, Kaori."
Jade rolled her eyes. "Oh no, how ever will you survive without seeing Kaori's forbidden skin—"
Trisha tossed a pillow at his face. "Get over it."
I clapped my hands together. "Alright, since we clearly have divergent interests, how about we split up today?" I glanced around the room. "Explore different parts of the island, report back, and make a proper itinerary for the week?"
Nate perked up immediately. "Nude beach. Calling it."
Trisha snorted. "Of course you are." She stretched her arms overhead before nodding toward the island's center. "I was eyeing that hiking trail up to the mountain. Good views, probably less..." She gestured vaguely toward the window where someone had just shrieked, "CHUG CHUG CHUG!"
Jade was already scrolling through the resort’s food map on her phone. "Buffets. All of them."
Kaori folded her arms, but her expression softened. "Surfing lessons. The clothed kind."
And me? I grinned. "The mall. Rumor has it designer brands here are practically giving stuff away."
Nate whistled. "A man of culture."
Trisha nudged me. "Better grab me something nice."
Jade perked up. "Oh! And if you see any limited-edition K-Beauty—"
Kaori smacked her lightly. "Jade."
We all laughed, the tension from earlier dissolving into easy excitement.
Nate stretched with a smug smirk. "Alright. Let the real Spooky Island adventure begin."
We all went our separate ways, with me making everyone promise to message our group chat if they spotted anything wild—or if Nate ended up mooning the entire beach (again).
The rumors about the mall were no joke. Within an hour, I had a legit Rolex wrapped around my wrist, its polished face glinting under the tropical lights. A hundred bucks. A hundred freaking bucks. I kept checking the paperwork—Spooky Island was listed as an official retailer, fine print and all—but my brain still couldn’t process it.
I was halfway to the limited-edition Jordans display when my blood froze mid-step.
Sydney. Sweeney.
Right there, strolling past the Sunglass Hut like this was any normal Tuesday. And she wasn’t alone. A guy I barely registered—tall, broad, looking equal parts confused and thrilled—was being towed along by her manicured grip, Sydney’s free hand pressing a finger to her lips in a shhh motion.
I didn’t even think. My feet moved before my brain could yell BAD IDEA. They ducked into a discreet hallway marked STAFF ONLY, and by the time I crept close enough to peek, Sydney had the guy pinned against the wall, one hand fisted in his shirt.
Sydney pressed closer, her fingers curling into the man's shirt with predatory grace. "You ever fuck someone with one of these meatsuits yet?" she murmured, her breath hot against his ear.
The guy tensed, swallowing hard. "N-no. Just took this body maybe an hour ago." He blinked twice, rolling his shoulders like the sensation of human skin was still foreign. "Still getting used to the... the equipment."
Sydney snorted, running a fingertip down his chest in a way that made him shiver. "Equipment's the same, no matter what species wears it. Just hotter and sweatier now." Her grin widened, all sharp amusement. "Guess I'm your first proper ride in this flesh, huh?"
The guy exhaled sharply, eyes darting down to where her thigh had slotted between his. "Uh. Yeah."
"Good." Sydney pressed her lips to his pulse point, humming when his nails dug into the wall behind him. "Let me show you how humans play."
My phone buzzed violently in my pocket—Nate: GUYS THE BEACH IS OFFICIALLY A NO-CLOTHES-FROM-THE-WAIST-DOWN ZONE???—but I barely registered it. Because I was too busy trying to process whatever weird-ass conversation Sydney was having with this guy.
Meatsuits? Species? What the hell did that even mean?
But then Sydney pressed her thigh between his legs, and the guy let out a sharp, desperate sound, and suddenly, the existential crisis in my brain took an immediate backseat.
Sydney hooked her fingers in the hem of her dress and yanked it up past her hips, revealing the kind of lingerie that made my blood pressure spike. The guy—who was definitely not confused anymore—lunged forward, mouth meeting hers in a kiss that looked more like a fight for dominance than anything tender.
She shoved him back against the wall, and he went willingly, groaning as her hands slid down his body like she was mapping every inch.
My brain short-circuited as Sydney rocked her hips against the guy, her nails raking down his back hard enough to leave red trails. The guy groaned against her neck, fingers digging into her waist as she rode him with ruthless precision. Every movement was pure hunger—the way she rolled her hips, the way she arched her back as he dragged his teeth along her collarbone. My cock strained against my shorts, aching, and before I could stop myself, I had my hand wrapped around it, stroking in time with Sydney’s rhythm.
She was relentless, bouncing on him with bruising force, her moans low and dark as the guy slammed into her. “Fuck me like you mean it,” she growled, gripping his hair to yank his head back. The guy gasped, his body shuddering, and judging by the way his grip tightened on her hips, he was already close.
I wasn’t far behind. Sydney’s thighs tensed, her body clenching around him as she let out a breathless laugh. “Yeah, that’s it—feel it.” Then she locked onto his mouth, swallowing his moans as he buried himself deep inside her. His whole body went rigid, a choked cry tearing from his throat as he came, pulse after pulse, hands clawing at her skin as she milked him dry.
Sydney followed seconds later, her back arching violently, head thrown back—but instead of a moan, she let out a sound that sent ice through my veins. A rough, guttural snarl, inhuman and raw, like something out of a nightmare.
Holy shit. My fingers clenched, my orgasm hitting me in a wave I couldn’t stop, spurting hot and thick onto the floor between my feet.
The moment I came back to my senses, I was shoving myself back into my shorts, my pulse roaring in my ears. That sound—it wasn’t right. Whatever the hell Sydney was, she wasn’t human, and I needed to be gone.
I didn’t even bother zipping up properly before bolting for the door, my breath coming in sharp, panicked gasps. Just as my fingers brushed the handle, I heard it—Sydney’s sharp inhale.
“Cum,” she muttered, voice dripping with menace.
Dread coiled in my gut as I risked one last glance back. Sydney had dropped into a crouch, her fingers tracing through the mess I’d left behind. Her gaze flicked up—right toward the shadows where I’d been standing—and the growl that followed sent me scrambling forward.
“Someone here still owns their flesh,” she snarled. “And they saw us.”
I didn’t stick around to hear the rest.
Little did you know that the island held a dark secret. It was secretly the den of a clan of demons who steal human bodies with a relic called the Daemon Ritus. They luckily managed to steal Sydney Sweeneys body when she visited the island for a photo shoot… and now she and her fellow demons trick people into going to the island to steal their bodies. You found out about this secret and promised to help out, so long as you get some benefits…
The email notification pinged on my phone just as I was stuffing it into my backpack, and the bold subject line made my heart skip: CONGRATULATIONS! YOU AND YOUR FRIENDS HAVE WON A VIP TRIP TO SPOOKY ISLAND!
"Guys, check this out!" I practically shouted, nearly knocking over Kaori’s iced coffee as I jumped up from the tiny café table. Nate, Jade, Kaori, and Trisha all turned—mid-bickering over who had to sit in the middle seat on the train later—as I shook my phone at them. "We just won an all-expenses-paid trip to Spooky Island!"
Nate snatched the phone out of my hands, scrolling with the urgency of a man about to abandon all responsibilities. "The Spooky Island? The one with the Sydney Sweeney ads where everyone is making out in slow motion?" His grin widened. "Private villas, endless drinks, adult-friendly activities—hell yes."
Trisha flicked a sugar packet at his forehead. "Or, y’know, we end up in some weird Satanic beach ritual à la Midsommar."
Jade smirked, swirling her latte. "Worth it."
Kaori tucked a strand of pink-streaked hair behind her ear and shrugged. "Sydney Sweeney wouldn’t lie. She’s got integrity."
Before Trisha could list all the ways we’d probably get kidnapped, I hit CONFIRM.
Four days later, we landed on the island, and the second the plane doors opened, the heat and the bassline hit us like a wave. The beach ahead was alive—palm trees strung with glowing lanterns, groups of glossy-skinned people tangled in hammocks, and the distant sound of someone moaning like they’d just discovered pleasure for the first time.
Nate pushed his sunglasses onto his head, his expression pure delight. "Oh, we’re definitely supposed to be naked here."
He wasn’t wrong. Down by the shoreline, a girl in nothing but body paint was twerking against a guy wearing only a very loose cowboy hat. A group of guys sprinted past, their tans suddenly very even, and two girls were locked in a kiss so aggressive they nearly toppled into the surf.
Trisha’s eyebrows shot up. "Okay, I take it back. This is exactly my brand of cult activity."
A staff member—wearing what could barely be called a bikini—bounced over, dangling neon wristbands in front of us. "Welcome to your best summer ever!" she cheered, snapping them onto our wrists. "Rules are simple: No clothes, no shame, no regrets!"
Behind her, someone shrieked as they jumped off a pier naked, cannonballing into a cheering crowd. Another couple had tequila poured straight onto their bodies, licking it off each other’s stomachs between laughter.
Jade nudged me with her elbow. "Told you we should’ve packed more than sunscreen."
Nate stretched his arms out, breathing in the salty, debauchery-filled air. "This is the kind of horror story I can get behind."
The staff member motioned for us to follow her toward the hotel, her barely-there bikini bottoms swaying hypnotically with every step. Nate and I exchanged a glance, both of us shamelessly locked onto the mesmerizing rhythm of her ass.
"Eyes up here, you two," Trisha snapped, smacking me upside the head hard enough to make my teeth click.
Kaori and Jade flanked Nate, each grabbing a handful of his cheeks—one pinching, the other twisting—until he yelped.
"Ow! Okay, okay!" Nate rubbed his face, grinning despite himself. "What? Like you weren’t looking."
Jade rolled her eyes. "We were. But we have manners."
Kaori smirked, adjusting her sunglasses. "And better poker faces."
The staff member glanced back over her shoulder, clearly aware of the chaos behind her, and winked. "Don’t worry, boys. You’ll have plenty to stare at soon enough."
Trisha groaned. "Oh, we’re doomed."
Once we arrived at the hotel we followed a new staff member—a guy this time—through the hotel’s sleek, glass-walled lobby. His fitted polo barely contained his sculpted shoulders, and the way his tan shorts clung to his thighs was downright criminal. Every step made the fabric shift in ways that had even Trisha biting her lip.
The suite was exactly like the one from the ad—plush white couches, floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing the ocean, and what looked like a champagne tub big enough for six. The staff member turned with a grin, dangling a keycard between his fingers. "Private beach access, 24-hour room service, anything you need." His voice dipped lower. "Just give me a call."
Jade and Kaori were not subtle about their gaze dragging from his chest down to the very noticeable bulge in his shorts. Nate nudged me, smirking.
"Eyes up," I stage-whispered, mimicking Trisha’s earlier scolding.
Trisha didn’t even have the decency to look guilty. "Oh, shut up. Like you two weren’t drooling over the last one."
The staff member chuckled, stretching his arms overhead in a way that made the hem of his polo ride up, revealing a strip of toned abs. "Enjoy your stay," he murmured, tossing the keycard onto the counter with deliberate slowness.
The second the door shut behind him, Nate muttered, "That was absolutely on purpose."
Kaori fanned herself with a menu. "And I respect the hustle."
Jade flopped onto the couch, sighing. "We should just accept that we’re all terrible people."
Trisha popped open the champagne with a satisfying pop. "No regrets, right?"
Nate stretched out on the couch with an exaggerated sigh, tilting his head toward the balcony where we could hear the distant laughter from the beach. "Alright, who's brave enough to hit the nude beach with me?"
Trisha scoffed into her champagne glass. "Oh, come on. You're literally just asking so you can see one of us naked."
Nate didn't even try to deny it, shrugging with a shameless grin. "Guilty as charged. But can you blame me? Like, look at you three." He gestured lazily between them. "Jade, you’ve got that whole goddess of temptation thing going on, Trish, you’re built like a Bond girl, and Kaori—" His smirk deepened. "Kaori’s the real mystery. Always covered up, even in swimsuits. Rash guards? Shorts? I mean, what’s under there, huh?"
Kaori almost choked on her drink, her cheeks flushing pink as she immediately broke into rapid-fire Japanese, hands gesturing wildly like she was trying to bat the words out of the air.
Trisha and Jade practically launched themselves at Nate—Trisha delivering a sharp slap to his chest while Jade went straight for his face, flicking his nose hard. "You animal," Jade hissed, though her lips were twitching with amusement.
I scooted closer to Kaori, rubbing her back while she kept murmuring in Japanese, her fingers twisting nervously in the hem of her oversized shirt. "Hey, ignore him," I said softly. "You know Nate—zero brain-to-mouth filter."
Kaori groaned, pressing her palms to her burning cheeks. "Baka!"
Nate just grinned, rubbing his sore nose. "Worth."
Kaori took a deep breath, fingers finally relaxing from their death grip on her shirt. She turned to me with a small, grateful smile. "Thanks, Jason," she murmured, smoothing her shirt down. "But—under no circumstances am I going to that nude beach." She shot Nate a sharp glare. "And no bikinis."
Nate groaned dramatically, flopping back onto the couch. "You're killing me, Kaori."
Jade rolled her eyes. "Oh no, how ever will you survive without seeing Kaori's forbidden skin—"
Trisha tossed a pillow at his face. "Get over it."
I clapped my hands together. "Alright, since we clearly have divergent interests, how about we split up today?" I glanced around the room. "Explore different parts of the island, report back, and make a proper itinerary for the week?"
Nate perked up immediately. "Nude beach. Calling it."
Trisha snorted. "Of course you are." She stretched her arms overhead before nodding toward the island's center. "I was eyeing that hiking trail up to the mountain. Good views, probably less..." She gestured vaguely toward the window where someone had just shrieked, "CHUG CHUG CHUG!"
Jade was already scrolling through the resort’s food map on her phone. "Buffets. All of them."
Kaori folded her arms, but her expression softened. "Surfing lessons. The clothed kind."
And me? I grinned. "The mall. Rumor has it designer brands here are practically giving stuff away."
Nate whistled. "A man of culture."
Trisha nudged me. "Better grab me something nice."
Jade perked up. "Oh! And if you see any limited-edition K-Beauty—"
Kaori smacked her lightly. "Jade."
We all laughed, the tension from earlier dissolving into easy excitement.
Nate stretched with a smug smirk. "Alright. Let the real Spooky Island adventure begin."
We all went our separate ways, with me making everyone promise to message our group chat if they spotted anything wild—or if Nate ended up mooning the entire beach (again).
The rumors about the mall were no joke. Within an hour, I had a legit Rolex wrapped around my wrist, its polished face glinting under the tropical lights. A hundred bucks. A hundred freaking bucks. I kept checking the paperwork—Spooky Island was listed as an official retailer, fine print and all—but my brain still couldn’t process it.
I was halfway to the limited-edition Jordans display when my blood froze mid-step.
Sydney. Sweeney.
Right there, strolling past the Sunglass Hut like this was any normal Tuesday. And she wasn’t alone. A guy I barely registered—tall, broad, looking equal parts confused and thrilled—was being towed along by her manicured grip, Sydney’s free hand pressing a finger to her lips in a shhh motion.
I didn’t even think. My feet moved before my brain could yell BAD IDEA. They ducked into a discreet hallway marked STAFF ONLY, and by the time I crept close enough to peek, Sydney had the guy pinned against the wall, one hand fisted in his shirt.
Sydney pressed closer, her fingers curling into the man's shirt with predatory grace. "You ever fuck someone with one of these meatsuits yet?" she murmured, her breath hot against his ear.
The guy tensed, swallowing hard. "N-no. Just took this body maybe an hour ago." He blinked twice, rolling his shoulders like the sensation of human skin was still foreign. "Still getting used to the... the equipment."
Sydney snorted, running a fingertip down his chest in a way that made him shiver. "Equipment's the same, no matter what species wears it. Just hotter and sweatier now." Her grin widened, all sharp amusement. "Guess I'm your first proper ride in this flesh, huh?"
The guy exhaled sharply, eyes darting down to where her thigh had slotted between his. "Uh. Yeah."
"Good." Sydney pressed her lips to his pulse point, humming when his nails dug into the wall behind him. "Let me show you how humans play."
My phone buzzed violently in my pocket—Nate: GUYS THE BEACH IS OFFICIALLY A NO-CLOTHES-FROM-THE-WAIST-DOWN ZONE???—but I barely registered it. Because I was too busy trying to process whatever weird-ass conversation Sydney was having with this guy.
Meatsuits? Species? What the hell did that even mean?
But then Sydney pressed her thigh between his legs, and the guy let out a sharp, desperate sound, and suddenly, the existential crisis in my brain took an immediate backseat.
Sydney hooked her fingers in the hem of her dress and yanked it up past her hips, revealing the kind of lingerie that made my blood pressure spike. The guy—who was definitely not confused anymore—lunged forward, mouth meeting hers in a kiss that looked more like a fight for dominance than anything tender.
She shoved him back against the wall, and he went willingly, groaning as her hands slid down his body like she was mapping every inch.
My brain short-circuited as Sydney rocked her hips against the guy, her nails raking down his back hard enough to leave red trails. The guy groaned against her neck, fingers digging into her waist as she rode him with ruthless precision. Every movement was pure hunger—the way she rolled her hips, the way she arched her back as he dragged his teeth along her collarbone. My cock strained against my shorts, aching, and before I could stop myself, I had my hand wrapped around it, stroking in time with Sydney’s rhythm.
She was relentless, bouncing on him with bruising force, her moans low and dark as the guy slammed into her. “Fuck me like you mean it,” she growled, gripping his hair to yank his head back. The guy gasped, his body shuddering, and judging by the way his grip tightened on her hips, he was already close.
I wasn’t far behind. Sydney’s thighs tensed, her body clenching around him as she let out a breathless laugh. “Yeah, that’s it—feel it.” Then she locked onto his mouth, swallowing his moans as he buried himself deep inside her. His whole body went rigid, a choked cry tearing from his throat as he came, pulse after pulse, hands clawing at her skin as she milked him dry.
Sydney followed seconds later, her back arching violently, head thrown back—but instead of a moan, she let out a sound that sent ice through my veins. A rough, guttural snarl, inhuman and raw, like something out of a nightmare.
Holy shit. My fingers clenched, my orgasm hitting me in a wave I couldn’t stop, spurting hot and thick onto the floor between my feet.
The moment I came back to my senses, I was shoving myself back into my shorts, my pulse roaring in my ears. That sound—it wasn’t right. Whatever the hell Sydney was, she wasn’t human, and I needed to be gone.
I didn’t even bother zipping up properly before bolting for the door, my breath coming in sharp, panicked gasps. Just as my fingers brushed the handle, I heard it—Sydney’s sharp inhale.
“Cum,” she muttered, voice dripping with menace.
Dread coiled in my gut as I risked one last glance back. Sydney had dropped into a crouch, her fingers tracing through the mess I’d left behind. Her gaze flicked up—right toward the shadows where I’d been standing—and the growl that followed sent me scrambling forward.
“Someone here still owns their flesh,” she snarled. “And they saw us.”
I didn’t stick around to hear the rest.
possession
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Jennifer is obsessed with her favorite streamer Anna. She uses a magic link she found online to trick Anna into letting her take over her body. Little does she know, but Anna has more than a few secrets she keeps to herself.
Chapter 1: The Obsession
Jennifer sat in the dim glow of her computer screen. Her average blonde hair was tied back in a messy ponytail. Her face was illuminated by the flickering chat window of Anna's Twitch stream. She was just another face in the digital crowd. An early fan, a loyal donor, but never once acknowledged. For years, Jennifer had poured her heart and wallet into Anna's content. The streamer was her everything. A beacon of charisma, wit, and that elusive e-girl aesthetic that made Jennifer's pulse quicken. Anna's streams were a mix of gaming, chit-chat, and ASMR whispers that sent shivers down Jennifer's spine. But it was more than that. It was a crush that bordered on obsession. A one-sided love affair fueled by late-night DMs that went unread and donations that earned only generic "thanks to the chat" shoutouts.
Tonight, Anna was live. Her dark red hair cascaded over her shoulders like a river of blood under the studio lights. She wore aviator-style glasses that perched on her nose. This gave her an intellectual edge that contrasted with her playful banter. Her makeup was flawless. A smokey eye with sharp winged liner made her green eyes pop. Her lips were painted in a cute berry shade, glossed to perfection. Long white nails tapped rhythmically on her keyboard as she navigated through a horror game. Her voice was a sultry mix of excitement and mock fear. "Oh no, chat, the monster's coming! Should I run or fight? Spam F for fight!"
Jennifer leaned forward. Her own body felt inadequate in comparison. She was average in every way. 5'5", a bit curvy from too many sedentary nights, with freckles dotting her nose that she hated. But Anna? From the rare glimpses in award show photos, Anna was fit, leggy, and blessed with curves that she hid under baggy hoodies and high-waisted pants on stream. Never revealing, always teasing. Jennifer had saved those photos. She zoomed in on the elegant dress hugging Anna's form. She imagined what lay beneath. Large breasts, toned legs. Perfection.
As the stream hit a lull, Anna stretched. Her voice was casual. "Alright, chat, BRB for a quick bathroom break. Don't go anywhere. Ads rolling!" The screen switched to a looping sponsor spot. Jennifer's heart raced. This was her moment. She'd found the spell online. It was buried in a shady forum for "reality hackers." A link embedded in a DM, whispered incantations over her keyboard. It promised possession. Temporary, undetectable. A chance to be inside Anna, to feel her world from within.
Her fingers trembled as she opened Instagram on her phone. She typed the DM: "Hey Anna, huge fan! Check this out, it's a fan art link I made for you <3 [link]." She hit send. She whispered the words under her breath. Doubt crept in. Would Anna even check her phone during break? But then, a wave of dizziness hit. The room spun. Her vision blurred. Everything went black.
Chapter 2: Awakening in Foreign Skin
When consciousness returned, it wasn't in her cluttered bedroom. Jennifer blinked. She was disoriented. She stood in a brightly lit bathroom that screamed luxury. Marble counters, a rainfall showerhead, and a mirror that spanned the wall. She was facing a toilet. Phone in hand. Anna's phone, she realized with a jolt. The screen showed her own DM. The link was clicked. It worked.
But something was wrong. No, everything was different. Her chest felt heavy. It was weighted down by two massive orbs that strained against the fabric of a cropped hoodie. Jennifer, now in Anna's body, looked down. But her view was obstructed by the sheer size of them. Double D's at least, maybe bigger. Soft yet firm, jiggling slightly with each breath. A thrill shot through her. It mixed with confusion. She'd imagined this, but the reality was overwhelming.
Then, lower. Her leggings and panties were bunched around her thighs. They exposed what? A warm, pleasing sensation pulsed from her groin. She heard the trickle of liquid hitting the bowl. Panic surged. She glanced down further, past the breasts. She saw it. A penis, moderately sized. Maybe six inches soft, with a pair of balls hanging below. It was circumcised, veiny. Currently mid-stream, urine flowed out in a steady arc.
"What the fuck?" Jennifer's mind screamed. But Anna's voice echoed in her head. No, not echoed. Integrated. Fragments of Anna's psyche flooded in. Calm acceptance, a secret she'd guarded for years. This wasn't a surprise to Anna. It was normal. She was trans, post-top surgery perhaps. But she kept her lower half as is. Hormones had softened her features. They built her curves. But the dick remained. A private truth hidden from the world. Jennifer felt the calming wave wash over her. Anna's memories soothed the freakout. "It's fine," a voice in her head whispered. "You've always been like this. No big deal."
She finished. She shook it off instinctively. Wait, shaking? Jennifer's cis-female habits kicked in. She grabbed a tissue. She wiped delicately. She felt the sensitive skin tingle. Pulling up the panties. Silk, smooth against the shaft. And leggings. She turned to the mirror. Anna stared back. Dark red hair tousled from the stream. Aviator glasses slightly askew. Makeup impeccable. Up close, she was even more stunning. High cheekbones, full lips glistening with gloss. Jennifer posed. She ran Anna's hands over the curves. She cupped the breasts through the fabric. They were real, heavy. Nipples hardened under the touch.
A stir below. The penis twitched. It grew semi-hard. It pressed against the leggings. Arousal built. Foreign yet intoxicating. Jennifer's mind raced: "Oh god, it's getting hard because of me? Her?" She reached down, curious. But stopped. The stream. Chat would be waiting. With eerie ease, Anna's muscle memory guided her out of the bathroom. Down a hallway lined with gaming posters and neon lights. Back to the setup.
Chapter 3: Streaming Through the Veil
The stream room was a gamer's paradise. RGB lights pulsing. A high-end PC humming. Dual monitors showing the paused game and chat exploding with "Where's Anna?" messages. Jennifer sat in the plush chair. Anna's body moved like it had done this a thousand times. She unmuted. She adjusted the mic. She smiled at the camera. Anna's smile, practiced and charming.
"Hey chat, back! Sorry for the wait. Nature calls, you know?" Her voice. Anna's voice. Was smooth, a hint of rasp that fans loved. The chat lit up. Hearts, emotes, donations pinging in. Jennifer felt a rush. This was power. She dove into the game. Commentary flowed naturally. Anna's charisma bled through. Jokes about the monster's "bad hair day." Flirty responses to thirsty comments. "Oh, username123, you'd save me from the zombie? My hero!"
Internally, Jennifer marveled. "I'm her. I'm actually her." The breasts shifted with each gesture. A constant reminder. The penis, now soft again, nestled comfortably. Donations rolled in. $50 from a regular, with a message: "Love the new hair, Anna!" She thanked them. She earned more subs. It felt good, validating. By the end of the session, she'd gained 20 new subscribers. The chat praised her energy.
"Alright, that's it for tonight, lovelies. Thanks for hanging out. See you next time!" She ended the stream. She leaned back with a sigh. Freedom now. Time to explore.
Chapter 4: Secrets in the Closet
Anna's apartment was sleek, modern. High ceilings, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. Jennifer wandered. Anna's long legs carried her effortlessly. The living room had a massive TV. Plush couch. Shelves of merch from collabs. But she wanted answers. Why the secret? How long had Anna been like this?
Into the bedroom. King-sized bed with silk sheets. A vanity cluttered with makeup. The closet was a walk-in dream. Racks of e-girl outfits: hoodies, skirts. But nothing too revealing. Deeper in, hidden drawers. Jennifer pulled one open. Lingerie, silk panties in every color. Some with pouches for accommodation. Another drawer. Hormones, binders? No, post-op stuff. Dilators? Wait, no. Anna's memories clarified. She was trans femme. On HRT for years. But chose to keep her penis. It worked for her. Felt right.
Jennifer stripped. She admired in the full-length mirror. Anna's body naked. Toned abs from gym sessions. Long legs. And those breasts. Perky, nipples pink and erect in the cool air. The penis dangled. Semi-erect from the excitement. She touched it. She gasped at the sensitivity. "So this is what it feels like." But voices. Someone in the living room?
Chapter 5: The Unexpected Guest
Stepping out, still in Anna's hoodie and leggings, Jennifer froze. On the couch sat a girl. Goth perfection. Medium black hair with bangs framing a pale face. Makeup dramatic: black lips, heavy eyeliner. Tattoos snaked up her arms. Skulls, roses in black and gray. Her top was a skimpy tank. Massive fake breasts, at least F-cups, spilled out. Nipples faintly visible through the fabric. Short shorts rode up. They revealed fishnet stockings.
"Hey babe, how'd the stream go?" The voice was husky, familiar. Jennifer's mind clicked. Raven, the cam-girl she'd crushed on before Anna. Famous for explicit shows, body mods, that goth vibe.
"Uh, good. Really good." Anna's voice responded. But Jennifer's thoughts whirled: "Babe? Are they together?"
Raven tilted her head. She noticed the stare. "You okay? You've been eyeing me like it's our first time. Come on, I've been waiting all day. Horny as fuck after my show." She patted the couch. She smirked.
Jennifer's body moved on autopilot. Anna's habits kicked in. She sat, heart pounding. Raven leaned in. Lips brushed Anna's ear. "Missed you. Let's play."
Chapter 6: Tease and Temptation
Raven's hands were everywhere. Sliding under the hoodie. Cupping the breasts. "God, your tits are perfect today. So sensitive." She pinched a nipple. This elicited a moan from Jennifer/Anna. The sensation zinged straight to the groin. The penis stirred.
"You're so hot," Jennifer murmured. Anna's confidence infused the words.
Raven laughed. A throaty sound. "Flatterer. Now, let's see what you've got for me." She knelt. She pulled down the leggings. The silk panties. Pink, Raven's favorite. Bulged with the growing erection. "Ooh, wearing my color? Naughty girl." Her fingers teased through the fabric. Stroking the shaft. Precum leaked. It soaked the silk. The friction was maddening.
Jennifer's mind reeled: "This feels incredible. Like electricity." Raven pulled it out. The penis now fully hard. Seven inches, throbbing. She stroked slowly. Thumb circled the head. Spreading the slickness. "Mmm, you're so ready. Taste?"
Before Jennifer could process, Raven leaned in. Lips parted. The warmth enveloped the tip. Tongue swirled. She sucked. Bobbing. Hand pumped the base. Jennifer gripped the couch. Hips bucked instinctively. "Fuck, Raven. That's amazing."
Raven paused. She stripped her top. Her fake breasts bounced free. Huge, round, with pierced nipples. She squeezed them. Moaning. "Like the view? Now, back to work." She deepthroated. Gagging slightly. Saliva dripped.
Chapter 7: The Climax
Raven stood. She shimmied out of her shorts and panties. Her body was a canvas. Shaved smooth. A tattooed rose above her pussy. It glistened with arousal. She turned. Bent over. Ass presented. Plump, with a tight hole winking. "Your turn, babe. Fuck me."
Jennifer's body took over. Anna's experience guided. She positioned behind. Rubbing the cock against Raven's entrance. Wet, hot. Pushing in, the tightness gripped like a vice. "Oh god." New sensations. The slide, the warmth, the friction.
Raven moaned. "Yes, deeper!" Jennifer thrust. Hands on hips. Building rhythm. Breasts slapped against Raven's back as she leaned over. Faster, harder. The pressure built. Balls tightened.
Raven's cries escalated: "I'm close. Cum with me!" Jennifer pulled out at the last second. Anna's habit, safe. Stroking furiously. Orgasm hit like a wave. Semen spurted across Raven's ass. Ropes of white coated her skin.
Blackout came swift.
Chapter 8: Return and Revelation
Jennifer awoke at her desk. Panties soaked. Chair damp with her own arousal. A smile crept across her face. Perverted, satisfied. Anna was trans. Secret intact. And Raven? Her girlfriend, apparently. The possession worked flawlessly.
Internal thoughts swirled: "I can do it again. Anytime. Feel that power, that pleasure." She glanced at the screen. Anna's stream offline. But Instagram showed a new story. Anna in a cute pose. Captioned "Post-stream vibes <3".
Jennifer licked her lips. Next time, she'd stay longer. Explore more. The obsession had evolved. Now, it was addiction.
Chapter 1: The Obsession
Jennifer sat in the dim glow of her computer screen. Her average blonde hair was tied back in a messy ponytail. Her face was illuminated by the flickering chat window of Anna's Twitch stream. She was just another face in the digital crowd. An early fan, a loyal donor, but never once acknowledged. For years, Jennifer had poured her heart and wallet into Anna's content. The streamer was her everything. A beacon of charisma, wit, and that elusive e-girl aesthetic that made Jennifer's pulse quicken. Anna's streams were a mix of gaming, chit-chat, and ASMR whispers that sent shivers down Jennifer's spine. But it was more than that. It was a crush that bordered on obsession. A one-sided love affair fueled by late-night DMs that went unread and donations that earned only generic "thanks to the chat" shoutouts.
Tonight, Anna was live. Her dark red hair cascaded over her shoulders like a river of blood under the studio lights. She wore aviator-style glasses that perched on her nose. This gave her an intellectual edge that contrasted with her playful banter. Her makeup was flawless. A smokey eye with sharp winged liner made her green eyes pop. Her lips were painted in a cute berry shade, glossed to perfection. Long white nails tapped rhythmically on her keyboard as she navigated through a horror game. Her voice was a sultry mix of excitement and mock fear. "Oh no, chat, the monster's coming! Should I run or fight? Spam F for fight!"
Jennifer leaned forward. Her own body felt inadequate in comparison. She was average in every way. 5'5", a bit curvy from too many sedentary nights, with freckles dotting her nose that she hated. But Anna? From the rare glimpses in award show photos, Anna was fit, leggy, and blessed with curves that she hid under baggy hoodies and high-waisted pants on stream. Never revealing, always teasing. Jennifer had saved those photos. She zoomed in on the elegant dress hugging Anna's form. She imagined what lay beneath. Large breasts, toned legs. Perfection.
As the stream hit a lull, Anna stretched. Her voice was casual. "Alright, chat, BRB for a quick bathroom break. Don't go anywhere. Ads rolling!" The screen switched to a looping sponsor spot. Jennifer's heart raced. This was her moment. She'd found the spell online. It was buried in a shady forum for "reality hackers." A link embedded in a DM, whispered incantations over her keyboard. It promised possession. Temporary, undetectable. A chance to be inside Anna, to feel her world from within.
Her fingers trembled as she opened Instagram on her phone. She typed the DM: "Hey Anna, huge fan! Check this out, it's a fan art link I made for you <3 [link]." She hit send. She whispered the words under her breath. Doubt crept in. Would Anna even check her phone during break? But then, a wave of dizziness hit. The room spun. Her vision blurred. Everything went black.
Chapter 2: Awakening in Foreign Skin
When consciousness returned, it wasn't in her cluttered bedroom. Jennifer blinked. She was disoriented. She stood in a brightly lit bathroom that screamed luxury. Marble counters, a rainfall showerhead, and a mirror that spanned the wall. She was facing a toilet. Phone in hand. Anna's phone, she realized with a jolt. The screen showed her own DM. The link was clicked. It worked.
But something was wrong. No, everything was different. Her chest felt heavy. It was weighted down by two massive orbs that strained against the fabric of a cropped hoodie. Jennifer, now in Anna's body, looked down. But her view was obstructed by the sheer size of them. Double D's at least, maybe bigger. Soft yet firm, jiggling slightly with each breath. A thrill shot through her. It mixed with confusion. She'd imagined this, but the reality was overwhelming.
Then, lower. Her leggings and panties were bunched around her thighs. They exposed what? A warm, pleasing sensation pulsed from her groin. She heard the trickle of liquid hitting the bowl. Panic surged. She glanced down further, past the breasts. She saw it. A penis, moderately sized. Maybe six inches soft, with a pair of balls hanging below. It was circumcised, veiny. Currently mid-stream, urine flowed out in a steady arc.
"What the fuck?" Jennifer's mind screamed. But Anna's voice echoed in her head. No, not echoed. Integrated. Fragments of Anna's psyche flooded in. Calm acceptance, a secret she'd guarded for years. This wasn't a surprise to Anna. It was normal. She was trans, post-top surgery perhaps. But she kept her lower half as is. Hormones had softened her features. They built her curves. But the dick remained. A private truth hidden from the world. Jennifer felt the calming wave wash over her. Anna's memories soothed the freakout. "It's fine," a voice in her head whispered. "You've always been like this. No big deal."
She finished. She shook it off instinctively. Wait, shaking? Jennifer's cis-female habits kicked in. She grabbed a tissue. She wiped delicately. She felt the sensitive skin tingle. Pulling up the panties. Silk, smooth against the shaft. And leggings. She turned to the mirror. Anna stared back. Dark red hair tousled from the stream. Aviator glasses slightly askew. Makeup impeccable. Up close, she was even more stunning. High cheekbones, full lips glistening with gloss. Jennifer posed. She ran Anna's hands over the curves. She cupped the breasts through the fabric. They were real, heavy. Nipples hardened under the touch.
A stir below. The penis twitched. It grew semi-hard. It pressed against the leggings. Arousal built. Foreign yet intoxicating. Jennifer's mind raced: "Oh god, it's getting hard because of me? Her?" She reached down, curious. But stopped. The stream. Chat would be waiting. With eerie ease, Anna's muscle memory guided her out of the bathroom. Down a hallway lined with gaming posters and neon lights. Back to the setup.
Chapter 3: Streaming Through the Veil
The stream room was a gamer's paradise. RGB lights pulsing. A high-end PC humming. Dual monitors showing the paused game and chat exploding with "Where's Anna?" messages. Jennifer sat in the plush chair. Anna's body moved like it had done this a thousand times. She unmuted. She adjusted the mic. She smiled at the camera. Anna's smile, practiced and charming.
"Hey chat, back! Sorry for the wait. Nature calls, you know?" Her voice. Anna's voice. Was smooth, a hint of rasp that fans loved. The chat lit up. Hearts, emotes, donations pinging in. Jennifer felt a rush. This was power. She dove into the game. Commentary flowed naturally. Anna's charisma bled through. Jokes about the monster's "bad hair day." Flirty responses to thirsty comments. "Oh, username123, you'd save me from the zombie? My hero!"
Internally, Jennifer marveled. "I'm her. I'm actually her." The breasts shifted with each gesture. A constant reminder. The penis, now soft again, nestled comfortably. Donations rolled in. $50 from a regular, with a message: "Love the new hair, Anna!" She thanked them. She earned more subs. It felt good, validating. By the end of the session, she'd gained 20 new subscribers. The chat praised her energy.
"Alright, that's it for tonight, lovelies. Thanks for hanging out. See you next time!" She ended the stream. She leaned back with a sigh. Freedom now. Time to explore.
Chapter 4: Secrets in the Closet
Anna's apartment was sleek, modern. High ceilings, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. Jennifer wandered. Anna's long legs carried her effortlessly. The living room had a massive TV. Plush couch. Shelves of merch from collabs. But she wanted answers. Why the secret? How long had Anna been like this?
Into the bedroom. King-sized bed with silk sheets. A vanity cluttered with makeup. The closet was a walk-in dream. Racks of e-girl outfits: hoodies, skirts. But nothing too revealing. Deeper in, hidden drawers. Jennifer pulled one open. Lingerie, silk panties in every color. Some with pouches for accommodation. Another drawer. Hormones, binders? No, post-op stuff. Dilators? Wait, no. Anna's memories clarified. She was trans femme. On HRT for years. But chose to keep her penis. It worked for her. Felt right.
Jennifer stripped. She admired in the full-length mirror. Anna's body naked. Toned abs from gym sessions. Long legs. And those breasts. Perky, nipples pink and erect in the cool air. The penis dangled. Semi-erect from the excitement. She touched it. She gasped at the sensitivity. "So this is what it feels like." But voices. Someone in the living room?
Chapter 5: The Unexpected Guest
Stepping out, still in Anna's hoodie and leggings, Jennifer froze. On the couch sat a girl. Goth perfection. Medium black hair with bangs framing a pale face. Makeup dramatic: black lips, heavy eyeliner. Tattoos snaked up her arms. Skulls, roses in black and gray. Her top was a skimpy tank. Massive fake breasts, at least F-cups, spilled out. Nipples faintly visible through the fabric. Short shorts rode up. They revealed fishnet stockings.
"Hey babe, how'd the stream go?" The voice was husky, familiar. Jennifer's mind clicked. Raven, the cam-girl she'd crushed on before Anna. Famous for explicit shows, body mods, that goth vibe.
"Uh, good. Really good." Anna's voice responded. But Jennifer's thoughts whirled: "Babe? Are they together?"
Raven tilted her head. She noticed the stare. "You okay? You've been eyeing me like it's our first time. Come on, I've been waiting all day. Horny as fuck after my show." She patted the couch. She smirked.
Jennifer's body moved on autopilot. Anna's habits kicked in. She sat, heart pounding. Raven leaned in. Lips brushed Anna's ear. "Missed you. Let's play."
Chapter 6: Tease and Temptation
Raven's hands were everywhere. Sliding under the hoodie. Cupping the breasts. "God, your tits are perfect today. So sensitive." She pinched a nipple. This elicited a moan from Jennifer/Anna. The sensation zinged straight to the groin. The penis stirred.
"You're so hot," Jennifer murmured. Anna's confidence infused the words.
Raven laughed. A throaty sound. "Flatterer. Now, let's see what you've got for me." She knelt. She pulled down the leggings. The silk panties. Pink, Raven's favorite. Bulged with the growing erection. "Ooh, wearing my color? Naughty girl." Her fingers teased through the fabric. Stroking the shaft. Precum leaked. It soaked the silk. The friction was maddening.
Jennifer's mind reeled: "This feels incredible. Like electricity." Raven pulled it out. The penis now fully hard. Seven inches, throbbing. She stroked slowly. Thumb circled the head. Spreading the slickness. "Mmm, you're so ready. Taste?"
Before Jennifer could process, Raven leaned in. Lips parted. The warmth enveloped the tip. Tongue swirled. She sucked. Bobbing. Hand pumped the base. Jennifer gripped the couch. Hips bucked instinctively. "Fuck, Raven. That's amazing."
Raven paused. She stripped her top. Her fake breasts bounced free. Huge, round, with pierced nipples. She squeezed them. Moaning. "Like the view? Now, back to work." She deepthroated. Gagging slightly. Saliva dripped.
Chapter 7: The Climax
Raven stood. She shimmied out of her shorts and panties. Her body was a canvas. Shaved smooth. A tattooed rose above her pussy. It glistened with arousal. She turned. Bent over. Ass presented. Plump, with a tight hole winking. "Your turn, babe. Fuck me."
Jennifer's body took over. Anna's experience guided. She positioned behind. Rubbing the cock against Raven's entrance. Wet, hot. Pushing in, the tightness gripped like a vice. "Oh god." New sensations. The slide, the warmth, the friction.
Raven moaned. "Yes, deeper!" Jennifer thrust. Hands on hips. Building rhythm. Breasts slapped against Raven's back as she leaned over. Faster, harder. The pressure built. Balls tightened.
Raven's cries escalated: "I'm close. Cum with me!" Jennifer pulled out at the last second. Anna's habit, safe. Stroking furiously. Orgasm hit like a wave. Semen spurted across Raven's ass. Ropes of white coated her skin.
Blackout came swift.
Chapter 8: Return and Revelation
Jennifer awoke at her desk. Panties soaked. Chair damp with her own arousal. A smile crept across her face. Perverted, satisfied. Anna was trans. Secret intact. And Raven? Her girlfriend, apparently. The possession worked flawlessly.
Internal thoughts swirled: "I can do it again. Anytime. Feel that power, that pleasure." She glanced at the screen. Anna's stream offline. But Instagram showed a new story. Anna in a cute pose. Captioned "Post-stream vibes <3".
Jennifer licked her lips. Next time, she'd stay longer. Explore more. The obsession had evolved. Now, it was addiction.
possession
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One day, a man wakes up in another world. There, he discovers that he has the power to possess other living things! However, there's a lot that he doesn't know. Like how this world works, how he got here, or why he's also dead!? But joining him to solve this mystery is Lilima, a witch who he becomes bound to. Poe now seeks answers about his death!
The bright blue sky shone down, with sunlight beaming its warmth upon the land. Birds chirped and the rustling of the tree branches as the wind blew filled the air with the sounds of life. To the north, an expansive open field dotted occasionally with trees. To the west, a dense forest with monsters and animals; beyond that, a mountain range where a large dragon took roost.
Footsteps softly crunched the leaves that littered the ground as a witch, carrying a basket of ingredients necessary for spells and potions, walked back towards town. Her robe was battered and her hat was covered in mud and dirt. She used her staff, which was taller than she was, even with the hat, as a walking cane with her other hand. The bright clear orb that adorned the top reflected the sunlight brilliantly.
"I HATE coming out here to forage," she groaned as she continued walking. She didn't exactly have much of a choice though. Too poor to afford anything of good quality in the market, this was her only option. "Too many bugs, those stupid boars, and not to mention those fucking angry trees!" She sighed. "At least this should keep me for another two weeks if I'm lucky."
The path ahead was long back towards town, but relatively peaceful. A few trees were around, but the mostly open spaces made it easy to see any danger that would be approaching, or anything out of the ordinary. Such as another person, walking around aimlessly and very confused near a tree. The witch slowed her pace, though still wary. Thieves and bandits were common around the area. She gripped onto her staff tightly and readied herself.
"Hello sir," she said, trying her best to sound confident. "Are you okay? You seem lost?"
The man was odd in appearance to say the least. Rather than traditional wear or leather that the witch expected, the man wore just a simple shirt with a depiction of some sort of being on the front in bright colors. His pants were a simple denim pair of jeans and his shoes were sneakers, scuffed from years of wear. He didn't have any sort of weapon on him, nor pouches or a bag with him. From the lack of supplies, the witch thought this man had been the victim of a robbery.
"Huh? Oh, thank goodness! Another person!" the man said excitedly. "I don't know why, but you have to help me! I don't know where I am and when I try to go anywhere, I'm stuck! Look!" The man tried to reach out to the witch, but his hand was stopped, as though touching an invisible wall.
The witch looked at the way the man's hand was stopped. She cautiously reached her hand out, as some monsters were known to create invisible barriers, but none of them should be around here. If there was, it was something that absolutely needed to be reported to the Mage Guild. To her relief, as she reached her hand out, there was nothing stopping her.
"Okay, what the hell?" the man said, scratching his head. He repeatedly tried to reach out, but he was still stopped by some unseen force.
"Is it only here?" the witch asked, starting to move around the area to get a better understanding.
"No, it's all around this tree. I don't know why, but I've been stuck here for days." The man groaned, squatting down and scratching his head again. "You're the first person I've seen in a long time."
"Oh," the witch said, "That is to be expected. This pathway isn't usually frequented because of the dangerous forest nearby. Can you show me exactly where you get stopped?"
The man showed the witch, and she carved into the ground to show the boundary. It was a square shape, centered around the tree that was nearby. The witch crossed her arms, concerned. The way that this was laid out was clearly some sort of magical effect. But, it was no ordinary monster that could have done this. Yet at the same time, if some creature powerful enough to do this was around, there would have been some sort of alert. The only conclusion that she could draw is that this was created by another mage.
"You said that you hadn't seen someone else for a long time. What happened before that?" the witch asked.
"Before that…" The man crossed his arms to think, tapping his foot. "I remember walking through the city at the crosswalk. I had my headphones on at the time and I was listening to something. I couldn't hear the sound of the bus until it was too late. Then it felt like I was floating and I remember someone was talking to me. Then it's really fuzzy after that. The next clear thing I remember is that I woke up here on the ground. And then several days passed until we reach just now. It's weird though. I spent a few days stuck here, but I didn't feel hungry or anything. It didn't even get that cold during the night."
The witch tilted her head in confusion. "Headphones? Bus? What are those things?"
"Wait, you don't know what headphones are? Or a bus? Hang on, hang on, where am I?"
"You're in the outskirts of Fauxivi. Specifically, you're to the southwest," the witch said. She tilted her staff slightly and created a large image of the map of the surrounding area.
"What the-?" the man said in shock. "How are you doing that? Holograms?"
"Doing what?"
"That!" He gestured to the map. "How did you make that appear?"
"It's just a simple spell, really. It's nothing that advanced. A very basic beginner spell, actually."
"Spell?" The man looked around, tapping on the invisible boundary. He looked at the witch, then at the map, then back to the witch. He gulped and took a deep breath. "Tell me, have you ever heard of a place called America, or Japan, or France?"
The witch shook her head. "I can't say that I'm familiar with any of them. They aren't any nations in the world; nor any cities."
The man pounded his fist on the barrier, causing the witch to recoil backwards slightly. "I knew it. I've been sent to another world."
"Another world? You mean, you've travelled dimensions?" The witch seemed rather stunned, but she didn't sound like she doubted the man.
"It would appear so. I'm not from your world." The man paced around, running his hand through his hair before stomping on the ground repeatedly. "Ugh! I finally get to go to another world full of magic and I'm stuck in this stupid box! I don't even know why I'm here!"
"I may be able to get you out," the witch said.
The man turned to her. "Really? How?"
The witch tapped her staff against the boundary and there was a shimmering light. "It looks like someone cast a binding spell on you. Meaning that something around has you bound and stuck here. If I can find what it is, I might be able to undo it." She points over to the tree. "Whatever it is, it seems like it's there."
"Could it be the tree itself?" the man asked, walking over to it.
The witch shook her head as she got closer to the tree. "No. Binding spells like this don't work on living things. They have to be inorganic, like a rock or a sword. It could be as big as a carriage, or as small as a rusty nail." She set down her staff against the tree. "I'm going to climb up here and see if I can find anything."
"Are you sure?" the man asked.
"Don't worry. I'm a seasoned forager." The witch smiled wide and proud before getting a grip on the tree. "Just get below me and get ready to catch me if something happens." The man nodded and got into position.
The witch climbed up the tree, being careful to only grab and climb on the branches that could support her weight. She scoured around the tree, trying to look for anything out of the ordinary at first. With her experienced eyes, no detail like that would have gotten past her. However, she didn't see anything, but her instincts told her that there was something more. She put her hands together and began to chant softly. Light glowed from her fingertips as she traced sigils and glyphs into the air.
There, in the tree branches, she notices a shimmering of something hidden with magic. Cautiously, she reached forward and touched the shimmering.
In a brief second, it disappeared and the witch was face to face with the skull of a decaying corpse.
"AAAAAHHH!" she screamed, recoiling back and losing her balance, falling out of the tree.
"Shit!" The man reaches his arms out to catch her.
The next thing the man knew, he was on the ground, sprawled out. His vision was fuzzy, but blinking slowly adjusted his vision. He looked left and right, trying to see if the witch was okay, but he didn't see her anywhere.
"He-!"
The man stopped as he clutched his throat. The voice that he just spoke with was not his own. It sounded like the witch's voice.
What the hell? he thought. Did something happen when she fell? Why did I sound like her?
"Hello?" He quickly covered his mouth. That was definitely not his voice; it was certainly the witch's.
Cautiously, he pulled his hands away from his mouth, looking down at his hands. They were smooth and gentle, not at all like his own. The nails were polished and refined, and jewelry adorned the fingers and wrists. The man looked down at himself. Two large breasts sat on his chest, as well as the witch's robe, even more battered from the fall.
"This can't be real," he said as he reached up to feel the breasts. As soon as his fingers touched them, a shock of sensations ran through him. His lip quivered slightly and he let out a soft puff of air. "Holy shit. Yeah, they're real. But, why am I her?" He twisted around, getting a good look at her.
"Did I transform into her?" He looked around the area and shook his head. "No, she's not around, and there's no sign that she moved anywhere. So, the only conclusion is that I somehow ended up inside of her."
He let his hands caress the witch's body, running up and down along her sides, shivering at the touch. "How in the world did I end up inside of her?"
He softly squeezed her breasts again, gently moaning from the pleasure. He looked down at the robe again, seeing the curves of the witch's body. "I know I probably shouldn't. But, it just feels so good. Maybe a little peek won't hurt, right?"
He pulled at the collar of the robe, lifting it away from her body and peering down. What greeted him was a soft pair of D-cup sized breasts, supported by a leather bra.
"Whoa. Who knew under this robe that she was such a baddie?"
The man reached back and squeezed his ass, feeling the size and softness. "And she's got quite the ass too. Man, she is sexy."
Then, his hands traced around to the front around the hips and rested at the thighs. He gulped, knowing exactly what was under there. He felt her body twitch in anticipation. He looked around at the empty fields. "Miss? Miss witch lady? Are you here?"
There was no response.
He leaned up back against the tree, tugging at the sides of her robe and hiking them up. Though it was a struggle with her large breasts in the way, the man was able to see the purple cotton panties that the witch had on. He gently ran his fingers along the front, the body twitching at the touch.
"It's so soft," he said, both talking about the flesh and the fabric.
Cautiously, he slipped his fingers underneath the panties and down to her pussy. The heat and wetness coating the fingers almost instantly. The man breathed heavily as he curled a finger. Instantly, the sensation of rubbing against the labia shot through him like lightning, causing him to feel weak in the knees.
"Holy shit," he said with a soft exhale. "From just that little bit?"
He brought a second finger to the folds, letting the pleasure just wash over him. "Fuck, this feels incredible." His other hand reached up, cupping the witch's breasts.
He started to hump his hand, the slickness making it easier and easier to rub where it felt best. The man stroked in rhythm with his breathing. The heat and pleasure of masturbating sends shockwaves through his body.
"So this is what it's like? It's amazing! It's so sensitive! It's-"
Huh?
The man stopped as he heard the witch's voice coming from inside of his head. "Lady, is that you?"
What's going on? Why can't I move? Wait, no, I can feel my hand moving but… I'm not in control? Wait…
The pleasure of touching her sensitive parts caught up to her awareness, sending shocks of pleasure through her.
"I-I can explain!" he stammered, trying to figure out if he even could.
Am I… wait… Mister!? What are you doing inside of me? And being inside of me!?
The man felt a pressure building up inside, like something, or someone was fighting and pushing him out. In his shock, he tried to fight back, but the force was too much for him. He felt himself lose control of the witch's mouth.
"EXPELLIANA!"
The witch shouted and the man felt himself launched forward and he tumbled along the ground until he hit the barrier. The witch quickly pulled her fingers out from under her robe. She crossed her arms in front of her chest and leered at the man.
"What the hell is wrong with you!? Was this all part of your plan or something? What were you doing with my body!? How were you even inside me to begin with!?" she shouted, grabbing her staff from the tree and pointing it at the man. "I feel so unclean now!"
The man quickly raised up his hands. "Whoa whoa, easy now! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Okay, yes, I shouldn't have done that, but I had no idea what was going on. I wasn't sure if I was dreaming or what. And then it just started to feel too good; I couldn't help myself and I got lost in it all."
The witch's frown twitched before she fixed up her clothing. "Fine. I can tell that you are telling the truth." She huffed.
"I'm sorry, I really am," the man said. He ran his fingers through his hair again and sighed.
The witch sighed. "I'll accept your apology, but that doesn't mean that you're forgiven for that."
"I understand," the man said as he looked down at his hands. "But, how did that even happen? Was that something that you did?"
The witch shook her head. "No, that wasn't me. I think…" She walked up to the man and swiped her hand, which passed right through his chest like air. "That's what I was afraid of."
The man watched in horror as it passed through him. "What the-? Am I…?" He patted his chest, able to feel the sensation. "Am I dead?"
"I think so," the witch said with a somber expression. "There was a body in the tree. I'm… pretty sure that was you."
The man sat down on the ground, unable to believe it. "I'm dead, but I'm here. I'm a ghost." He thunked his head back against the invisible barrier and his eyes went wide. "Wait, is that why I'm stuck here!? Can I not leave because my body is here?"
"That seems to be the case."
The man fell to his knees, trying to grasp at the ground, but it only phased right through his fingers. "I'm stuck here forever? What kind of cruel fate is this? What did I do to deserve this kind of hell!?"
The witch squeezed tightly on her staff and sighed again. "I… do know of a way that I can get you out."
"You do?" the man said. "Please! Do so! And I'll do whatever I can to make it up to you! Both for freeing me and for what I was doing to you."
"Fine, I'll accept that. But if you ever do something like that again, I will stick you somewhere that no one will find you for centuries!" The man nodded in understanding.
The witch stepped outside of the boundary and began to chant again. Her hands glowed and she drew symbols in the air, forming a circle. Then, she took the tip of her staff and pushed it through the glowing symbols. The symbols swirled around the orb at the top, causing it to glow a brilliant pink. Then, she tapped the staff against the barrier. Instantly, there was a shattering sound like glass where the boundary was. The man looked down as he began to glow the same pink as the symbol. The orb glowed again before the symbols disappeared and all of the glow disappeared.
"It is done," the witch said.
The man cautiously reached his hand out towards the boundary. To his delight, it was as the witch said. The boundary was gone. He breathed a sigh of relief.
"Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!" he said. He ran to give her a hug, but in his excitement, forgot about his current state and simply passed right through the witch. "Oh, right. Dead."
"I cannot do anything about that, unfortunately," the witch said with a dejected look. "But, at least now, you will no longer be trapped in that small area."
"Well, that's something at least," the man said. He took another sigh, walking forward and phasing through the grass that blew from the wind. "I can at least walk around more and see what else is- GAH!"
The man stopped as he felt himself hit another boundary. "Oh, what gives?" he asked, tapping against it. "Is there another boundary here?"
"Not quite," the witch said as she jerked her staff back. As she did, the boundary pushed the man backwards. "As a spirit, you are still bound to something. All spirits are tethered to something, which limits the range of their motion. It can be broken and allow the spirit to roam freely, but I am not strong enough to free you from that. But, what I was able to do is move the tether from your body to my staff."
"So, now I'm stuck around you?" the man asked.
"My staff, more specifically," she clarified.
"Well, it's definitely better than being stuck in that box for who knows how long," the man said as he walked over to the witch.
"If I get stronger, or we find someone who specializes in spirits, we may be able to free you completely from a tether. And I'm still mad at you for what you did earlier, but you don't deserve to be stuck by this tree. So, that's why I decided to bring you along with me."
"Then, I guess that makes us traveling buddies," the man said, trying to make light of the situation. "So if I'm going to be tethered to you, or your staff rather, I better know your name at least. I can't just keep calling you Miss or Lady or Witch the whole time."
"Right, my apologies. I hadn't properly introduced myself." She bows towards the man. "My name is Lilima Van Pelt. And what is your name?"
"My name is-" The man stopped, as though he lost his train of thought. "My name is… is…" His eyes went wide again. "I… don't know my name!"
"I have heard such a thing can happen to spirits. Some of their memories get damaged and lost in their transition from becoming alive to undead," Lilima said.
"Shit, what else have I forgotten?" the man asked, trying to wrack his brain for answers, but they wouldn't come to him.
"Yes, everything about you is such a mystery." Lilima thinks for a bit. "Well, since I also can't just call you Mister or Spirit, I shall give you a name. Given that you appear to have some sort of possession based power, then your name will be Poe. How does that sound?"
"Poe," he said. "Huh, I like it. Poe it is then."
"Well then, Poe, it's good to meet you," Lilima said as she picked up her basket of ingredients. "Now then, let's be off."
"Wait, what about my body in the tree? Shouldn't we at least give it a burial or look for clues?" Poe asked, gesturing to the tree.
"I guess that would be the honorable thing to do."
Lilima sets down her staff and ingredients and once again climbs the tree. However, as she goes to reach for the body, she stops. Lilima makes her way back down the tree. "I'm sorry, but I can't. It's too dangerous."
"Too dangerous? Why is that?" Poe asked, tilting his head.
Lilima turns around to face Poe. "Your tether range was a square, meaning it was created. Natural tether ranges are circular. And your body was hidden with magic. Now that I had a better look, there was also traps on it. If it was moved, it would alert whoever did this. Whatever happened to you was intentional. Someone not only wanted you dead, but wanted you stuck here and didn't want anyone to find out."
"But then why stick me here in this tree?" Poe asked, scratching his head. "Why not put me somewhere that no one would find me, like a lake or bury me?"
Lilima shakes her head. "I don't know. But, I want to help you, so I plan to find out." She picks up her basket of ingredients and her staff. "Plus, right now, your body stays in a protected state. It won't get any worse, so we can always come back later."
"Well, alright. You're the knowledgeable magic one here," Poe said with a sigh. "I'll follow your lead. Though, not like I exactly have a choice. So, where are we going now?"
Lilima points ahead and starts walking with Poe at her side. "We're going to the city, Fauxivi."
The bright blue sky shone down, with sunlight beaming its warmth upon the land. Birds chirped and the rustling of the tree branches as the wind blew filled the air with the sounds of life. To the north, an expansive open field dotted occasionally with trees. To the west, a dense forest with monsters and animals; beyond that, a mountain range where a large dragon took roost.
Footsteps softly crunched the leaves that littered the ground as a witch, carrying a basket of ingredients necessary for spells and potions, walked back towards town. Her robe was battered and her hat was covered in mud and dirt. She used her staff, which was taller than she was, even with the hat, as a walking cane with her other hand. The bright clear orb that adorned the top reflected the sunlight brilliantly.
"I HATE coming out here to forage," she groaned as she continued walking. She didn't exactly have much of a choice though. Too poor to afford anything of good quality in the market, this was her only option. "Too many bugs, those stupid boars, and not to mention those fucking angry trees!" She sighed. "At least this should keep me for another two weeks if I'm lucky."
The path ahead was long back towards town, but relatively peaceful. A few trees were around, but the mostly open spaces made it easy to see any danger that would be approaching, or anything out of the ordinary. Such as another person, walking around aimlessly and very confused near a tree. The witch slowed her pace, though still wary. Thieves and bandits were common around the area. She gripped onto her staff tightly and readied herself.
"Hello sir," she said, trying her best to sound confident. "Are you okay? You seem lost?"
The man was odd in appearance to say the least. Rather than traditional wear or leather that the witch expected, the man wore just a simple shirt with a depiction of some sort of being on the front in bright colors. His pants were a simple denim pair of jeans and his shoes were sneakers, scuffed from years of wear. He didn't have any sort of weapon on him, nor pouches or a bag with him. From the lack of supplies, the witch thought this man had been the victim of a robbery.
"Huh? Oh, thank goodness! Another person!" the man said excitedly. "I don't know why, but you have to help me! I don't know where I am and when I try to go anywhere, I'm stuck! Look!" The man tried to reach out to the witch, but his hand was stopped, as though touching an invisible wall.
The witch looked at the way the man's hand was stopped. She cautiously reached her hand out, as some monsters were known to create invisible barriers, but none of them should be around here. If there was, it was something that absolutely needed to be reported to the Mage Guild. To her relief, as she reached her hand out, there was nothing stopping her.
"Okay, what the hell?" the man said, scratching his head. He repeatedly tried to reach out, but he was still stopped by some unseen force.
"Is it only here?" the witch asked, starting to move around the area to get a better understanding.
"No, it's all around this tree. I don't know why, but I've been stuck here for days." The man groaned, squatting down and scratching his head again. "You're the first person I've seen in a long time."
"Oh," the witch said, "That is to be expected. This pathway isn't usually frequented because of the dangerous forest nearby. Can you show me exactly where you get stopped?"
The man showed the witch, and she carved into the ground to show the boundary. It was a square shape, centered around the tree that was nearby. The witch crossed her arms, concerned. The way that this was laid out was clearly some sort of magical effect. But, it was no ordinary monster that could have done this. Yet at the same time, if some creature powerful enough to do this was around, there would have been some sort of alert. The only conclusion that she could draw is that this was created by another mage.
"You said that you hadn't seen someone else for a long time. What happened before that?" the witch asked.
"Before that…" The man crossed his arms to think, tapping his foot. "I remember walking through the city at the crosswalk. I had my headphones on at the time and I was listening to something. I couldn't hear the sound of the bus until it was too late. Then it felt like I was floating and I remember someone was talking to me. Then it's really fuzzy after that. The next clear thing I remember is that I woke up here on the ground. And then several days passed until we reach just now. It's weird though. I spent a few days stuck here, but I didn't feel hungry or anything. It didn't even get that cold during the night."
The witch tilted her head in confusion. "Headphones? Bus? What are those things?"
"Wait, you don't know what headphones are? Or a bus? Hang on, hang on, where am I?"
"You're in the outskirts of Fauxivi. Specifically, you're to the southwest," the witch said. She tilted her staff slightly and created a large image of the map of the surrounding area.
"What the-?" the man said in shock. "How are you doing that? Holograms?"
"Doing what?"
"That!" He gestured to the map. "How did you make that appear?"
"It's just a simple spell, really. It's nothing that advanced. A very basic beginner spell, actually."
"Spell?" The man looked around, tapping on the invisible boundary. He looked at the witch, then at the map, then back to the witch. He gulped and took a deep breath. "Tell me, have you ever heard of a place called America, or Japan, or France?"
The witch shook her head. "I can't say that I'm familiar with any of them. They aren't any nations in the world; nor any cities."
The man pounded his fist on the barrier, causing the witch to recoil backwards slightly. "I knew it. I've been sent to another world."
"Another world? You mean, you've travelled dimensions?" The witch seemed rather stunned, but she didn't sound like she doubted the man.
"It would appear so. I'm not from your world." The man paced around, running his hand through his hair before stomping on the ground repeatedly. "Ugh! I finally get to go to another world full of magic and I'm stuck in this stupid box! I don't even know why I'm here!"
"I may be able to get you out," the witch said.
The man turned to her. "Really? How?"
The witch tapped her staff against the boundary and there was a shimmering light. "It looks like someone cast a binding spell on you. Meaning that something around has you bound and stuck here. If I can find what it is, I might be able to undo it." She points over to the tree. "Whatever it is, it seems like it's there."
"Could it be the tree itself?" the man asked, walking over to it.
The witch shook her head as she got closer to the tree. "No. Binding spells like this don't work on living things. They have to be inorganic, like a rock or a sword. It could be as big as a carriage, or as small as a rusty nail." She set down her staff against the tree. "I'm going to climb up here and see if I can find anything."
"Are you sure?" the man asked.
"Don't worry. I'm a seasoned forager." The witch smiled wide and proud before getting a grip on the tree. "Just get below me and get ready to catch me if something happens." The man nodded and got into position.
The witch climbed up the tree, being careful to only grab and climb on the branches that could support her weight. She scoured around the tree, trying to look for anything out of the ordinary at first. With her experienced eyes, no detail like that would have gotten past her. However, she didn't see anything, but her instincts told her that there was something more. She put her hands together and began to chant softly. Light glowed from her fingertips as she traced sigils and glyphs into the air.
There, in the tree branches, she notices a shimmering of something hidden with magic. Cautiously, she reached forward and touched the shimmering.
In a brief second, it disappeared and the witch was face to face with the skull of a decaying corpse.
"AAAAAHHH!" she screamed, recoiling back and losing her balance, falling out of the tree.
"Shit!" The man reaches his arms out to catch her.
The next thing the man knew, he was on the ground, sprawled out. His vision was fuzzy, but blinking slowly adjusted his vision. He looked left and right, trying to see if the witch was okay, but he didn't see her anywhere.
"He-!"
The man stopped as he clutched his throat. The voice that he just spoke with was not his own. It sounded like the witch's voice.
What the hell? he thought. Did something happen when she fell? Why did I sound like her?
"Hello?" He quickly covered his mouth. That was definitely not his voice; it was certainly the witch's.
Cautiously, he pulled his hands away from his mouth, looking down at his hands. They were smooth and gentle, not at all like his own. The nails were polished and refined, and jewelry adorned the fingers and wrists. The man looked down at himself. Two large breasts sat on his chest, as well as the witch's robe, even more battered from the fall.
"This can't be real," he said as he reached up to feel the breasts. As soon as his fingers touched them, a shock of sensations ran through him. His lip quivered slightly and he let out a soft puff of air. "Holy shit. Yeah, they're real. But, why am I her?" He twisted around, getting a good look at her.
"Did I transform into her?" He looked around the area and shook his head. "No, she's not around, and there's no sign that she moved anywhere. So, the only conclusion is that I somehow ended up inside of her."
He let his hands caress the witch's body, running up and down along her sides, shivering at the touch. "How in the world did I end up inside of her?"
He softly squeezed her breasts again, gently moaning from the pleasure. He looked down at the robe again, seeing the curves of the witch's body. "I know I probably shouldn't. But, it just feels so good. Maybe a little peek won't hurt, right?"
He pulled at the collar of the robe, lifting it away from her body and peering down. What greeted him was a soft pair of D-cup sized breasts, supported by a leather bra.
"Whoa. Who knew under this robe that she was such a baddie?"
The man reached back and squeezed his ass, feeling the size and softness. "And she's got quite the ass too. Man, she is sexy."
Then, his hands traced around to the front around the hips and rested at the thighs. He gulped, knowing exactly what was under there. He felt her body twitch in anticipation. He looked around at the empty fields. "Miss? Miss witch lady? Are you here?"
There was no response.
He leaned up back against the tree, tugging at the sides of her robe and hiking them up. Though it was a struggle with her large breasts in the way, the man was able to see the purple cotton panties that the witch had on. He gently ran his fingers along the front, the body twitching at the touch.
"It's so soft," he said, both talking about the flesh and the fabric.
Cautiously, he slipped his fingers underneath the panties and down to her pussy. The heat and wetness coating the fingers almost instantly. The man breathed heavily as he curled a finger. Instantly, the sensation of rubbing against the labia shot through him like lightning, causing him to feel weak in the knees.
"Holy shit," he said with a soft exhale. "From just that little bit?"
He brought a second finger to the folds, letting the pleasure just wash over him. "Fuck, this feels incredible." His other hand reached up, cupping the witch's breasts.
He started to hump his hand, the slickness making it easier and easier to rub where it felt best. The man stroked in rhythm with his breathing. The heat and pleasure of masturbating sends shockwaves through his body.
"So this is what it's like? It's amazing! It's so sensitive! It's-"
Huh?
The man stopped as he heard the witch's voice coming from inside of his head. "Lady, is that you?"
What's going on? Why can't I move? Wait, no, I can feel my hand moving but… I'm not in control? Wait…
The pleasure of touching her sensitive parts caught up to her awareness, sending shocks of pleasure through her.
"I-I can explain!" he stammered, trying to figure out if he even could.
Am I… wait… Mister!? What are you doing inside of me? And being inside of me!?
The man felt a pressure building up inside, like something, or someone was fighting and pushing him out. In his shock, he tried to fight back, but the force was too much for him. He felt himself lose control of the witch's mouth.
"EXPELLIANA!"
The witch shouted and the man felt himself launched forward and he tumbled along the ground until he hit the barrier. The witch quickly pulled her fingers out from under her robe. She crossed her arms in front of her chest and leered at the man.
"What the hell is wrong with you!? Was this all part of your plan or something? What were you doing with my body!? How were you even inside me to begin with!?" she shouted, grabbing her staff from the tree and pointing it at the man. "I feel so unclean now!"
The man quickly raised up his hands. "Whoa whoa, easy now! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Okay, yes, I shouldn't have done that, but I had no idea what was going on. I wasn't sure if I was dreaming or what. And then it just started to feel too good; I couldn't help myself and I got lost in it all."
The witch's frown twitched before she fixed up her clothing. "Fine. I can tell that you are telling the truth." She huffed.
"I'm sorry, I really am," the man said. He ran his fingers through his hair again and sighed.
The witch sighed. "I'll accept your apology, but that doesn't mean that you're forgiven for that."
"I understand," the man said as he looked down at his hands. "But, how did that even happen? Was that something that you did?"
The witch shook her head. "No, that wasn't me. I think…" She walked up to the man and swiped her hand, which passed right through his chest like air. "That's what I was afraid of."
The man watched in horror as it passed through him. "What the-? Am I…?" He patted his chest, able to feel the sensation. "Am I dead?"
"I think so," the witch said with a somber expression. "There was a body in the tree. I'm… pretty sure that was you."
The man sat down on the ground, unable to believe it. "I'm dead, but I'm here. I'm a ghost." He thunked his head back against the invisible barrier and his eyes went wide. "Wait, is that why I'm stuck here!? Can I not leave because my body is here?"
"That seems to be the case."
The man fell to his knees, trying to grasp at the ground, but it only phased right through his fingers. "I'm stuck here forever? What kind of cruel fate is this? What did I do to deserve this kind of hell!?"
The witch squeezed tightly on her staff and sighed again. "I… do know of a way that I can get you out."
"You do?" the man said. "Please! Do so! And I'll do whatever I can to make it up to you! Both for freeing me and for what I was doing to you."
"Fine, I'll accept that. But if you ever do something like that again, I will stick you somewhere that no one will find you for centuries!" The man nodded in understanding.
The witch stepped outside of the boundary and began to chant again. Her hands glowed and she drew symbols in the air, forming a circle. Then, she took the tip of her staff and pushed it through the glowing symbols. The symbols swirled around the orb at the top, causing it to glow a brilliant pink. Then, she tapped the staff against the barrier. Instantly, there was a shattering sound like glass where the boundary was. The man looked down as he began to glow the same pink as the symbol. The orb glowed again before the symbols disappeared and all of the glow disappeared.
"It is done," the witch said.
The man cautiously reached his hand out towards the boundary. To his delight, it was as the witch said. The boundary was gone. He breathed a sigh of relief.
"Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!" he said. He ran to give her a hug, but in his excitement, forgot about his current state and simply passed right through the witch. "Oh, right. Dead."
"I cannot do anything about that, unfortunately," the witch said with a dejected look. "But, at least now, you will no longer be trapped in that small area."
"Well, that's something at least," the man said. He took another sigh, walking forward and phasing through the grass that blew from the wind. "I can at least walk around more and see what else is- GAH!"
The man stopped as he felt himself hit another boundary. "Oh, what gives?" he asked, tapping against it. "Is there another boundary here?"
"Not quite," the witch said as she jerked her staff back. As she did, the boundary pushed the man backwards. "As a spirit, you are still bound to something. All spirits are tethered to something, which limits the range of their motion. It can be broken and allow the spirit to roam freely, but I am not strong enough to free you from that. But, what I was able to do is move the tether from your body to my staff."
"So, now I'm stuck around you?" the man asked.
"My staff, more specifically," she clarified.
"Well, it's definitely better than being stuck in that box for who knows how long," the man said as he walked over to the witch.
"If I get stronger, or we find someone who specializes in spirits, we may be able to free you completely from a tether. And I'm still mad at you for what you did earlier, but you don't deserve to be stuck by this tree. So, that's why I decided to bring you along with me."
"Then, I guess that makes us traveling buddies," the man said, trying to make light of the situation. "So if I'm going to be tethered to you, or your staff rather, I better know your name at least. I can't just keep calling you Miss or Lady or Witch the whole time."
"Right, my apologies. I hadn't properly introduced myself." She bows towards the man. "My name is Lilima Van Pelt. And what is your name?"
"My name is-" The man stopped, as though he lost his train of thought. "My name is… is…" His eyes went wide again. "I… don't know my name!"
"I have heard such a thing can happen to spirits. Some of their memories get damaged and lost in their transition from becoming alive to undead," Lilima said.
"Shit, what else have I forgotten?" the man asked, trying to wrack his brain for answers, but they wouldn't come to him.
"Yes, everything about you is such a mystery." Lilima thinks for a bit. "Well, since I also can't just call you Mister or Spirit, I shall give you a name. Given that you appear to have some sort of possession based power, then your name will be Poe. How does that sound?"
"Poe," he said. "Huh, I like it. Poe it is then."
"Well then, Poe, it's good to meet you," Lilima said as she picked up her basket of ingredients. "Now then, let's be off."
"Wait, what about my body in the tree? Shouldn't we at least give it a burial or look for clues?" Poe asked, gesturing to the tree.
"I guess that would be the honorable thing to do."
Lilima sets down her staff and ingredients and once again climbs the tree. However, as she goes to reach for the body, she stops. Lilima makes her way back down the tree. "I'm sorry, but I can't. It's too dangerous."
"Too dangerous? Why is that?" Poe asked, tilting his head.
Lilima turns around to face Poe. "Your tether range was a square, meaning it was created. Natural tether ranges are circular. And your body was hidden with magic. Now that I had a better look, there was also traps on it. If it was moved, it would alert whoever did this. Whatever happened to you was intentional. Someone not only wanted you dead, but wanted you stuck here and didn't want anyone to find out."
"But then why stick me here in this tree?" Poe asked, scratching his head. "Why not put me somewhere that no one would find me, like a lake or bury me?"
Lilima shakes her head. "I don't know. But, I want to help you, so I plan to find out." She picks up her basket of ingredients and her staff. "Plus, right now, your body stays in a protected state. It won't get any worse, so we can always come back later."
"Well, alright. You're the knowledgeable magic one here," Poe said with a sigh. "I'll follow your lead. Though, not like I exactly have a choice. So, where are we going now?"
Lilima points ahead and starts walking with Poe at her side. "We're going to the city, Fauxivi."
possession
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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.
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Rumors about a possession themed website on the dark web have been going around. A man named John and his four friends, Kevin, James, Steve, and Russel, come across the website by chance, and they all think it's just some fake website... but they decide to try it out, given the first hour of possession was free for new users. They signed up and opted to just possess the bodies of John's neighbors, the Drews. The family consisted of a MILF mom, a fitness model dad, a med student daughter, and two fraternal twins (a male and female) who had just started their freshman year in college.
John and his friends were surprised the site actually worked, and their curiosity got the better of them. They had sex in every possible combination: mother and son, father and daughters, sisters and brother, mother and sister... lets just say that John and his friends became frequent users of the site, with the Drew family being their main hosts!
John and his friends were surprised the site actually worked, and their curiosity got the better of them. They had sex in every possible combination: mother and son, father and daughters, sisters and brother, mother and sister... lets just say that John and his friends became frequent users of the site, with the Drew family being their main hosts!
possession incest sex smut
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AziAzi
· 14 Sep 2025
John successfully possessed Henry's body, and when he went back to his apartment to tell the guys, it seemed they had already figure out it works, and possessed the rest of the Drews while John was heading back. John quickly heads to the Drew's apartment, only to see that his friends had already started to get acquainted with their borrowed bodies!
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John quickly joins in with his friends, and thus starts the wild night the friends were going to have...
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Lucas and Emily are best friends who stumble upon a strange remote at a garage sale. Lucas buys it on a whim, joking that it looks cool—and that he needs a new TV remote anyway. Curious, the two decide to test it out, and to Lucas’s relief, it actually works.
Later that night, they’re catching up on an episode of One Piece when Lucas feels a sudden impulse to press the remote’s glowing red button. Within seconds, everything blurs, and both of them are violently sucked into the TV.
When they regain consciousness, Lucas’s living room is gone. Instead, they find themselves at a bustling port, standing on a boat—and inhabiting different, yet strangely familiar, bodies. It doesn’t take long for the truth to sink in: Lucas has somehow become Nami, while Emily has become Luffy. Even stranger, the mysterious remote is tucked safely into Lucas’s pocket.
Panicked, they try to use the remote to escape, only to discover that it’s on some kind of cooldown. With no way back and no idea how long the effect will last, Emily and Lucas are forced to remain trapped in the One Piece world—living as its characters for who knows how long.
The sun beat down on the cracked asphalt of the suburban cul-de-sac, turning the Saturday morning garage sale into a shimmering mirage of discarded memories. Emily nudged Lucas with her elbow, gesturing toward a folding table buried under a tangle of old cables and yellowed electronics manuals. “See anything cool, tech wizard?”
Lucas, ever the tinkerer, was already sifting through the box. “Mostly junk. VCR manuals from 1998. A busted graphing calculator.” His hand paused, fingers closing around something sleek and black. “Whoa. Okay, this is weird.”
He pulled it out. It was a standard universal remote, but it felt significant. It was heavier than it should be, made of a cold, brushed metal, and had a simple layout: Power, Volume Up/Down, a directional pad, a button with a simple TV icon, and one solitary, ominous red button set slightly apart. A faint, almost imperceptible LED glowed near the top.
“That looks… intense,” Emily said, peering over his shoulder. “Think it works?”
“Only one way to find out,” Lucas grinned. He aimed it at a dusty old tube TV sitting on the grass with a ‘$5’ sticker on it. He pressed the power button. With a soft click and a hum, the TV flickered to life, displaying static snow. Lucas laughed, a sound of pure relief. “Holy crap, it does work. And it’s not even paired to it. Score. I do need a new remote anyway.”
“Maybe it really is universal,” Emily mused.
An elderly woman with soft silver hair pulled into a bun shuffled over, her smile warm but tinged with a deep, lingering sadness. “Oh, you found Albert’s little project,” she said, her voice like rustling paper. “My husband. He was an electrical engineer, retired. In his last few months… he became quite obsessed with fiddling with that thing. In his spare time, right up until the end.”
Lucas turned the remote over in his hands. “It’s really well-made. What was he trying to do?”
The woman’s gaze grew distant. “On his deathbed, he was delirious with the pain medication. He kept holding that remote, babbling about harmonics and dimensional frequencies. He said he’d tuned it not to channels, but to worlds. Said it was a portal device.” She gave a soft, sad laugh. “He told me I should use it when my time comes. He said the transportation takes ‘life energy’ to sustain, and that I’d have enough left for one last trip. Can you imagine? The fancies of a dying mind.”
Emily and Lucas exchanged a look, a mix of skepticism and intrigue.
“I didn’t believe him, of course,” the woman continued, wiping a speck of dust from a picture frame of a smiling couple. “I thought it was just the sickness talking. After he passed… all these gadgets, all these reminders of those final, confusing days… I couldn’t bear to look at them. So, out they came. A fresh start.” She gestured to the table. “If you want it, dear, it’s five dollars. At least it’ll be a conversation piece.”
Lucas fished a crumpled bill from his pocket. “Sold.”
Back at Lucas’s apartment that evening, the remote sat on the coffee table between them like a shrine relic while they argued over what to watch. “It’s just a remote, Em,” Lucas said, though he kept glancing at it. “A fancy one with a tragic, weird backstory.”
“A tragic weird backstory about portals,” Emily corrected, grabbing a handful of popcorn. “Your new TV remote is an interdimensional philosopher.”
“Shut up and pick something. We’re behind on One Piece.”
They settled in, the epic saga of the Straw Hat Pirates filling the screen. Luffy was mid-transformation into Gear Fifth, his rubbery body a whirling cyclone of joy and power, his infectious laughter echoing through the speakers. Nami was shouting navigational commands from the helm of the Thousand Sunny, her orange hair whipping in a stylized gale. As the episode reached its crescendo, Lucas’s hand, almost of its own volition, drifted from his lap. His fingers found the cold metal of the remote. The solitary red button was glowing now, a deep, pulsing crimson it hadn’t been before.
“Dude, what are you doing?” Emily asked, mid-chew.
“I don’t know,” Lucas said, his voice oddly hollow. A compulsion, thick and magnetic, settled in his bones. His thumb pressed down on the red button.
The world dissolved.
It wasn’t a fade—it was a violent, screaming rip. The sound of the TV became a deafening roar, and the screen didn’t just display the Thousand Sunny; it opened. A vortex of swirling color and cartoon physics yawned before them. Emily’s popcorn bowl flew from her hands as an impossible suction grabbed them both, yanking them off the couch. Lucas felt a scream tear from his throat, but no sound emerged—the air was being stolen from his lungs. He saw Emily, eyes wide with terror, her form elongating and distorting as she was pulled toward the maelstrom of light a split-second before he was. Then, everything was pain, pressure, and a sensation of being crumpled like a piece of paper and thrown across an infinite distance.
Consciousness returned in a nauseating lurch. Lucas gasped, his head throbbing. The soft, familiar fabric of his couch was gone. Beneath him was coarse, sun-warmed wood. The air smelled of salt, tar, and exotic spices. His ears were filled with a cacophony he’d only ever heard through headphones: the shouts of dockworkers, the cries of gulls, the creak of rigging and splash of waves against a hull.
He tried to sit up and immediately flailed, his center of gravity all wrong. His body felt… different. Lighter, yet strangely top-heavy. He looked down.
And saw orange.
A cascade of bright orange hair fell over his shoulders. His perspective was lower to the deck. His hands, which came up to clutch his head, were smaller, with slender fingers tipped with short, polished nails. And the shirt he was wearing… it was a low-cut, blue and white striped bikini top, barely containing a soft, generous swell of cleavage that most definitely had not been there a minute ago. A familiar, intricate tattoo—Nami’s iconic tattoo—adorning the shoulder his new hair didn’t cover.
A wave of dizzying horror washed over him. He was on the deck of the Thousand Sunny. And he was in Nami’s body.
“Whoa.” The voice that came from beside him was deeper, richer, and crackled with a boundless energy that was utterly foreign. “This is… AWESOME!”
Lucas turned his head. Sitting up, rubbing a rubbery neck with a stretchy hand, was Monkey D. Luffy. But the grin splitting that familiar face was pure, unadulterated Emily. She pounded a fist into her—his?—other palm, the smack echoing with a thwack.
“Lucas! Look! I’m made of rubber!” Emily exclaimed, and to prove it, she reeled back and punched herself in the cheek. Her face distorted, squishing inward before snapping back into place with a boing. She burst out laughing, the sound exactly like the Captain’s. “This is the coolest thing that has ever happened to anyone, ever!”
“Emily, shut up!” Lucas hissed, his voice emerging as Nami’s higher, sharper tone. Panic, cold and sharp, clawed at his throat. He scrambled to his feet, his new body moving with an unfamiliar, agile grace that felt like a betrayal. He patted himself down, and his hand—her hand—slid into the pocket of Nami’s short denim shorts. His fingers closed around cold, hard metal.
He pulled out the universal remote. The LED was dark. Desperately, he pointed it back in the vague direction from which they’d come, at the bright blue sky over the bustling port of wherever the hell they were, and mashed the power button. Nothing. He mashed the red button again and again. It was inert, just a dead piece of tech.
“It’s not working,” he whispered, the dread settling into his new bones. “It’s not working!”
Emily stopped bouncing and peered at the remote. “Maybe it needs to recharge? Like a cooldown period?”
“A cooldown? You don’t put a cooldown on a fucking universe-hopping remote!” Lucas snapped, Nami’s usual irritation coloring his panic perfectly.
“I dunno, seems reasonable. That trip probably used a lot of power,” Emily said, shrugging her massive rubbery shoulders. She looked around, her straw hat tipping back. “So. We’re in One Piece. I’m Luffy. You’re Nami.” A huge, gleaming grin spread across her face again. “This is officially a top-tier adventure. We should find Zoro! Or Sanji! Oh my god, Lucas, Sanji is going to freak out when he sees you!”
The reality of their situation crashed down on Lucas with the weight of the Grand Line. He was trapped. Trapped in the body of the Straw Hats’ navigator, in a world of pirates and Marines and sea monsters, with his best friend gleefully incarnated as a rubber maniac in his head. He clutched the useless remote, the only tether to their old life, as the bright, dangerous world of One Piece bustled around them. The cooldown, if that’s what it was, could be minutes. It could be days.
Or it could be forever. And they had no choice but to start living it.
Later that night, they’re catching up on an episode of One Piece when Lucas feels a sudden impulse to press the remote’s glowing red button. Within seconds, everything blurs, and both of them are violently sucked into the TV.
When they regain consciousness, Lucas’s living room is gone. Instead, they find themselves at a bustling port, standing on a boat—and inhabiting different, yet strangely familiar, bodies. It doesn’t take long for the truth to sink in: Lucas has somehow become Nami, while Emily has become Luffy. Even stranger, the mysterious remote is tucked safely into Lucas’s pocket.
Panicked, they try to use the remote to escape, only to discover that it’s on some kind of cooldown. With no way back and no idea how long the effect will last, Emily and Lucas are forced to remain trapped in the One Piece world—living as its characters for who knows how long.
The sun beat down on the cracked asphalt of the suburban cul-de-sac, turning the Saturday morning garage sale into a shimmering mirage of discarded memories. Emily nudged Lucas with her elbow, gesturing toward a folding table buried under a tangle of old cables and yellowed electronics manuals. “See anything cool, tech wizard?”
Lucas, ever the tinkerer, was already sifting through the box. “Mostly junk. VCR manuals from 1998. A busted graphing calculator.” His hand paused, fingers closing around something sleek and black. “Whoa. Okay, this is weird.”
He pulled it out. It was a standard universal remote, but it felt significant. It was heavier than it should be, made of a cold, brushed metal, and had a simple layout: Power, Volume Up/Down, a directional pad, a button with a simple TV icon, and one solitary, ominous red button set slightly apart. A faint, almost imperceptible LED glowed near the top.
“That looks… intense,” Emily said, peering over his shoulder. “Think it works?”
“Only one way to find out,” Lucas grinned. He aimed it at a dusty old tube TV sitting on the grass with a ‘$5’ sticker on it. He pressed the power button. With a soft click and a hum, the TV flickered to life, displaying static snow. Lucas laughed, a sound of pure relief. “Holy crap, it does work. And it’s not even paired to it. Score. I do need a new remote anyway.”
“Maybe it really is universal,” Emily mused.
An elderly woman with soft silver hair pulled into a bun shuffled over, her smile warm but tinged with a deep, lingering sadness. “Oh, you found Albert’s little project,” she said, her voice like rustling paper. “My husband. He was an electrical engineer, retired. In his last few months… he became quite obsessed with fiddling with that thing. In his spare time, right up until the end.”
Lucas turned the remote over in his hands. “It’s really well-made. What was he trying to do?”
The woman’s gaze grew distant. “On his deathbed, he was delirious with the pain medication. He kept holding that remote, babbling about harmonics and dimensional frequencies. He said he’d tuned it not to channels, but to worlds. Said it was a portal device.” She gave a soft, sad laugh. “He told me I should use it when my time comes. He said the transportation takes ‘life energy’ to sustain, and that I’d have enough left for one last trip. Can you imagine? The fancies of a dying mind.”
Emily and Lucas exchanged a look, a mix of skepticism and intrigue.
“I didn’t believe him, of course,” the woman continued, wiping a speck of dust from a picture frame of a smiling couple. “I thought it was just the sickness talking. After he passed… all these gadgets, all these reminders of those final, confusing days… I couldn’t bear to look at them. So, out they came. A fresh start.” She gestured to the table. “If you want it, dear, it’s five dollars. At least it’ll be a conversation piece.”
Lucas fished a crumpled bill from his pocket. “Sold.”
Back at Lucas’s apartment that evening, the remote sat on the coffee table between them like a shrine relic while they argued over what to watch. “It’s just a remote, Em,” Lucas said, though he kept glancing at it. “A fancy one with a tragic, weird backstory.”
“A tragic weird backstory about portals,” Emily corrected, grabbing a handful of popcorn. “Your new TV remote is an interdimensional philosopher.”
“Shut up and pick something. We’re behind on One Piece.”
They settled in, the epic saga of the Straw Hat Pirates filling the screen. Luffy was mid-transformation into Gear Fifth, his rubbery body a whirling cyclone of joy and power, his infectious laughter echoing through the speakers. Nami was shouting navigational commands from the helm of the Thousand Sunny, her orange hair whipping in a stylized gale. As the episode reached its crescendo, Lucas’s hand, almost of its own volition, drifted from his lap. His fingers found the cold metal of the remote. The solitary red button was glowing now, a deep, pulsing crimson it hadn’t been before.
“Dude, what are you doing?” Emily asked, mid-chew.
“I don’t know,” Lucas said, his voice oddly hollow. A compulsion, thick and magnetic, settled in his bones. His thumb pressed down on the red button.
The world dissolved.
It wasn’t a fade—it was a violent, screaming rip. The sound of the TV became a deafening roar, and the screen didn’t just display the Thousand Sunny; it opened. A vortex of swirling color and cartoon physics yawned before them. Emily’s popcorn bowl flew from her hands as an impossible suction grabbed them both, yanking them off the couch. Lucas felt a scream tear from his throat, but no sound emerged—the air was being stolen from his lungs. He saw Emily, eyes wide with terror, her form elongating and distorting as she was pulled toward the maelstrom of light a split-second before he was. Then, everything was pain, pressure, and a sensation of being crumpled like a piece of paper and thrown across an infinite distance.
Consciousness returned in a nauseating lurch. Lucas gasped, his head throbbing. The soft, familiar fabric of his couch was gone. Beneath him was coarse, sun-warmed wood. The air smelled of salt, tar, and exotic spices. His ears were filled with a cacophony he’d only ever heard through headphones: the shouts of dockworkers, the cries of gulls, the creak of rigging and splash of waves against a hull.
He tried to sit up and immediately flailed, his center of gravity all wrong. His body felt… different. Lighter, yet strangely top-heavy. He looked down.
And saw orange.
A cascade of bright orange hair fell over his shoulders. His perspective was lower to the deck. His hands, which came up to clutch his head, were smaller, with slender fingers tipped with short, polished nails. And the shirt he was wearing… it was a low-cut, blue and white striped bikini top, barely containing a soft, generous swell of cleavage that most definitely had not been there a minute ago. A familiar, intricate tattoo—Nami’s iconic tattoo—adorning the shoulder his new hair didn’t cover.
A wave of dizzying horror washed over him. He was on the deck of the Thousand Sunny. And he was in Nami’s body.
“Whoa.” The voice that came from beside him was deeper, richer, and crackled with a boundless energy that was utterly foreign. “This is… AWESOME!”
Lucas turned his head. Sitting up, rubbing a rubbery neck with a stretchy hand, was Monkey D. Luffy. But the grin splitting that familiar face was pure, unadulterated Emily. She pounded a fist into her—his?—other palm, the smack echoing with a thwack.
“Lucas! Look! I’m made of rubber!” Emily exclaimed, and to prove it, she reeled back and punched herself in the cheek. Her face distorted, squishing inward before snapping back into place with a boing. She burst out laughing, the sound exactly like the Captain’s. “This is the coolest thing that has ever happened to anyone, ever!”
“Emily, shut up!” Lucas hissed, his voice emerging as Nami’s higher, sharper tone. Panic, cold and sharp, clawed at his throat. He scrambled to his feet, his new body moving with an unfamiliar, agile grace that felt like a betrayal. He patted himself down, and his hand—her hand—slid into the pocket of Nami’s short denim shorts. His fingers closed around cold, hard metal.
He pulled out the universal remote. The LED was dark. Desperately, he pointed it back in the vague direction from which they’d come, at the bright blue sky over the bustling port of wherever the hell they were, and mashed the power button. Nothing. He mashed the red button again and again. It was inert, just a dead piece of tech.
“It’s not working,” he whispered, the dread settling into his new bones. “It’s not working!”
Emily stopped bouncing and peered at the remote. “Maybe it needs to recharge? Like a cooldown period?”
“A cooldown? You don’t put a cooldown on a fucking universe-hopping remote!” Lucas snapped, Nami’s usual irritation coloring his panic perfectly.
“I dunno, seems reasonable. That trip probably used a lot of power,” Emily said, shrugging her massive rubbery shoulders. She looked around, her straw hat tipping back. “So. We’re in One Piece. I’m Luffy. You’re Nami.” A huge, gleaming grin spread across her face again. “This is officially a top-tier adventure. We should find Zoro! Or Sanji! Oh my god, Lucas, Sanji is going to freak out when he sees you!”
The reality of their situation crashed down on Lucas with the weight of the Grand Line. He was trapped. Trapped in the body of the Straw Hats’ navigator, in a world of pirates and Marines and sea monsters, with his best friend gleefully incarnated as a rubber maniac in his head. He clutched the useless remote, the only tether to their old life, as the bright, dangerous world of One Piece bustled around them. The cooldown, if that’s what it was, could be minutes. It could be days.
Or it could be forever. And they had no choice but to start living it.
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You and your group of friends won a raffle that awarded you with five tickets to Spooky Island! It was the new resort island being endorsed by Sydney Sweeney, it’s gimmick was supposedly a spooky and entertaining summer experience, and since you guys were on summer break, you definitely thought it was a sign to enjoy the island.
Little did you know that the island held a dark secret. It was secretly the den of a clan of demons who steal human bodies with a relic called the Daemon Ritus. They luckily managed to steal Sydney Sweeneys body when she visited the island for a photo shoot… and now she and her fellow demons trick people into going to the island to steal their bodies. You found out about this secret and promised to help out, so long as you get some benefits…
The email notification pinged on my phone just as I was stuffing it into my backpack, and the bold subject line made my heart skip: CONGRATULATIONS! YOU AND YOUR FRIENDS HAVE WON A VIP TRIP TO SPOOKY ISLAND!
"Guys, check this out!" I practically shouted, nearly knocking over Kaori’s iced coffee as I jumped up from the tiny café table. Nate, Jade, Kaori, and Trisha all turned—mid-bickering over who had to sit in the middle seat on the train later—as I shook my phone at them. "We just won an all-expenses-paid trip to Spooky Island!"
Nate snatched the phone out of my hands, scrolling with the urgency of a man about to abandon all responsibilities. "The Spooky Island? The one with the Sydney Sweeney ads where everyone is making out in slow motion?" His grin widened. "Private villas, endless drinks, adult-friendly activities—hell yes."
Trisha flicked a sugar packet at his forehead. "Or, y’know, we end up in some weird Satanic beach ritual à la Midsommar."
Jade smirked, swirling her latte. "Worth it."
Kaori tucked a strand of pink-streaked hair behind her ear and shrugged. "Sydney Sweeney wouldn’t lie. She’s got integrity."
Before Trisha could list all the ways we’d probably get kidnapped, I hit CONFIRM.
Four days later, we landed on the island, and the second the plane doors opened, the heat and the bassline hit us like a wave. The beach ahead was alive—palm trees strung with glowing lanterns, groups of glossy-skinned people tangled in hammocks, and the distant sound of someone moaning like they’d just discovered pleasure for the first time.
Nate pushed his sunglasses onto his head, his expression pure delight. "Oh, we’re definitely supposed to be naked here."
He wasn’t wrong. Down by the shoreline, a girl in nothing but body paint was twerking against a guy wearing only a very loose cowboy hat. A group of guys sprinted past, their tans suddenly very even, and two girls were locked in a kiss so aggressive they nearly toppled into the surf.
Trisha’s eyebrows shot up. "Okay, I take it back. This is exactly my brand of cult activity."
A staff member—wearing what could barely be called a bikini—bounced over, dangling neon wristbands in front of us. "Welcome to your best summer ever!" she cheered, snapping them onto our wrists. "Rules are simple: No clothes, no shame, no regrets!"
Behind her, someone shrieked as they jumped off a pier naked, cannonballing into a cheering crowd. Another couple had tequila poured straight onto their bodies, licking it off each other’s stomachs between laughter.
Jade nudged me with her elbow. "Told you we should’ve packed more than sunscreen."
Nate stretched his arms out, breathing in the salty, debauchery-filled air. "This is the kind of horror story I can get behind."
The staff member motioned for us to follow her toward the hotel, her barely-there bikini bottoms swaying hypnotically with every step. Nate and I exchanged a glance, both of us shamelessly locked onto the mesmerizing rhythm of her ass.
"Eyes up here, you two," Trisha snapped, smacking me upside the head hard enough to make my teeth click.
Kaori and Jade flanked Nate, each grabbing a handful of his cheeks—one pinching, the other twisting—until he yelped.
"Ow! Okay, okay!" Nate rubbed his face, grinning despite himself. "What? Like you weren’t looking."
Jade rolled her eyes. "We were. But we have manners."
Kaori smirked, adjusting her sunglasses. "And better poker faces."
The staff member glanced back over her shoulder, clearly aware of the chaos behind her, and winked. "Don’t worry, boys. You’ll have plenty to stare at soon enough."
Trisha groaned. "Oh, we’re doomed."
Once we arrived at the hotel we followed a new staff member—a guy this time—through the hotel’s sleek, glass-walled lobby. His fitted polo barely contained his sculpted shoulders, and the way his tan shorts clung to his thighs was downright criminal. Every step made the fabric shift in ways that had even Trisha biting her lip.
The suite was exactly like the one from the ad—plush white couches, floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing the ocean, and what looked like a champagne tub big enough for six. The staff member turned with a grin, dangling a keycard between his fingers. "Private beach access, 24-hour room service, anything you need." His voice dipped lower. "Just give me a call."
Jade and Kaori were not subtle about their gaze dragging from his chest down to the very noticeable bulge in his shorts. Nate nudged me, smirking.
"Eyes up," I stage-whispered, mimicking Trisha’s earlier scolding.
Trisha didn’t even have the decency to look guilty. "Oh, shut up. Like you two weren’t drooling over the last one."
The staff member chuckled, stretching his arms overhead in a way that made the hem of his polo ride up, revealing a strip of toned abs. "Enjoy your stay," he murmured, tossing the keycard onto the counter with deliberate slowness.
The second the door shut behind him, Nate muttered, "That was absolutely on purpose."
Kaori fanned herself with a menu. "And I respect the hustle."
Jade flopped onto the couch, sighing. "We should just accept that we’re all terrible people."
Trisha popped open the champagne with a satisfying pop. "No regrets, right?"
Nate stretched out on the couch with an exaggerated sigh, tilting his head toward the balcony where we could hear the distant laughter from the beach. "Alright, who's brave enough to hit the nude beach with me?"
Trisha scoffed into her champagne glass. "Oh, come on. You're literally just asking so you can see one of us naked."
Nate didn't even try to deny it, shrugging with a shameless grin. "Guilty as charged. But can you blame me? Like, look at you three." He gestured lazily between them. "Jade, you’ve got that whole goddess of temptation thing going on, Trish, you’re built like a Bond girl, and Kaori—" His smirk deepened. "Kaori’s the real mystery. Always covered up, even in swimsuits. Rash guards? Shorts? I mean, what’s under there, huh?"
Kaori almost choked on her drink, her cheeks flushing pink as she immediately broke into rapid-fire Japanese, hands gesturing wildly like she was trying to bat the words out of the air.
Trisha and Jade practically launched themselves at Nate—Trisha delivering a sharp slap to his chest while Jade went straight for his face, flicking his nose hard. "You animal," Jade hissed, though her lips were twitching with amusement.
I scooted closer to Kaori, rubbing her back while she kept murmuring in Japanese, her fingers twisting nervously in the hem of her oversized shirt. "Hey, ignore him," I said softly. "You know Nate—zero brain-to-mouth filter."
Kaori groaned, pressing her palms to her burning cheeks. "Baka!"
Nate just grinned, rubbing his sore nose. "Worth."
Kaori took a deep breath, fingers finally relaxing from their death grip on her shirt. She turned to me with a small, grateful smile. "Thanks, Jason," she murmured, smoothing her shirt down. "But—under no circumstances am I going to that nude beach." She shot Nate a sharp glare. "And no bikinis."
Nate groaned dramatically, flopping back onto the couch. "You're killing me, Kaori."
Jade rolled her eyes. "Oh no, how ever will you survive without seeing Kaori's forbidden skin—"
Trisha tossed a pillow at his face. "Get over it."
I clapped my hands together. "Alright, since we clearly have divergent interests, how about we split up today?" I glanced around the room. "Explore different parts of the island, report back, and make a proper itinerary for the week?"
Nate perked up immediately. "Nude beach. Calling it."
Trisha snorted. "Of course you are." She stretched her arms overhead before nodding toward the island's center. "I was eyeing that hiking trail up to the mountain. Good views, probably less..." She gestured vaguely toward the window where someone had just shrieked, "CHUG CHUG CHUG!"
Jade was already scrolling through the resort’s food map on her phone. "Buffets. All of them."
Kaori folded her arms, but her expression softened. "Surfing lessons. The clothed kind."
And me? I grinned. "The mall. Rumor has it designer brands here are practically giving stuff away."
Nate whistled. "A man of culture."
Trisha nudged me. "Better grab me something nice."
Jade perked up. "Oh! And if you see any limited-edition K-Beauty—"
Kaori smacked her lightly. "Jade."
We all laughed, the tension from earlier dissolving into easy excitement.
Nate stretched with a smug smirk. "Alright. Let the real Spooky Island adventure begin."
We all went our separate ways, with me making everyone promise to message our group chat if they spotted anything wild—or if Nate ended up mooning the entire beach (again).
The rumors about the mall were no joke. Within an hour, I had a legit Rolex wrapped around my wrist, its polished face glinting under the tropical lights. A hundred bucks. A hundred freaking bucks. I kept checking the paperwork—Spooky Island was listed as an official retailer, fine print and all—but my brain still couldn’t process it.
I was halfway to the limited-edition Jordans display when my blood froze mid-step.
Sydney. Sweeney.
Right there, strolling past the Sunglass Hut like this was any normal Tuesday. And she wasn’t alone. A guy I barely registered—tall, broad, looking equal parts confused and thrilled—was being towed along by her manicured grip, Sydney’s free hand pressing a finger to her lips in a shhh motion.
I didn’t even think. My feet moved before my brain could yell BAD IDEA. They ducked into a discreet hallway marked STAFF ONLY, and by the time I crept close enough to peek, Sydney had the guy pinned against the wall, one hand fisted in his shirt.
Sydney pressed closer, her fingers curling into the man's shirt with predatory grace. "You ever fuck someone with one of these meatsuits yet?" she murmured, her breath hot against his ear.
The guy tensed, swallowing hard. "N-no. Just took this body maybe an hour ago." He blinked twice, rolling his shoulders like the sensation of human skin was still foreign. "Still getting used to the... the equipment."
Sydney snorted, running a fingertip down his chest in a way that made him shiver. "Equipment's the same, no matter what species wears it. Just hotter and sweatier now." Her grin widened, all sharp amusement. "Guess I'm your first proper ride in this flesh, huh?"
The guy exhaled sharply, eyes darting down to where her thigh had slotted between his. "Uh. Yeah."
"Good." Sydney pressed her lips to his pulse point, humming when his nails dug into the wall behind him. "Let me show you how humans play."
My phone buzzed violently in my pocket—Nate: GUYS THE BEACH IS OFFICIALLY A NO-CLOTHES-FROM-THE-WAIST-DOWN ZONE???—but I barely registered it. Because I was too busy trying to process whatever weird-ass conversation Sydney was having with this guy.
Meatsuits? Species? What the hell did that even mean?
But then Sydney pressed her thigh between his legs, and the guy let out a sharp, desperate sound, and suddenly, the existential crisis in my brain took an immediate backseat.
Sydney hooked her fingers in the hem of her dress and yanked it up past her hips, revealing the kind of lingerie that made my blood pressure spike. The guy—who was definitely not confused anymore—lunged forward, mouth meeting hers in a kiss that looked more like a fight for dominance than anything tender.
She shoved him back against the wall, and he went willingly, groaning as her hands slid down his body like she was mapping every inch.
My brain short-circuited as Sydney rocked her hips against the guy, her nails raking down his back hard enough to leave red trails. The guy groaned against her neck, fingers digging into her waist as she rode him with ruthless precision. Every movement was pure hunger—the way she rolled her hips, the way she arched her back as he dragged his teeth along her collarbone. My cock strained against my shorts, aching, and before I could stop myself, I had my hand wrapped around it, stroking in time with Sydney’s rhythm.
She was relentless, bouncing on him with bruising force, her moans low and dark as the guy slammed into her. “Fuck me like you mean it,” she growled, gripping his hair to yank his head back. The guy gasped, his body shuddering, and judging by the way his grip tightened on her hips, he was already close.
I wasn’t far behind. Sydney’s thighs tensed, her body clenching around him as she let out a breathless laugh. “Yeah, that’s it—feel it.” Then she locked onto his mouth, swallowing his moans as he buried himself deep inside her. His whole body went rigid, a choked cry tearing from his throat as he came, pulse after pulse, hands clawing at her skin as she milked him dry.
Sydney followed seconds later, her back arching violently, head thrown back—but instead of a moan, she let out a sound that sent ice through my veins. A rough, guttural snarl, inhuman and raw, like something out of a nightmare.
Holy shit. My fingers clenched, my orgasm hitting me in a wave I couldn’t stop, spurting hot and thick onto the floor between my feet.
The moment I came back to my senses, I was shoving myself back into my shorts, my pulse roaring in my ears. That sound—it wasn’t right. Whatever the hell Sydney was, she wasn’t human, and I needed to be gone.
I didn’t even bother zipping up properly before bolting for the door, my breath coming in sharp, panicked gasps. Just as my fingers brushed the handle, I heard it—Sydney’s sharp inhale.
“Cum,” she muttered, voice dripping with menace.
Dread coiled in my gut as I risked one last glance back. Sydney had dropped into a crouch, her fingers tracing through the mess I’d left behind. Her gaze flicked up—right toward the shadows where I’d been standing—and the growl that followed sent me scrambling forward.
“Someone here still owns their flesh,” she snarled. “And they saw us.”
I didn’t stick around to hear the rest.
Little did you know that the island held a dark secret. It was secretly the den of a clan of demons who steal human bodies with a relic called the Daemon Ritus. They luckily managed to steal Sydney Sweeneys body when she visited the island for a photo shoot… and now she and her fellow demons trick people into going to the island to steal their bodies. You found out about this secret and promised to help out, so long as you get some benefits…
The email notification pinged on my phone just as I was stuffing it into my backpack, and the bold subject line made my heart skip: CONGRATULATIONS! YOU AND YOUR FRIENDS HAVE WON A VIP TRIP TO SPOOKY ISLAND!
"Guys, check this out!" I practically shouted, nearly knocking over Kaori’s iced coffee as I jumped up from the tiny café table. Nate, Jade, Kaori, and Trisha all turned—mid-bickering over who had to sit in the middle seat on the train later—as I shook my phone at them. "We just won an all-expenses-paid trip to Spooky Island!"
Nate snatched the phone out of my hands, scrolling with the urgency of a man about to abandon all responsibilities. "The Spooky Island? The one with the Sydney Sweeney ads where everyone is making out in slow motion?" His grin widened. "Private villas, endless drinks, adult-friendly activities—hell yes."
Trisha flicked a sugar packet at his forehead. "Or, y’know, we end up in some weird Satanic beach ritual à la Midsommar."
Jade smirked, swirling her latte. "Worth it."
Kaori tucked a strand of pink-streaked hair behind her ear and shrugged. "Sydney Sweeney wouldn’t lie. She’s got integrity."
Before Trisha could list all the ways we’d probably get kidnapped, I hit CONFIRM.
Four days later, we landed on the island, and the second the plane doors opened, the heat and the bassline hit us like a wave. The beach ahead was alive—palm trees strung with glowing lanterns, groups of glossy-skinned people tangled in hammocks, and the distant sound of someone moaning like they’d just discovered pleasure for the first time.
Nate pushed his sunglasses onto his head, his expression pure delight. "Oh, we’re definitely supposed to be naked here."
He wasn’t wrong. Down by the shoreline, a girl in nothing but body paint was twerking against a guy wearing only a very loose cowboy hat. A group of guys sprinted past, their tans suddenly very even, and two girls were locked in a kiss so aggressive they nearly toppled into the surf.
Trisha’s eyebrows shot up. "Okay, I take it back. This is exactly my brand of cult activity."
A staff member—wearing what could barely be called a bikini—bounced over, dangling neon wristbands in front of us. "Welcome to your best summer ever!" she cheered, snapping them onto our wrists. "Rules are simple: No clothes, no shame, no regrets!"
Behind her, someone shrieked as they jumped off a pier naked, cannonballing into a cheering crowd. Another couple had tequila poured straight onto their bodies, licking it off each other’s stomachs between laughter.
Jade nudged me with her elbow. "Told you we should’ve packed more than sunscreen."
Nate stretched his arms out, breathing in the salty, debauchery-filled air. "This is the kind of horror story I can get behind."
The staff member motioned for us to follow her toward the hotel, her barely-there bikini bottoms swaying hypnotically with every step. Nate and I exchanged a glance, both of us shamelessly locked onto the mesmerizing rhythm of her ass.
"Eyes up here, you two," Trisha snapped, smacking me upside the head hard enough to make my teeth click.
Kaori and Jade flanked Nate, each grabbing a handful of his cheeks—one pinching, the other twisting—until he yelped.
"Ow! Okay, okay!" Nate rubbed his face, grinning despite himself. "What? Like you weren’t looking."
Jade rolled her eyes. "We were. But we have manners."
Kaori smirked, adjusting her sunglasses. "And better poker faces."
The staff member glanced back over her shoulder, clearly aware of the chaos behind her, and winked. "Don’t worry, boys. You’ll have plenty to stare at soon enough."
Trisha groaned. "Oh, we’re doomed."
Once we arrived at the hotel we followed a new staff member—a guy this time—through the hotel’s sleek, glass-walled lobby. His fitted polo barely contained his sculpted shoulders, and the way his tan shorts clung to his thighs was downright criminal. Every step made the fabric shift in ways that had even Trisha biting her lip.
The suite was exactly like the one from the ad—plush white couches, floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing the ocean, and what looked like a champagne tub big enough for six. The staff member turned with a grin, dangling a keycard between his fingers. "Private beach access, 24-hour room service, anything you need." His voice dipped lower. "Just give me a call."
Jade and Kaori were not subtle about their gaze dragging from his chest down to the very noticeable bulge in his shorts. Nate nudged me, smirking.
"Eyes up," I stage-whispered, mimicking Trisha’s earlier scolding.
Trisha didn’t even have the decency to look guilty. "Oh, shut up. Like you two weren’t drooling over the last one."
The staff member chuckled, stretching his arms overhead in a way that made the hem of his polo ride up, revealing a strip of toned abs. "Enjoy your stay," he murmured, tossing the keycard onto the counter with deliberate slowness.
The second the door shut behind him, Nate muttered, "That was absolutely on purpose."
Kaori fanned herself with a menu. "And I respect the hustle."
Jade flopped onto the couch, sighing. "We should just accept that we’re all terrible people."
Trisha popped open the champagne with a satisfying pop. "No regrets, right?"
Nate stretched out on the couch with an exaggerated sigh, tilting his head toward the balcony where we could hear the distant laughter from the beach. "Alright, who's brave enough to hit the nude beach with me?"
Trisha scoffed into her champagne glass. "Oh, come on. You're literally just asking so you can see one of us naked."
Nate didn't even try to deny it, shrugging with a shameless grin. "Guilty as charged. But can you blame me? Like, look at you three." He gestured lazily between them. "Jade, you’ve got that whole goddess of temptation thing going on, Trish, you’re built like a Bond girl, and Kaori—" His smirk deepened. "Kaori’s the real mystery. Always covered up, even in swimsuits. Rash guards? Shorts? I mean, what’s under there, huh?"
Kaori almost choked on her drink, her cheeks flushing pink as she immediately broke into rapid-fire Japanese, hands gesturing wildly like she was trying to bat the words out of the air.
Trisha and Jade practically launched themselves at Nate—Trisha delivering a sharp slap to his chest while Jade went straight for his face, flicking his nose hard. "You animal," Jade hissed, though her lips were twitching with amusement.
I scooted closer to Kaori, rubbing her back while she kept murmuring in Japanese, her fingers twisting nervously in the hem of her oversized shirt. "Hey, ignore him," I said softly. "You know Nate—zero brain-to-mouth filter."
Kaori groaned, pressing her palms to her burning cheeks. "Baka!"
Nate just grinned, rubbing his sore nose. "Worth."
Kaori took a deep breath, fingers finally relaxing from their death grip on her shirt. She turned to me with a small, grateful smile. "Thanks, Jason," she murmured, smoothing her shirt down. "But—under no circumstances am I going to that nude beach." She shot Nate a sharp glare. "And no bikinis."
Nate groaned dramatically, flopping back onto the couch. "You're killing me, Kaori."
Jade rolled her eyes. "Oh no, how ever will you survive without seeing Kaori's forbidden skin—"
Trisha tossed a pillow at his face. "Get over it."
I clapped my hands together. "Alright, since we clearly have divergent interests, how about we split up today?" I glanced around the room. "Explore different parts of the island, report back, and make a proper itinerary for the week?"
Nate perked up immediately. "Nude beach. Calling it."
Trisha snorted. "Of course you are." She stretched her arms overhead before nodding toward the island's center. "I was eyeing that hiking trail up to the mountain. Good views, probably less..." She gestured vaguely toward the window where someone had just shrieked, "CHUG CHUG CHUG!"
Jade was already scrolling through the resort’s food map on her phone. "Buffets. All of them."
Kaori folded her arms, but her expression softened. "Surfing lessons. The clothed kind."
And me? I grinned. "The mall. Rumor has it designer brands here are practically giving stuff away."
Nate whistled. "A man of culture."
Trisha nudged me. "Better grab me something nice."
Jade perked up. "Oh! And if you see any limited-edition K-Beauty—"
Kaori smacked her lightly. "Jade."
We all laughed, the tension from earlier dissolving into easy excitement.
Nate stretched with a smug smirk. "Alright. Let the real Spooky Island adventure begin."
We all went our separate ways, with me making everyone promise to message our group chat if they spotted anything wild—or if Nate ended up mooning the entire beach (again).
The rumors about the mall were no joke. Within an hour, I had a legit Rolex wrapped around my wrist, its polished face glinting under the tropical lights. A hundred bucks. A hundred freaking bucks. I kept checking the paperwork—Spooky Island was listed as an official retailer, fine print and all—but my brain still couldn’t process it.
I was halfway to the limited-edition Jordans display when my blood froze mid-step.
Sydney. Sweeney.
Right there, strolling past the Sunglass Hut like this was any normal Tuesday. And she wasn’t alone. A guy I barely registered—tall, broad, looking equal parts confused and thrilled—was being towed along by her manicured grip, Sydney’s free hand pressing a finger to her lips in a shhh motion.
I didn’t even think. My feet moved before my brain could yell BAD IDEA. They ducked into a discreet hallway marked STAFF ONLY, and by the time I crept close enough to peek, Sydney had the guy pinned against the wall, one hand fisted in his shirt.
Sydney pressed closer, her fingers curling into the man's shirt with predatory grace. "You ever fuck someone with one of these meatsuits yet?" she murmured, her breath hot against his ear.
The guy tensed, swallowing hard. "N-no. Just took this body maybe an hour ago." He blinked twice, rolling his shoulders like the sensation of human skin was still foreign. "Still getting used to the... the equipment."
Sydney snorted, running a fingertip down his chest in a way that made him shiver. "Equipment's the same, no matter what species wears it. Just hotter and sweatier now." Her grin widened, all sharp amusement. "Guess I'm your first proper ride in this flesh, huh?"
The guy exhaled sharply, eyes darting down to where her thigh had slotted between his. "Uh. Yeah."
"Good." Sydney pressed her lips to his pulse point, humming when his nails dug into the wall behind him. "Let me show you how humans play."
My phone buzzed violently in my pocket—Nate: GUYS THE BEACH IS OFFICIALLY A NO-CLOTHES-FROM-THE-WAIST-DOWN ZONE???—but I barely registered it. Because I was too busy trying to process whatever weird-ass conversation Sydney was having with this guy.
Meatsuits? Species? What the hell did that even mean?
But then Sydney pressed her thigh between his legs, and the guy let out a sharp, desperate sound, and suddenly, the existential crisis in my brain took an immediate backseat.
Sydney hooked her fingers in the hem of her dress and yanked it up past her hips, revealing the kind of lingerie that made my blood pressure spike. The guy—who was definitely not confused anymore—lunged forward, mouth meeting hers in a kiss that looked more like a fight for dominance than anything tender.
She shoved him back against the wall, and he went willingly, groaning as her hands slid down his body like she was mapping every inch.
My brain short-circuited as Sydney rocked her hips against the guy, her nails raking down his back hard enough to leave red trails. The guy groaned against her neck, fingers digging into her waist as she rode him with ruthless precision. Every movement was pure hunger—the way she rolled her hips, the way she arched her back as he dragged his teeth along her collarbone. My cock strained against my shorts, aching, and before I could stop myself, I had my hand wrapped around it, stroking in time with Sydney’s rhythm.
She was relentless, bouncing on him with bruising force, her moans low and dark as the guy slammed into her. “Fuck me like you mean it,” she growled, gripping his hair to yank his head back. The guy gasped, his body shuddering, and judging by the way his grip tightened on her hips, he was already close.
I wasn’t far behind. Sydney’s thighs tensed, her body clenching around him as she let out a breathless laugh. “Yeah, that’s it—feel it.” Then she locked onto his mouth, swallowing his moans as he buried himself deep inside her. His whole body went rigid, a choked cry tearing from his throat as he came, pulse after pulse, hands clawing at her skin as she milked him dry.
Sydney followed seconds later, her back arching violently, head thrown back—but instead of a moan, she let out a sound that sent ice through my veins. A rough, guttural snarl, inhuman and raw, like something out of a nightmare.
Holy shit. My fingers clenched, my orgasm hitting me in a wave I couldn’t stop, spurting hot and thick onto the floor between my feet.
The moment I came back to my senses, I was shoving myself back into my shorts, my pulse roaring in my ears. That sound—it wasn’t right. Whatever the hell Sydney was, she wasn’t human, and I needed to be gone.
I didn’t even bother zipping up properly before bolting for the door, my breath coming in sharp, panicked gasps. Just as my fingers brushed the handle, I heard it—Sydney’s sharp inhale.
“Cum,” she muttered, voice dripping with menace.
Dread coiled in my gut as I risked one last glance back. Sydney had dropped into a crouch, her fingers tracing through the mess I’d left behind. Her gaze flicked up—right toward the shadows where I’d been standing—and the growl that followed sent me scrambling forward.
“Someone here still owns their flesh,” she snarled. “And they saw us.”
I didn’t stick around to hear the rest.
possession
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Jennifer is obsessed with her favorite streamer Anna. She uses a magic link she found online to trick Anna into letting her take over her body. Little does she know, but Anna has more than a few secrets she keeps to herself.
Chapter 1: The Obsession
Jennifer sat in the dim glow of her computer screen. Her average blonde hair was tied back in a messy ponytail. Her face was illuminated by the flickering chat window of Anna's Twitch stream. She was just another face in the digital crowd. An early fan, a loyal donor, but never once acknowledged. For years, Jennifer had poured her heart and wallet into Anna's content. The streamer was her everything. A beacon of charisma, wit, and that elusive e-girl aesthetic that made Jennifer's pulse quicken. Anna's streams were a mix of gaming, chit-chat, and ASMR whispers that sent shivers down Jennifer's spine. But it was more than that. It was a crush that bordered on obsession. A one-sided love affair fueled by late-night DMs that went unread and donations that earned only generic "thanks to the chat" shoutouts.
Tonight, Anna was live. Her dark red hair cascaded over her shoulders like a river of blood under the studio lights. She wore aviator-style glasses that perched on her nose. This gave her an intellectual edge that contrasted with her playful banter. Her makeup was flawless. A smokey eye with sharp winged liner made her green eyes pop. Her lips were painted in a cute berry shade, glossed to perfection. Long white nails tapped rhythmically on her keyboard as she navigated through a horror game. Her voice was a sultry mix of excitement and mock fear. "Oh no, chat, the monster's coming! Should I run or fight? Spam F for fight!"
Jennifer leaned forward. Her own body felt inadequate in comparison. She was average in every way. 5'5", a bit curvy from too many sedentary nights, with freckles dotting her nose that she hated. But Anna? From the rare glimpses in award show photos, Anna was fit, leggy, and blessed with curves that she hid under baggy hoodies and high-waisted pants on stream. Never revealing, always teasing. Jennifer had saved those photos. She zoomed in on the elegant dress hugging Anna's form. She imagined what lay beneath. Large breasts, toned legs. Perfection.
As the stream hit a lull, Anna stretched. Her voice was casual. "Alright, chat, BRB for a quick bathroom break. Don't go anywhere. Ads rolling!" The screen switched to a looping sponsor spot. Jennifer's heart raced. This was her moment. She'd found the spell online. It was buried in a shady forum for "reality hackers." A link embedded in a DM, whispered incantations over her keyboard. It promised possession. Temporary, undetectable. A chance to be inside Anna, to feel her world from within.
Her fingers trembled as she opened Instagram on her phone. She typed the DM: "Hey Anna, huge fan! Check this out, it's a fan art link I made for you <3 [link]." She hit send. She whispered the words under her breath. Doubt crept in. Would Anna even check her phone during break? But then, a wave of dizziness hit. The room spun. Her vision blurred. Everything went black.
Chapter 2: Awakening in Foreign Skin
When consciousness returned, it wasn't in her cluttered bedroom. Jennifer blinked. She was disoriented. She stood in a brightly lit bathroom that screamed luxury. Marble counters, a rainfall showerhead, and a mirror that spanned the wall. She was facing a toilet. Phone in hand. Anna's phone, she realized with a jolt. The screen showed her own DM. The link was clicked. It worked.
But something was wrong. No, everything was different. Her chest felt heavy. It was weighted down by two massive orbs that strained against the fabric of a cropped hoodie. Jennifer, now in Anna's body, looked down. But her view was obstructed by the sheer size of them. Double D's at least, maybe bigger. Soft yet firm, jiggling slightly with each breath. A thrill shot through her. It mixed with confusion. She'd imagined this, but the reality was overwhelming.
Then, lower. Her leggings and panties were bunched around her thighs. They exposed what? A warm, pleasing sensation pulsed from her groin. She heard the trickle of liquid hitting the bowl. Panic surged. She glanced down further, past the breasts. She saw it. A penis, moderately sized. Maybe six inches soft, with a pair of balls hanging below. It was circumcised, veiny. Currently mid-stream, urine flowed out in a steady arc.
"What the fuck?" Jennifer's mind screamed. But Anna's voice echoed in her head. No, not echoed. Integrated. Fragments of Anna's psyche flooded in. Calm acceptance, a secret she'd guarded for years. This wasn't a surprise to Anna. It was normal. She was trans, post-top surgery perhaps. But she kept her lower half as is. Hormones had softened her features. They built her curves. But the dick remained. A private truth hidden from the world. Jennifer felt the calming wave wash over her. Anna's memories soothed the freakout. "It's fine," a voice in her head whispered. "You've always been like this. No big deal."
She finished. She shook it off instinctively. Wait, shaking? Jennifer's cis-female habits kicked in. She grabbed a tissue. She wiped delicately. She felt the sensitive skin tingle. Pulling up the panties. Silk, smooth against the shaft. And leggings. She turned to the mirror. Anna stared back. Dark red hair tousled from the stream. Aviator glasses slightly askew. Makeup impeccable. Up close, she was even more stunning. High cheekbones, full lips glistening with gloss. Jennifer posed. She ran Anna's hands over the curves. She cupped the breasts through the fabric. They were real, heavy. Nipples hardened under the touch.
A stir below. The penis twitched. It grew semi-hard. It pressed against the leggings. Arousal built. Foreign yet intoxicating. Jennifer's mind raced: "Oh god, it's getting hard because of me? Her?" She reached down, curious. But stopped. The stream. Chat would be waiting. With eerie ease, Anna's muscle memory guided her out of the bathroom. Down a hallway lined with gaming posters and neon lights. Back to the setup.
Chapter 3: Streaming Through the Veil
The stream room was a gamer's paradise. RGB lights pulsing. A high-end PC humming. Dual monitors showing the paused game and chat exploding with "Where's Anna?" messages. Jennifer sat in the plush chair. Anna's body moved like it had done this a thousand times. She unmuted. She adjusted the mic. She smiled at the camera. Anna's smile, practiced and charming.
"Hey chat, back! Sorry for the wait. Nature calls, you know?" Her voice. Anna's voice. Was smooth, a hint of rasp that fans loved. The chat lit up. Hearts, emotes, donations pinging in. Jennifer felt a rush. This was power. She dove into the game. Commentary flowed naturally. Anna's charisma bled through. Jokes about the monster's "bad hair day." Flirty responses to thirsty comments. "Oh, username123, you'd save me from the zombie? My hero!"
Internally, Jennifer marveled. "I'm her. I'm actually her." The breasts shifted with each gesture. A constant reminder. The penis, now soft again, nestled comfortably. Donations rolled in. $50 from a regular, with a message: "Love the new hair, Anna!" She thanked them. She earned more subs. It felt good, validating. By the end of the session, she'd gained 20 new subscribers. The chat praised her energy.
"Alright, that's it for tonight, lovelies. Thanks for hanging out. See you next time!" She ended the stream. She leaned back with a sigh. Freedom now. Time to explore.
Chapter 4: Secrets in the Closet
Anna's apartment was sleek, modern. High ceilings, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. Jennifer wandered. Anna's long legs carried her effortlessly. The living room had a massive TV. Plush couch. Shelves of merch from collabs. But she wanted answers. Why the secret? How long had Anna been like this?
Into the bedroom. King-sized bed with silk sheets. A vanity cluttered with makeup. The closet was a walk-in dream. Racks of e-girl outfits: hoodies, skirts. But nothing too revealing. Deeper in, hidden drawers. Jennifer pulled one open. Lingerie, silk panties in every color. Some with pouches for accommodation. Another drawer. Hormones, binders? No, post-op stuff. Dilators? Wait, no. Anna's memories clarified. She was trans femme. On HRT for years. But chose to keep her penis. It worked for her. Felt right.
Jennifer stripped. She admired in the full-length mirror. Anna's body naked. Toned abs from gym sessions. Long legs. And those breasts. Perky, nipples pink and erect in the cool air. The penis dangled. Semi-erect from the excitement. She touched it. She gasped at the sensitivity. "So this is what it feels like." But voices. Someone in the living room?
Chapter 5: The Unexpected Guest
Stepping out, still in Anna's hoodie and leggings, Jennifer froze. On the couch sat a girl. Goth perfection. Medium black hair with bangs framing a pale face. Makeup dramatic: black lips, heavy eyeliner. Tattoos snaked up her arms. Skulls, roses in black and gray. Her top was a skimpy tank. Massive fake breasts, at least F-cups, spilled out. Nipples faintly visible through the fabric. Short shorts rode up. They revealed fishnet stockings.
"Hey babe, how'd the stream go?" The voice was husky, familiar. Jennifer's mind clicked. Raven, the cam-girl she'd crushed on before Anna. Famous for explicit shows, body mods, that goth vibe.
"Uh, good. Really good." Anna's voice responded. But Jennifer's thoughts whirled: "Babe? Are they together?"
Raven tilted her head. She noticed the stare. "You okay? You've been eyeing me like it's our first time. Come on, I've been waiting all day. Horny as fuck after my show." She patted the couch. She smirked.
Jennifer's body moved on autopilot. Anna's habits kicked in. She sat, heart pounding. Raven leaned in. Lips brushed Anna's ear. "Missed you. Let's play."
Chapter 6: Tease and Temptation
Raven's hands were everywhere. Sliding under the hoodie. Cupping the breasts. "God, your tits are perfect today. So sensitive." She pinched a nipple. This elicited a moan from Jennifer/Anna. The sensation zinged straight to the groin. The penis stirred.
"You're so hot," Jennifer murmured. Anna's confidence infused the words.
Raven laughed. A throaty sound. "Flatterer. Now, let's see what you've got for me." She knelt. She pulled down the leggings. The silk panties. Pink, Raven's favorite. Bulged with the growing erection. "Ooh, wearing my color? Naughty girl." Her fingers teased through the fabric. Stroking the shaft. Precum leaked. It soaked the silk. The friction was maddening.
Jennifer's mind reeled: "This feels incredible. Like electricity." Raven pulled it out. The penis now fully hard. Seven inches, throbbing. She stroked slowly. Thumb circled the head. Spreading the slickness. "Mmm, you're so ready. Taste?"
Before Jennifer could process, Raven leaned in. Lips parted. The warmth enveloped the tip. Tongue swirled. She sucked. Bobbing. Hand pumped the base. Jennifer gripped the couch. Hips bucked instinctively. "Fuck, Raven. That's amazing."
Raven paused. She stripped her top. Her fake breasts bounced free. Huge, round, with pierced nipples. She squeezed them. Moaning. "Like the view? Now, back to work." She deepthroated. Gagging slightly. Saliva dripped.
Chapter 7: The Climax
Raven stood. She shimmied out of her shorts and panties. Her body was a canvas. Shaved smooth. A tattooed rose above her pussy. It glistened with arousal. She turned. Bent over. Ass presented. Plump, with a tight hole winking. "Your turn, babe. Fuck me."
Jennifer's body took over. Anna's experience guided. She positioned behind. Rubbing the cock against Raven's entrance. Wet, hot. Pushing in, the tightness gripped like a vice. "Oh god." New sensations. The slide, the warmth, the friction.
Raven moaned. "Yes, deeper!" Jennifer thrust. Hands on hips. Building rhythm. Breasts slapped against Raven's back as she leaned over. Faster, harder. The pressure built. Balls tightened.
Raven's cries escalated: "I'm close. Cum with me!" Jennifer pulled out at the last second. Anna's habit, safe. Stroking furiously. Orgasm hit like a wave. Semen spurted across Raven's ass. Ropes of white coated her skin.
Blackout came swift.
Chapter 8: Return and Revelation
Jennifer awoke at her desk. Panties soaked. Chair damp with her own arousal. A smile crept across her face. Perverted, satisfied. Anna was trans. Secret intact. And Raven? Her girlfriend, apparently. The possession worked flawlessly.
Internal thoughts swirled: "I can do it again. Anytime. Feel that power, that pleasure." She glanced at the screen. Anna's stream offline. But Instagram showed a new story. Anna in a cute pose. Captioned "Post-stream vibes <3".
Jennifer licked her lips. Next time, she'd stay longer. Explore more. The obsession had evolved. Now, it was addiction.
Chapter 1: The Obsession
Jennifer sat in the dim glow of her computer screen. Her average blonde hair was tied back in a messy ponytail. Her face was illuminated by the flickering chat window of Anna's Twitch stream. She was just another face in the digital crowd. An early fan, a loyal donor, but never once acknowledged. For years, Jennifer had poured her heart and wallet into Anna's content. The streamer was her everything. A beacon of charisma, wit, and that elusive e-girl aesthetic that made Jennifer's pulse quicken. Anna's streams were a mix of gaming, chit-chat, and ASMR whispers that sent shivers down Jennifer's spine. But it was more than that. It was a crush that bordered on obsession. A one-sided love affair fueled by late-night DMs that went unread and donations that earned only generic "thanks to the chat" shoutouts.
Tonight, Anna was live. Her dark red hair cascaded over her shoulders like a river of blood under the studio lights. She wore aviator-style glasses that perched on her nose. This gave her an intellectual edge that contrasted with her playful banter. Her makeup was flawless. A smokey eye with sharp winged liner made her green eyes pop. Her lips were painted in a cute berry shade, glossed to perfection. Long white nails tapped rhythmically on her keyboard as she navigated through a horror game. Her voice was a sultry mix of excitement and mock fear. "Oh no, chat, the monster's coming! Should I run or fight? Spam F for fight!"
Jennifer leaned forward. Her own body felt inadequate in comparison. She was average in every way. 5'5", a bit curvy from too many sedentary nights, with freckles dotting her nose that she hated. But Anna? From the rare glimpses in award show photos, Anna was fit, leggy, and blessed with curves that she hid under baggy hoodies and high-waisted pants on stream. Never revealing, always teasing. Jennifer had saved those photos. She zoomed in on the elegant dress hugging Anna's form. She imagined what lay beneath. Large breasts, toned legs. Perfection.
As the stream hit a lull, Anna stretched. Her voice was casual. "Alright, chat, BRB for a quick bathroom break. Don't go anywhere. Ads rolling!" The screen switched to a looping sponsor spot. Jennifer's heart raced. This was her moment. She'd found the spell online. It was buried in a shady forum for "reality hackers." A link embedded in a DM, whispered incantations over her keyboard. It promised possession. Temporary, undetectable. A chance to be inside Anna, to feel her world from within.
Her fingers trembled as she opened Instagram on her phone. She typed the DM: "Hey Anna, huge fan! Check this out, it's a fan art link I made for you <3 [link]." She hit send. She whispered the words under her breath. Doubt crept in. Would Anna even check her phone during break? But then, a wave of dizziness hit. The room spun. Her vision blurred. Everything went black.
Chapter 2: Awakening in Foreign Skin
When consciousness returned, it wasn't in her cluttered bedroom. Jennifer blinked. She was disoriented. She stood in a brightly lit bathroom that screamed luxury. Marble counters, a rainfall showerhead, and a mirror that spanned the wall. She was facing a toilet. Phone in hand. Anna's phone, she realized with a jolt. The screen showed her own DM. The link was clicked. It worked.
But something was wrong. No, everything was different. Her chest felt heavy. It was weighted down by two massive orbs that strained against the fabric of a cropped hoodie. Jennifer, now in Anna's body, looked down. But her view was obstructed by the sheer size of them. Double D's at least, maybe bigger. Soft yet firm, jiggling slightly with each breath. A thrill shot through her. It mixed with confusion. She'd imagined this, but the reality was overwhelming.
Then, lower. Her leggings and panties were bunched around her thighs. They exposed what? A warm, pleasing sensation pulsed from her groin. She heard the trickle of liquid hitting the bowl. Panic surged. She glanced down further, past the breasts. She saw it. A penis, moderately sized. Maybe six inches soft, with a pair of balls hanging below. It was circumcised, veiny. Currently mid-stream, urine flowed out in a steady arc.
"What the fuck?" Jennifer's mind screamed. But Anna's voice echoed in her head. No, not echoed. Integrated. Fragments of Anna's psyche flooded in. Calm acceptance, a secret she'd guarded for years. This wasn't a surprise to Anna. It was normal. She was trans, post-top surgery perhaps. But she kept her lower half as is. Hormones had softened her features. They built her curves. But the dick remained. A private truth hidden from the world. Jennifer felt the calming wave wash over her. Anna's memories soothed the freakout. "It's fine," a voice in her head whispered. "You've always been like this. No big deal."
She finished. She shook it off instinctively. Wait, shaking? Jennifer's cis-female habits kicked in. She grabbed a tissue. She wiped delicately. She felt the sensitive skin tingle. Pulling up the panties. Silk, smooth against the shaft. And leggings. She turned to the mirror. Anna stared back. Dark red hair tousled from the stream. Aviator glasses slightly askew. Makeup impeccable. Up close, she was even more stunning. High cheekbones, full lips glistening with gloss. Jennifer posed. She ran Anna's hands over the curves. She cupped the breasts through the fabric. They were real, heavy. Nipples hardened under the touch.
A stir below. The penis twitched. It grew semi-hard. It pressed against the leggings. Arousal built. Foreign yet intoxicating. Jennifer's mind raced: "Oh god, it's getting hard because of me? Her?" She reached down, curious. But stopped. The stream. Chat would be waiting. With eerie ease, Anna's muscle memory guided her out of the bathroom. Down a hallway lined with gaming posters and neon lights. Back to the setup.
Chapter 3: Streaming Through the Veil
The stream room was a gamer's paradise. RGB lights pulsing. A high-end PC humming. Dual monitors showing the paused game and chat exploding with "Where's Anna?" messages. Jennifer sat in the plush chair. Anna's body moved like it had done this a thousand times. She unmuted. She adjusted the mic. She smiled at the camera. Anna's smile, practiced and charming.
"Hey chat, back! Sorry for the wait. Nature calls, you know?" Her voice. Anna's voice. Was smooth, a hint of rasp that fans loved. The chat lit up. Hearts, emotes, donations pinging in. Jennifer felt a rush. This was power. She dove into the game. Commentary flowed naturally. Anna's charisma bled through. Jokes about the monster's "bad hair day." Flirty responses to thirsty comments. "Oh, username123, you'd save me from the zombie? My hero!"
Internally, Jennifer marveled. "I'm her. I'm actually her." The breasts shifted with each gesture. A constant reminder. The penis, now soft again, nestled comfortably. Donations rolled in. $50 from a regular, with a message: "Love the new hair, Anna!" She thanked them. She earned more subs. It felt good, validating. By the end of the session, she'd gained 20 new subscribers. The chat praised her energy.
"Alright, that's it for tonight, lovelies. Thanks for hanging out. See you next time!" She ended the stream. She leaned back with a sigh. Freedom now. Time to explore.
Chapter 4: Secrets in the Closet
Anna's apartment was sleek, modern. High ceilings, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. Jennifer wandered. Anna's long legs carried her effortlessly. The living room had a massive TV. Plush couch. Shelves of merch from collabs. But she wanted answers. Why the secret? How long had Anna been like this?
Into the bedroom. King-sized bed with silk sheets. A vanity cluttered with makeup. The closet was a walk-in dream. Racks of e-girl outfits: hoodies, skirts. But nothing too revealing. Deeper in, hidden drawers. Jennifer pulled one open. Lingerie, silk panties in every color. Some with pouches for accommodation. Another drawer. Hormones, binders? No, post-op stuff. Dilators? Wait, no. Anna's memories clarified. She was trans femme. On HRT for years. But chose to keep her penis. It worked for her. Felt right.
Jennifer stripped. She admired in the full-length mirror. Anna's body naked. Toned abs from gym sessions. Long legs. And those breasts. Perky, nipples pink and erect in the cool air. The penis dangled. Semi-erect from the excitement. She touched it. She gasped at the sensitivity. "So this is what it feels like." But voices. Someone in the living room?
Chapter 5: The Unexpected Guest
Stepping out, still in Anna's hoodie and leggings, Jennifer froze. On the couch sat a girl. Goth perfection. Medium black hair with bangs framing a pale face. Makeup dramatic: black lips, heavy eyeliner. Tattoos snaked up her arms. Skulls, roses in black and gray. Her top was a skimpy tank. Massive fake breasts, at least F-cups, spilled out. Nipples faintly visible through the fabric. Short shorts rode up. They revealed fishnet stockings.
"Hey babe, how'd the stream go?" The voice was husky, familiar. Jennifer's mind clicked. Raven, the cam-girl she'd crushed on before Anna. Famous for explicit shows, body mods, that goth vibe.
"Uh, good. Really good." Anna's voice responded. But Jennifer's thoughts whirled: "Babe? Are they together?"
Raven tilted her head. She noticed the stare. "You okay? You've been eyeing me like it's our first time. Come on, I've been waiting all day. Horny as fuck after my show." She patted the couch. She smirked.
Jennifer's body moved on autopilot. Anna's habits kicked in. She sat, heart pounding. Raven leaned in. Lips brushed Anna's ear. "Missed you. Let's play."
Chapter 6: Tease and Temptation
Raven's hands were everywhere. Sliding under the hoodie. Cupping the breasts. "God, your tits are perfect today. So sensitive." She pinched a nipple. This elicited a moan from Jennifer/Anna. The sensation zinged straight to the groin. The penis stirred.
"You're so hot," Jennifer murmured. Anna's confidence infused the words.
Raven laughed. A throaty sound. "Flatterer. Now, let's see what you've got for me." She knelt. She pulled down the leggings. The silk panties. Pink, Raven's favorite. Bulged with the growing erection. "Ooh, wearing my color? Naughty girl." Her fingers teased through the fabric. Stroking the shaft. Precum leaked. It soaked the silk. The friction was maddening.
Jennifer's mind reeled: "This feels incredible. Like electricity." Raven pulled it out. The penis now fully hard. Seven inches, throbbing. She stroked slowly. Thumb circled the head. Spreading the slickness. "Mmm, you're so ready. Taste?"
Before Jennifer could process, Raven leaned in. Lips parted. The warmth enveloped the tip. Tongue swirled. She sucked. Bobbing. Hand pumped the base. Jennifer gripped the couch. Hips bucked instinctively. "Fuck, Raven. That's amazing."
Raven paused. She stripped her top. Her fake breasts bounced free. Huge, round, with pierced nipples. She squeezed them. Moaning. "Like the view? Now, back to work." She deepthroated. Gagging slightly. Saliva dripped.
Chapter 7: The Climax
Raven stood. She shimmied out of her shorts and panties. Her body was a canvas. Shaved smooth. A tattooed rose above her pussy. It glistened with arousal. She turned. Bent over. Ass presented. Plump, with a tight hole winking. "Your turn, babe. Fuck me."
Jennifer's body took over. Anna's experience guided. She positioned behind. Rubbing the cock against Raven's entrance. Wet, hot. Pushing in, the tightness gripped like a vice. "Oh god." New sensations. The slide, the warmth, the friction.
Raven moaned. "Yes, deeper!" Jennifer thrust. Hands on hips. Building rhythm. Breasts slapped against Raven's back as she leaned over. Faster, harder. The pressure built. Balls tightened.
Raven's cries escalated: "I'm close. Cum with me!" Jennifer pulled out at the last second. Anna's habit, safe. Stroking furiously. Orgasm hit like a wave. Semen spurted across Raven's ass. Ropes of white coated her skin.
Blackout came swift.
Chapter 8: Return and Revelation
Jennifer awoke at her desk. Panties soaked. Chair damp with her own arousal. A smile crept across her face. Perverted, satisfied. Anna was trans. Secret intact. And Raven? Her girlfriend, apparently. The possession worked flawlessly.
Internal thoughts swirled: "I can do it again. Anytime. Feel that power, that pleasure." She glanced at the screen. Anna's stream offline. But Instagram showed a new story. Anna in a cute pose. Captioned "Post-stream vibes <3".
Jennifer licked her lips. Next time, she'd stay longer. Explore more. The obsession had evolved. Now, it was addiction.
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One day, a man wakes up in another world. There, he discovers that he has the power to possess other living things! However, there's a lot that he doesn't know. Like how this world works, how he got here, or why he's also dead!? But joining him to solve this mystery is Lilima, a witch who he becomes bound to. Poe now seeks answers about his death!
The bright blue sky shone down, with sunlight beaming its warmth upon the land. Birds chirped and the rustling of the tree branches as the wind blew filled the air with the sounds of life. To the north, an expansive open field dotted occasionally with trees. To the west, a dense forest with monsters and animals; beyond that, a mountain range where a large dragon took roost.
Footsteps softly crunched the leaves that littered the ground as a witch, carrying a basket of ingredients necessary for spells and potions, walked back towards town. Her robe was battered and her hat was covered in mud and dirt. She used her staff, which was taller than she was, even with the hat, as a walking cane with her other hand. The bright clear orb that adorned the top reflected the sunlight brilliantly.
"I HATE coming out here to forage," she groaned as she continued walking. She didn't exactly have much of a choice though. Too poor to afford anything of good quality in the market, this was her only option. "Too many bugs, those stupid boars, and not to mention those fucking angry trees!" She sighed. "At least this should keep me for another two weeks if I'm lucky."
The path ahead was long back towards town, but relatively peaceful. A few trees were around, but the mostly open spaces made it easy to see any danger that would be approaching, or anything out of the ordinary. Such as another person, walking around aimlessly and very confused near a tree. The witch slowed her pace, though still wary. Thieves and bandits were common around the area. She gripped onto her staff tightly and readied herself.
"Hello sir," she said, trying her best to sound confident. "Are you okay? You seem lost?"
The man was odd in appearance to say the least. Rather than traditional wear or leather that the witch expected, the man wore just a simple shirt with a depiction of some sort of being on the front in bright colors. His pants were a simple denim pair of jeans and his shoes were sneakers, scuffed from years of wear. He didn't have any sort of weapon on him, nor pouches or a bag with him. From the lack of supplies, the witch thought this man had been the victim of a robbery.
"Huh? Oh, thank goodness! Another person!" the man said excitedly. "I don't know why, but you have to help me! I don't know where I am and when I try to go anywhere, I'm stuck! Look!" The man tried to reach out to the witch, but his hand was stopped, as though touching an invisible wall.
The witch looked at the way the man's hand was stopped. She cautiously reached her hand out, as some monsters were known to create invisible barriers, but none of them should be around here. If there was, it was something that absolutely needed to be reported to the Mage Guild. To her relief, as she reached her hand out, there was nothing stopping her.
"Okay, what the hell?" the man said, scratching his head. He repeatedly tried to reach out, but he was still stopped by some unseen force.
"Is it only here?" the witch asked, starting to move around the area to get a better understanding.
"No, it's all around this tree. I don't know why, but I've been stuck here for days." The man groaned, squatting down and scratching his head again. "You're the first person I've seen in a long time."
"Oh," the witch said, "That is to be expected. This pathway isn't usually frequented because of the dangerous forest nearby. Can you show me exactly where you get stopped?"
The man showed the witch, and she carved into the ground to show the boundary. It was a square shape, centered around the tree that was nearby. The witch crossed her arms, concerned. The way that this was laid out was clearly some sort of magical effect. But, it was no ordinary monster that could have done this. Yet at the same time, if some creature powerful enough to do this was around, there would have been some sort of alert. The only conclusion that she could draw is that this was created by another mage.
"You said that you hadn't seen someone else for a long time. What happened before that?" the witch asked.
"Before that…" The man crossed his arms to think, tapping his foot. "I remember walking through the city at the crosswalk. I had my headphones on at the time and I was listening to something. I couldn't hear the sound of the bus until it was too late. Then it felt like I was floating and I remember someone was talking to me. Then it's really fuzzy after that. The next clear thing I remember is that I woke up here on the ground. And then several days passed until we reach just now. It's weird though. I spent a few days stuck here, but I didn't feel hungry or anything. It didn't even get that cold during the night."
The witch tilted her head in confusion. "Headphones? Bus? What are those things?"
"Wait, you don't know what headphones are? Or a bus? Hang on, hang on, where am I?"
"You're in the outskirts of Fauxivi. Specifically, you're to the southwest," the witch said. She tilted her staff slightly and created a large image of the map of the surrounding area.
"What the-?" the man said in shock. "How are you doing that? Holograms?"
"Doing what?"
"That!" He gestured to the map. "How did you make that appear?"
"It's just a simple spell, really. It's nothing that advanced. A very basic beginner spell, actually."
"Spell?" The man looked around, tapping on the invisible boundary. He looked at the witch, then at the map, then back to the witch. He gulped and took a deep breath. "Tell me, have you ever heard of a place called America, or Japan, or France?"
The witch shook her head. "I can't say that I'm familiar with any of them. They aren't any nations in the world; nor any cities."
The man pounded his fist on the barrier, causing the witch to recoil backwards slightly. "I knew it. I've been sent to another world."
"Another world? You mean, you've travelled dimensions?" The witch seemed rather stunned, but she didn't sound like she doubted the man.
"It would appear so. I'm not from your world." The man paced around, running his hand through his hair before stomping on the ground repeatedly. "Ugh! I finally get to go to another world full of magic and I'm stuck in this stupid box! I don't even know why I'm here!"
"I may be able to get you out," the witch said.
The man turned to her. "Really? How?"
The witch tapped her staff against the boundary and there was a shimmering light. "It looks like someone cast a binding spell on you. Meaning that something around has you bound and stuck here. If I can find what it is, I might be able to undo it." She points over to the tree. "Whatever it is, it seems like it's there."
"Could it be the tree itself?" the man asked, walking over to it.
The witch shook her head as she got closer to the tree. "No. Binding spells like this don't work on living things. They have to be inorganic, like a rock or a sword. It could be as big as a carriage, or as small as a rusty nail." She set down her staff against the tree. "I'm going to climb up here and see if I can find anything."
"Are you sure?" the man asked.
"Don't worry. I'm a seasoned forager." The witch smiled wide and proud before getting a grip on the tree. "Just get below me and get ready to catch me if something happens." The man nodded and got into position.
The witch climbed up the tree, being careful to only grab and climb on the branches that could support her weight. She scoured around the tree, trying to look for anything out of the ordinary at first. With her experienced eyes, no detail like that would have gotten past her. However, she didn't see anything, but her instincts told her that there was something more. She put her hands together and began to chant softly. Light glowed from her fingertips as she traced sigils and glyphs into the air.
There, in the tree branches, she notices a shimmering of something hidden with magic. Cautiously, she reached forward and touched the shimmering.
In a brief second, it disappeared and the witch was face to face with the skull of a decaying corpse.
"AAAAAHHH!" she screamed, recoiling back and losing her balance, falling out of the tree.
"Shit!" The man reaches his arms out to catch her.
The next thing the man knew, he was on the ground, sprawled out. His vision was fuzzy, but blinking slowly adjusted his vision. He looked left and right, trying to see if the witch was okay, but he didn't see her anywhere.
"He-!"
The man stopped as he clutched his throat. The voice that he just spoke with was not his own. It sounded like the witch's voice.
What the hell? he thought. Did something happen when she fell? Why did I sound like her?
"Hello?" He quickly covered his mouth. That was definitely not his voice; it was certainly the witch's.
Cautiously, he pulled his hands away from his mouth, looking down at his hands. They were smooth and gentle, not at all like his own. The nails were polished and refined, and jewelry adorned the fingers and wrists. The man looked down at himself. Two large breasts sat on his chest, as well as the witch's robe, even more battered from the fall.
"This can't be real," he said as he reached up to feel the breasts. As soon as his fingers touched them, a shock of sensations ran through him. His lip quivered slightly and he let out a soft puff of air. "Holy shit. Yeah, they're real. But, why am I her?" He twisted around, getting a good look at her.
"Did I transform into her?" He looked around the area and shook his head. "No, she's not around, and there's no sign that she moved anywhere. So, the only conclusion is that I somehow ended up inside of her."
He let his hands caress the witch's body, running up and down along her sides, shivering at the touch. "How in the world did I end up inside of her?"
He softly squeezed her breasts again, gently moaning from the pleasure. He looked down at the robe again, seeing the curves of the witch's body. "I know I probably shouldn't. But, it just feels so good. Maybe a little peek won't hurt, right?"
He pulled at the collar of the robe, lifting it away from her body and peering down. What greeted him was a soft pair of D-cup sized breasts, supported by a leather bra.
"Whoa. Who knew under this robe that she was such a baddie?"
The man reached back and squeezed his ass, feeling the size and softness. "And she's got quite the ass too. Man, she is sexy."
Then, his hands traced around to the front around the hips and rested at the thighs. He gulped, knowing exactly what was under there. He felt her body twitch in anticipation. He looked around at the empty fields. "Miss? Miss witch lady? Are you here?"
There was no response.
He leaned up back against the tree, tugging at the sides of her robe and hiking them up. Though it was a struggle with her large breasts in the way, the man was able to see the purple cotton panties that the witch had on. He gently ran his fingers along the front, the body twitching at the touch.
"It's so soft," he said, both talking about the flesh and the fabric.
Cautiously, he slipped his fingers underneath the panties and down to her pussy. The heat and wetness coating the fingers almost instantly. The man breathed heavily as he curled a finger. Instantly, the sensation of rubbing against the labia shot through him like lightning, causing him to feel weak in the knees.
"Holy shit," he said with a soft exhale. "From just that little bit?"
He brought a second finger to the folds, letting the pleasure just wash over him. "Fuck, this feels incredible." His other hand reached up, cupping the witch's breasts.
He started to hump his hand, the slickness making it easier and easier to rub where it felt best. The man stroked in rhythm with his breathing. The heat and pleasure of masturbating sends shockwaves through his body.
"So this is what it's like? It's amazing! It's so sensitive! It's-"
Huh?
The man stopped as he heard the witch's voice coming from inside of his head. "Lady, is that you?"
What's going on? Why can't I move? Wait, no, I can feel my hand moving but… I'm not in control? Wait…
The pleasure of touching her sensitive parts caught up to her awareness, sending shocks of pleasure through her.
"I-I can explain!" he stammered, trying to figure out if he even could.
Am I… wait… Mister!? What are you doing inside of me? And being inside of me!?
The man felt a pressure building up inside, like something, or someone was fighting and pushing him out. In his shock, he tried to fight back, but the force was too much for him. He felt himself lose control of the witch's mouth.
"EXPELLIANA!"
The witch shouted and the man felt himself launched forward and he tumbled along the ground until he hit the barrier. The witch quickly pulled her fingers out from under her robe. She crossed her arms in front of her chest and leered at the man.
"What the hell is wrong with you!? Was this all part of your plan or something? What were you doing with my body!? How were you even inside me to begin with!?" she shouted, grabbing her staff from the tree and pointing it at the man. "I feel so unclean now!"
The man quickly raised up his hands. "Whoa whoa, easy now! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Okay, yes, I shouldn't have done that, but I had no idea what was going on. I wasn't sure if I was dreaming or what. And then it just started to feel too good; I couldn't help myself and I got lost in it all."
The witch's frown twitched before she fixed up her clothing. "Fine. I can tell that you are telling the truth." She huffed.
"I'm sorry, I really am," the man said. He ran his fingers through his hair again and sighed.
The witch sighed. "I'll accept your apology, but that doesn't mean that you're forgiven for that."
"I understand," the man said as he looked down at his hands. "But, how did that even happen? Was that something that you did?"
The witch shook her head. "No, that wasn't me. I think…" She walked up to the man and swiped her hand, which passed right through his chest like air. "That's what I was afraid of."
The man watched in horror as it passed through him. "What the-? Am I…?" He patted his chest, able to feel the sensation. "Am I dead?"
"I think so," the witch said with a somber expression. "There was a body in the tree. I'm… pretty sure that was you."
The man sat down on the ground, unable to believe it. "I'm dead, but I'm here. I'm a ghost." He thunked his head back against the invisible barrier and his eyes went wide. "Wait, is that why I'm stuck here!? Can I not leave because my body is here?"
"That seems to be the case."
The man fell to his knees, trying to grasp at the ground, but it only phased right through his fingers. "I'm stuck here forever? What kind of cruel fate is this? What did I do to deserve this kind of hell!?"
The witch squeezed tightly on her staff and sighed again. "I… do know of a way that I can get you out."
"You do?" the man said. "Please! Do so! And I'll do whatever I can to make it up to you! Both for freeing me and for what I was doing to you."
"Fine, I'll accept that. But if you ever do something like that again, I will stick you somewhere that no one will find you for centuries!" The man nodded in understanding.
The witch stepped outside of the boundary and began to chant again. Her hands glowed and she drew symbols in the air, forming a circle. Then, she took the tip of her staff and pushed it through the glowing symbols. The symbols swirled around the orb at the top, causing it to glow a brilliant pink. Then, she tapped the staff against the barrier. Instantly, there was a shattering sound like glass where the boundary was. The man looked down as he began to glow the same pink as the symbol. The orb glowed again before the symbols disappeared and all of the glow disappeared.
"It is done," the witch said.
The man cautiously reached his hand out towards the boundary. To his delight, it was as the witch said. The boundary was gone. He breathed a sigh of relief.
"Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!" he said. He ran to give her a hug, but in his excitement, forgot about his current state and simply passed right through the witch. "Oh, right. Dead."
"I cannot do anything about that, unfortunately," the witch said with a dejected look. "But, at least now, you will no longer be trapped in that small area."
"Well, that's something at least," the man said. He took another sigh, walking forward and phasing through the grass that blew from the wind. "I can at least walk around more and see what else is- GAH!"
The man stopped as he felt himself hit another boundary. "Oh, what gives?" he asked, tapping against it. "Is there another boundary here?"
"Not quite," the witch said as she jerked her staff back. As she did, the boundary pushed the man backwards. "As a spirit, you are still bound to something. All spirits are tethered to something, which limits the range of their motion. It can be broken and allow the spirit to roam freely, but I am not strong enough to free you from that. But, what I was able to do is move the tether from your body to my staff."
"So, now I'm stuck around you?" the man asked.
"My staff, more specifically," she clarified.
"Well, it's definitely better than being stuck in that box for who knows how long," the man said as he walked over to the witch.
"If I get stronger, or we find someone who specializes in spirits, we may be able to free you completely from a tether. And I'm still mad at you for what you did earlier, but you don't deserve to be stuck by this tree. So, that's why I decided to bring you along with me."
"Then, I guess that makes us traveling buddies," the man said, trying to make light of the situation. "So if I'm going to be tethered to you, or your staff rather, I better know your name at least. I can't just keep calling you Miss or Lady or Witch the whole time."
"Right, my apologies. I hadn't properly introduced myself." She bows towards the man. "My name is Lilima Van Pelt. And what is your name?"
"My name is-" The man stopped, as though he lost his train of thought. "My name is… is…" His eyes went wide again. "I… don't know my name!"
"I have heard such a thing can happen to spirits. Some of their memories get damaged and lost in their transition from becoming alive to undead," Lilima said.
"Shit, what else have I forgotten?" the man asked, trying to wrack his brain for answers, but they wouldn't come to him.
"Yes, everything about you is such a mystery." Lilima thinks for a bit. "Well, since I also can't just call you Mister or Spirit, I shall give you a name. Given that you appear to have some sort of possession based power, then your name will be Poe. How does that sound?"
"Poe," he said. "Huh, I like it. Poe it is then."
"Well then, Poe, it's good to meet you," Lilima said as she picked up her basket of ingredients. "Now then, let's be off."
"Wait, what about my body in the tree? Shouldn't we at least give it a burial or look for clues?" Poe asked, gesturing to the tree.
"I guess that would be the honorable thing to do."
Lilima sets down her staff and ingredients and once again climbs the tree. However, as she goes to reach for the body, she stops. Lilima makes her way back down the tree. "I'm sorry, but I can't. It's too dangerous."
"Too dangerous? Why is that?" Poe asked, tilting his head.
Lilima turns around to face Poe. "Your tether range was a square, meaning it was created. Natural tether ranges are circular. And your body was hidden with magic. Now that I had a better look, there was also traps on it. If it was moved, it would alert whoever did this. Whatever happened to you was intentional. Someone not only wanted you dead, but wanted you stuck here and didn't want anyone to find out."
"But then why stick me here in this tree?" Poe asked, scratching his head. "Why not put me somewhere that no one would find me, like a lake or bury me?"
Lilima shakes her head. "I don't know. But, I want to help you, so I plan to find out." She picks up her basket of ingredients and her staff. "Plus, right now, your body stays in a protected state. It won't get any worse, so we can always come back later."
"Well, alright. You're the knowledgeable magic one here," Poe said with a sigh. "I'll follow your lead. Though, not like I exactly have a choice. So, where are we going now?"
Lilima points ahead and starts walking with Poe at her side. "We're going to the city, Fauxivi."
The bright blue sky shone down, with sunlight beaming its warmth upon the land. Birds chirped and the rustling of the tree branches as the wind blew filled the air with the sounds of life. To the north, an expansive open field dotted occasionally with trees. To the west, a dense forest with monsters and animals; beyond that, a mountain range where a large dragon took roost.
Footsteps softly crunched the leaves that littered the ground as a witch, carrying a basket of ingredients necessary for spells and potions, walked back towards town. Her robe was battered and her hat was covered in mud and dirt. She used her staff, which was taller than she was, even with the hat, as a walking cane with her other hand. The bright clear orb that adorned the top reflected the sunlight brilliantly.
"I HATE coming out here to forage," she groaned as she continued walking. She didn't exactly have much of a choice though. Too poor to afford anything of good quality in the market, this was her only option. "Too many bugs, those stupid boars, and not to mention those fucking angry trees!" She sighed. "At least this should keep me for another two weeks if I'm lucky."
The path ahead was long back towards town, but relatively peaceful. A few trees were around, but the mostly open spaces made it easy to see any danger that would be approaching, or anything out of the ordinary. Such as another person, walking around aimlessly and very confused near a tree. The witch slowed her pace, though still wary. Thieves and bandits were common around the area. She gripped onto her staff tightly and readied herself.
"Hello sir," she said, trying her best to sound confident. "Are you okay? You seem lost?"
The man was odd in appearance to say the least. Rather than traditional wear or leather that the witch expected, the man wore just a simple shirt with a depiction of some sort of being on the front in bright colors. His pants were a simple denim pair of jeans and his shoes were sneakers, scuffed from years of wear. He didn't have any sort of weapon on him, nor pouches or a bag with him. From the lack of supplies, the witch thought this man had been the victim of a robbery.
"Huh? Oh, thank goodness! Another person!" the man said excitedly. "I don't know why, but you have to help me! I don't know where I am and when I try to go anywhere, I'm stuck! Look!" The man tried to reach out to the witch, but his hand was stopped, as though touching an invisible wall.
The witch looked at the way the man's hand was stopped. She cautiously reached her hand out, as some monsters were known to create invisible barriers, but none of them should be around here. If there was, it was something that absolutely needed to be reported to the Mage Guild. To her relief, as she reached her hand out, there was nothing stopping her.
"Okay, what the hell?" the man said, scratching his head. He repeatedly tried to reach out, but he was still stopped by some unseen force.
"Is it only here?" the witch asked, starting to move around the area to get a better understanding.
"No, it's all around this tree. I don't know why, but I've been stuck here for days." The man groaned, squatting down and scratching his head again. "You're the first person I've seen in a long time."
"Oh," the witch said, "That is to be expected. This pathway isn't usually frequented because of the dangerous forest nearby. Can you show me exactly where you get stopped?"
The man showed the witch, and she carved into the ground to show the boundary. It was a square shape, centered around the tree that was nearby. The witch crossed her arms, concerned. The way that this was laid out was clearly some sort of magical effect. But, it was no ordinary monster that could have done this. Yet at the same time, if some creature powerful enough to do this was around, there would have been some sort of alert. The only conclusion that she could draw is that this was created by another mage.
"You said that you hadn't seen someone else for a long time. What happened before that?" the witch asked.
"Before that…" The man crossed his arms to think, tapping his foot. "I remember walking through the city at the crosswalk. I had my headphones on at the time and I was listening to something. I couldn't hear the sound of the bus until it was too late. Then it felt like I was floating and I remember someone was talking to me. Then it's really fuzzy after that. The next clear thing I remember is that I woke up here on the ground. And then several days passed until we reach just now. It's weird though. I spent a few days stuck here, but I didn't feel hungry or anything. It didn't even get that cold during the night."
The witch tilted her head in confusion. "Headphones? Bus? What are those things?"
"Wait, you don't know what headphones are? Or a bus? Hang on, hang on, where am I?"
"You're in the outskirts of Fauxivi. Specifically, you're to the southwest," the witch said. She tilted her staff slightly and created a large image of the map of the surrounding area.
"What the-?" the man said in shock. "How are you doing that? Holograms?"
"Doing what?"
"That!" He gestured to the map. "How did you make that appear?"
"It's just a simple spell, really. It's nothing that advanced. A very basic beginner spell, actually."
"Spell?" The man looked around, tapping on the invisible boundary. He looked at the witch, then at the map, then back to the witch. He gulped and took a deep breath. "Tell me, have you ever heard of a place called America, or Japan, or France?"
The witch shook her head. "I can't say that I'm familiar with any of them. They aren't any nations in the world; nor any cities."
The man pounded his fist on the barrier, causing the witch to recoil backwards slightly. "I knew it. I've been sent to another world."
"Another world? You mean, you've travelled dimensions?" The witch seemed rather stunned, but she didn't sound like she doubted the man.
"It would appear so. I'm not from your world." The man paced around, running his hand through his hair before stomping on the ground repeatedly. "Ugh! I finally get to go to another world full of magic and I'm stuck in this stupid box! I don't even know why I'm here!"
"I may be able to get you out," the witch said.
The man turned to her. "Really? How?"
The witch tapped her staff against the boundary and there was a shimmering light. "It looks like someone cast a binding spell on you. Meaning that something around has you bound and stuck here. If I can find what it is, I might be able to undo it." She points over to the tree. "Whatever it is, it seems like it's there."
"Could it be the tree itself?" the man asked, walking over to it.
The witch shook her head as she got closer to the tree. "No. Binding spells like this don't work on living things. They have to be inorganic, like a rock or a sword. It could be as big as a carriage, or as small as a rusty nail." She set down her staff against the tree. "I'm going to climb up here and see if I can find anything."
"Are you sure?" the man asked.
"Don't worry. I'm a seasoned forager." The witch smiled wide and proud before getting a grip on the tree. "Just get below me and get ready to catch me if something happens." The man nodded and got into position.
The witch climbed up the tree, being careful to only grab and climb on the branches that could support her weight. She scoured around the tree, trying to look for anything out of the ordinary at first. With her experienced eyes, no detail like that would have gotten past her. However, she didn't see anything, but her instincts told her that there was something more. She put her hands together and began to chant softly. Light glowed from her fingertips as she traced sigils and glyphs into the air.
There, in the tree branches, she notices a shimmering of something hidden with magic. Cautiously, she reached forward and touched the shimmering.
In a brief second, it disappeared and the witch was face to face with the skull of a decaying corpse.
"AAAAAHHH!" she screamed, recoiling back and losing her balance, falling out of the tree.
"Shit!" The man reaches his arms out to catch her.
The next thing the man knew, he was on the ground, sprawled out. His vision was fuzzy, but blinking slowly adjusted his vision. He looked left and right, trying to see if the witch was okay, but he didn't see her anywhere.
"He-!"
The man stopped as he clutched his throat. The voice that he just spoke with was not his own. It sounded like the witch's voice.
What the hell? he thought. Did something happen when she fell? Why did I sound like her?
"Hello?" He quickly covered his mouth. That was definitely not his voice; it was certainly the witch's.
Cautiously, he pulled his hands away from his mouth, looking down at his hands. They were smooth and gentle, not at all like his own. The nails were polished and refined, and jewelry adorned the fingers and wrists. The man looked down at himself. Two large breasts sat on his chest, as well as the witch's robe, even more battered from the fall.
"This can't be real," he said as he reached up to feel the breasts. As soon as his fingers touched them, a shock of sensations ran through him. His lip quivered slightly and he let out a soft puff of air. "Holy shit. Yeah, they're real. But, why am I her?" He twisted around, getting a good look at her.
"Did I transform into her?" He looked around the area and shook his head. "No, she's not around, and there's no sign that she moved anywhere. So, the only conclusion is that I somehow ended up inside of her."
He let his hands caress the witch's body, running up and down along her sides, shivering at the touch. "How in the world did I end up inside of her?"
He softly squeezed her breasts again, gently moaning from the pleasure. He looked down at the robe again, seeing the curves of the witch's body. "I know I probably shouldn't. But, it just feels so good. Maybe a little peek won't hurt, right?"
He pulled at the collar of the robe, lifting it away from her body and peering down. What greeted him was a soft pair of D-cup sized breasts, supported by a leather bra.
"Whoa. Who knew under this robe that she was such a baddie?"
The man reached back and squeezed his ass, feeling the size and softness. "And she's got quite the ass too. Man, she is sexy."
Then, his hands traced around to the front around the hips and rested at the thighs. He gulped, knowing exactly what was under there. He felt her body twitch in anticipation. He looked around at the empty fields. "Miss? Miss witch lady? Are you here?"
There was no response.
He leaned up back against the tree, tugging at the sides of her robe and hiking them up. Though it was a struggle with her large breasts in the way, the man was able to see the purple cotton panties that the witch had on. He gently ran his fingers along the front, the body twitching at the touch.
"It's so soft," he said, both talking about the flesh and the fabric.
Cautiously, he slipped his fingers underneath the panties and down to her pussy. The heat and wetness coating the fingers almost instantly. The man breathed heavily as he curled a finger. Instantly, the sensation of rubbing against the labia shot through him like lightning, causing him to feel weak in the knees.
"Holy shit," he said with a soft exhale. "From just that little bit?"
He brought a second finger to the folds, letting the pleasure just wash over him. "Fuck, this feels incredible." His other hand reached up, cupping the witch's breasts.
He started to hump his hand, the slickness making it easier and easier to rub where it felt best. The man stroked in rhythm with his breathing. The heat and pleasure of masturbating sends shockwaves through his body.
"So this is what it's like? It's amazing! It's so sensitive! It's-"
Huh?
The man stopped as he heard the witch's voice coming from inside of his head. "Lady, is that you?"
What's going on? Why can't I move? Wait, no, I can feel my hand moving but… I'm not in control? Wait…
The pleasure of touching her sensitive parts caught up to her awareness, sending shocks of pleasure through her.
"I-I can explain!" he stammered, trying to figure out if he even could.
Am I… wait… Mister!? What are you doing inside of me? And being inside of me!?
The man felt a pressure building up inside, like something, or someone was fighting and pushing him out. In his shock, he tried to fight back, but the force was too much for him. He felt himself lose control of the witch's mouth.
"EXPELLIANA!"
The witch shouted and the man felt himself launched forward and he tumbled along the ground until he hit the barrier. The witch quickly pulled her fingers out from under her robe. She crossed her arms in front of her chest and leered at the man.
"What the hell is wrong with you!? Was this all part of your plan or something? What were you doing with my body!? How were you even inside me to begin with!?" she shouted, grabbing her staff from the tree and pointing it at the man. "I feel so unclean now!"
The man quickly raised up his hands. "Whoa whoa, easy now! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Okay, yes, I shouldn't have done that, but I had no idea what was going on. I wasn't sure if I was dreaming or what. And then it just started to feel too good; I couldn't help myself and I got lost in it all."
The witch's frown twitched before she fixed up her clothing. "Fine. I can tell that you are telling the truth." She huffed.
"I'm sorry, I really am," the man said. He ran his fingers through his hair again and sighed.
The witch sighed. "I'll accept your apology, but that doesn't mean that you're forgiven for that."
"I understand," the man said as he looked down at his hands. "But, how did that even happen? Was that something that you did?"
The witch shook her head. "No, that wasn't me. I think…" She walked up to the man and swiped her hand, which passed right through his chest like air. "That's what I was afraid of."
The man watched in horror as it passed through him. "What the-? Am I…?" He patted his chest, able to feel the sensation. "Am I dead?"
"I think so," the witch said with a somber expression. "There was a body in the tree. I'm… pretty sure that was you."
The man sat down on the ground, unable to believe it. "I'm dead, but I'm here. I'm a ghost." He thunked his head back against the invisible barrier and his eyes went wide. "Wait, is that why I'm stuck here!? Can I not leave because my body is here?"
"That seems to be the case."
The man fell to his knees, trying to grasp at the ground, but it only phased right through his fingers. "I'm stuck here forever? What kind of cruel fate is this? What did I do to deserve this kind of hell!?"
The witch squeezed tightly on her staff and sighed again. "I… do know of a way that I can get you out."
"You do?" the man said. "Please! Do so! And I'll do whatever I can to make it up to you! Both for freeing me and for what I was doing to you."
"Fine, I'll accept that. But if you ever do something like that again, I will stick you somewhere that no one will find you for centuries!" The man nodded in understanding.
The witch stepped outside of the boundary and began to chant again. Her hands glowed and she drew symbols in the air, forming a circle. Then, she took the tip of her staff and pushed it through the glowing symbols. The symbols swirled around the orb at the top, causing it to glow a brilliant pink. Then, she tapped the staff against the barrier. Instantly, there was a shattering sound like glass where the boundary was. The man looked down as he began to glow the same pink as the symbol. The orb glowed again before the symbols disappeared and all of the glow disappeared.
"It is done," the witch said.
The man cautiously reached his hand out towards the boundary. To his delight, it was as the witch said. The boundary was gone. He breathed a sigh of relief.
"Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!" he said. He ran to give her a hug, but in his excitement, forgot about his current state and simply passed right through the witch. "Oh, right. Dead."
"I cannot do anything about that, unfortunately," the witch said with a dejected look. "But, at least now, you will no longer be trapped in that small area."
"Well, that's something at least," the man said. He took another sigh, walking forward and phasing through the grass that blew from the wind. "I can at least walk around more and see what else is- GAH!"
The man stopped as he felt himself hit another boundary. "Oh, what gives?" he asked, tapping against it. "Is there another boundary here?"
"Not quite," the witch said as she jerked her staff back. As she did, the boundary pushed the man backwards. "As a spirit, you are still bound to something. All spirits are tethered to something, which limits the range of their motion. It can be broken and allow the spirit to roam freely, but I am not strong enough to free you from that. But, what I was able to do is move the tether from your body to my staff."
"So, now I'm stuck around you?" the man asked.
"My staff, more specifically," she clarified.
"Well, it's definitely better than being stuck in that box for who knows how long," the man said as he walked over to the witch.
"If I get stronger, or we find someone who specializes in spirits, we may be able to free you completely from a tether. And I'm still mad at you for what you did earlier, but you don't deserve to be stuck by this tree. So, that's why I decided to bring you along with me."
"Then, I guess that makes us traveling buddies," the man said, trying to make light of the situation. "So if I'm going to be tethered to you, or your staff rather, I better know your name at least. I can't just keep calling you Miss or Lady or Witch the whole time."
"Right, my apologies. I hadn't properly introduced myself." She bows towards the man. "My name is Lilima Van Pelt. And what is your name?"
"My name is-" The man stopped, as though he lost his train of thought. "My name is… is…" His eyes went wide again. "I… don't know my name!"
"I have heard such a thing can happen to spirits. Some of their memories get damaged and lost in their transition from becoming alive to undead," Lilima said.
"Shit, what else have I forgotten?" the man asked, trying to wrack his brain for answers, but they wouldn't come to him.
"Yes, everything about you is such a mystery." Lilima thinks for a bit. "Well, since I also can't just call you Mister or Spirit, I shall give you a name. Given that you appear to have some sort of possession based power, then your name will be Poe. How does that sound?"
"Poe," he said. "Huh, I like it. Poe it is then."
"Well then, Poe, it's good to meet you," Lilima said as she picked up her basket of ingredients. "Now then, let's be off."
"Wait, what about my body in the tree? Shouldn't we at least give it a burial or look for clues?" Poe asked, gesturing to the tree.
"I guess that would be the honorable thing to do."
Lilima sets down her staff and ingredients and once again climbs the tree. However, as she goes to reach for the body, she stops. Lilima makes her way back down the tree. "I'm sorry, but I can't. It's too dangerous."
"Too dangerous? Why is that?" Poe asked, tilting his head.
Lilima turns around to face Poe. "Your tether range was a square, meaning it was created. Natural tether ranges are circular. And your body was hidden with magic. Now that I had a better look, there was also traps on it. If it was moved, it would alert whoever did this. Whatever happened to you was intentional. Someone not only wanted you dead, but wanted you stuck here and didn't want anyone to find out."
"But then why stick me here in this tree?" Poe asked, scratching his head. "Why not put me somewhere that no one would find me, like a lake or bury me?"
Lilima shakes her head. "I don't know. But, I want to help you, so I plan to find out." She picks up her basket of ingredients and her staff. "Plus, right now, your body stays in a protected state. It won't get any worse, so we can always come back later."
"Well, alright. You're the knowledgeable magic one here," Poe said with a sigh. "I'll follow your lead. Though, not like I exactly have a choice. So, where are we going now?"
Lilima points ahead and starts walking with Poe at her side. "We're going to the city, Fauxivi."
possession
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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.
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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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Chapter by
AziAzi · 14 Sep 2025 -
John quickly joins in with his friends, and thus starts the wild night the friends were going to have...
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John smirked as he started taking off Henry's shirt, revealing the man's sculpted torso inch by inch. But when his shorts dropped and that thick, veined cock sprang up at full mast, every woman in the room let out shocked gasps.
"Holy shit," James breathed through Samantha's lips, her eyes wide as saucers. "No wonder Mrs. Drew got pregnant three times with that thing."
Steve, currently wearing Lance's body, gave an impressed whistle. "And here I thought mine was impressive," he admitted, shaking his head. "But yours? That's like comparing a baseball bat to a fucking redwood tree."
Kevin and Russel broke apart from their heated embrace, both women's bodies flushed and glistening as they approached me with hungry eyes. Kevin ran Sophie's hands down Henry's chest while Russel bit Abby's plump lower lip, their excitement palpable.
"So big brother," Kevin purred in Sophie's voice, fingers tracing my abs, "who gets the first ride?" Russel pressed Abby's body against my side, adding in a husky whisper, "Yeah, pick your favorite."
I grabbed Kevin by Sophie's slender waist, pulling her flush against me. "You," I growled, remembering that housewarming party where Sophie's tight sundress had nearly short-circuited my brain. "Ever since I saw you carrying those moving boxes in that little sundress."
Kevin let out a delighted squeal as I effortlessly threw Sophie's body over my shoulder, carrying her toward the bedroom while she playfully kicked her legs. One firm toss and she bounced onto the king-sized bed, already spreading Sophie's toned thighs wide.
"You know what's crazy?" Kevin said breathlessly, running Sophie's hands up her own body. "We even got access to memories! Sophie's still a virgin. Can you believe that? This fucking body and she's been saving it like some prude." He grinned wickedly, hooking Sophie's fingers into her panties. "Think we should fix that? I mean, if anyone's gonna pop her cherry, shouldn't it be her own dad?"
John growled his approval, crawling onto the bed with barely restrained hunger. His large hands cupped Sophie's pert breasts possessively before he dipped his head, capturing one taut nipple between Henry's lips. Kevin gasped sharply as John swirled Henry's tongue in slow, teasing circles—his body arching instinctively into the delicious friction.
"Oh my god," Kevin moaned in Sophie's light, breathy voice, tangling his fingers in Henry's thick hair. "Feels even better than I imagined..." He gasped sharply when John suddenly suctioned harder, rolling Sophie's stiff peak between his teeth. At the same time, John's other hand slid down Sophie's toned stomach, slipping easily between her slick folds.
Kevin jerked at the first press of Henry's thick fingers against Sophie's tight entrance, hips bucking off the mattress. "Shit—J-John—" he whimpered, toes curling as John worked two fingers knuckle-deep inside Sophie's untouched pussy. The tight heat clamped around Henry's digits drew a deep groan from John's throat, and he pistoned his hand faster—thumb circling Sophie's swollen clit with firm pressure.
Kevin threw Sophie's head back with a wanton cry, thighs trembling. The obscene squelch of her arousal filled the room as John finger-fucked her ruthlessly, dragging Sophie's virgin walls open with every thrust. "Fuck, fuck—she's so tight," Kevin panted frantically, gripping Henry's shoulders with shaking hands. The taboo thrill shot through him—this was Sophie's own father violating her untouched body, and Kevin had front-row seats to every dirty second.
"Is this how you imagined Daddy taking your first time, princess?" John growled against her neck, biting the sensitive skin there before thrusting a third finger inside without warning. Kevin screamed—Sophie's back bowing violently off the bed—as John stretched her unbearably tight around Henry's pistoning fingers. The wet slap of skin-on-skin echoed lewdly as John worked her faster, whispering dirty praise about Sophie's tight little cunt milking her father's fingers so well.
John pulled his fingers free with a wet pop, chuckling darkly at the way Kevin whimpered at the sudden emptiness. Before Kevin could protest, John gripped Sophie's blonde hair firmly, guiding her red, swollen lips toward Henry's throbbing cock.
"Open," John commanded, his voice rough with authority.
Kevin hesitated for just a second before parting Sophie's lips obediently, allowing the massive length to press against her plush mouth. "God, I hate that you're the one calling the shots," Kevin muttered in Sophie's voice, breath hitching as the fat head prodded past her lips. "Fuck, I wish I was in Henry's body right now—you'd be the one choking on me—"
John clenched Henry's jaw tighter, forcing more of his cock down Sophie's throat with a punishing thrust. "You wanted to be the hot neighbor," he reminded, his voice thick with amusement. "Now be a good girl and suck your daddy's cock like you've always wanted."
Kevin groaned—half in frustration, half in reluctant pleasure—as Sophie's throat stretched obscenely around Henry's girth. But then, after a few deep, sloppy strokes, Kevin seemed to decide fuck it and doubled down. He hollowed Sophie's cheeks expertly, bobbing her head with increasing enthusiasm, swirling her tongue along the veined underside while soft, wet noises spilled from her lips. John groaned, gripping Sophie's hair tighter as she sucked like her life depended on it.
Then, just as the rhythm picked up, Kevin pulled off with a lewd gasp. "Wait—hold on," he panted, Sophie's lips slick and swollen. "This isn't enough." He cupped Sophie's heavy tits teasingly, squeezing them together as he looked up at John with a wicked glint in her eyes. "I want to do this right. Get up here."
John didn't hesitate. He climbed onto his knees, legs straddling Sophie as she adjusted beneath him, pressing her breasts tightly around his cock. Kevin let out a shuddering breath as Henry's skin slid between Sophie's soft cleavage. "Fuck yes," he whispered, locking eyes with John as he guided him deeper.
John groaned, grinding into the pillowy heat of Sophie's tits while Kevin's mouth worked the swollen tip between each thrust. Every push forward made Sophie's supple flesh jiggle, the pink tips of her nipples brushing against Henry's length—just enough friction, just enough softness—until John's stomach coiled tight with impending release.
"Good girl," he growled through gritted teeth, watching Sophie's lips stretch around him, her tits glistening with spit and pre-cum as he fucked between them harder. "Fucking perfect."
Kevin hummed in agreement around his cock—then moaned greedily as John's hips jerked forward one final time, painting Sophie's face and chest in thick, hot streaks.
John pulled back, wiping Henry's sweaty forehead as he admired Sophie's flushed, cum-splattered face. Kevin licked Sophie's lips clean with a satisfied smirk.
"Not gonna lie," Kevin panted in Sophie's sultry voice, "that was fucking incredible. But I think we can do better." He rolled onto all fours on the bed, glancing over Sophie's porcelain shoulder with an eager glint in her eye. "You wanna fuck me doggy-style? But there's a condition."
John raised an eyebrow, running Henry's large hands down Sophie's arched back. "Oh?"
Kevin reached for Henry's phone with a wicked grin. "We record it. And we do it in front of the mirror." He tossed the phone onto the nightstand, propping it up to capture the entire reflection. "I wanna watch this pretty little slut get ruined."
John's breath hitched—this was better than he'd imagined. "Fuck yeah, we're doing that."
He guided Sophie's trembling body to the edge of the bed, right in front of the standing mirror. Kevin positioned Sophie's hands against the footboard, arching her back deeper—her round ass high in the air, dripping arousal down her thighs.
John knelt behind her, gripping her hips hard enough to bruise as he aligned Henry's thick cock with Sophie's glistening entrance. "Tell me what you see," he demanded, pressing forward just enough to tease.
Kevin moaned, locking eyes with their reflection as the swollen tip stretched Sophie obscenely wide. "I see Daddy's dick splitting his tight little girl open," he whispered, voice shaking with anticipation.
Then John thrust in fully, and Kevin screamed—Sophie's mouth falling open in pleasure as Henry's massive length buried itself inside her virgin walls, stuffing her to the hilt. John hissed through clenched teeth, gripping Sophie's hips like a vise as he watched the lewd spectacle in the mirror—Sophie's bouncing tits, her flushed face, the way Henry's cock disappeared inside her with every brutal plunge.
"Fuck, look at you," John growled, increasing the tempo, each snap of his hips making Sophie's body jolt forward. "Watching yourself take it like this… you love it, don't you?"
Kevin could only nod frantically, Sophie's blonde hair whipping wildly as John pounded into her harder, their movements perfectly captured on film. "S-She's… she's taking all of Daddy!" Kevin cried in broken moans, clawing at the sheets while John fucked Sophie's tight cunt ruthlessly. "Look at her—she's—OH GOD—"
The mirror reflected everything—the sweat on Henry's muscles, the trembling of Sophie's thighs, the slick mess between her legs. John groaned as he felt Sophie clamp down around him, her body quaking with an overwhelming orgasm. He didn't let up, chasing his own release until, with a final violent thrust, he stilled deep inside her—grinding against Sophie's clenching walls as he unloaded with a guttural roar.
Kevin collapsed forward, Sophie's body utterly spent as John pulled out slowly. The phone was still recording—evidence of their debauchery for blackmail, bragging rights, or worse.
Kevin turned her head, giving John a satisfied smirk in the mirror. "Told you it'd be hotter like this."
John just chuckled, swatting Sophie's ass—red and stinging from the pounding—before collapsing beside her. "No fucking argument here."
John adjusted the phone's angle with a wicked grin, sweat dripping from Henry's brow as he gave Sophie's ass a sharp slap. "Round two starts now," he growled, flipping her onto her back. Kevin gasped dramatically as John pinned Sophie beneath Henry's massive frame, spreading her legs obscenely wide for the recording. "Pure missionary—let's make this one cinematic."
The bed groaned beneath them as John sheathed himself to the hilt in one brutal stroke, Kevin's breathy moans rising in pitch. "Oh God, Daddy, you feel so deep like this!" Sophie's back arched beautifully as Kevin wrapped her legs around Henry's waist, her fingernails raking down his shoulders while the camera captured every detail—the way her flushed tits jiggled with each punishing thrust, the obscene glisten of her swollen lips stretched tight around Henry's girth.
"Fuck, she takes it so well," John panted, watching the phone screen as he snapped his hips harder. Kevin threw Sophie's head back with a scream when John's free hand found her clit, rubbing tight circles as his thrusts turned uneven. "Gonna make you cum on Daddy's cock again—"
Kevin's responding whimper cut off as his borrowed body convulsed, Sophie's tight walls fluttering wildly around John's length. The phone trembled in John's grip as he kept filming through his own climax, groaning at the perfect shot of Sophie's bliss-drunk expression when he spilled inside her.
"Switch!" John ordered breathlessly once he'd caught his wind. In seconds he had Sophie straddling him, Kevin grinding down with sinful expertise. "That's it, ride me proper," John encouraged, guiding Sophie's hands to his chest as they faced the mirror. Kevin bit Sophie's lower lip, rolling her hips in filthy circles that drew ragged moans from both of them. "Keep watching the mirror, baby—see how pretty you look getting railed by your own dad?"
The pace turned punishing—Kevin driving Sophie's hips down to meet every upward thrust, their combined moans crescendoing as sweat-slicked skin slapped together. John barely had time to recover before Kevin dragged him into the mating press, pinning Sophie's petite frame beneath Henry's muscular bulk.
"One more," Kevin panted in Sophie's wrecked voice, guiding Henry's cock back inside her swollen pussy. John groaned at the tight heat, angling his thrusts to hit impossibly deep as the phone captured the lewd bulge in Sophie's stomach with each movement. "F-filling me up s-so good—"
Their rhythm faltered when Kevin twisted suddenly, shifting them into Amazon position with Sophie towering over John. Both men gasped at the new angle—Kevin lowering Sophie's body with torturous slowness until Henry was buried to the balls. "Holy shit," John choked out, watching in the mirror as Sophie's tight ass rose and fell in perfect sync with their ragged breathing.
Right as the coil in John's gut tightened beyond bearing—just as Henry's cock twitched violently inside Sophie's fluttering walls—the world tilted violently. The Drews' bedroom dissolved into blackness mid-thrust.
John came to with a jolt, his own bony knees knocking against the coffee table as he blinked at the familiar living room. The laptop screen blinked mockingly:
SESSION TERMINATED. WANT MORE? YOU KNOW WHAT TO DO.
Kevin collapsed onto the carpet with a shudder, Sophie's phantom pleasure still coursing through his nervous system. "Goddammit," he groaned, palming his aching erection through his jeans. "I was literally about to cum inside Sophie when we got booted." He licked his lips, remembering the way Henry's massive cock had stretched her tight little pussy to the brink. "Fucking timer—I was about to cum when everything went black!"
Steve grabbed James by the collar of his shirt with a snarl. "You selfish bastard! I was this close to nailing Abby's tight little pussy!" He shook James hard, making him stumble back against the couch. "But oh no, you had to keep Lance's gorgeous cock all to yourself for the whole damned hour!"
James rolled his eyes while absently adjusting himself through his jeans, still half-hard from the phantom sensation of Samantha's desperate arousal. "Come on, man, you saw how she was acting—that woman's a goddamn nympho at heart. Could you really blame me for getting carried away?" He gave an exaggerated sigh, shaking his head with a smirk. "Besides, don't act like you weren't loving every second of watching her writhe under Lance. I saw the way you were staring, Steve. You're just pissed I got to enjoy her first."
Russel knocked over a pizza box with an aggravated shout, his lanky limbs nearly tangling as he shot to his feet. "At least you fuckers got to touch someone!" He gestured wildly at his crotch. "I spent the whole goddamn hour trapped in Abby's body, feeling how goddamn horny she is constantly, and couldn't do shit about it!" His face reddened at the memory. "That girl's basically a live wire—brush against her wrong and she's soaking!"
John casually tossed his crypto wallet onto the coffee table with a smirk, the display showing a hefty balance. "Cool your jets, you bunch of horny losers." He tapped the laptop awake, illuminating five flushed faces with its eerie glow. "We've got enough for two more hours. So who's ready to go back in?"
Kevin practically teleported to the keyboard, Sophie's phantom wetness still teasing his synapses. "Fucking Sophie first this time," he declared, hammering at the keys. "I'm finishing what I started—that tight virgin pussy's getting wrecked proper."
Russel's longer arms easily shoved Kevin aside. "Like hell! Abby owes me orgasms, and I'm collecting every last one!" His fingers flew across the keys as he searched for Abby's picture. "Gonna make that perky cheerleader body cum so hard she forgets her own name."
Steve cracked his knuckles with a feral grin. "Don't care whose body I land in, but if I get Lance again?" His tongue swiped across his lips. "Samantha Drew's getting split in half. Might keep her that way all night."
James licked his lips, his fingers twitching with anticipation as he imagined sinking back into Samantha's voluptuous form. "Fuck yeah, another round with those perfect curves," he groaned, adjusting himself through his jeans. "But this time," he added with a sly grin, "I won't hog all the fun." He shot a pointed look at Steve. "Lance's cock is all yours, buddy. And Kev, Russ—Sophie and Abby's tight little bodies are practically begging for it."
He cracked his knuckles, eyes gleaming with mischief. "Hell, maybe I'll even let one of you fuck Samantha while I'm in her. Wouldn't that be a trip?" The guys exchanged glances, considering the filthy possibilities. James just chuckled darkly. "But you better believe I'm taking that body for a proper test drive first." His hand drifted to his waistband again, unable to resist the phantom memory of Samantha's soft, responsive flesh. "God, I can still feel how wet she gets..."
John smirked as he scrolled to Henry's photo and slammed it onto the site without hesitation. "Save the arguments for later," he said, dumping their crypto into the portal with a flourish. "I call dibs on Dad again—that cock's too good to waste on you amateurs."
The others opened their mouths to protest, but John was already clicking CONFIRM. The screen flared white—
And the world went black.
The last thing John heard was Russel's furious "Oh you dick—" before silence swallowed him whole.
Next Chapters
Chapter 4 in BodyPossession.com
by
AziAzi
· 14 Sep 2025
The boys finally get back into the Drew’s bodies. Steve, Kevin, and Russel enjoy some sibling bonding, while John and James take the parent’s bodies out for a spin.
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