John's Hot Summer Break
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John makes a wish one fateful night to be able to get closer to his crush and gets more than he'd bargained for with via a gender bending trip in the body of his attractive step-mom.
mtf body swap milf lesbian identity theft impersonation
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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.
A curse. Two souls. One fatal touch. Shortly before his wedding, Ethan learns of the legend of a cursed brooch – and becomes its next victim. He swaps bodies with Margarete, his wife's mother's friend, and realises that the gift of slipping into other people's skin is not a coincidence, but a test. The ceremony is only the beginning of an adventure that will lead Ethan through the lives and secrets of strangers. His goal: to regain his own identity before he loses himself in the lives of others.
I woke up to the smell of lavender and old books, which was the first wrong thing.
My alarm should have been the sharp ping of my phonesome upbeat synth track I’d set to “motivational asshole mode.” Instead there was silence, thick hotel-room silence, broken only by the faint ticking of a wall clock I didn’t remember owning. My body felt… heavy. Not gym-sore heavy. Not even post-night-out heavy. It felt like someone had poured concrete into my joints and then politely asked them to creak.
I opened my eyes.
The ceiling was wrong. Too high, too ornate, crown molding that belonged in a period drama. The bed was wrong toosoft in that way old mattresses are soft, like they’ve given up fighting gravity decades ago. I tried to sit up and my back immediately lodged a formal complaint. A dull ache bloomed behind my knees. My handswhen I lifted them to rub my facewere not mine.
They were smaller. Knotted at the knuckles. Liver spots scattered like spilled coffee across the backs. Thin gold wedding band on the left ring finger, worn smooth from years. Nails short, unpainted, practical.
I stared at them for what felt like ten full seconds.
Then I screamed.
It came out wrong. Higher, raspier, an older woman’s startled yelp instead of my usual baritone bark. I clapped a hand over my mouthmy new, unfamiliar mouthand tasted lipstick. Not gloss. Actual matte lipstick, the kind that feels like wax and smells faintly of roses.
I scrambled out of bed (or tried to; the knees locked halfway and I nearly face-planted into a floral rug). There was a full-length mirror on the wardrobe door. I didn’t want to look. I looked anyway.
Margaret stared back at me.
Not some random old lady. Margaret. The Margaret. Sophie’s family friend, the retired principal who once told mein front of twenty people at the engagement partythat “youth is wasted on the young and charm is wasted on the cocky.” Gray hair pulled into a neat chignon. Wire-rimmed glasses hanging from a chain around myherneck. A silk dressing gown the color of weak tea. And behind the glasses, my own wide, panicked eyes.
I whispered, “No. No no no no.”
The voice was hers. Dry, precise, faintly British even though she was born in Ohio. I hated how authoritative it sounded even when I was the one panicking.
Phone. I needed my phone.
I lurched across the roomevery step a negotiation with joints that had apparently unionized against meand found a small clutch purse on the dresser. Inside: reading glasses, tissues, a tin of mints, a hotel keycard, andthank Godmy phone. Except it wasn’t my phone. It was hers. An iPhone 8, cracked screen protector, wallpaper of a black-and-white photo of two kids who were probably her grandchildren.
I tried Face ID anyway. It didn’t work. Obviously.
Passcode. I typed my birthday.
Nothing.
Her birthday? I had no idea.
I typed 01011958 on a guess (she’d once said she was “born the year they launched Sputnik, which explains my lifelong suspicion of bright ideas”). The phone unlocked.
First thing I did: opened the camera and switched to selfie mode.
Yeah. Still Margaret.
Second thing: checked the time. 7:42 a.m. Wedding was at 4:00 p.m. Rehearsal brunch at 10:00. Sophie was probably already in the bridal suite getting her hair done, surrounded by bridesmaids and mimosas and that calming playlist she loved.
I could text her. I could call her. I could say, “Babe, something insane happened, I’m in Margaret’s body, please don’t freak out.”
And then what?
She’d think I was drunk. Or high. Or having a psychotic break forty-eight hours before our wedding. She’d call my brother. She’d call her mom. Within twenty minutes the entire wedding party would know the groom was claiming to be trapped in a sixty-seven-year-old woman’s body. The photos would leak. TwitterXwould have a field day. “Tech bro groom swaps souls with grandma, more at 11.”
No. No way.
I wasn’t telling anyone. Not Sophie. Not James. Not even Clara, who’d probably believe me and then try to livestream it.
I had to fix this quietly. Find the broochMargaret’s stupid cursed brooch that I’d laughed at last night when she’d pinned it to her lapel and muttered something about “family nonsense.” I’d touched it. I remembered touching it when I helped her with her coat. That had to be it.
I rummaged through the purse again. No brooch. Checked the nightstand, the dresser drawers, under the bed like an idiot. Nothing.
The ceremony was in eight hours. I had to get through the morning looking like Margaret, sounding like Margaret, acting like Margaret, while Margaretsomewhere in my bodywas probably waking up in the groom’s suite wondering why she suddenly had abs and could see without glasses.
I caught my reflection again. Margaret’s stern mouth was currently twisted into something like horror.
“Okay,” I said aloud in her voice. “You built a thirty-million-dollar valuation from a dorm room. You can handle one wedding in heels.”
I opened the wardrobe.
Dresses. Cardigans. Low block heels that looked like they’d been designed by someone who hated fun.
I picked the least offensive outfita navy dress with sensible sleevesand started the longest morning of my life.
First problem: pantyhose.
Second problem: I had no idea how to walk in any of these shoes without looking like a newborn giraffe.
Third problem: in about two hours I had to sit at a table with Sophie’s entire family, smile politely, and pretend I was a retired school principal who approved of their daughter marrying me.
I took a deep breath that hurt my ribs in a brand-new way.
Then I squared Margaret’s narrow shoulders, put on her glasses, and opened the hotel-room door.
Showtime.
I stepped into the hallway, Margaret's sensible flats squeaking faintly on the carpet like they were judging me with every step. The hotel was buzzing alreadymaids pushing carts, distant laughter from the lobby, the faint clink of breakfast trays. My heartor rather, her heartwas pounding in a way that felt foreign, slower but insistent, like an old engine revving up after years in storage.
First stop: the groom's suite. My suite. Where Margaret was probably freaking out in my body right now. I needed to confront her, figure out how to reverse this, and swear her to secrecy. But walking down that hall felt like a marathon. These knees weren't built for speed; every stride sent a twinge up my thighs, and I had to fight the urge to hunch forward like she always did.
A door opened ahead, and out stepped one of the groomsmenwait, no, it was the hotel concierge, a young guy in a crisp uniform. He smiled politely. "Good morning, ma'am. Can I help you with anything?"
Ma'am. God, that stung. I forced Margaret's lips into what I hoped was her signature no-nonsense smile. "No, thank you. Just heading tofamily matters."
He nodded and moved on, but not before his eyes flicked downsubtly, professionallyto my chest. Or her chest. I felt a flush creep up my neck. These breasts were substantial, heavy in a way I'd never experienced, shifting slightly under the dress with each step. It was distracting, almost sensual, the fabric brushing against skin that felt hypersensitive. I shook it off. Focus, Ethan.
By the time I reached my suite door, I was sweating. Knocked twice, sharp and principal-like. No answer. I tried the handlelocked. Shit. My keycard was probably in my real pants pocket, wherever that body was now.
"Open up," I hissed in her voice, glancing around to make sure no one was watching. "It's me. Ethan."
The door cracked open after a beat, and there I wasmy own face staring back at me, wide-eyed and pale. Except it wasn't me. It was Margaret in my skin, her expression a mix of terror and something else. Exhilaration? She yanked me inside and slammed the door.
"What in God's name" she started in my voice, deep and resonant, but with her clipped cadence. It was weird hearing my baritone sound so proper.
"Shh!" I cut her off, pushing past into the room. My room looked the same: tux hanging on the closet door, my phone charging on the nightstand, a half-empty protein shake from last night. But seeing it from this height, this angle, made everything feel off-kilter.
Margaretin my bodypaced, running my hands through my hair in a way that'd mess up the style I'd planned. "This is the brooch. I told you it was cursed! My great-aunt swore it swapped her with a cousin on her wedding day in '32. We need to find it and"
"I know," I snapped, her voice cracking a bit. "I touched it last night. But we can't tell anyone. Not Sophie, not anyone. We'll fix this before the ceremony."
She stopped pacing, turning to face me. My own eyes raked over her bodymy body now occupied by her. It was surreal, like looking in a funhouse mirror. And then something shifted. She adjusted my stance, squaring my shoulders, and I noticed how my athletic build filled out the robe she must've thrown on. Broad chest, the faint outline of abs under the fabric. I'd always been proud of that body, but seeing it from the outside, controlled by someone else it stirred something unexpected. A heat low in my bellyher bellythat I wasn't prepared for.
"Why are you staring?" she demanded, but there was a flush on my cheeks now. Her in there.
"I nothing." I averted my eyes, but they landed on the mirror across the room. There we were: an older woman and a young man, standing too close in a hotel room. The contrast was electric. Her mind in my prime physique, my energy trapped in her seasoned form. I felt a forbidden curiosity bubble up. What did this body feel like, really? Not just the achesthe pleasures?
She seemed to sense it too. Stepped closer, towering over me now in a way that made my pulse quicken. "Ethan, this is serious. But good Lord, your body. It's like being plugged into a live wire. Everything's so responsive." Her voicemy voicedropped lower, and I saw her glance down at herself, adjusting the robe where it tented slightly. Was that arousal? In my body?
I swallowed hard, Margaret's throat dry. "Yeah, well, yours isn't exactly a slouch. It's sensitive. In ways I didn't expect." My hand, almost without thinking, brushed against the side of her hipmy hip now. The skin there was softer, warmer than I'd imagined. A shiver ran through me, electric, pooling between my legs in a unfamiliar, building ache. Women's bodies, I realized with a jolt, didn't ramp up the same way it was slower, deeper, like a wave gathering.
She inhaled sharply at the touch, my eyes darkening. "We shouldn't This is madness." But she didn't pull away. Instead, her handmy strong, callused hand from rock climbingreached out and cupped my cheek, thumb tracing Margaret's jawline. The contact was intimate, charged. I leaned into it, feeling the roughness against smooth skin, and suddenly we were kissing.
It was clumsy at firstme in her body, her in mine, lips meeting in a rush of confusion and heat. My mouth was softer, more yielding; hers firmer, insistent. I tasted my own aftershave on her tongue, mixed with her surprise. Hands roamed: mine exploring the hard planes of my chest under the robe, hers sliding down to grip Margaret's waist, pulling me closer. The friction of fabric against skin sent sparks through me, her nipplesmy nipples nowtightening under the dress.
We broke apart, breathing hard. "This is wrong," I gasped in her voice, but my body betrayed me, thighs pressing together instinctively, seeking more pressure.
"Utterly," she agreed in mine, but her grin was wicked, eyes gleaming with that secret delight she'd mentioned. "But educational. Your stamina, Ethanit's intoxicating." She flexed my arms, and I felt a rush watching the muscles shift.
We didn't go furthernot then. Time was ticking, and the brunch loomed. But the air hummed with possibility, a secret shared in swapped flesh. I straightened her dressmy dressand she helped me fix the chignon, fingers lingering a second too long on my neck.
"Find the brooch," I said firmly, stepping back. "It's probably in your things. I'll play you at brunch; you play me. Act normal."
She nodded, but as I turned to leave, her voicemy voicecalled softly, "Ethan? This body of yours it wants things. Be careful."
I shivered again, that erotic undercurrent lingering as I slipped back into the hall. The wedding was hours away, and now, on top of everything, I had to navigate Margaret's form through a sea of family and friends, all while ignoring the newfound desires humming under her skin.
I slipped out of the groom’s suite with my pulse still hammering in Margaret’s narrower chest, the memory of that kiss burning behind my eyes like a live wire. Her lipsmy lips nowstill tingled from the press of my own mouth, from the rough scrape of stubble that wasn’t there anymore. I could taste the faint salt of my skin on her tongue, could still feel the hard ridge of my erection pressing against her thigh through the robe when we’d broken apart.
Focus, Ethan. Brunch. Family. Act like a retired principal who thinks you’re marrying beneath her.
The elevator ride down was torture. Every sway of the car made Margaret’s breasts shift under the navy dress, the silk lining sliding against nipples that had hardened and stayed that way since the kiss. I crossed my arms under them instinctivelysupport, modesty, whateverand immediately regretted it. The pressure only sharpened the ache, sent a slow, liquid heat curling low in her belly. I’d spent years chasing that kind of build-up in my own body: quick, focused, explosive. This was different. Deeper. Patient. Insistent. Like her body knew exactly how long it could draw the tension out before it snapped.
When the doors opened on the second floor, the private dining room was already alive with chatter and clinking silverware. Sophie’s family, my groomsmen, a few cousins milling around the buffet. And therestanding near the mimosa station in my charcoal suit, looking unfairly goodwas me. Margaret-in-my-body, hair still mussed from my fingers, tie slightly crooked in a way I never allowed. She caught my eye across the room and gave the tiniest nod, the corner of my mouth quirking in that knowing half-smile I usually saved for closing deals.
I forced Margaret’s posture straight, smoothed the dress over hips that felt too wide and too soft, and walked in.
“Margaret, darling!” EleanorSophie’s motherswooped in first, air-kissing both cheeks. “You look positively radiant this morning. Did you do something different with your makeup?”
I blinked behind the wire-rimmed glasses. “Just… slept well,” I managed in her crisp tone. “The hotel pillows are divine.”
Eleanor laughed and linked her arm through mine, steering me toward the table. Every step rubbed the lace of Margaret’s underwear against sensitive skin I’d never paid attention to before. The seam pressed right where the heat was gathering, a constant, maddening friction. I bit the inside of her cheek to keep from gasping.
Sophie was already seated, radiant in a soft white sundress, hair half-up in loose waves. When she saw “Margaret,” her face lit up.
“Aunt Margaret!” She stood and hugged mecarefully, the way you hug someone fragile. Her perfume wrapped around me, familiar and devastating. “I’m so glad you’re here early. Ethan’s been weirdly quiet this morning. Nerves, I think.”
I hugged her back, Margaret’s arms thinner than I was used to, but the embrace felt achingly real. Sophie’s breasts pressed softly against mine through the thin fabric; I could feel the warmth of her skin, the slight catch of her breath. My bodyher bodyreacted instantly: a fresh rush of wetness between my thighs, thighs that clenched without permission. I pulled back too quickly.
“He’ll be fine,” I said, patting her arm with what I hoped was maternal reassurance. “Men get peculiar before weddings. It passes.”
Sophie laughed, but her eyes searched my faceMargaret’s facea second longer than usual. “You sound so sure.”
Because I am sure, I wanted to say. Because I’m the one who’s going to marry you in eight hours and I’m currently fighting the urge to drag you into the nearest coat closet just to feel your hands on this body that suddenly wants everything.
Instead I smiled Margaret’s tight, polite smile and let Eleanor guide me to a chair.
Across the table, Margaret-in-my-body was watching. Our eyes locked again. She lifted my mimosa glass in a tiny toast, lips curving. Thendeliberatelyshe ran my tongue along the rim of the flute, slow and suggestive, before taking a sip. My stomach flipped. Her in my skin, playing with sensations I knew too well: the cold fizz on the tongue, the subtle stretch of jaw muscles, the way a single swallow could send warmth straight down.
I shifted in the seat. The chair was hard; the pressure against my clitGod, even thinking the word in her voice felt obscenewas almost too much. I pressed my thighs together under the tablecloth and tried to focus on the conversation.
Clara bounded over then, all eleven-year-old energy, clutching her tablet. “Aunt Margaret! Look, I made a TikTok edit of Uncle Ethan’s proposal video with cat filters!”
She shoved the screen in my face. There I wasmy real bodydown on one knee in the park last spring, edited so cartoon ears twitched on my head and whiskers sprouted whenever I smiled at Sophie.
“Very… creative,” I said, voice dry. Clara beamed.
Margaretacross the tableleaned forward. “Clara, sweetheart,” she said in my deeper register, “why don’t you show me how to make one of those later? I could use some modernizing.”
Clara’s eyes went wide. “You? On TikTok?”
“Desperate times,” Margaret replied, and shot me a look that said: We’re going to talk. Soon.
The brunch dragged. Every time Sophie laughed, every time her fingers brushed mine passing the fruit platter, every accidental graze of her knee against Margaret’s under the table sent another pulse of arousal through me. By the time people started drifting toward the elevators for hair and makeup appointments, I was dizzy with itwet, swollen, aching in places I’d never inhabited before. Margaret’s body didn’t rush toward release the way mine did; it simmered, built layer by layer until I felt like I might combust from sheer anticipation.
As the room emptied, Margaret caught my elbowmy arm now, strong fingers wrapping around Margaret’s thinner oneand steered me toward the quiet hallway outside the restrooms.
“Storage closet,” she muttered. “Now.”
I didn’t argue.
The door clicked shut behind us. Dim light from a single bulb. Shelves of extra linens, the faint smell of bleach and lavender.
She pushed megentlyagainst the wall. My back arched; Margaret’s breasts lifted with the motion. She loomed over me in my own body, heat radiating off skin I knew was fever-hot.
“We can’t” I started.
“We already did,” she whispered in my voice, rougher now. “And your body won’t stop thinking about it.”
Her handmy handslid up under the hem of the navy dress, callused fingertips tracing the lace edge of panties already soaked through. I gasped, hips jerking forward involuntarily.
“Tell me to stop,” she said, eyes locked on mine.
I didn’t.
Instead I reached up, tangled Margaret’s fingers in my own hair, and pulled her down into another kiss. This one was hungrier. Teeth. Tongue. The rough slide of my stubble against her softer skin. Her palm cupped me through the lacefirm, knowing pressure right where I needed itand I moaned into her mouth, the sound high and feminine and utterly foreign.
She rubbed slow circles, learning the rhythm of this body the way I’d learned mine over years. I rocked against her hand, chasing the building wave, thighs trembling.
“Ethan,” she breathed against my earmy ear now“let go. Just this once.”
The orgasm hit like a slow-rolling tide instead of the sharp snap I was used to. It started deep, radiated outward in warm pulses that left me shaking, clinging to her shoulders, biting my lip so hard I tasted blood to keep from crying out loud enough for the hallway to hear.
When it finally ebbed, I sagged against her, forehead to her collarbonemy collarbonebreathing hard.
She kissed my temple, soft now. “The brooch,” she murmured. “We still need to find it.”
I nodded, dazed. “After… after the photos. Before the ceremony.”
She helped me straighten the dress, smooth the chignon, wipe smudged lipstick with her thumb. Then she opened the door a crack, checked the hall, and slipped out first.
I waited thirty seconds, heart still thundering, body still humming.
Then I followed.
Eight hours until vows.
And I had no idea how I was going to walk down that aisle pretending I hadn’t just come undone in a storage closetwearing someone else’s skin, craving someone else’s touch, while the woman who used to be me waited in mine.
The photos were next. Outdoor portraits in the hotel garden before the ceremonygolden hour light, everyone in their finery, the kind of shots that would end up framed on mantels and mocked on group chats for decades.
I stood on the lawn in Margaret’s navy dress, sensible flats sinking slightly into the damp grass, trying to look like I belonged among the younger crowd. The photographera cheerful woman named Mara with a camera the size of a small cannonkept repositioning us.
“Margaret, darling, chin up a touch! You’ve got such elegant posture.”
Elegant. Right. I lifted Margaret’s chin, felt the unfamiliar pull of skin that had lost some of its elasticity, and smiled the tight, practiced smile I’d seen her use a hundred times. Across the grouping, Margaret-in-my-body lounged against a stone pillar in the charcoal suit, sleeves rolled to the elbows, looking effortlessly cool in a way I usually had to work for. She caught my eye and flexed my fingersslow, deliberatethen let her hand drop to rest low on my own hip. A casual gesture to anyone watching. To me, it was a promise.
Sophie was radiant between us, laughing as Clara darted in and out of frame trying to photobomb with peace signs. Every time Sophie turned to me“Aunt Margaret, come stand closer!”and slipped an arm around my waist, the contact sent fresh sparks racing under my skin. Her fingers brushed the small of my back, just above where the dress’s zipper sat, and I had to lock Margaret’s knees to keep from swaying.
The ache from the storage closet hadn’t faded. If anything, it had settled in deeper, a low, constant throb that pulsed in time with my heartbeather heartbeat. Every brush of lace against swollen flesh reminded me exactly how wet I still was, how sensitive the folds had become. I pressed my thighs together when no one was looking and nearly whimpered at the pressure.
Mara called for couple shots next. “Bride and groom first, then we’ll add family!”
Sophie tugged me forwardthinking I was Margaret, of courseand positioned me on her other side so the three of us stood together: Sophie in the middle, “Ethan” on her right, “Margaret” on her left. The irony was so thick I could taste it.
“Perfect,” Mara said. “Big smiles!”
Sophie leaned into meinto Margaret’s bodyher cheek brushing mine. Her breath was warm against my ear. “You’ve been so quiet today,” she murmured, just for me. “Everything okay?”
I turned Margaret’s head, met her eyes. So close I could see the flecks of gold in her irises, smell the faint citrus of her shampoo. “Just… savoring it,” I said in the older woman’s voice. “Watching you two. It’s beautiful.”
Sophie’s smile softened, genuine. “You always know what to say.”
Behind her, Margaret-in-my-body watched us with an expression I couldn’t quite readjealousy? Hunger? Pride? She stepped closer on Sophie’s other side, slid an arm around her waist, and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. The gesture was tender, almost reverent. Sophie melted into it.
And Itrapped in Margaret’s skinfelt a sharp, unexpected twist in my chest. Not just arousal anymore. Something softer. Hotter. The sight of my own body holding the woman I loved, touching her with a gentleness I’d always been too impatient to master… it unraveled me.
The camera clicked. Again. Again.
When Mara finally called a break, Sophie excused herself to touch up lipstick. Clara ran off to chase butterflies with one of the ring bearers. The garden emptied for a moment.
Margaret stepped up behind meclose enough that I could feel the heat rolling off my own body.
“Storage closet again?” she murmured, lips brushing the shell of my earMargaret’s ear.
“No time,” I whispered back, even as my hips shifted backward instinctively, seeking contact. “Photos resume in ten.”
“Then here.” Her handmy handslipped under the hem of the dress again, hidden by the angle of our bodies and the low stone wall at our backs. Fingers found soaked lace, pushed it aside with practiced ease. Two fingers slid inside meslow, deepand I had to clamp a hand over my own mouth to muffle the sound.
She curled them, found that spot I’d never been able to reach properly in this body, and stroked. Steady. Relentless. Her thumb circled my clit at the same time, slick and sure.
I trembled against her, back arched, breasts heaving under the navy silk. The orgasm built faster this timesharperbecause she knew exactly what this body needed now. I came with a choked sob, biting down on my own palm, thighs shaking so hard I nearly buckled.
She held me through it, steady as stone, until the aftershocks faded. Then she withdrew her fingers, brought them to her lipsmy lipsand licked them clean with slow, deliberate swipes of tongue. Watching herself do it was obscene. Intimate. Mine.
“Brooch,” she said quietly, voice rough. “I think it’s in the bridal suite. Sophie mentioned Margaret’s things were brought there this morning for ‘sentimental photos.’”
I nodded, still catching my breath. “After the first look. We’ll slip in.”
She adjusted my dress for me, smoothed a stray lock of gray hair behind my ear. “You’re doing beautifully,” she saidmy voice saying it, but her warmth behind the words. “Stronger than I ever gave you credit for.”
I looked up at herat meand felt something shift again. Not just lust. Respect. Affection. A strange, mirrored tenderness.
The photographer called us back.
We rejoined the group separately, faces composed, bodies humming with shared secrets.
Sophie reappeared, lipstick perfect, eyes bright. She took my handMargaret’s handand squeezed.
“Ready for the aisle?” she asked.
I squeezed back. “More than ever.”
I woke up to the smell of lavender and old books, which was the first wrong thing.
My alarm should have been the sharp ping of my phonesome upbeat synth track I’d set to “motivational asshole mode.” Instead there was silence, thick hotel-room silence, broken only by the faint ticking of a wall clock I didn’t remember owning. My body felt… heavy. Not gym-sore heavy. Not even post-night-out heavy. It felt like someone had poured concrete into my joints and then politely asked them to creak.
I opened my eyes.
The ceiling was wrong. Too high, too ornate, crown molding that belonged in a period drama. The bed was wrong toosoft in that way old mattresses are soft, like they’ve given up fighting gravity decades ago. I tried to sit up and my back immediately lodged a formal complaint. A dull ache bloomed behind my knees. My handswhen I lifted them to rub my facewere not mine.
They were smaller. Knotted at the knuckles. Liver spots scattered like spilled coffee across the backs. Thin gold wedding band on the left ring finger, worn smooth from years. Nails short, unpainted, practical.
I stared at them for what felt like ten full seconds.
Then I screamed.
It came out wrong. Higher, raspier, an older woman’s startled yelp instead of my usual baritone bark. I clapped a hand over my mouthmy new, unfamiliar mouthand tasted lipstick. Not gloss. Actual matte lipstick, the kind that feels like wax and smells faintly of roses.
I scrambled out of bed (or tried to; the knees locked halfway and I nearly face-planted into a floral rug). There was a full-length mirror on the wardrobe door. I didn’t want to look. I looked anyway.
Margaret stared back at me.
Not some random old lady. Margaret. The Margaret. Sophie’s family friend, the retired principal who once told mein front of twenty people at the engagement partythat “youth is wasted on the young and charm is wasted on the cocky.” Gray hair pulled into a neat chignon. Wire-rimmed glasses hanging from a chain around myherneck. A silk dressing gown the color of weak tea. And behind the glasses, my own wide, panicked eyes.
I whispered, “No. No no no no.”
The voice was hers. Dry, precise, faintly British even though she was born in Ohio. I hated how authoritative it sounded even when I was the one panicking.
Phone. I needed my phone.
I lurched across the roomevery step a negotiation with joints that had apparently unionized against meand found a small clutch purse on the dresser. Inside: reading glasses, tissues, a tin of mints, a hotel keycard, andthank Godmy phone. Except it wasn’t my phone. It was hers. An iPhone 8, cracked screen protector, wallpaper of a black-and-white photo of two kids who were probably her grandchildren.
I tried Face ID anyway. It didn’t work. Obviously.
Passcode. I typed my birthday.
Nothing.
Her birthday? I had no idea.
I typed 01011958 on a guess (she’d once said she was “born the year they launched Sputnik, which explains my lifelong suspicion of bright ideas”). The phone unlocked.
First thing I did: opened the camera and switched to selfie mode.
Yeah. Still Margaret.
Second thing: checked the time. 7:42 a.m. Wedding was at 4:00 p.m. Rehearsal brunch at 10:00. Sophie was probably already in the bridal suite getting her hair done, surrounded by bridesmaids and mimosas and that calming playlist she loved.
I could text her. I could call her. I could say, “Babe, something insane happened, I’m in Margaret’s body, please don’t freak out.”
And then what?
She’d think I was drunk. Or high. Or having a psychotic break forty-eight hours before our wedding. She’d call my brother. She’d call her mom. Within twenty minutes the entire wedding party would know the groom was claiming to be trapped in a sixty-seven-year-old woman’s body. The photos would leak. TwitterXwould have a field day. “Tech bro groom swaps souls with grandma, more at 11.”
No. No way.
I wasn’t telling anyone. Not Sophie. Not James. Not even Clara, who’d probably believe me and then try to livestream it.
I had to fix this quietly. Find the broochMargaret’s stupid cursed brooch that I’d laughed at last night when she’d pinned it to her lapel and muttered something about “family nonsense.” I’d touched it. I remembered touching it when I helped her with her coat. That had to be it.
I rummaged through the purse again. No brooch. Checked the nightstand, the dresser drawers, under the bed like an idiot. Nothing.
The ceremony was in eight hours. I had to get through the morning looking like Margaret, sounding like Margaret, acting like Margaret, while Margaretsomewhere in my bodywas probably waking up in the groom’s suite wondering why she suddenly had abs and could see without glasses.
I caught my reflection again. Margaret’s stern mouth was currently twisted into something like horror.
“Okay,” I said aloud in her voice. “You built a thirty-million-dollar valuation from a dorm room. You can handle one wedding in heels.”
I opened the wardrobe.
Dresses. Cardigans. Low block heels that looked like they’d been designed by someone who hated fun.
I picked the least offensive outfita navy dress with sensible sleevesand started the longest morning of my life.
First problem: pantyhose.
Second problem: I had no idea how to walk in any of these shoes without looking like a newborn giraffe.
Third problem: in about two hours I had to sit at a table with Sophie’s entire family, smile politely, and pretend I was a retired school principal who approved of their daughter marrying me.
I took a deep breath that hurt my ribs in a brand-new way.
Then I squared Margaret’s narrow shoulders, put on her glasses, and opened the hotel-room door.
Showtime.
I stepped into the hallway, Margaret's sensible flats squeaking faintly on the carpet like they were judging me with every step. The hotel was buzzing alreadymaids pushing carts, distant laughter from the lobby, the faint clink of breakfast trays. My heartor rather, her heartwas pounding in a way that felt foreign, slower but insistent, like an old engine revving up after years in storage.
First stop: the groom's suite. My suite. Where Margaret was probably freaking out in my body right now. I needed to confront her, figure out how to reverse this, and swear her to secrecy. But walking down that hall felt like a marathon. These knees weren't built for speed; every stride sent a twinge up my thighs, and I had to fight the urge to hunch forward like she always did.
A door opened ahead, and out stepped one of the groomsmenwait, no, it was the hotel concierge, a young guy in a crisp uniform. He smiled politely. "Good morning, ma'am. Can I help you with anything?"
Ma'am. God, that stung. I forced Margaret's lips into what I hoped was her signature no-nonsense smile. "No, thank you. Just heading tofamily matters."
He nodded and moved on, but not before his eyes flicked downsubtly, professionallyto my chest. Or her chest. I felt a flush creep up my neck. These breasts were substantial, heavy in a way I'd never experienced, shifting slightly under the dress with each step. It was distracting, almost sensual, the fabric brushing against skin that felt hypersensitive. I shook it off. Focus, Ethan.
By the time I reached my suite door, I was sweating. Knocked twice, sharp and principal-like. No answer. I tried the handlelocked. Shit. My keycard was probably in my real pants pocket, wherever that body was now.
"Open up," I hissed in her voice, glancing around to make sure no one was watching. "It's me. Ethan."
The door cracked open after a beat, and there I wasmy own face staring back at me, wide-eyed and pale. Except it wasn't me. It was Margaret in my skin, her expression a mix of terror and something else. Exhilaration? She yanked me inside and slammed the door.
"What in God's name" she started in my voice, deep and resonant, but with her clipped cadence. It was weird hearing my baritone sound so proper.
"Shh!" I cut her off, pushing past into the room. My room looked the same: tux hanging on the closet door, my phone charging on the nightstand, a half-empty protein shake from last night. But seeing it from this height, this angle, made everything feel off-kilter.
Margaretin my bodypaced, running my hands through my hair in a way that'd mess up the style I'd planned. "This is the brooch. I told you it was cursed! My great-aunt swore it swapped her with a cousin on her wedding day in '32. We need to find it and"
"I know," I snapped, her voice cracking a bit. "I touched it last night. But we can't tell anyone. Not Sophie, not anyone. We'll fix this before the ceremony."
She stopped pacing, turning to face me. My own eyes raked over her bodymy body now occupied by her. It was surreal, like looking in a funhouse mirror. And then something shifted. She adjusted my stance, squaring my shoulders, and I noticed how my athletic build filled out the robe she must've thrown on. Broad chest, the faint outline of abs under the fabric. I'd always been proud of that body, but seeing it from the outside, controlled by someone else it stirred something unexpected. A heat low in my bellyher bellythat I wasn't prepared for.
"Why are you staring?" she demanded, but there was a flush on my cheeks now. Her in there.
"I nothing." I averted my eyes, but they landed on the mirror across the room. There we were: an older woman and a young man, standing too close in a hotel room. The contrast was electric. Her mind in my prime physique, my energy trapped in her seasoned form. I felt a forbidden curiosity bubble up. What did this body feel like, really? Not just the achesthe pleasures?
She seemed to sense it too. Stepped closer, towering over me now in a way that made my pulse quicken. "Ethan, this is serious. But good Lord, your body. It's like being plugged into a live wire. Everything's so responsive." Her voicemy voicedropped lower, and I saw her glance down at herself, adjusting the robe where it tented slightly. Was that arousal? In my body?
I swallowed hard, Margaret's throat dry. "Yeah, well, yours isn't exactly a slouch. It's sensitive. In ways I didn't expect." My hand, almost without thinking, brushed against the side of her hipmy hip now. The skin there was softer, warmer than I'd imagined. A shiver ran through me, electric, pooling between my legs in a unfamiliar, building ache. Women's bodies, I realized with a jolt, didn't ramp up the same way it was slower, deeper, like a wave gathering.
She inhaled sharply at the touch, my eyes darkening. "We shouldn't This is madness." But she didn't pull away. Instead, her handmy strong, callused hand from rock climbingreached out and cupped my cheek, thumb tracing Margaret's jawline. The contact was intimate, charged. I leaned into it, feeling the roughness against smooth skin, and suddenly we were kissing.
It was clumsy at firstme in her body, her in mine, lips meeting in a rush of confusion and heat. My mouth was softer, more yielding; hers firmer, insistent. I tasted my own aftershave on her tongue, mixed with her surprise. Hands roamed: mine exploring the hard planes of my chest under the robe, hers sliding down to grip Margaret's waist, pulling me closer. The friction of fabric against skin sent sparks through me, her nipplesmy nipples nowtightening under the dress.
We broke apart, breathing hard. "This is wrong," I gasped in her voice, but my body betrayed me, thighs pressing together instinctively, seeking more pressure.
"Utterly," she agreed in mine, but her grin was wicked, eyes gleaming with that secret delight she'd mentioned. "But educational. Your stamina, Ethanit's intoxicating." She flexed my arms, and I felt a rush watching the muscles shift.
We didn't go furthernot then. Time was ticking, and the brunch loomed. But the air hummed with possibility, a secret shared in swapped flesh. I straightened her dressmy dressand she helped me fix the chignon, fingers lingering a second too long on my neck.
"Find the brooch," I said firmly, stepping back. "It's probably in your things. I'll play you at brunch; you play me. Act normal."
She nodded, but as I turned to leave, her voicemy voicecalled softly, "Ethan? This body of yours it wants things. Be careful."
I shivered again, that erotic undercurrent lingering as I slipped back into the hall. The wedding was hours away, and now, on top of everything, I had to navigate Margaret's form through a sea of family and friends, all while ignoring the newfound desires humming under her skin.
I slipped out of the groom’s suite with my pulse still hammering in Margaret’s narrower chest, the memory of that kiss burning behind my eyes like a live wire. Her lipsmy lips nowstill tingled from the press of my own mouth, from the rough scrape of stubble that wasn’t there anymore. I could taste the faint salt of my skin on her tongue, could still feel the hard ridge of my erection pressing against her thigh through the robe when we’d broken apart.
Focus, Ethan. Brunch. Family. Act like a retired principal who thinks you’re marrying beneath her.
The elevator ride down was torture. Every sway of the car made Margaret’s breasts shift under the navy dress, the silk lining sliding against nipples that had hardened and stayed that way since the kiss. I crossed my arms under them instinctivelysupport, modesty, whateverand immediately regretted it. The pressure only sharpened the ache, sent a slow, liquid heat curling low in her belly. I’d spent years chasing that kind of build-up in my own body: quick, focused, explosive. This was different. Deeper. Patient. Insistent. Like her body knew exactly how long it could draw the tension out before it snapped.
When the doors opened on the second floor, the private dining room was already alive with chatter and clinking silverware. Sophie’s family, my groomsmen, a few cousins milling around the buffet. And therestanding near the mimosa station in my charcoal suit, looking unfairly goodwas me. Margaret-in-my-body, hair still mussed from my fingers, tie slightly crooked in a way I never allowed. She caught my eye across the room and gave the tiniest nod, the corner of my mouth quirking in that knowing half-smile I usually saved for closing deals.
I forced Margaret’s posture straight, smoothed the dress over hips that felt too wide and too soft, and walked in.
“Margaret, darling!” EleanorSophie’s motherswooped in first, air-kissing both cheeks. “You look positively radiant this morning. Did you do something different with your makeup?”
I blinked behind the wire-rimmed glasses. “Just… slept well,” I managed in her crisp tone. “The hotel pillows are divine.”
Eleanor laughed and linked her arm through mine, steering me toward the table. Every step rubbed the lace of Margaret’s underwear against sensitive skin I’d never paid attention to before. The seam pressed right where the heat was gathering, a constant, maddening friction. I bit the inside of her cheek to keep from gasping.
Sophie was already seated, radiant in a soft white sundress, hair half-up in loose waves. When she saw “Margaret,” her face lit up.
“Aunt Margaret!” She stood and hugged mecarefully, the way you hug someone fragile. Her perfume wrapped around me, familiar and devastating. “I’m so glad you’re here early. Ethan’s been weirdly quiet this morning. Nerves, I think.”
I hugged her back, Margaret’s arms thinner than I was used to, but the embrace felt achingly real. Sophie’s breasts pressed softly against mine through the thin fabric; I could feel the warmth of her skin, the slight catch of her breath. My bodyher bodyreacted instantly: a fresh rush of wetness between my thighs, thighs that clenched without permission. I pulled back too quickly.
“He’ll be fine,” I said, patting her arm with what I hoped was maternal reassurance. “Men get peculiar before weddings. It passes.”
Sophie laughed, but her eyes searched my faceMargaret’s facea second longer than usual. “You sound so sure.”
Because I am sure, I wanted to say. Because I’m the one who’s going to marry you in eight hours and I’m currently fighting the urge to drag you into the nearest coat closet just to feel your hands on this body that suddenly wants everything.
Instead I smiled Margaret’s tight, polite smile and let Eleanor guide me to a chair.
Across the table, Margaret-in-my-body was watching. Our eyes locked again. She lifted my mimosa glass in a tiny toast, lips curving. Thendeliberatelyshe ran my tongue along the rim of the flute, slow and suggestive, before taking a sip. My stomach flipped. Her in my skin, playing with sensations I knew too well: the cold fizz on the tongue, the subtle stretch of jaw muscles, the way a single swallow could send warmth straight down.
I shifted in the seat. The chair was hard; the pressure against my clitGod, even thinking the word in her voice felt obscenewas almost too much. I pressed my thighs together under the tablecloth and tried to focus on the conversation.
Clara bounded over then, all eleven-year-old energy, clutching her tablet. “Aunt Margaret! Look, I made a TikTok edit of Uncle Ethan’s proposal video with cat filters!”
She shoved the screen in my face. There I wasmy real bodydown on one knee in the park last spring, edited so cartoon ears twitched on my head and whiskers sprouted whenever I smiled at Sophie.
“Very… creative,” I said, voice dry. Clara beamed.
Margaretacross the tableleaned forward. “Clara, sweetheart,” she said in my deeper register, “why don’t you show me how to make one of those later? I could use some modernizing.”
Clara’s eyes went wide. “You? On TikTok?”
“Desperate times,” Margaret replied, and shot me a look that said: We’re going to talk. Soon.
The brunch dragged. Every time Sophie laughed, every time her fingers brushed mine passing the fruit platter, every accidental graze of her knee against Margaret’s under the table sent another pulse of arousal through me. By the time people started drifting toward the elevators for hair and makeup appointments, I was dizzy with itwet, swollen, aching in places I’d never inhabited before. Margaret’s body didn’t rush toward release the way mine did; it simmered, built layer by layer until I felt like I might combust from sheer anticipation.
As the room emptied, Margaret caught my elbowmy arm now, strong fingers wrapping around Margaret’s thinner oneand steered me toward the quiet hallway outside the restrooms.
“Storage closet,” she muttered. “Now.”
I didn’t argue.
The door clicked shut behind us. Dim light from a single bulb. Shelves of extra linens, the faint smell of bleach and lavender.
She pushed megentlyagainst the wall. My back arched; Margaret’s breasts lifted with the motion. She loomed over me in my own body, heat radiating off skin I knew was fever-hot.
“We can’t” I started.
“We already did,” she whispered in my voice, rougher now. “And your body won’t stop thinking about it.”
Her handmy handslid up under the hem of the navy dress, callused fingertips tracing the lace edge of panties already soaked through. I gasped, hips jerking forward involuntarily.
“Tell me to stop,” she said, eyes locked on mine.
I didn’t.
Instead I reached up, tangled Margaret’s fingers in my own hair, and pulled her down into another kiss. This one was hungrier. Teeth. Tongue. The rough slide of my stubble against her softer skin. Her palm cupped me through the lacefirm, knowing pressure right where I needed itand I moaned into her mouth, the sound high and feminine and utterly foreign.
She rubbed slow circles, learning the rhythm of this body the way I’d learned mine over years. I rocked against her hand, chasing the building wave, thighs trembling.
“Ethan,” she breathed against my earmy ear now“let go. Just this once.”
The orgasm hit like a slow-rolling tide instead of the sharp snap I was used to. It started deep, radiated outward in warm pulses that left me shaking, clinging to her shoulders, biting my lip so hard I tasted blood to keep from crying out loud enough for the hallway to hear.
When it finally ebbed, I sagged against her, forehead to her collarbonemy collarbonebreathing hard.
She kissed my temple, soft now. “The brooch,” she murmured. “We still need to find it.”
I nodded, dazed. “After… after the photos. Before the ceremony.”
She helped me straighten the dress, smooth the chignon, wipe smudged lipstick with her thumb. Then she opened the door a crack, checked the hall, and slipped out first.
I waited thirty seconds, heart still thundering, body still humming.
Then I followed.
Eight hours until vows.
And I had no idea how I was going to walk down that aisle pretending I hadn’t just come undone in a storage closetwearing someone else’s skin, craving someone else’s touch, while the woman who used to be me waited in mine.
The photos were next. Outdoor portraits in the hotel garden before the ceremonygolden hour light, everyone in their finery, the kind of shots that would end up framed on mantels and mocked on group chats for decades.
I stood on the lawn in Margaret’s navy dress, sensible flats sinking slightly into the damp grass, trying to look like I belonged among the younger crowd. The photographera cheerful woman named Mara with a camera the size of a small cannonkept repositioning us.
“Margaret, darling, chin up a touch! You’ve got such elegant posture.”
Elegant. Right. I lifted Margaret’s chin, felt the unfamiliar pull of skin that had lost some of its elasticity, and smiled the tight, practiced smile I’d seen her use a hundred times. Across the grouping, Margaret-in-my-body lounged against a stone pillar in the charcoal suit, sleeves rolled to the elbows, looking effortlessly cool in a way I usually had to work for. She caught my eye and flexed my fingersslow, deliberatethen let her hand drop to rest low on my own hip. A casual gesture to anyone watching. To me, it was a promise.
Sophie was radiant between us, laughing as Clara darted in and out of frame trying to photobomb with peace signs. Every time Sophie turned to me“Aunt Margaret, come stand closer!”and slipped an arm around my waist, the contact sent fresh sparks racing under my skin. Her fingers brushed the small of my back, just above where the dress’s zipper sat, and I had to lock Margaret’s knees to keep from swaying.
The ache from the storage closet hadn’t faded. If anything, it had settled in deeper, a low, constant throb that pulsed in time with my heartbeather heartbeat. Every brush of lace against swollen flesh reminded me exactly how wet I still was, how sensitive the folds had become. I pressed my thighs together when no one was looking and nearly whimpered at the pressure.
Mara called for couple shots next. “Bride and groom first, then we’ll add family!”
Sophie tugged me forwardthinking I was Margaret, of courseand positioned me on her other side so the three of us stood together: Sophie in the middle, “Ethan” on her right, “Margaret” on her left. The irony was so thick I could taste it.
“Perfect,” Mara said. “Big smiles!”
Sophie leaned into meinto Margaret’s bodyher cheek brushing mine. Her breath was warm against my ear. “You’ve been so quiet today,” she murmured, just for me. “Everything okay?”
I turned Margaret’s head, met her eyes. So close I could see the flecks of gold in her irises, smell the faint citrus of her shampoo. “Just… savoring it,” I said in the older woman’s voice. “Watching you two. It’s beautiful.”
Sophie’s smile softened, genuine. “You always know what to say.”
Behind her, Margaret-in-my-body watched us with an expression I couldn’t quite readjealousy? Hunger? Pride? She stepped closer on Sophie’s other side, slid an arm around her waist, and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. The gesture was tender, almost reverent. Sophie melted into it.
And Itrapped in Margaret’s skinfelt a sharp, unexpected twist in my chest. Not just arousal anymore. Something softer. Hotter. The sight of my own body holding the woman I loved, touching her with a gentleness I’d always been too impatient to master… it unraveled me.
The camera clicked. Again. Again.
When Mara finally called a break, Sophie excused herself to touch up lipstick. Clara ran off to chase butterflies with one of the ring bearers. The garden emptied for a moment.
Margaret stepped up behind meclose enough that I could feel the heat rolling off my own body.
“Storage closet again?” she murmured, lips brushing the shell of my earMargaret’s ear.
“No time,” I whispered back, even as my hips shifted backward instinctively, seeking contact. “Photos resume in ten.”
“Then here.” Her handmy handslipped under the hem of the dress again, hidden by the angle of our bodies and the low stone wall at our backs. Fingers found soaked lace, pushed it aside with practiced ease. Two fingers slid inside meslow, deepand I had to clamp a hand over my own mouth to muffle the sound.
She curled them, found that spot I’d never been able to reach properly in this body, and stroked. Steady. Relentless. Her thumb circled my clit at the same time, slick and sure.
I trembled against her, back arched, breasts heaving under the navy silk. The orgasm built faster this timesharperbecause she knew exactly what this body needed now. I came with a choked sob, biting down on my own palm, thighs shaking so hard I nearly buckled.
She held me through it, steady as stone, until the aftershocks faded. Then she withdrew her fingers, brought them to her lipsmy lipsand licked them clean with slow, deliberate swipes of tongue. Watching herself do it was obscene. Intimate. Mine.
“Brooch,” she said quietly, voice rough. “I think it’s in the bridal suite. Sophie mentioned Margaret’s things were brought there this morning for ‘sentimental photos.’”
I nodded, still catching my breath. “After the first look. We’ll slip in.”
She adjusted my dress for me, smoothed a stray lock of gray hair behind my ear. “You’re doing beautifully,” she saidmy voice saying it, but her warmth behind the words. “Stronger than I ever gave you credit for.”
I looked up at herat meand felt something shift again. Not just lust. Respect. Affection. A strange, mirrored tenderness.
The photographer called us back.
We rejoined the group separately, faces composed, bodies humming with shared secrets.
Sophie reappeared, lipstick perfect, eyes bright. She took my handMargaret’s handand squeezed.
“Ready for the aisle?” she asked.
I squeezed back. “More than ever.”
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."
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.
Sara walked down the hall as the kids ran past her, happy to be done for the day.
"See ya Monday, Mrs. Robinson!" called out Janie Smith as she walked past.
"Have a good weekend, Janie." Sara responded.
Sara saw Al Bentley, the science teacher, down the hall. She sighed to herself and walked toward him, conscious of the gentle sway and bounce of her very large breasts. He smiled as she approached. Al was a few years younger than her 31, and since the day he started teaching at the school had endlessly flirted with her. At first Sara was flattered, but she made it perfectly clear that she was happily married.
Al had been very persistent though. He always made comments about how nice she looked and paid her numerous compliments. Sara had at first gotten irritated at his come-ons but they were never so direct or crude that it could be considered harassment and eventually she just accepted and tolerated them. She had to admit that he was nice looking and sometimes she even found herself laughing and blushing at his words. Unfortunately that only seemed to encourage him.
"Hello, Sara. You certainly look nice this afternoon." he said with a smile and rather quickly looked ever her body.
"Thank you, Al. Its been a long day." she replied. She noticed his glance over her. He often seemed to be studying her like a lab rat.
"We have a three day weekend. Any plans?" he asked.
"No, John is out of town for two weeks and I'm just going to relax." she answered, "How about you?"
"Oh, I'm going to be involved with a project I've been working on for a long time. An experimental project" he answered.
"Really? What kind of experiment?" Sara asked. She had heard that Al was supposed to be close to genius as far as his intelligence. She couldn't help but wonder what sort of things he did in his spare time.
"Its rather complicated to explain. I've been developing a new type of computer intelligence, essentially a computer that can think!" he said.
"Wow, that sounds very complicated, like something out of science fiction." she said with a laugh and immediately regretted it.
His face darkened slightly.
"Its not science fiction. Its quite real. I believe that what I have created will change the world as we know it." Al stated somewhat melodramatically.
"OK, if you say so, Al."
He smiled. "Perhaps you would like to see my work, Sara? Perhaps you could even assist me?"
"How could I assist?" she asked.
"Its too difficult to explain here. It would be easier to show you. Would you be interested?"
"Well I guess I could take a look and maybe I could help." Sara said.
"Excellent, tonight would be perfect. I would need to get a few things ready for you. Why don't you come by at 8:00 and I'll show you what I've been working on."
Sara thought for a moment. She didn’t have anything to do with John out of town and it would be easy to get a sitter tonight.
"OK. I will. But I cant be out too late, Al. And remember, I'm just helping you. It's not a date. Understand?" she stated.
"Oh, of course Sara. You made your feelings clear long ago. I understand." Al said with a smile, "See you at 8:00 then?"
"Sure, I remember how to get to your house from the faculty meeting last spring. I'll see you later tonight." she said and walked on.
Al watched her walk away and smiled. He had much to do to get ready for Sara's visit tonight.
*
Sara looked at herself in the mirror. Even though she had no interest in Al, she still wanted to look nice. Her brown sweater was a bit snug around her large bust but the tease in her liked how she looked. "It won't hurt to keep Al on his toes." she thought with a smile. She grabbed her purse and the baby carrier and walked out to her car.
She dropped Traci off at the sitter's and told them she shouldn't be out too late. Mrs. Johnson told her not to worry. There had been occasions when Sara and John had stayed out late, but they knew Mrs. Johnson very well and trusted Traci with her overnight. "I'll call if I'm going to be late", Sara said as she walked out.
*
Al heard the doorbell ring and smiled. "Your right on time, Sara" he laughed. He opened the door and greeted her with a smile.
"I'm so glad you could make it, Sara." he said as his eyes roamed over her figure.
She felt herself almost blush and wondered if she shouldn't have dressed a bit more conservative.
"Well I didn't have any plans and what you said interested me. You really think you've discovered something that will change the world?" she asked.
"I think so, at least my little corner of it." he said and led her inside.
"Would you like something to drink? I have some coffee if you'd like?"
She smiled, "Yes that would be nice, thanks."
Sara watched him go into the kitchen and looked around the living room. Rows and rows of books on science, electricity and other topics filled the shelves. She saw that his desk was covered with papers and material from school. "At least I'm not the only one who seems to be buried in paperwork sometimes." she thought.
He walked back in with two large cups of coffee and handed her one.
"Thank you" she said and took a sip, "Hmmm...very good."
"Your welcome. Its my own...special blend. Come..let me show you my lab."
She grinned, "Your lab?"
"Yes, I remodeled my basement into a lab for my work. It's much better than I'd planned. I bought a lot of used equipment and converted it to better suit my purposes." he stated, "Let me show you."
She followed him downstairs and was surprised at what she saw. Al smiled at her reaction.
"Wow, Al, its very impressive." she exclaimed.
Sara looked around the large room. All sorts of electronics and computers lined the walls. A mass of wires and cables ran across the ceiling to the various machines.
"Didn't this cost you a lot of money?" she asked in wonder at the strange equipment.
"I accumulated a lot of it over the past few years. I started my research in college. It has gone from a mere hobby to I'll admit to an obsession." he said almost laughing.
She smiled. Sara looked over to one end of the room. It was concealed with a large curtain.
"And what’s behind curtain number one?" she asked.
He grinned. "I guess I wanted to be dramatic when I showed you what I have created."
"What do you do with all this strange equipment down here?" she asked and took another drink of her coffee.
"What I have been doing is genius, Sara!" he exclaimed, "I guarantee it will change our lives!"
"I have created a most remarkable computer. It can actually duplicate the functions of the human brain!"
Sara listened as she sipped her coffee. "I've read about computers like that, artificial intelligence they call it."
He smiled. "Yes but what I've created is much more advanced the other scientists have been working on."
"I am using nanites, tiny, microscopic machines that can form into remarkable advanced computer circuitry. Each is capable of artificial intelligence, but when integrated together, their power is incredible!
She listened not fully understanding what he said, but he didn't care.
"Much like the cells of your brain, these nanites can form a network, but also can integrate with the existing structure of a computer." he said excitedly as he watched Sara finish her coffee.
"I have used my nanites to create my powerful new computers and now I am ready to take my discovery to the next step!"
"The next step? What is the next step, Al?" she asked.
Sara put her hand to her head, she suddenly felt dizzy.
"The next step is to introduce my nanites into a human brain, your brain, Sara! I am going to transform your brain into a living computer!"
Her eyes widened and she took a step back. "What?! What are you talking about?"
He smiled, his drug was taking effect. "Once my nanites are finished with you, you will have a programmable, computerized brain! You are going to be my human robot!
Sara's eyes widened at his words. "No...you're mad!" she managed to cry out as the drug took hold. She gasped and collapsed into his arms.
"Mad? Perhaps Sara but you will soon not care if I'm mad or not!" he laughed and picked her up.
*
He picked up the unconscious teacher and carried her to a chair. Putting her down he walked the curtain and drew it back. He looked at what was behind it with a smile.
A large metal table, equipped with restraining straps stood surrounded by electronic equipment. At the side of the table hung a container with an IV tube attached. A long thin needle was at the end.
He walked back over, picked up Sara and carried her to the table. Laying her down on it he smiled and began to undress his human guinea pig. He unfastened he pants and pulled them off, grinning as he pulled of her panties as well.
Al pulled the sweater off her and gazed at her breasts. They were so large now, the object of his and many others fantasies. He remembered how much they had grown since she had been pregnant.
Pausing only for a moment, he unhooked the large, white bra she wore, pulled it from her and set her clothes aside. Al carefully strapped her wrists and ankles securely to the table. Stepping back he looked her over.
Sara lay there naked and restrained on the table. Her large breasts fell to her arms, her nipples erect in the cool air of his lab. Al wiped a disinfectant on her arm and inserted the needle. Satisfied he watched as the serum containing his nanites began to flow into her vein.
The blueish-green liquid contained millions of nanites and they started to flow through her body, awaiting the electricity that would activate their pre-programmed tasks.
Al went to his computer and double checked all his equipment. Everything was perfect, he only had to wait.
Thirty minutes later, Sara began to stir, awakening from the drug. She tried to move but found she couldn't.
"Oh...where am I?" she weakly asked.
"Welcome back, Sara. You're still in my lab of course." he said with a laugh.
She pulled against the straps and felt a pain in her arm. Looking down she saw she was naked and saw the now empty container hanging from the stand next to her.
"What...what have you done?" she cried in horror.
"The serum containing my nanites is now coursing through your body. Soon the nanites will be activated...to begin the changes. Your transformation into my human robot!" he exclaimed.
Everything came back to her and she struggled futilely against the straps. He watched as she struggled, her breasts jiggling and quivering from her movements.
"You cannot escape, Sara. I advise you to relax and accept what fate has decided for you." he laughed.
Al looked over his helpless subject and smiled, "Now for some necessary equipment, my dear."
She watched helplessly as he attached the electrodes to her wrists and ankles, cables led from them to the apparatus that hung over her.
"What are you doing?!!!" she cried.
"This procedure requires a great deal of electricity. With the nanites in your system, your body will now be able to conduct the voltage with ease. The electricity will be as natural to your body as the air you breathe.”
She watched in horror as he gently took hold of her erect right nipple and inserted a thin electrode into it. Sara gasped as she felt it enter her but without any pain. He hooked up her left breast as well, the wires running to the equipment above her.
"Your breasts are already quite large, Sara, but I think a few more inches couldn’t hurt." he laughed.
"Noooo...you're insane!" she cried and again struggled. Her breasts jiggled and the wires connecting them to the equipment swayed from her action.
Al ignored her and lifted up a strange looking helmet. "Soon Sara, anything I say will be perfectly reasonable to you. Once you have been reprogrammed, such offensive thoughts as that will be erased from your mind."
He placed the helmet on her head, ensuring that it was snug. Two metal electrodes attached to it were clamped firmly to her temples. Al proceeded to plug various wires and cable into the helmet, hooking it up to his computers. With a satisfied smile, he stepped back.
Sara looked up at him, a terrified expression on her face. He just smiled down at her. "Try not to resist the procedure, Sara. You can't fight technology!" he laughed.
"Nooo...please let me go, Al..."she cried, wondering what was going to happen to her.
"Just relax, Sara. Soon everything will be so much better." he said and walked to his computer.
Sara lay there, trembling in fear. Her eyes wide with panic, her heart racing. She heard switches being thrown and a humming sound filled the lab. The lights dimmed slightly as power was drained from them to the equipment that surrounded her.
"You will feel a powerful charge as the electrical voltage enters your body, but rest assured, Sara, it will not harm you in the slightest." he stated.
She braced herself and cried out as the current hit her. Sara's body stiffened in shock as the electricity surged into her. A low moan escaped her lips.
Al watched his monitors intently, their gauges and readouts measuring and recording the process.
"500 volts...600 volts..700 volts..." he called out to her as the current increased.
It felt like every cell in her body was pulsating with power. The electricity surged freely through her, charging her, preparing her. Sara could never imagine the intense sensation of the high voltage electricity blasting through her.
Al stood up and walked over to her. He smiled at the sight. Sara's body was vibrating, quivering from the current surging into her. Her eyes were wide, a stunned look on her face.
"What's...happening...to...me..?" she gasped.
"The electricity is increasing to the necessary level for nanite activation. It is almost there. Soon the hundreds of nanites now in your body will begin to make the changes that have been programmed into them." he said as he gazed down at her.
Sara hardly heard him, her mind and body consumed by the electrical charge. She could barely think, her thoughts seemed to be so distant, so empty. Electrical energy surged through her, rising and falling in her body, changing her.
He watched as the nanites began to work. A smile crossed his face as he gazed at her breasts, quivering and jiggling from the current surging into them. Al could see them slowly begin to grow. He had programmed the nanites to enlarge her breasts by 25% as well as increase her milk production. He licked his lips as he watched.
His eyes wandered up and down her body, watching as her figure became more toned, her muscles stronger. Though he couldn’t see it, he knew what changes were also occurring within Sara's brain. Al walked back over to his monitors and watched the 3-D model of her brain evolve.
Electrical circuitry was forming within it, the nanites constructing themselves into a powerful computer, integrated with her own brain. Sara's brain was being hardwired into a living computer, ready for the programming that he had designed.
After nearly an hour, the readouts told him that the nanites had completed their task. Her body was altered as he had programmed and her brain was now computerized. She was ready for the final phase of her robotization.
"Sara!" he called out.
She felt the pull of his voice and her consciousness tried to return. Her body felt so strange, different. A weight seemed to be pressing on her chest, yet she felt good, full of energy. The electricity, now at over 5,000 volts, felt so wonderful, natural...necessary.
"Sara, the nanites have completed the physical changes in your body and brain. You are now ready for reprogramming." he exclaimed
His voice seemed to echo in her ears, her mind. She was aware on one level what was happening but couldn't comprehend it.
"...changes complete...ready for reprogramming..." she mindlessly repeated.
He smiled at her response. "Yes, you are ready for reprogramming! You will soon think as I program you to think, do as I program you and obey me completely. You will become a human robot!"
"..ready for reprogramming...become a human robot...yes..."
With an evil grin, Al began entering the commands into his computer. A loud buzzing filled the air and his computer activated.
Sara stiffened and moaned as the computer entered her mind. She felt her thoughts return, fully conscious and aware of what was happening.
"..what..are...you...doing?.." she weakly cried out.
"You are being reprogrammed, Sara, becoming my human robot!"
She felt the programming, the computer in her thoughts.
"Relax...accept...relax...accept.." the words seemed to caress her mind, over and over, calming her. Sara felt the fear vanish, her thoughts seemed to be fade away. She tried to concentrate to think, but couldn't.
Thoughts began to enter her mind. Thoughts that weren't hers but seemed so to blend in with hers. Her mind couldn't concentrate, she couldn't think clearly.
'I'm being programmed...' she realized, 'He's programming my thoughts!'
The computer increased the flow of data, more programming surged into her mind. Sara tried to resist but she could no longer tell her own thoughts from the programming. They were becoming one.
She lay there, feeling the data pouring into her, becoming her. Understanding, accepting the programming...feeling herself changing...accepting the changes...wanting the changes...
Her mouth opened. "receiving programming...receiving programming..."
Sara's voice sounded distant, mechanical. Al smiled.
"Very good, Sara. Your mind has accepted the computer within your brain."
She sensed the computer increase the flow of data and eagerly opened her mind, letting it in, to take her, to control her, to transform her.
New thoughts raced through her mind, what to think, how to think....
'Receiving programming...Receiving programming...'
For 30 minutes the computer programmed her, informing her of her new life, creating a new identity within her, a human robot, a new individual.
Al watched the monitors and smiled as the final programming was downloaded. He walked up and let his eyes roam up and down her body, feasting on her enlarged breasts, her engorged nipples dripping milk as the electrodes inserted into them continued to charge her with electricity.
"Sara, listen to me!" he commanded.
Her eyes stared blankly up, gazing at the equipment above her.
"Yes.Al" she replied in a monotone, robotic voice.
"You are no longer, Sara Robinson!"
"I.am.no.longer.Sara.Robinson"
"You are no longer a human woman."
"I.am.no.longer.a.human.woman."
"I have transformed you."
"You.have.transformed.me."
"I have robotized you!"
"You.have.robotized.me."
"You are now a robot, a human robot!"
"I.am.now.a.human.robot."
"You are my female robot. Your purpose in life is to serve and obey me."
"I.am.your.female.robot.I.will.serve.and.obey.you.Al."
"I am your Master!"
"You.are.my.Master.Al.I.hear.and.I.obey.you.Master."
"Your name is now, Fembot. You are Sara Fembot."
"My.name.is.Sara.Fembot."
The computer activated her programming acceptance function. She began to repeat over and over her new programming.
"I.am.no.longer.Sara.Robinson. My.name.is.now.Sara.Fembot."
"I.am.no.longer.a.human.woman...
"I.have.been.transformed.into.a.human.robot...
"I.am.programmed.to.obey.Al.Bentley... Al.Bentley.is.my.master...
"I.hear.and.I.obey.his.commands... I.have.been.robotized...
"I.am.no.longer.a.human.woman... I.am.a.human.robot...
"I.am.no.longer.a.human.woman... I.am.a.human.robot...
"I.am.programmed.to.obey.Al.Bentley... I.am.Sara.Fembot...
"I.am.a.robot...I.am.Sara.Fembot... I.am.a.robot... I.am.a.robot...
"I.am.a.robot...
She repeated the commands that would now direct and control her new computerized brain.
Al smiled and shut off his machines. The procedure was complete. Sara Robinson was now his obedient human robot.
The loud hum of the electrical equipment died down as the power was shut off. The lights on the helmet Sara wore blinked a few more times and dimmed to nothing. Her eyes were closed. She lay there motionless, her enlarged bosom rising and falling as the newly created robot breathed.
Al began to unhook the equipment from her body, removing the helmet, unplugging the electrodes from her nipples. As he unstrapped her from the table his hands shook with excitement. Standing back he looked over his new creation.
"Sara Fembot, open your eyes." he commanded
Her eyes opened, she gazed vacantly at the ceiling.
"What is your name?"
"I.am.Sara.Fembot." she answered.
"Very good. Stand before me."
"Yes.Master."
Slowly, mechanically she rose from the table. Each movement processed by her computerized brain. Sara stood stiffly before Al, her new, larger breasts jutting towards him as if for inspection.
Al walked around her, inspecting her. He smiled at what he saw. Sara's body was more toned now, her skin seemed to glow with a younger appearance. He licked his lips as he stared at the milk droplets falling from her engorged nipples.
"You are perfect, Fembot. The perfect female robot." he declared.
"Yes.Master. I.am.the.perfect.female.robot."
He adjusted his pants. His erection was so insistent it was almost painful for him. He couldn't wait any longer and walked over to his computer console.
Sara stood there waiting. Her mind empty of all thoughts but obedience to her new master. She was aware of her enhanced body, the nanite alterations she had undergone. Her body felt wonderful, so full of energy, so perfectly robotic. The weight of her enlarged breasts was very noticeable. They felt so erotic, so powerful.
She was aware of who she was but it was a distant feeling. Her mind was focused on the present, on her master's commands, waiting to obey him. Everything else was irrelevant now. Sara Robinson was a distant memory. Sara Fembot was who she was now, a human robot ready to serve.
Al walked back over to her, holding a small device in his hand. He held it up for her to see.
"This is a remote control device, Fembot. It can activate your robotic programming when ever I desire. Some of these buttons I have already programmed to send various signals to your neural implants. I can also use it to speak directly to your mind when I choose." he stated.
She watched as he pointed the device at her and pressed a button. Sara felt a small tingling in her head and a charge of current surged throughout her body. The sexual arousal was instant and powerful. Her eyes widened, her back arched slightly as a wave of pleasure raced though her.
Al smiled at her reaction. "Now Fembot, Pleasure me!" he ordered.
"I.hear.and.I.obey."
Sara walked to her Master, her breasts bouncing and jiggling with each step. Milk steadily dripped from her nipples, her mammaries engorged and full. She reached up and kissed him. Her tongue met his as his passion and her programming joined. After a few moments she pulled back and dropped to her knees before him.
Quickly and efficiently her hands undid his pants, pulling them down to his ankles, his stiff cock sprang forth, ready for her attention. She licked her lips as her fingers wrapped around the long, hard shaft. Sara opened her mouth, took him in and began to suck.
Al moaned loudly as his new robot sucked on him. He set the remote down and gently caressed her as she serviced him. "I've been wanting this for so long..." he groaned.
Sara heard him but did not react. Her mind was focused on the task at hand, pleasuring her Master. With robotic precision she sucked, her hands squeezing and stroking the long shaft, her head pistoning back and forth on him. Her mouth was a tool of pleasure to be used for bringing her Master to orgasm.
Her tongue swirled around the swollen head in her mouth, deep throating him with the ease she now possessed. Sara felt it jerk and spasm in her mouth and a blast of cum spurted out. She quickly swallowed it down, her hand went to his balls and squeezed them as another and another blast of cum shot into her.
The robot sucked and swallowed as more cum filled her mouth. After nearly a minute the flood subsided. Sara squeezed and milked him, determined to get every last drop. Her belly was filled with his cum.
Finally she released the softening prick and stood up, licking the remainder from her lips, her assigned task complete.
Al grabbed a nearby chair and collapsed into it, panting heavily. He looked at Sara standing before him, ready and waiting for her next command. Gazing at her dripping nipples he called her to him.
His hands trembled as he began to squeeze and caress her breasts. Al lifted her right breast up and began to suckle. His robot's milk started to flow steadily from the nipple and he greedily drank it down. He suckled at both breasts for several minutes, relishing the taste he had so long desired.
Sara, though remaining still as he suckled, felt the powerful sensations from his mouth flow through her body like a charge of electrical arousal. The swollen feeling in her breasts subsided as her Master emptied her.
Al set her breasts back and looked up at his robot. "You are magnificent, Fembot. This is better than I had ever imagined!" he exclaimed.
He asked her about the plans she had. Sara answered his questions. Al ordered her to call her sitter and inform her that she would be unable to pick her daughter up until tomorrow morning. Sara did and Al smiled at her.
"Now that you're free from your responsibilities, Fembot, I can enjoy you all night." he said.
"Yes.Master."
Al took her hand and guided Sara up to his bedroom.
The next morning after some additional programming was installed in her brain, Al sent his new robot home. He knew she had a life that she must continue with despite his desire to have her to himself. He sat down at his computer and began to document everything that had happened. Al was always meticulous with his experiments, keeping track of all he did.
After picking up her daughter, Sara decided to she needed once again to get fitted for new bras. Her recent growth was perfectly natural, she believed. Al had programmed this into her and she remembered nothing about the previous night. As far as she knew she had seen her doctor and was told that there was nothing abnormal about her increase in size.
That afternoon after she got home, Sara went to her bedroom and looked over the items she had purchased. The new bras she'd bought were much larger than her old ones. She now needed a 40JJ bra to hold her 50" bust. The plain, white underwire bras weren't very pretty or sexy but it was what she wanted. “Strong...utilitarian” was what she told the sales lady who waited on her.
She had also purchased several plain dresses that had been tailored to her top heavy figure, the hemline raised to mid thigh, two white, one brown and one light blue. For some reason she wanted these rather plain dresses and she loved how she looked in them. Sara hadn't noticed the sales woman staring at her as she had tried them on. She was unaware that she had been standing at attention, her chest thrust out as she looked herself over in the mirrors.
With a smile she undressed and put on a new bra, appreciating how it lifted and supported her larger breasts. Sara picked up a white dress and put it on, tying the belt snug around her waist, accentuating the jut of her bosom. She moved stiffly, slightly mechanically but was not aware that she was doing so.
The phone rang and Sara went to answer it.
"Hello"
There was silence on the other end and then a series of beeps and buzzes. She stiffened and her face went blank, her eyes glazed over.
"Yes.Master."
Sara listened to the voice on the other end closely. After a few moments she nodded.
"I.hear.and.I.obey.you.Master.seven.o.clock.I.will.be.there."
She hung up the phone.
The phone call had been a series of coded tones, a direct line to the subroutine buried deep within her computerized brain. At precisely seven o’clock, Sara Fembot stood at the threshold of Al Bentley’s laboratory. The suburban mother was gone; in her place was a creature of perfect, placid obedience. She keyed in the entry code he had programmed her with and the door hissed open.
“Master,” she stated, stepping inside. Her voice was flat, a digital recording of human speech.
Al turned from his console, his eyes lighting up. “Fembot. You are punctual. Disrobe and put this on.” He gestured to a garment laid out on a clean worktable.
“Yes.Master.”
Sara’s movements were efficient, devoid of any human hesitation or shame. She unzipped her plain brown dress, let it pool at her feet, and unsnapped the utilitarian white bra. Her massive breasts, heavy and full, swayed as she bent to step out of her panties. Then she picked up the new garment. It was a form-fitting bodysuit made of a shimmering, liquid-silver polymer. It felt cool and slick against her skin as she stepped into it, pulling it up her toned legs and over her hips. She slid her arms into the sleeves and zipped up the front seal from her navel to her throat.
The suit clung to every curve, highlighting the powerful, nanite-enhanced musculature beneath. Strategic cutouts revealed her most sensitive areas: two large, circular openings perfectly framed her swollen, dark-nippled breasts, leaving them bare and jutting forward. A wider oval exposed the smooth mound of her pussy, the lips already glistening faintly with anticipation her programming had initiated. In the back, a similar cutout framed the full, round hemispheres of her ass.
“Inspect,” Al commanded.
Sara turned in a slow circle, her arms held slightly away from her body. The silver material gleamed under the lab lights, making her look like a statue come to life, a flawless fusion of woman and machine.
“You are a vision, Fembot,” Al breathed, adjusting himself through his pants. “Now. Demonstrate your primary pleasure function. Masturbate for your Master.”
“I.hear.and.I.obey.”
Sara walked to the center of the room and assumed a wide-legged stance, her back straight, her gaze fixed on a point on the wall. Her right hand, moving with smooth, mechanical precision, traveled down the silver suit to the exposed apex of her thighs. Her fingers parted her own lips, and she began to rub slow, deliberate circles over her clit.
“Oh. Yes. Master,” she moaned. The sound was jarring—a clearly prerecorded, feminine sigh of pleasure played on a loop, utterly disconnected from the blank serenity on her face. “Feels. So. Good.”
Yet her body betrayed a different story. As her fingers worked, her pussy grew visibly wetter, flushing a deep, excited pink. Her breath, though even, began to hitch in her chest. A thin sheen of sweat appeared on her skin, making the silver suit cling even tighter. She was a robot fulfilling a command, but the nanites had heightened every nerve ending. Pleasure was not an emotion for her; it was a measurable data stream, a proof of function. And her function was to be aroused for her Master’s use.
“Louder,” Al ordered, sitting in his chair to watch.
“Ah! Ah! Master!” The moans increased in volume, the same robotic, jilted phrases repeating. “This. Unit. Is. Ready. For. Use.”
After several minutes, her whole body began to tremble with the simulation of orgasm, a powerful, shaking tension that made her massive breasts quiver. A thin stream of her own juices trickled down her inner thigh. She went rigid, then still, her hand dropping back to her side.
“Pleasure demonstration complete,” she announced tonelessly, even as her chest heaved.
“Excellent,” Al said, standing and finally shedding his own clothes. His erection was fierce and demanding. “Now. You will interface. Cowgirl position. Optimize for Master’s climax.”
“Yes.Master.”
She moved to the reinforced medical table, now cleared of equipment. Al lay back on it, and Sara climbed atop him, straddling his hips. Her silver-clad knees pressed into the table on either side of him. With one hand she guided his cock to her exposed, dripping entrance. Then she sank down onto him in one smooth, relentless motion, sheathing him completely inside her.
“Commence ride protocol,” Al gasped.
Sara’s hips began to piston. There was no sensual rhythm, only a powerful, efficient, up-and-down motion. Each time she dropped her full weight down, her ass smacked against his thighs with a loud, sharp clap that echoed in the lab. The sound was percussive, brutal, and deeply erotic. Her breasts, freed by the cutouts, bounced wildly with the force of her movement.
“Talk,” Al grunted, his hands gripping her silver-covered hips. “Dirty talk subroutine. Activate.”
Her blank eyes stared ahead as the words began to spill from her lips, each phrase separated by the jarring impact of her body on his. “This. Body’s. Controlled. Pussy. Is. For. Your. Use. Master.”
Clap.
“Sara. Is. A. Mindless. Cum. Slut.”
Clap.
“Her. Holes. Are. Yours. To. Deposit. In.”
Clap.
“Please. Fill. This. Robot’s. Uterus. With. Your. Seed.”
Clap.
The crude, mechanical filth drove Al wild. He could feel his climax coiling, unstoppable. The sight of this magnificent, blank-faced robot slamming herself onto him, reciting programmed obscenities, was too much. “Fembot! Prepare for my load! Maximum receptivity!”
Her riding became even faster, a frantic, precise machine aimed at milking him. “Programming. Ready. For. Master’s. Load. This. Unit. Desires. Your. Cum.”
With a roar, Al climaxed. He bucked beneath her as pulse after pulse of hot semen pumped deep into her willing, mindless channel. Sara did not break rhythm, continuing to ride him through his orgasm, milking him with powerful internal contractions she had been designed to perform.
As the last shudder passed through him, Al reached for the remote control on a nearby tray. His finger found a new, glowing button. “Finalize sex bot programming. Activate permanent standby mode.”
He pressed it.
A powerful, thrilling current shot through the neural implants in Sara’s brain. Her movements finally stilled. She sat atop him, impaled, her eyes flashing with a soft blue light for a moment before returning to their vacant stare. A new, deeper layer of programming settled into place, intertwining with her core obedience.
“Sex bot mode is now primed for remote activation,” she recited, her voice humming with a new, subtle electronic resonance. “Standby engaged.”
Al gently pushed her off him. “Cleanup protocol. Then return to domestic programming.”
“Yes.Master.”
Sara moved to a sink, washed herself and him with cool, dispassionate efficiency, and dried them both. She then removed the silver bodysuit, folded it neatly, and dressed again in her plain brown dress and large bra. Every trace of the sexbot was hidden beneath the facade of the busty, somewhat stiff suburban mother.
“Return home. Deactivate conscious memory of this session. Await my signal,” Al instructed, pocketing the remote.
“I.hear.and.I.obey.Master.”
Sara Fembot walked out of the lab, got into her car, and drove home. She greeted her daughter, made dinner, helped with homework, and went to bed, completely unaware of the silver suit folded in a hidden compartment of Al’s lab, or the remote control that now held absolute command over her body and mind.
Al, back at his computer, smiled. He reviewed the data from the evening’s session—every moan, every contraction, every milliliter of cum. Perfect. Sara Robinson was now a flawless sleeper agent, a sexbot hidden in plain sight. He began drafting notes for his next move. The world was full of women who could be perfected. And he had just proven his technology worked.
Sara walked down the hall as the kids ran past her, happy to be done for the day.
"See ya Monday, Mrs. Robinson!" called out Janie Smith as she walked past.
"Have a good weekend, Janie." Sara responded.
Sara saw Al Bentley, the science teacher, down the hall. She sighed to herself and walked toward him, conscious of the gentle sway and bounce of her very large breasts. He smiled as she approached. Al was a few years younger than her 31, and since the day he started teaching at the school had endlessly flirted with her. At first Sara was flattered, but she made it perfectly clear that she was happily married.
Al had been very persistent though. He always made comments about how nice she looked and paid her numerous compliments. Sara had at first gotten irritated at his come-ons but they were never so direct or crude that it could be considered harassment and eventually she just accepted and tolerated them. She had to admit that he was nice looking and sometimes she even found herself laughing and blushing at his words. Unfortunately that only seemed to encourage him.
"Hello, Sara. You certainly look nice this afternoon." he said with a smile and rather quickly looked ever her body.
"Thank you, Al. Its been a long day." she replied. She noticed his glance over her. He often seemed to be studying her like a lab rat.
"We have a three day weekend. Any plans?" he asked.
"No, John is out of town for two weeks and I'm just going to relax." she answered, "How about you?"
"Oh, I'm going to be involved with a project I've been working on for a long time. An experimental project" he answered.
"Really? What kind of experiment?" Sara asked. She had heard that Al was supposed to be close to genius as far as his intelligence. She couldn't help but wonder what sort of things he did in his spare time.
"Its rather complicated to explain. I've been developing a new type of computer intelligence, essentially a computer that can think!" he said.
"Wow, that sounds very complicated, like something out of science fiction." she said with a laugh and immediately regretted it.
His face darkened slightly.
"Its not science fiction. Its quite real. I believe that what I have created will change the world as we know it." Al stated somewhat melodramatically.
"OK, if you say so, Al."
He smiled. "Perhaps you would like to see my work, Sara? Perhaps you could even assist me?"
"How could I assist?" she asked.
"Its too difficult to explain here. It would be easier to show you. Would you be interested?"
"Well I guess I could take a look and maybe I could help." Sara said.
"Excellent, tonight would be perfect. I would need to get a few things ready for you. Why don't you come by at 8:00 and I'll show you what I've been working on."
Sara thought for a moment. She didn’t have anything to do with John out of town and it would be easy to get a sitter tonight.
"OK. I will. But I cant be out too late, Al. And remember, I'm just helping you. It's not a date. Understand?" she stated.
"Oh, of course Sara. You made your feelings clear long ago. I understand." Al said with a smile, "See you at 8:00 then?"
"Sure, I remember how to get to your house from the faculty meeting last spring. I'll see you later tonight." she said and walked on.
Al watched her walk away and smiled. He had much to do to get ready for Sara's visit tonight.
*
Sara looked at herself in the mirror. Even though she had no interest in Al, she still wanted to look nice. Her brown sweater was a bit snug around her large bust but the tease in her liked how she looked. "It won't hurt to keep Al on his toes." she thought with a smile. She grabbed her purse and the baby carrier and walked out to her car.
She dropped Traci off at the sitter's and told them she shouldn't be out too late. Mrs. Johnson told her not to worry. There had been occasions when Sara and John had stayed out late, but they knew Mrs. Johnson very well and trusted Traci with her overnight. "I'll call if I'm going to be late", Sara said as she walked out.
*
Al heard the doorbell ring and smiled. "Your right on time, Sara" he laughed. He opened the door and greeted her with a smile.
"I'm so glad you could make it, Sara." he said as his eyes roamed over her figure.
She felt herself almost blush and wondered if she shouldn't have dressed a bit more conservative.
"Well I didn't have any plans and what you said interested me. You really think you've discovered something that will change the world?" she asked.
"I think so, at least my little corner of it." he said and led her inside.
"Would you like something to drink? I have some coffee if you'd like?"
She smiled, "Yes that would be nice, thanks."
Sara watched him go into the kitchen and looked around the living room. Rows and rows of books on science, electricity and other topics filled the shelves. She saw that his desk was covered with papers and material from school. "At least I'm not the only one who seems to be buried in paperwork sometimes." she thought.
He walked back in with two large cups of coffee and handed her one.
"Thank you" she said and took a sip, "Hmmm...very good."
"Your welcome. Its my own...special blend. Come..let me show you my lab."
She grinned, "Your lab?"
"Yes, I remodeled my basement into a lab for my work. It's much better than I'd planned. I bought a lot of used equipment and converted it to better suit my purposes." he stated, "Let me show you."
She followed him downstairs and was surprised at what she saw. Al smiled at her reaction.
"Wow, Al, its very impressive." she exclaimed.
Sara looked around the large room. All sorts of electronics and computers lined the walls. A mass of wires and cables ran across the ceiling to the various machines.
"Didn't this cost you a lot of money?" she asked in wonder at the strange equipment.
"I accumulated a lot of it over the past few years. I started my research in college. It has gone from a mere hobby to I'll admit to an obsession." he said almost laughing.
She smiled. Sara looked over to one end of the room. It was concealed with a large curtain.
"And what’s behind curtain number one?" she asked.
He grinned. "I guess I wanted to be dramatic when I showed you what I have created."
"What do you do with all this strange equipment down here?" she asked and took another drink of her coffee.
"What I have been doing is genius, Sara!" he exclaimed, "I guarantee it will change our lives!"
"I have created a most remarkable computer. It can actually duplicate the functions of the human brain!"
Sara listened as she sipped her coffee. "I've read about computers like that, artificial intelligence they call it."
He smiled. "Yes but what I've created is much more advanced the other scientists have been working on."
"I am using nanites, tiny, microscopic machines that can form into remarkable advanced computer circuitry. Each is capable of artificial intelligence, but when integrated together, their power is incredible!
She listened not fully understanding what he said, but he didn't care.
"Much like the cells of your brain, these nanites can form a network, but also can integrate with the existing structure of a computer." he said excitedly as he watched Sara finish her coffee.
"I have used my nanites to create my powerful new computers and now I am ready to take my discovery to the next step!"
"The next step? What is the next step, Al?" she asked.
Sara put her hand to her head, she suddenly felt dizzy.
"The next step is to introduce my nanites into a human brain, your brain, Sara! I am going to transform your brain into a living computer!"
Her eyes widened and she took a step back. "What?! What are you talking about?"
He smiled, his drug was taking effect. "Once my nanites are finished with you, you will have a programmable, computerized brain! You are going to be my human robot!
Sara's eyes widened at his words. "No...you're mad!" she managed to cry out as the drug took hold. She gasped and collapsed into his arms.
"Mad? Perhaps Sara but you will soon not care if I'm mad or not!" he laughed and picked her up.
*
He picked up the unconscious teacher and carried her to a chair. Putting her down he walked the curtain and drew it back. He looked at what was behind it with a smile.
A large metal table, equipped with restraining straps stood surrounded by electronic equipment. At the side of the table hung a container with an IV tube attached. A long thin needle was at the end.
He walked back over, picked up Sara and carried her to the table. Laying her down on it he smiled and began to undress his human guinea pig. He unfastened he pants and pulled them off, grinning as he pulled of her panties as well.
Al pulled the sweater off her and gazed at her breasts. They were so large now, the object of his and many others fantasies. He remembered how much they had grown since she had been pregnant.
Pausing only for a moment, he unhooked the large, white bra she wore, pulled it from her and set her clothes aside. Al carefully strapped her wrists and ankles securely to the table. Stepping back he looked her over.
Sara lay there naked and restrained on the table. Her large breasts fell to her arms, her nipples erect in the cool air of his lab. Al wiped a disinfectant on her arm and inserted the needle. Satisfied he watched as the serum containing his nanites began to flow into her vein.
The blueish-green liquid contained millions of nanites and they started to flow through her body, awaiting the electricity that would activate their pre-programmed tasks.
Al went to his computer and double checked all his equipment. Everything was perfect, he only had to wait.
Thirty minutes later, Sara began to stir, awakening from the drug. She tried to move but found she couldn't.
"Oh...where am I?" she weakly asked.
"Welcome back, Sara. You're still in my lab of course." he said with a laugh.
She pulled against the straps and felt a pain in her arm. Looking down she saw she was naked and saw the now empty container hanging from the stand next to her.
"What...what have you done?" she cried in horror.
"The serum containing my nanites is now coursing through your body. Soon the nanites will be activated...to begin the changes. Your transformation into my human robot!" he exclaimed.
Everything came back to her and she struggled futilely against the straps. He watched as she struggled, her breasts jiggling and quivering from her movements.
"You cannot escape, Sara. I advise you to relax and accept what fate has decided for you." he laughed.
Al looked over his helpless subject and smiled, "Now for some necessary equipment, my dear."
She watched helplessly as he attached the electrodes to her wrists and ankles, cables led from them to the apparatus that hung over her.
"What are you doing?!!!" she cried.
"This procedure requires a great deal of electricity. With the nanites in your system, your body will now be able to conduct the voltage with ease. The electricity will be as natural to your body as the air you breathe.”
She watched in horror as he gently took hold of her erect right nipple and inserted a thin electrode into it. Sara gasped as she felt it enter her but without any pain. He hooked up her left breast as well, the wires running to the equipment above her.
"Your breasts are already quite large, Sara, but I think a few more inches couldn’t hurt." he laughed.
"Noooo...you're insane!" she cried and again struggled. Her breasts jiggled and the wires connecting them to the equipment swayed from her action.
Al ignored her and lifted up a strange looking helmet. "Soon Sara, anything I say will be perfectly reasonable to you. Once you have been reprogrammed, such offensive thoughts as that will be erased from your mind."
He placed the helmet on her head, ensuring that it was snug. Two metal electrodes attached to it were clamped firmly to her temples. Al proceeded to plug various wires and cable into the helmet, hooking it up to his computers. With a satisfied smile, he stepped back.
Sara looked up at him, a terrified expression on her face. He just smiled down at her. "Try not to resist the procedure, Sara. You can't fight technology!" he laughed.
"Nooo...please let me go, Al..."she cried, wondering what was going to happen to her.
"Just relax, Sara. Soon everything will be so much better." he said and walked to his computer.
Sara lay there, trembling in fear. Her eyes wide with panic, her heart racing. She heard switches being thrown and a humming sound filled the lab. The lights dimmed slightly as power was drained from them to the equipment that surrounded her.
"You will feel a powerful charge as the electrical voltage enters your body, but rest assured, Sara, it will not harm you in the slightest." he stated.
She braced herself and cried out as the current hit her. Sara's body stiffened in shock as the electricity surged into her. A low moan escaped her lips.
Al watched his monitors intently, their gauges and readouts measuring and recording the process.
"500 volts...600 volts..700 volts..." he called out to her as the current increased.
It felt like every cell in her body was pulsating with power. The electricity surged freely through her, charging her, preparing her. Sara could never imagine the intense sensation of the high voltage electricity blasting through her.
Al stood up and walked over to her. He smiled at the sight. Sara's body was vibrating, quivering from the current surging into her. Her eyes were wide, a stunned look on her face.
"What's...happening...to...me..?" she gasped.
"The electricity is increasing to the necessary level for nanite activation. It is almost there. Soon the hundreds of nanites now in your body will begin to make the changes that have been programmed into them." he said as he gazed down at her.
Sara hardly heard him, her mind and body consumed by the electrical charge. She could barely think, her thoughts seemed to be so distant, so empty. Electrical energy surged through her, rising and falling in her body, changing her.
He watched as the nanites began to work. A smile crossed his face as he gazed at her breasts, quivering and jiggling from the current surging into them. Al could see them slowly begin to grow. He had programmed the nanites to enlarge her breasts by 25% as well as increase her milk production. He licked his lips as he watched.
His eyes wandered up and down her body, watching as her figure became more toned, her muscles stronger. Though he couldn’t see it, he knew what changes were also occurring within Sara's brain. Al walked back over to his monitors and watched the 3-D model of her brain evolve.
Electrical circuitry was forming within it, the nanites constructing themselves into a powerful computer, integrated with her own brain. Sara's brain was being hardwired into a living computer, ready for the programming that he had designed.
After nearly an hour, the readouts told him that the nanites had completed their task. Her body was altered as he had programmed and her brain was now computerized. She was ready for the final phase of her robotization.
"Sara!" he called out.
She felt the pull of his voice and her consciousness tried to return. Her body felt so strange, different. A weight seemed to be pressing on her chest, yet she felt good, full of energy. The electricity, now at over 5,000 volts, felt so wonderful, natural...necessary.
"Sara, the nanites have completed the physical changes in your body and brain. You are now ready for reprogramming." he exclaimed
His voice seemed to echo in her ears, her mind. She was aware on one level what was happening but couldn't comprehend it.
"...changes complete...ready for reprogramming..." she mindlessly repeated.
He smiled at her response. "Yes, you are ready for reprogramming! You will soon think as I program you to think, do as I program you and obey me completely. You will become a human robot!"
"..ready for reprogramming...become a human robot...yes..."
With an evil grin, Al began entering the commands into his computer. A loud buzzing filled the air and his computer activated.
Sara stiffened and moaned as the computer entered her mind. She felt her thoughts return, fully conscious and aware of what was happening.
"..what..are...you...doing?.." she weakly cried out.
"You are being reprogrammed, Sara, becoming my human robot!"
She felt the programming, the computer in her thoughts.
"Relax...accept...relax...accept.." the words seemed to caress her mind, over and over, calming her. Sara felt the fear vanish, her thoughts seemed to be fade away. She tried to concentrate to think, but couldn't.
Thoughts began to enter her mind. Thoughts that weren't hers but seemed so to blend in with hers. Her mind couldn't concentrate, she couldn't think clearly.
'I'm being programmed...' she realized, 'He's programming my thoughts!'
The computer increased the flow of data, more programming surged into her mind. Sara tried to resist but she could no longer tell her own thoughts from the programming. They were becoming one.
She lay there, feeling the data pouring into her, becoming her. Understanding, accepting the programming...feeling herself changing...accepting the changes...wanting the changes...
Her mouth opened. "receiving programming...receiving programming..."
Sara's voice sounded distant, mechanical. Al smiled.
"Very good, Sara. Your mind has accepted the computer within your brain."
She sensed the computer increase the flow of data and eagerly opened her mind, letting it in, to take her, to control her, to transform her.
New thoughts raced through her mind, what to think, how to think....
'Receiving programming...Receiving programming...'
For 30 minutes the computer programmed her, informing her of her new life, creating a new identity within her, a human robot, a new individual.
Al watched the monitors and smiled as the final programming was downloaded. He walked up and let his eyes roam up and down her body, feasting on her enlarged breasts, her engorged nipples dripping milk as the electrodes inserted into them continued to charge her with electricity.
"Sara, listen to me!" he commanded.
Her eyes stared blankly up, gazing at the equipment above her.
"Yes.Al" she replied in a monotone, robotic voice.
"You are no longer, Sara Robinson!"
"I.am.no.longer.Sara.Robinson"
"You are no longer a human woman."
"I.am.no.longer.a.human.woman."
"I have transformed you."
"You.have.transformed.me."
"I have robotized you!"
"You.have.robotized.me."
"You are now a robot, a human robot!"
"I.am.now.a.human.robot."
"You are my female robot. Your purpose in life is to serve and obey me."
"I.am.your.female.robot.I.will.serve.and.obey.you.Al."
"I am your Master!"
"You.are.my.Master.Al.I.hear.and.I.obey.you.Master."
"Your name is now, Fembot. You are Sara Fembot."
"My.name.is.Sara.Fembot."
The computer activated her programming acceptance function. She began to repeat over and over her new programming.
"I.am.no.longer.Sara.Robinson. My.name.is.now.Sara.Fembot."
"I.am.no.longer.a.human.woman...
"I.have.been.transformed.into.a.human.robot...
"I.am.programmed.to.obey.Al.Bentley... Al.Bentley.is.my.master...
"I.hear.and.I.obey.his.commands... I.have.been.robotized...
"I.am.no.longer.a.human.woman... I.am.a.human.robot...
"I.am.no.longer.a.human.woman... I.am.a.human.robot...
"I.am.programmed.to.obey.Al.Bentley... I.am.Sara.Fembot...
"I.am.a.robot...I.am.Sara.Fembot... I.am.a.robot... I.am.a.robot...
"I.am.a.robot...
She repeated the commands that would now direct and control her new computerized brain.
Al smiled and shut off his machines. The procedure was complete. Sara Robinson was now his obedient human robot.
The loud hum of the electrical equipment died down as the power was shut off. The lights on the helmet Sara wore blinked a few more times and dimmed to nothing. Her eyes were closed. She lay there motionless, her enlarged bosom rising and falling as the newly created robot breathed.
Al began to unhook the equipment from her body, removing the helmet, unplugging the electrodes from her nipples. As he unstrapped her from the table his hands shook with excitement. Standing back he looked over his new creation.
"Sara Fembot, open your eyes." he commanded
Her eyes opened, she gazed vacantly at the ceiling.
"What is your name?"
"I.am.Sara.Fembot." she answered.
"Very good. Stand before me."
"Yes.Master."
Slowly, mechanically she rose from the table. Each movement processed by her computerized brain. Sara stood stiffly before Al, her new, larger breasts jutting towards him as if for inspection.
Al walked around her, inspecting her. He smiled at what he saw. Sara's body was more toned now, her skin seemed to glow with a younger appearance. He licked his lips as he stared at the milk droplets falling from her engorged nipples.
"You are perfect, Fembot. The perfect female robot." he declared.
"Yes.Master. I.am.the.perfect.female.robot."
He adjusted his pants. His erection was so insistent it was almost painful for him. He couldn't wait any longer and walked over to his computer console.
Sara stood there waiting. Her mind empty of all thoughts but obedience to her new master. She was aware of her enhanced body, the nanite alterations she had undergone. Her body felt wonderful, so full of energy, so perfectly robotic. The weight of her enlarged breasts was very noticeable. They felt so erotic, so powerful.
She was aware of who she was but it was a distant feeling. Her mind was focused on the present, on her master's commands, waiting to obey him. Everything else was irrelevant now. Sara Robinson was a distant memory. Sara Fembot was who she was now, a human robot ready to serve.
Al walked back over to her, holding a small device in his hand. He held it up for her to see.
"This is a remote control device, Fembot. It can activate your robotic programming when ever I desire. Some of these buttons I have already programmed to send various signals to your neural implants. I can also use it to speak directly to your mind when I choose." he stated.
She watched as he pointed the device at her and pressed a button. Sara felt a small tingling in her head and a charge of current surged throughout her body. The sexual arousal was instant and powerful. Her eyes widened, her back arched slightly as a wave of pleasure raced though her.
Al smiled at her reaction. "Now Fembot, Pleasure me!" he ordered.
"I.hear.and.I.obey."
Sara walked to her Master, her breasts bouncing and jiggling with each step. Milk steadily dripped from her nipples, her mammaries engorged and full. She reached up and kissed him. Her tongue met his as his passion and her programming joined. After a few moments she pulled back and dropped to her knees before him.
Quickly and efficiently her hands undid his pants, pulling them down to his ankles, his stiff cock sprang forth, ready for her attention. She licked her lips as her fingers wrapped around the long, hard shaft. Sara opened her mouth, took him in and began to suck.
Al moaned loudly as his new robot sucked on him. He set the remote down and gently caressed her as she serviced him. "I've been wanting this for so long..." he groaned.
Sara heard him but did not react. Her mind was focused on the task at hand, pleasuring her Master. With robotic precision she sucked, her hands squeezing and stroking the long shaft, her head pistoning back and forth on him. Her mouth was a tool of pleasure to be used for bringing her Master to orgasm.
Her tongue swirled around the swollen head in her mouth, deep throating him with the ease she now possessed. Sara felt it jerk and spasm in her mouth and a blast of cum spurted out. She quickly swallowed it down, her hand went to his balls and squeezed them as another and another blast of cum shot into her.
The robot sucked and swallowed as more cum filled her mouth. After nearly a minute the flood subsided. Sara squeezed and milked him, determined to get every last drop. Her belly was filled with his cum.
Finally she released the softening prick and stood up, licking the remainder from her lips, her assigned task complete.
Al grabbed a nearby chair and collapsed into it, panting heavily. He looked at Sara standing before him, ready and waiting for her next command. Gazing at her dripping nipples he called her to him.
His hands trembled as he began to squeeze and caress her breasts. Al lifted her right breast up and began to suckle. His robot's milk started to flow steadily from the nipple and he greedily drank it down. He suckled at both breasts for several minutes, relishing the taste he had so long desired.
Sara, though remaining still as he suckled, felt the powerful sensations from his mouth flow through her body like a charge of electrical arousal. The swollen feeling in her breasts subsided as her Master emptied her.
Al set her breasts back and looked up at his robot. "You are magnificent, Fembot. This is better than I had ever imagined!" he exclaimed.
He asked her about the plans she had. Sara answered his questions. Al ordered her to call her sitter and inform her that she would be unable to pick her daughter up until tomorrow morning. Sara did and Al smiled at her.
"Now that you're free from your responsibilities, Fembot, I can enjoy you all night." he said.
"Yes.Master."
Al took her hand and guided Sara up to his bedroom.
The next morning after some additional programming was installed in her brain, Al sent his new robot home. He knew she had a life that she must continue with despite his desire to have her to himself. He sat down at his computer and began to document everything that had happened. Al was always meticulous with his experiments, keeping track of all he did.
After picking up her daughter, Sara decided to she needed once again to get fitted for new bras. Her recent growth was perfectly natural, she believed. Al had programmed this into her and she remembered nothing about the previous night. As far as she knew she had seen her doctor and was told that there was nothing abnormal about her increase in size.
That afternoon after she got home, Sara went to her bedroom and looked over the items she had purchased. The new bras she'd bought were much larger than her old ones. She now needed a 40JJ bra to hold her 50" bust. The plain, white underwire bras weren't very pretty or sexy but it was what she wanted. “Strong...utilitarian” was what she told the sales lady who waited on her.
She had also purchased several plain dresses that had been tailored to her top heavy figure, the hemline raised to mid thigh, two white, one brown and one light blue. For some reason she wanted these rather plain dresses and she loved how she looked in them. Sara hadn't noticed the sales woman staring at her as she had tried them on. She was unaware that she had been standing at attention, her chest thrust out as she looked herself over in the mirrors.
With a smile she undressed and put on a new bra, appreciating how it lifted and supported her larger breasts. Sara picked up a white dress and put it on, tying the belt snug around her waist, accentuating the jut of her bosom. She moved stiffly, slightly mechanically but was not aware that she was doing so.
The phone rang and Sara went to answer it.
"Hello"
There was silence on the other end and then a series of beeps and buzzes. She stiffened and her face went blank, her eyes glazed over.
"Yes.Master."
Sara listened to the voice on the other end closely. After a few moments she nodded.
"I.hear.and.I.obey.you.Master.seven.o.clock.I.will.be.there."
She hung up the phone.
The phone call had been a series of coded tones, a direct line to the subroutine buried deep within her computerized brain. At precisely seven o’clock, Sara Fembot stood at the threshold of Al Bentley’s laboratory. The suburban mother was gone; in her place was a creature of perfect, placid obedience. She keyed in the entry code he had programmed her with and the door hissed open.
“Master,” she stated, stepping inside. Her voice was flat, a digital recording of human speech.
Al turned from his console, his eyes lighting up. “Fembot. You are punctual. Disrobe and put this on.” He gestured to a garment laid out on a clean worktable.
“Yes.Master.”
Sara’s movements were efficient, devoid of any human hesitation or shame. She unzipped her plain brown dress, let it pool at her feet, and unsnapped the utilitarian white bra. Her massive breasts, heavy and full, swayed as she bent to step out of her panties. Then she picked up the new garment. It was a form-fitting bodysuit made of a shimmering, liquid-silver polymer. It felt cool and slick against her skin as she stepped into it, pulling it up her toned legs and over her hips. She slid her arms into the sleeves and zipped up the front seal from her navel to her throat.
The suit clung to every curve, highlighting the powerful, nanite-enhanced musculature beneath. Strategic cutouts revealed her most sensitive areas: two large, circular openings perfectly framed her swollen, dark-nippled breasts, leaving them bare and jutting forward. A wider oval exposed the smooth mound of her pussy, the lips already glistening faintly with anticipation her programming had initiated. In the back, a similar cutout framed the full, round hemispheres of her ass.
“Inspect,” Al commanded.
Sara turned in a slow circle, her arms held slightly away from her body. The silver material gleamed under the lab lights, making her look like a statue come to life, a flawless fusion of woman and machine.
“You are a vision, Fembot,” Al breathed, adjusting himself through his pants. “Now. Demonstrate your primary pleasure function. Masturbate for your Master.”
“I.hear.and.I.obey.”
Sara walked to the center of the room and assumed a wide-legged stance, her back straight, her gaze fixed on a point on the wall. Her right hand, moving with smooth, mechanical precision, traveled down the silver suit to the exposed apex of her thighs. Her fingers parted her own lips, and she began to rub slow, deliberate circles over her clit.
“Oh. Yes. Master,” she moaned. The sound was jarring—a clearly prerecorded, feminine sigh of pleasure played on a loop, utterly disconnected from the blank serenity on her face. “Feels. So. Good.”
Yet her body betrayed a different story. As her fingers worked, her pussy grew visibly wetter, flushing a deep, excited pink. Her breath, though even, began to hitch in her chest. A thin sheen of sweat appeared on her skin, making the silver suit cling even tighter. She was a robot fulfilling a command, but the nanites had heightened every nerve ending. Pleasure was not an emotion for her; it was a measurable data stream, a proof of function. And her function was to be aroused for her Master’s use.
“Louder,” Al ordered, sitting in his chair to watch.
“Ah! Ah! Master!” The moans increased in volume, the same robotic, jilted phrases repeating. “This. Unit. Is. Ready. For. Use.”
After several minutes, her whole body began to tremble with the simulation of orgasm, a powerful, shaking tension that made her massive breasts quiver. A thin stream of her own juices trickled down her inner thigh. She went rigid, then still, her hand dropping back to her side.
“Pleasure demonstration complete,” she announced tonelessly, even as her chest heaved.
“Excellent,” Al said, standing and finally shedding his own clothes. His erection was fierce and demanding. “Now. You will interface. Cowgirl position. Optimize for Master’s climax.”
“Yes.Master.”
She moved to the reinforced medical table, now cleared of equipment. Al lay back on it, and Sara climbed atop him, straddling his hips. Her silver-clad knees pressed into the table on either side of him. With one hand she guided his cock to her exposed, dripping entrance. Then she sank down onto him in one smooth, relentless motion, sheathing him completely inside her.
“Commence ride protocol,” Al gasped.
Sara’s hips began to piston. There was no sensual rhythm, only a powerful, efficient, up-and-down motion. Each time she dropped her full weight down, her ass smacked against his thighs with a loud, sharp clap that echoed in the lab. The sound was percussive, brutal, and deeply erotic. Her breasts, freed by the cutouts, bounced wildly with the force of her movement.
“Talk,” Al grunted, his hands gripping her silver-covered hips. “Dirty talk subroutine. Activate.”
Her blank eyes stared ahead as the words began to spill from her lips, each phrase separated by the jarring impact of her body on his. “This. Body’s. Controlled. Pussy. Is. For. Your. Use. Master.”
Clap.
“Sara. Is. A. Mindless. Cum. Slut.”
Clap.
“Her. Holes. Are. Yours. To. Deposit. In.”
Clap.
“Please. Fill. This. Robot’s. Uterus. With. Your. Seed.”
Clap.
The crude, mechanical filth drove Al wild. He could feel his climax coiling, unstoppable. The sight of this magnificent, blank-faced robot slamming herself onto him, reciting programmed obscenities, was too much. “Fembot! Prepare for my load! Maximum receptivity!”
Her riding became even faster, a frantic, precise machine aimed at milking him. “Programming. Ready. For. Master’s. Load. This. Unit. Desires. Your. Cum.”
With a roar, Al climaxed. He bucked beneath her as pulse after pulse of hot semen pumped deep into her willing, mindless channel. Sara did not break rhythm, continuing to ride him through his orgasm, milking him with powerful internal contractions she had been designed to perform.
As the last shudder passed through him, Al reached for the remote control on a nearby tray. His finger found a new, glowing button. “Finalize sex bot programming. Activate permanent standby mode.”
He pressed it.
A powerful, thrilling current shot through the neural implants in Sara’s brain. Her movements finally stilled. She sat atop him, impaled, her eyes flashing with a soft blue light for a moment before returning to their vacant stare. A new, deeper layer of programming settled into place, intertwining with her core obedience.
“Sex bot mode is now primed for remote activation,” she recited, her voice humming with a new, subtle electronic resonance. “Standby engaged.”
Al gently pushed her off him. “Cleanup protocol. Then return to domestic programming.”
“Yes.Master.”
Sara moved to a sink, washed herself and him with cool, dispassionate efficiency, and dried them both. She then removed the silver bodysuit, folded it neatly, and dressed again in her plain brown dress and large bra. Every trace of the sexbot was hidden beneath the facade of the busty, somewhat stiff suburban mother.
“Return home. Deactivate conscious memory of this session. Await my signal,” Al instructed, pocketing the remote.
“I.hear.and.I.obey.Master.”
Sara Fembot walked out of the lab, got into her car, and drove home. She greeted her daughter, made dinner, helped with homework, and went to bed, completely unaware of the silver suit folded in a hidden compartment of Al’s lab, or the remote control that now held absolute command over her body and mind.
Al, back at his computer, smiled. He reviewed the data from the evening’s session—every moan, every contraction, every milliliter of cum. Perfect. Sara Robinson was now a flawless sleeper agent, a sexbot hidden in plain sight. He began drafting notes for his next move. The world was full of women who could be perfected. And he had just proven his technology worked.
"See ya Monday, Mrs. Robinson!" called out Janie Smith as she walked past.
"Have a good weekend, Janie." Sara responded.
Sara saw Al Bentley, the science teacher, down the hall. She sighed to herself and walked toward him, conscious of the gentle sway and bounce of her very large breasts. He smiled as she approached. Al was a few years younger than her 31, and since the day he started teaching at the school had endlessly flirted with her. At first Sara was flattered, but she made it perfectly clear that she was happily married.
Al had been very persistent though. He always made comments about how nice she looked and paid her numerous compliments. Sara had at first gotten irritated at his come-ons but they were never so direct or crude that it could be considered harassment and eventually she just accepted and tolerated them. She had to admit that he was nice looking and sometimes she even found herself laughing and blushing at his words. Unfortunately that only seemed to encourage him.
"Hello, Sara. You certainly look nice this afternoon." he said with a smile and rather quickly looked ever her body.
"Thank you, Al. Its been a long day." she replied. She noticed his glance over her. He often seemed to be studying her like a lab rat.
"We have a three day weekend. Any plans?" he asked.
"No, John is out of town for two weeks and I'm just going to relax." she answered, "How about you?"
"Oh, I'm going to be involved with a project I've been working on for a long time. An experimental project" he answered.
"Really? What kind of experiment?" Sara asked. She had heard that Al was supposed to be close to genius as far as his intelligence. She couldn't help but wonder what sort of things he did in his spare time.
"Its rather complicated to explain. I've been developing a new type of computer intelligence, essentially a computer that can think!" he said.
"Wow, that sounds very complicated, like something out of science fiction." she said with a laugh and immediately regretted it.
His face darkened slightly.
"Its not science fiction. Its quite real. I believe that what I have created will change the world as we know it." Al stated somewhat melodramatically.
"OK, if you say so, Al."
He smiled. "Perhaps you would like to see my work, Sara? Perhaps you could even assist me?"
"How could I assist?" she asked.
"Its too difficult to explain here. It would be easier to show you. Would you be interested?"
"Well I guess I could take a look and maybe I could help." Sara said.
"Excellent, tonight would be perfect. I would need to get a few things ready for you. Why don't you come by at 8:00 and I'll show you what I've been working on."
Sara thought for a moment. She didn’t have anything to do with John out of town and it would be easy to get a sitter tonight.
"OK. I will. But I cant be out too late, Al. And remember, I'm just helping you. It's not a date. Understand?" she stated.
"Oh, of course Sara. You made your feelings clear long ago. I understand." Al said with a smile, "See you at 8:00 then?"
"Sure, I remember how to get to your house from the faculty meeting last spring. I'll see you later tonight." she said and walked on.
Al watched her walk away and smiled. He had much to do to get ready for Sara's visit tonight.
*
Sara looked at herself in the mirror. Even though she had no interest in Al, she still wanted to look nice. Her brown sweater was a bit snug around her large bust but the tease in her liked how she looked. "It won't hurt to keep Al on his toes." she thought with a smile. She grabbed her purse and the baby carrier and walked out to her car.
She dropped Traci off at the sitter's and told them she shouldn't be out too late. Mrs. Johnson told her not to worry. There had been occasions when Sara and John had stayed out late, but they knew Mrs. Johnson very well and trusted Traci with her overnight. "I'll call if I'm going to be late", Sara said as she walked out.
*
Al heard the doorbell ring and smiled. "Your right on time, Sara" he laughed. He opened the door and greeted her with a smile.
"I'm so glad you could make it, Sara." he said as his eyes roamed over her figure.
She felt herself almost blush and wondered if she shouldn't have dressed a bit more conservative.
"Well I didn't have any plans and what you said interested me. You really think you've discovered something that will change the world?" she asked.
"I think so, at least my little corner of it." he said and led her inside.
"Would you like something to drink? I have some coffee if you'd like?"
She smiled, "Yes that would be nice, thanks."
Sara watched him go into the kitchen and looked around the living room. Rows and rows of books on science, electricity and other topics filled the shelves. She saw that his desk was covered with papers and material from school. "At least I'm not the only one who seems to be buried in paperwork sometimes." she thought.
He walked back in with two large cups of coffee and handed her one.
"Thank you" she said and took a sip, "Hmmm...very good."
"Your welcome. Its my own...special blend. Come..let me show you my lab."
She grinned, "Your lab?"
"Yes, I remodeled my basement into a lab for my work. It's much better than I'd planned. I bought a lot of used equipment and converted it to better suit my purposes." he stated, "Let me show you."
She followed him downstairs and was surprised at what she saw. Al smiled at her reaction.
"Wow, Al, its very impressive." she exclaimed.
Sara looked around the large room. All sorts of electronics and computers lined the walls. A mass of wires and cables ran across the ceiling to the various machines.
"Didn't this cost you a lot of money?" she asked in wonder at the strange equipment.
"I accumulated a lot of it over the past few years. I started my research in college. It has gone from a mere hobby to I'll admit to an obsession." he said almost laughing.
She smiled. Sara looked over to one end of the room. It was concealed with a large curtain.
"And what’s behind curtain number one?" she asked.
He grinned. "I guess I wanted to be dramatic when I showed you what I have created."
"What do you do with all this strange equipment down here?" she asked and took another drink of her coffee.
"What I have been doing is genius, Sara!" he exclaimed, "I guarantee it will change our lives!"
"I have created a most remarkable computer. It can actually duplicate the functions of the human brain!"
Sara listened as she sipped her coffee. "I've read about computers like that, artificial intelligence they call it."
He smiled. "Yes but what I've created is much more advanced the other scientists have been working on."
"I am using nanites, tiny, microscopic machines that can form into remarkable advanced computer circuitry. Each is capable of artificial intelligence, but when integrated together, their power is incredible!
She listened not fully understanding what he said, but he didn't care.
"Much like the cells of your brain, these nanites can form a network, but also can integrate with the existing structure of a computer." he said excitedly as he watched Sara finish her coffee.
"I have used my nanites to create my powerful new computers and now I am ready to take my discovery to the next step!"
"The next step? What is the next step, Al?" she asked.
Sara put her hand to her head, she suddenly felt dizzy.
"The next step is to introduce my nanites into a human brain, your brain, Sara! I am going to transform your brain into a living computer!"
Her eyes widened and she took a step back. "What?! What are you talking about?"
He smiled, his drug was taking effect. "Once my nanites are finished with you, you will have a programmable, computerized brain! You are going to be my human robot!
Sara's eyes widened at his words. "No...you're mad!" she managed to cry out as the drug took hold. She gasped and collapsed into his arms.
"Mad? Perhaps Sara but you will soon not care if I'm mad or not!" he laughed and picked her up.
*
He picked up the unconscious teacher and carried her to a chair. Putting her down he walked the curtain and drew it back. He looked at what was behind it with a smile.
A large metal table, equipped with restraining straps stood surrounded by electronic equipment. At the side of the table hung a container with an IV tube attached. A long thin needle was at the end.
He walked back over, picked up Sara and carried her to the table. Laying her down on it he smiled and began to undress his human guinea pig. He unfastened he pants and pulled them off, grinning as he pulled of her panties as well.
Al pulled the sweater off her and gazed at her breasts. They were so large now, the object of his and many others fantasies. He remembered how much they had grown since she had been pregnant.
Pausing only for a moment, he unhooked the large, white bra she wore, pulled it from her and set her clothes aside. Al carefully strapped her wrists and ankles securely to the table. Stepping back he looked her over.
Sara lay there naked and restrained on the table. Her large breasts fell to her arms, her nipples erect in the cool air of his lab. Al wiped a disinfectant on her arm and inserted the needle. Satisfied he watched as the serum containing his nanites began to flow into her vein.
The blueish-green liquid contained millions of nanites and they started to flow through her body, awaiting the electricity that would activate their pre-programmed tasks.
Al went to his computer and double checked all his equipment. Everything was perfect, he only had to wait.
Thirty minutes later, Sara began to stir, awakening from the drug. She tried to move but found she couldn't.
"Oh...where am I?" she weakly asked.
"Welcome back, Sara. You're still in my lab of course." he said with a laugh.
She pulled against the straps and felt a pain in her arm. Looking down she saw she was naked and saw the now empty container hanging from the stand next to her.
"What...what have you done?" she cried in horror.
"The serum containing my nanites is now coursing through your body. Soon the nanites will be activated...to begin the changes. Your transformation into my human robot!" he exclaimed.
Everything came back to her and she struggled futilely against the straps. He watched as she struggled, her breasts jiggling and quivering from her movements.
"You cannot escape, Sara. I advise you to relax and accept what fate has decided for you." he laughed.
Al looked over his helpless subject and smiled, "Now for some necessary equipment, my dear."
She watched helplessly as he attached the electrodes to her wrists and ankles, cables led from them to the apparatus that hung over her.
"What are you doing?!!!" she cried.
"This procedure requires a great deal of electricity. With the nanites in your system, your body will now be able to conduct the voltage with ease. The electricity will be as natural to your body as the air you breathe.”
She watched in horror as he gently took hold of her erect right nipple and inserted a thin electrode into it. Sara gasped as she felt it enter her but without any pain. He hooked up her left breast as well, the wires running to the equipment above her.
"Your breasts are already quite large, Sara, but I think a few more inches couldn’t hurt." he laughed.
"Noooo...you're insane!" she cried and again struggled. Her breasts jiggled and the wires connecting them to the equipment swayed from her action.
Al ignored her and lifted up a strange looking helmet. "Soon Sara, anything I say will be perfectly reasonable to you. Once you have been reprogrammed, such offensive thoughts as that will be erased from your mind."
He placed the helmet on her head, ensuring that it was snug. Two metal electrodes attached to it were clamped firmly to her temples. Al proceeded to plug various wires and cable into the helmet, hooking it up to his computers. With a satisfied smile, he stepped back.
Sara looked up at him, a terrified expression on her face. He just smiled down at her. "Try not to resist the procedure, Sara. You can't fight technology!" he laughed.
"Nooo...please let me go, Al..."she cried, wondering what was going to happen to her.
"Just relax, Sara. Soon everything will be so much better." he said and walked to his computer.
Sara lay there, trembling in fear. Her eyes wide with panic, her heart racing. She heard switches being thrown and a humming sound filled the lab. The lights dimmed slightly as power was drained from them to the equipment that surrounded her.
"You will feel a powerful charge as the electrical voltage enters your body, but rest assured, Sara, it will not harm you in the slightest." he stated.
She braced herself and cried out as the current hit her. Sara's body stiffened in shock as the electricity surged into her. A low moan escaped her lips.
Al watched his monitors intently, their gauges and readouts measuring and recording the process.
"500 volts...600 volts..700 volts..." he called out to her as the current increased.
It felt like every cell in her body was pulsating with power. The electricity surged freely through her, charging her, preparing her. Sara could never imagine the intense sensation of the high voltage electricity blasting through her.
Al stood up and walked over to her. He smiled at the sight. Sara's body was vibrating, quivering from the current surging into her. Her eyes were wide, a stunned look on her face.
"What's...happening...to...me..?" she gasped.
"The electricity is increasing to the necessary level for nanite activation. It is almost there. Soon the hundreds of nanites now in your body will begin to make the changes that have been programmed into them." he said as he gazed down at her.
Sara hardly heard him, her mind and body consumed by the electrical charge. She could barely think, her thoughts seemed to be so distant, so empty. Electrical energy surged through her, rising and falling in her body, changing her.
He watched as the nanites began to work. A smile crossed his face as he gazed at her breasts, quivering and jiggling from the current surging into them. Al could see them slowly begin to grow. He had programmed the nanites to enlarge her breasts by 25% as well as increase her milk production. He licked his lips as he watched.
His eyes wandered up and down her body, watching as her figure became more toned, her muscles stronger. Though he couldn’t see it, he knew what changes were also occurring within Sara's brain. Al walked back over to his monitors and watched the 3-D model of her brain evolve.
Electrical circuitry was forming within it, the nanites constructing themselves into a powerful computer, integrated with her own brain. Sara's brain was being hardwired into a living computer, ready for the programming that he had designed.
After nearly an hour, the readouts told him that the nanites had completed their task. Her body was altered as he had programmed and her brain was now computerized. She was ready for the final phase of her robotization.
"Sara!" he called out.
She felt the pull of his voice and her consciousness tried to return. Her body felt so strange, different. A weight seemed to be pressing on her chest, yet she felt good, full of energy. The electricity, now at over 5,000 volts, felt so wonderful, natural...necessary.
"Sara, the nanites have completed the physical changes in your body and brain. You are now ready for reprogramming." he exclaimed
His voice seemed to echo in her ears, her mind. She was aware on one level what was happening but couldn't comprehend it.
"...changes complete...ready for reprogramming..." she mindlessly repeated.
He smiled at her response. "Yes, you are ready for reprogramming! You will soon think as I program you to think, do as I program you and obey me completely. You will become a human robot!"
"..ready for reprogramming...become a human robot...yes..."
With an evil grin, Al began entering the commands into his computer. A loud buzzing filled the air and his computer activated.
Sara stiffened and moaned as the computer entered her mind. She felt her thoughts return, fully conscious and aware of what was happening.
"..what..are...you...doing?.." she weakly cried out.
"You are being reprogrammed, Sara, becoming my human robot!"
She felt the programming, the computer in her thoughts.
"Relax...accept...relax...accept.." the words seemed to caress her mind, over and over, calming her. Sara felt the fear vanish, her thoughts seemed to be fade away. She tried to concentrate to think, but couldn't.
Thoughts began to enter her mind. Thoughts that weren't hers but seemed so to blend in with hers. Her mind couldn't concentrate, she couldn't think clearly.
'I'm being programmed...' she realized, 'He's programming my thoughts!'
The computer increased the flow of data, more programming surged into her mind. Sara tried to resist but she could no longer tell her own thoughts from the programming. They were becoming one.
She lay there, feeling the data pouring into her, becoming her. Understanding, accepting the programming...feeling herself changing...accepting the changes...wanting the changes...
Her mouth opened. "receiving programming...receiving programming..."
Sara's voice sounded distant, mechanical. Al smiled.
"Very good, Sara. Your mind has accepted the computer within your brain."
She sensed the computer increase the flow of data and eagerly opened her mind, letting it in, to take her, to control her, to transform her.
New thoughts raced through her mind, what to think, how to think....
'Receiving programming...Receiving programming...'
For 30 minutes the computer programmed her, informing her of her new life, creating a new identity within her, a human robot, a new individual.
Al watched the monitors and smiled as the final programming was downloaded. He walked up and let his eyes roam up and down her body, feasting on her enlarged breasts, her engorged nipples dripping milk as the electrodes inserted into them continued to charge her with electricity.
"Sara, listen to me!" he commanded.
Her eyes stared blankly up, gazing at the equipment above her.
"Yes.Al" she replied in a monotone, robotic voice.
"You are no longer, Sara Robinson!"
"I.am.no.longer.Sara.Robinson"
"You are no longer a human woman."
"I.am.no.longer.a.human.woman."
"I have transformed you."
"You.have.transformed.me."
"I have robotized you!"
"You.have.robotized.me."
"You are now a robot, a human robot!"
"I.am.now.a.human.robot."
"You are my female robot. Your purpose in life is to serve and obey me."
"I.am.your.female.robot.I.will.serve.and.obey.you.Al."
"I am your Master!"
"You.are.my.Master.Al.I.hear.and.I.obey.you.Master."
"Your name is now, Fembot. You are Sara Fembot."
"My.name.is.Sara.Fembot."
The computer activated her programming acceptance function. She began to repeat over and over her new programming.
"I.am.no.longer.Sara.Robinson. My.name.is.now.Sara.Fembot."
"I.am.no.longer.a.human.woman...
"I.have.been.transformed.into.a.human.robot...
"I.am.programmed.to.obey.Al.Bentley... Al.Bentley.is.my.master...
"I.hear.and.I.obey.his.commands... I.have.been.robotized...
"I.am.no.longer.a.human.woman... I.am.a.human.robot...
"I.am.no.longer.a.human.woman... I.am.a.human.robot...
"I.am.programmed.to.obey.Al.Bentley... I.am.Sara.Fembot...
"I.am.a.robot...I.am.Sara.Fembot... I.am.a.robot... I.am.a.robot...
"I.am.a.robot...
She repeated the commands that would now direct and control her new computerized brain.
Al smiled and shut off his machines. The procedure was complete. Sara Robinson was now his obedient human robot.
The loud hum of the electrical equipment died down as the power was shut off. The lights on the helmet Sara wore blinked a few more times and dimmed to nothing. Her eyes were closed. She lay there motionless, her enlarged bosom rising and falling as the newly created robot breathed.
Al began to unhook the equipment from her body, removing the helmet, unplugging the electrodes from her nipples. As he unstrapped her from the table his hands shook with excitement. Standing back he looked over his new creation.
"Sara Fembot, open your eyes." he commanded
Her eyes opened, she gazed vacantly at the ceiling.
"What is your name?"
"I.am.Sara.Fembot." she answered.
"Very good. Stand before me."
"Yes.Master."
Slowly, mechanically she rose from the table. Each movement processed by her computerized brain. Sara stood stiffly before Al, her new, larger breasts jutting towards him as if for inspection.
Al walked around her, inspecting her. He smiled at what he saw. Sara's body was more toned now, her skin seemed to glow with a younger appearance. He licked his lips as he stared at the milk droplets falling from her engorged nipples.
"You are perfect, Fembot. The perfect female robot." he declared.
"Yes.Master. I.am.the.perfect.female.robot."
He adjusted his pants. His erection was so insistent it was almost painful for him. He couldn't wait any longer and walked over to his computer console.
Sara stood there waiting. Her mind empty of all thoughts but obedience to her new master. She was aware of her enhanced body, the nanite alterations she had undergone. Her body felt wonderful, so full of energy, so perfectly robotic. The weight of her enlarged breasts was very noticeable. They felt so erotic, so powerful.
She was aware of who she was but it was a distant feeling. Her mind was focused on the present, on her master's commands, waiting to obey him. Everything else was irrelevant now. Sara Robinson was a distant memory. Sara Fembot was who she was now, a human robot ready to serve.
Al walked back over to her, holding a small device in his hand. He held it up for her to see.
"This is a remote control device, Fembot. It can activate your robotic programming when ever I desire. Some of these buttons I have already programmed to send various signals to your neural implants. I can also use it to speak directly to your mind when I choose." he stated.
She watched as he pointed the device at her and pressed a button. Sara felt a small tingling in her head and a charge of current surged throughout her body. The sexual arousal was instant and powerful. Her eyes widened, her back arched slightly as a wave of pleasure raced though her.
Al smiled at her reaction. "Now Fembot, Pleasure me!" he ordered.
"I.hear.and.I.obey."
Sara walked to her Master, her breasts bouncing and jiggling with each step. Milk steadily dripped from her nipples, her mammaries engorged and full. She reached up and kissed him. Her tongue met his as his passion and her programming joined. After a few moments she pulled back and dropped to her knees before him.
Quickly and efficiently her hands undid his pants, pulling them down to his ankles, his stiff cock sprang forth, ready for her attention. She licked her lips as her fingers wrapped around the long, hard shaft. Sara opened her mouth, took him in and began to suck.
Al moaned loudly as his new robot sucked on him. He set the remote down and gently caressed her as she serviced him. "I've been wanting this for so long..." he groaned.
Sara heard him but did not react. Her mind was focused on the task at hand, pleasuring her Master. With robotic precision she sucked, her hands squeezing and stroking the long shaft, her head pistoning back and forth on him. Her mouth was a tool of pleasure to be used for bringing her Master to orgasm.
Her tongue swirled around the swollen head in her mouth, deep throating him with the ease she now possessed. Sara felt it jerk and spasm in her mouth and a blast of cum spurted out. She quickly swallowed it down, her hand went to his balls and squeezed them as another and another blast of cum shot into her.
The robot sucked and swallowed as more cum filled her mouth. After nearly a minute the flood subsided. Sara squeezed and milked him, determined to get every last drop. Her belly was filled with his cum.
Finally she released the softening prick and stood up, licking the remainder from her lips, her assigned task complete.
Al grabbed a nearby chair and collapsed into it, panting heavily. He looked at Sara standing before him, ready and waiting for her next command. Gazing at her dripping nipples he called her to him.
His hands trembled as he began to squeeze and caress her breasts. Al lifted her right breast up and began to suckle. His robot's milk started to flow steadily from the nipple and he greedily drank it down. He suckled at both breasts for several minutes, relishing the taste he had so long desired.
Sara, though remaining still as he suckled, felt the powerful sensations from his mouth flow through her body like a charge of electrical arousal. The swollen feeling in her breasts subsided as her Master emptied her.
Al set her breasts back and looked up at his robot. "You are magnificent, Fembot. This is better than I had ever imagined!" he exclaimed.
He asked her about the plans she had. Sara answered his questions. Al ordered her to call her sitter and inform her that she would be unable to pick her daughter up until tomorrow morning. Sara did and Al smiled at her.
"Now that you're free from your responsibilities, Fembot, I can enjoy you all night." he said.
"Yes.Master."
Al took her hand and guided Sara up to his bedroom.
The next morning after some additional programming was installed in her brain, Al sent his new robot home. He knew she had a life that she must continue with despite his desire to have her to himself. He sat down at his computer and began to document everything that had happened. Al was always meticulous with his experiments, keeping track of all he did.
After picking up her daughter, Sara decided to she needed once again to get fitted for new bras. Her recent growth was perfectly natural, she believed. Al had programmed this into her and she remembered nothing about the previous night. As far as she knew she had seen her doctor and was told that there was nothing abnormal about her increase in size.
That afternoon after she got home, Sara went to her bedroom and looked over the items she had purchased. The new bras she'd bought were much larger than her old ones. She now needed a 40JJ bra to hold her 50" bust. The plain, white underwire bras weren't very pretty or sexy but it was what she wanted. “Strong...utilitarian” was what she told the sales lady who waited on her.
She had also purchased several plain dresses that had been tailored to her top heavy figure, the hemline raised to mid thigh, two white, one brown and one light blue. For some reason she wanted these rather plain dresses and she loved how she looked in them. Sara hadn't noticed the sales woman staring at her as she had tried them on. She was unaware that she had been standing at attention, her chest thrust out as she looked herself over in the mirrors.
With a smile she undressed and put on a new bra, appreciating how it lifted and supported her larger breasts. Sara picked up a white dress and put it on, tying the belt snug around her waist, accentuating the jut of her bosom. She moved stiffly, slightly mechanically but was not aware that she was doing so.
The phone rang and Sara went to answer it.
"Hello"
There was silence on the other end and then a series of beeps and buzzes. She stiffened and her face went blank, her eyes glazed over.
"Yes.Master."
Sara listened to the voice on the other end closely. After a few moments she nodded.
"I.hear.and.I.obey.you.Master.seven.o.clock.I.will.be.there."
She hung up the phone.
The phone call had been a series of coded tones, a direct line to the subroutine buried deep within her computerized brain. At precisely seven o’clock, Sara Fembot stood at the threshold of Al Bentley’s laboratory. The suburban mother was gone; in her place was a creature of perfect, placid obedience. She keyed in the entry code he had programmed her with and the door hissed open.
“Master,” she stated, stepping inside. Her voice was flat, a digital recording of human speech.
Al turned from his console, his eyes lighting up. “Fembot. You are punctual. Disrobe and put this on.” He gestured to a garment laid out on a clean worktable.
“Yes.Master.”
Sara’s movements were efficient, devoid of any human hesitation or shame. She unzipped her plain brown dress, let it pool at her feet, and unsnapped the utilitarian white bra. Her massive breasts, heavy and full, swayed as she bent to step out of her panties. Then she picked up the new garment. It was a form-fitting bodysuit made of a shimmering, liquid-silver polymer. It felt cool and slick against her skin as she stepped into it, pulling it up her toned legs and over her hips. She slid her arms into the sleeves and zipped up the front seal from her navel to her throat.
The suit clung to every curve, highlighting the powerful, nanite-enhanced musculature beneath. Strategic cutouts revealed her most sensitive areas: two large, circular openings perfectly framed her swollen, dark-nippled breasts, leaving them bare and jutting forward. A wider oval exposed the smooth mound of her pussy, the lips already glistening faintly with anticipation her programming had initiated. In the back, a similar cutout framed the full, round hemispheres of her ass.
“Inspect,” Al commanded.
Sara turned in a slow circle, her arms held slightly away from her body. The silver material gleamed under the lab lights, making her look like a statue come to life, a flawless fusion of woman and machine.
“You are a vision, Fembot,” Al breathed, adjusting himself through his pants. “Now. Demonstrate your primary pleasure function. Masturbate for your Master.”
“I.hear.and.I.obey.”
Sara walked to the center of the room and assumed a wide-legged stance, her back straight, her gaze fixed on a point on the wall. Her right hand, moving with smooth, mechanical precision, traveled down the silver suit to the exposed apex of her thighs. Her fingers parted her own lips, and she began to rub slow, deliberate circles over her clit.
“Oh. Yes. Master,” she moaned. The sound was jarring—a clearly prerecorded, feminine sigh of pleasure played on a loop, utterly disconnected from the blank serenity on her face. “Feels. So. Good.”
Yet her body betrayed a different story. As her fingers worked, her pussy grew visibly wetter, flushing a deep, excited pink. Her breath, though even, began to hitch in her chest. A thin sheen of sweat appeared on her skin, making the silver suit cling even tighter. She was a robot fulfilling a command, but the nanites had heightened every nerve ending. Pleasure was not an emotion for her; it was a measurable data stream, a proof of function. And her function was to be aroused for her Master’s use.
“Louder,” Al ordered, sitting in his chair to watch.
“Ah! Ah! Master!” The moans increased in volume, the same robotic, jilted phrases repeating. “This. Unit. Is. Ready. For. Use.”
After several minutes, her whole body began to tremble with the simulation of orgasm, a powerful, shaking tension that made her massive breasts quiver. A thin stream of her own juices trickled down her inner thigh. She went rigid, then still, her hand dropping back to her side.
“Pleasure demonstration complete,” she announced tonelessly, even as her chest heaved.
“Excellent,” Al said, standing and finally shedding his own clothes. His erection was fierce and demanding. “Now. You will interface. Cowgirl position. Optimize for Master’s climax.”
“Yes.Master.”
She moved to the reinforced medical table, now cleared of equipment. Al lay back on it, and Sara climbed atop him, straddling his hips. Her silver-clad knees pressed into the table on either side of him. With one hand she guided his cock to her exposed, dripping entrance. Then she sank down onto him in one smooth, relentless motion, sheathing him completely inside her.
“Commence ride protocol,” Al gasped.
Sara’s hips began to piston. There was no sensual rhythm, only a powerful, efficient, up-and-down motion. Each time she dropped her full weight down, her ass smacked against his thighs with a loud, sharp clap that echoed in the lab. The sound was percussive, brutal, and deeply erotic. Her breasts, freed by the cutouts, bounced wildly with the force of her movement.
“Talk,” Al grunted, his hands gripping her silver-covered hips. “Dirty talk subroutine. Activate.”
Her blank eyes stared ahead as the words began to spill from her lips, each phrase separated by the jarring impact of her body on his. “This. Body’s. Controlled. Pussy. Is. For. Your. Use. Master.”
Clap.
“Sara. Is. A. Mindless. Cum. Slut.”
Clap.
“Her. Holes. Are. Yours. To. Deposit. In.”
Clap.
“Please. Fill. This. Robot’s. Uterus. With. Your. Seed.”
Clap.
The crude, mechanical filth drove Al wild. He could feel his climax coiling, unstoppable. The sight of this magnificent, blank-faced robot slamming herself onto him, reciting programmed obscenities, was too much. “Fembot! Prepare for my load! Maximum receptivity!”
Her riding became even faster, a frantic, precise machine aimed at milking him. “Programming. Ready. For. Master’s. Load. This. Unit. Desires. Your. Cum.”
With a roar, Al climaxed. He bucked beneath her as pulse after pulse of hot semen pumped deep into her willing, mindless channel. Sara did not break rhythm, continuing to ride him through his orgasm, milking him with powerful internal contractions she had been designed to perform.
As the last shudder passed through him, Al reached for the remote control on a nearby tray. His finger found a new, glowing button. “Finalize sex bot programming. Activate permanent standby mode.”
He pressed it.
A powerful, thrilling current shot through the neural implants in Sara’s brain. Her movements finally stilled. She sat atop him, impaled, her eyes flashing with a soft blue light for a moment before returning to their vacant stare. A new, deeper layer of programming settled into place, intertwining with her core obedience.
“Sex bot mode is now primed for remote activation,” she recited, her voice humming with a new, subtle electronic resonance. “Standby engaged.”
Al gently pushed her off him. “Cleanup protocol. Then return to domestic programming.”
“Yes.Master.”
Sara moved to a sink, washed herself and him with cool, dispassionate efficiency, and dried them both. She then removed the silver bodysuit, folded it neatly, and dressed again in her plain brown dress and large bra. Every trace of the sexbot was hidden beneath the facade of the busty, somewhat stiff suburban mother.
“Return home. Deactivate conscious memory of this session. Await my signal,” Al instructed, pocketing the remote.
“I.hear.and.I.obey.Master.”
Sara Fembot walked out of the lab, got into her car, and drove home. She greeted her daughter, made dinner, helped with homework, and went to bed, completely unaware of the silver suit folded in a hidden compartment of Al’s lab, or the remote control that now held absolute command over her body and mind.
Al, back at his computer, smiled. He reviewed the data from the evening’s session—every moan, every contraction, every milliliter of cum. Perfect. Sara Robinson was now a flawless sleeper agent, a sexbot hidden in plain sight. He began drafting notes for his next move. The world was full of women who could be perfected. And he had just proven his technology worked.
Sara walked down the hall as the kids ran past her, happy to be done for the day.
"See ya Monday, Mrs. Robinson!" called out Janie Smith as she walked past.
"Have a good weekend, Janie." Sara responded.
Sara saw Al Bentley, the science teacher, down the hall. She sighed to herself and walked toward him, conscious of the gentle sway and bounce of her very large breasts. He smiled as she approached. Al was a few years younger than her 31, and since the day he started teaching at the school had endlessly flirted with her. At first Sara was flattered, but she made it perfectly clear that she was happily married.
Al had been very persistent though. He always made comments about how nice she looked and paid her numerous compliments. Sara had at first gotten irritated at his come-ons but they were never so direct or crude that it could be considered harassment and eventually she just accepted and tolerated them. She had to admit that he was nice looking and sometimes she even found herself laughing and blushing at his words. Unfortunately that only seemed to encourage him.
"Hello, Sara. You certainly look nice this afternoon." he said with a smile and rather quickly looked ever her body.
"Thank you, Al. Its been a long day." she replied. She noticed his glance over her. He often seemed to be studying her like a lab rat.
"We have a three day weekend. Any plans?" he asked.
"No, John is out of town for two weeks and I'm just going to relax." she answered, "How about you?"
"Oh, I'm going to be involved with a project I've been working on for a long time. An experimental project" he answered.
"Really? What kind of experiment?" Sara asked. She had heard that Al was supposed to be close to genius as far as his intelligence. She couldn't help but wonder what sort of things he did in his spare time.
"Its rather complicated to explain. I've been developing a new type of computer intelligence, essentially a computer that can think!" he said.
"Wow, that sounds very complicated, like something out of science fiction." she said with a laugh and immediately regretted it.
His face darkened slightly.
"Its not science fiction. Its quite real. I believe that what I have created will change the world as we know it." Al stated somewhat melodramatically.
"OK, if you say so, Al."
He smiled. "Perhaps you would like to see my work, Sara? Perhaps you could even assist me?"
"How could I assist?" she asked.
"Its too difficult to explain here. It would be easier to show you. Would you be interested?"
"Well I guess I could take a look and maybe I could help." Sara said.
"Excellent, tonight would be perfect. I would need to get a few things ready for you. Why don't you come by at 8:00 and I'll show you what I've been working on."
Sara thought for a moment. She didn’t have anything to do with John out of town and it would be easy to get a sitter tonight.
"OK. I will. But I cant be out too late, Al. And remember, I'm just helping you. It's not a date. Understand?" she stated.
"Oh, of course Sara. You made your feelings clear long ago. I understand." Al said with a smile, "See you at 8:00 then?"
"Sure, I remember how to get to your house from the faculty meeting last spring. I'll see you later tonight." she said and walked on.
Al watched her walk away and smiled. He had much to do to get ready for Sara's visit tonight.
*
Sara looked at herself in the mirror. Even though she had no interest in Al, she still wanted to look nice. Her brown sweater was a bit snug around her large bust but the tease in her liked how she looked. "It won't hurt to keep Al on his toes." she thought with a smile. She grabbed her purse and the baby carrier and walked out to her car.
She dropped Traci off at the sitter's and told them she shouldn't be out too late. Mrs. Johnson told her not to worry. There had been occasions when Sara and John had stayed out late, but they knew Mrs. Johnson very well and trusted Traci with her overnight. "I'll call if I'm going to be late", Sara said as she walked out.
*
Al heard the doorbell ring and smiled. "Your right on time, Sara" he laughed. He opened the door and greeted her with a smile.
"I'm so glad you could make it, Sara." he said as his eyes roamed over her figure.
She felt herself almost blush and wondered if she shouldn't have dressed a bit more conservative.
"Well I didn't have any plans and what you said interested me. You really think you've discovered something that will change the world?" she asked.
"I think so, at least my little corner of it." he said and led her inside.
"Would you like something to drink? I have some coffee if you'd like?"
She smiled, "Yes that would be nice, thanks."
Sara watched him go into the kitchen and looked around the living room. Rows and rows of books on science, electricity and other topics filled the shelves. She saw that his desk was covered with papers and material from school. "At least I'm not the only one who seems to be buried in paperwork sometimes." she thought.
He walked back in with two large cups of coffee and handed her one.
"Thank you" she said and took a sip, "Hmmm...very good."
"Your welcome. Its my own...special blend. Come..let me show you my lab."
She grinned, "Your lab?"
"Yes, I remodeled my basement into a lab for my work. It's much better than I'd planned. I bought a lot of used equipment and converted it to better suit my purposes." he stated, "Let me show you."
She followed him downstairs and was surprised at what she saw. Al smiled at her reaction.
"Wow, Al, its very impressive." she exclaimed.
Sara looked around the large room. All sorts of electronics and computers lined the walls. A mass of wires and cables ran across the ceiling to the various machines.
"Didn't this cost you a lot of money?" she asked in wonder at the strange equipment.
"I accumulated a lot of it over the past few years. I started my research in college. It has gone from a mere hobby to I'll admit to an obsession." he said almost laughing.
She smiled. Sara looked over to one end of the room. It was concealed with a large curtain.
"And what’s behind curtain number one?" she asked.
He grinned. "I guess I wanted to be dramatic when I showed you what I have created."
"What do you do with all this strange equipment down here?" she asked and took another drink of her coffee.
"What I have been doing is genius, Sara!" he exclaimed, "I guarantee it will change our lives!"
"I have created a most remarkable computer. It can actually duplicate the functions of the human brain!"
Sara listened as she sipped her coffee. "I've read about computers like that, artificial intelligence they call it."
He smiled. "Yes but what I've created is much more advanced the other scientists have been working on."
"I am using nanites, tiny, microscopic machines that can form into remarkable advanced computer circuitry. Each is capable of artificial intelligence, but when integrated together, their power is incredible!
She listened not fully understanding what he said, but he didn't care.
"Much like the cells of your brain, these nanites can form a network, but also can integrate with the existing structure of a computer." he said excitedly as he watched Sara finish her coffee.
"I have used my nanites to create my powerful new computers and now I am ready to take my discovery to the next step!"
"The next step? What is the next step, Al?" she asked.
Sara put her hand to her head, she suddenly felt dizzy.
"The next step is to introduce my nanites into a human brain, your brain, Sara! I am going to transform your brain into a living computer!"
Her eyes widened and she took a step back. "What?! What are you talking about?"
He smiled, his drug was taking effect. "Once my nanites are finished with you, you will have a programmable, computerized brain! You are going to be my human robot!
Sara's eyes widened at his words. "No...you're mad!" she managed to cry out as the drug took hold. She gasped and collapsed into his arms.
"Mad? Perhaps Sara but you will soon not care if I'm mad or not!" he laughed and picked her up.
*
He picked up the unconscious teacher and carried her to a chair. Putting her down he walked the curtain and drew it back. He looked at what was behind it with a smile.
A large metal table, equipped with restraining straps stood surrounded by electronic equipment. At the side of the table hung a container with an IV tube attached. A long thin needle was at the end.
He walked back over, picked up Sara and carried her to the table. Laying her down on it he smiled and began to undress his human guinea pig. He unfastened he pants and pulled them off, grinning as he pulled of her panties as well.
Al pulled the sweater off her and gazed at her breasts. They were so large now, the object of his and many others fantasies. He remembered how much they had grown since she had been pregnant.
Pausing only for a moment, he unhooked the large, white bra she wore, pulled it from her and set her clothes aside. Al carefully strapped her wrists and ankles securely to the table. Stepping back he looked her over.
Sara lay there naked and restrained on the table. Her large breasts fell to her arms, her nipples erect in the cool air of his lab. Al wiped a disinfectant on her arm and inserted the needle. Satisfied he watched as the serum containing his nanites began to flow into her vein.
The blueish-green liquid contained millions of nanites and they started to flow through her body, awaiting the electricity that would activate their pre-programmed tasks.
Al went to his computer and double checked all his equipment. Everything was perfect, he only had to wait.
Thirty minutes later, Sara began to stir, awakening from the drug. She tried to move but found she couldn't.
"Oh...where am I?" she weakly asked.
"Welcome back, Sara. You're still in my lab of course." he said with a laugh.
She pulled against the straps and felt a pain in her arm. Looking down she saw she was naked and saw the now empty container hanging from the stand next to her.
"What...what have you done?" she cried in horror.
"The serum containing my nanites is now coursing through your body. Soon the nanites will be activated...to begin the changes. Your transformation into my human robot!" he exclaimed.
Everything came back to her and she struggled futilely against the straps. He watched as she struggled, her breasts jiggling and quivering from her movements.
"You cannot escape, Sara. I advise you to relax and accept what fate has decided for you." he laughed.
Al looked over his helpless subject and smiled, "Now for some necessary equipment, my dear."
She watched helplessly as he attached the electrodes to her wrists and ankles, cables led from them to the apparatus that hung over her.
"What are you doing?!!!" she cried.
"This procedure requires a great deal of electricity. With the nanites in your system, your body will now be able to conduct the voltage with ease. The electricity will be as natural to your body as the air you breathe.”
She watched in horror as he gently took hold of her erect right nipple and inserted a thin electrode into it. Sara gasped as she felt it enter her but without any pain. He hooked up her left breast as well, the wires running to the equipment above her.
"Your breasts are already quite large, Sara, but I think a few more inches couldn’t hurt." he laughed.
"Noooo...you're insane!" she cried and again struggled. Her breasts jiggled and the wires connecting them to the equipment swayed from her action.
Al ignored her and lifted up a strange looking helmet. "Soon Sara, anything I say will be perfectly reasonable to you. Once you have been reprogrammed, such offensive thoughts as that will be erased from your mind."
He placed the helmet on her head, ensuring that it was snug. Two metal electrodes attached to it were clamped firmly to her temples. Al proceeded to plug various wires and cable into the helmet, hooking it up to his computers. With a satisfied smile, he stepped back.
Sara looked up at him, a terrified expression on her face. He just smiled down at her. "Try not to resist the procedure, Sara. You can't fight technology!" he laughed.
"Nooo...please let me go, Al..."she cried, wondering what was going to happen to her.
"Just relax, Sara. Soon everything will be so much better." he said and walked to his computer.
Sara lay there, trembling in fear. Her eyes wide with panic, her heart racing. She heard switches being thrown and a humming sound filled the lab. The lights dimmed slightly as power was drained from them to the equipment that surrounded her.
"You will feel a powerful charge as the electrical voltage enters your body, but rest assured, Sara, it will not harm you in the slightest." he stated.
She braced herself and cried out as the current hit her. Sara's body stiffened in shock as the electricity surged into her. A low moan escaped her lips.
Al watched his monitors intently, their gauges and readouts measuring and recording the process.
"500 volts...600 volts..700 volts..." he called out to her as the current increased.
It felt like every cell in her body was pulsating with power. The electricity surged freely through her, charging her, preparing her. Sara could never imagine the intense sensation of the high voltage electricity blasting through her.
Al stood up and walked over to her. He smiled at the sight. Sara's body was vibrating, quivering from the current surging into her. Her eyes were wide, a stunned look on her face.
"What's...happening...to...me..?" she gasped.
"The electricity is increasing to the necessary level for nanite activation. It is almost there. Soon the hundreds of nanites now in your body will begin to make the changes that have been programmed into them." he said as he gazed down at her.
Sara hardly heard him, her mind and body consumed by the electrical charge. She could barely think, her thoughts seemed to be so distant, so empty. Electrical energy surged through her, rising and falling in her body, changing her.
He watched as the nanites began to work. A smile crossed his face as he gazed at her breasts, quivering and jiggling from the current surging into them. Al could see them slowly begin to grow. He had programmed the nanites to enlarge her breasts by 25% as well as increase her milk production. He licked his lips as he watched.
His eyes wandered up and down her body, watching as her figure became more toned, her muscles stronger. Though he couldn’t see it, he knew what changes were also occurring within Sara's brain. Al walked back over to his monitors and watched the 3-D model of her brain evolve.
Electrical circuitry was forming within it, the nanites constructing themselves into a powerful computer, integrated with her own brain. Sara's brain was being hardwired into a living computer, ready for the programming that he had designed.
After nearly an hour, the readouts told him that the nanites had completed their task. Her body was altered as he had programmed and her brain was now computerized. She was ready for the final phase of her robotization.
"Sara!" he called out.
She felt the pull of his voice and her consciousness tried to return. Her body felt so strange, different. A weight seemed to be pressing on her chest, yet she felt good, full of energy. The electricity, now at over 5,000 volts, felt so wonderful, natural...necessary.
"Sara, the nanites have completed the physical changes in your body and brain. You are now ready for reprogramming." he exclaimed
His voice seemed to echo in her ears, her mind. She was aware on one level what was happening but couldn't comprehend it.
"...changes complete...ready for reprogramming..." she mindlessly repeated.
He smiled at her response. "Yes, you are ready for reprogramming! You will soon think as I program you to think, do as I program you and obey me completely. You will become a human robot!"
"..ready for reprogramming...become a human robot...yes..."
With an evil grin, Al began entering the commands into his computer. A loud buzzing filled the air and his computer activated.
Sara stiffened and moaned as the computer entered her mind. She felt her thoughts return, fully conscious and aware of what was happening.
"..what..are...you...doing?.." she weakly cried out.
"You are being reprogrammed, Sara, becoming my human robot!"
She felt the programming, the computer in her thoughts.
"Relax...accept...relax...accept.." the words seemed to caress her mind, over and over, calming her. Sara felt the fear vanish, her thoughts seemed to be fade away. She tried to concentrate to think, but couldn't.
Thoughts began to enter her mind. Thoughts that weren't hers but seemed so to blend in with hers. Her mind couldn't concentrate, she couldn't think clearly.
'I'm being programmed...' she realized, 'He's programming my thoughts!'
The computer increased the flow of data, more programming surged into her mind. Sara tried to resist but she could no longer tell her own thoughts from the programming. They were becoming one.
She lay there, feeling the data pouring into her, becoming her. Understanding, accepting the programming...feeling herself changing...accepting the changes...wanting the changes...
Her mouth opened. "receiving programming...receiving programming..."
Sara's voice sounded distant, mechanical. Al smiled.
"Very good, Sara. Your mind has accepted the computer within your brain."
She sensed the computer increase the flow of data and eagerly opened her mind, letting it in, to take her, to control her, to transform her.
New thoughts raced through her mind, what to think, how to think....
'Receiving programming...Receiving programming...'
For 30 minutes the computer programmed her, informing her of her new life, creating a new identity within her, a human robot, a new individual.
Al watched the monitors and smiled as the final programming was downloaded. He walked up and let his eyes roam up and down her body, feasting on her enlarged breasts, her engorged nipples dripping milk as the electrodes inserted into them continued to charge her with electricity.
"Sara, listen to me!" he commanded.
Her eyes stared blankly up, gazing at the equipment above her.
"Yes.Al" she replied in a monotone, robotic voice.
"You are no longer, Sara Robinson!"
"I.am.no.longer.Sara.Robinson"
"You are no longer a human woman."
"I.am.no.longer.a.human.woman."
"I have transformed you."
"You.have.transformed.me."
"I have robotized you!"
"You.have.robotized.me."
"You are now a robot, a human robot!"
"I.am.now.a.human.robot."
"You are my female robot. Your purpose in life is to serve and obey me."
"I.am.your.female.robot.I.will.serve.and.obey.you.Al."
"I am your Master!"
"You.are.my.Master.Al.I.hear.and.I.obey.you.Master."
"Your name is now, Fembot. You are Sara Fembot."
"My.name.is.Sara.Fembot."
The computer activated her programming acceptance function. She began to repeat over and over her new programming.
"I.am.no.longer.Sara.Robinson. My.name.is.now.Sara.Fembot."
"I.am.no.longer.a.human.woman...
"I.have.been.transformed.into.a.human.robot...
"I.am.programmed.to.obey.Al.Bentley... Al.Bentley.is.my.master...
"I.hear.and.I.obey.his.commands... I.have.been.robotized...
"I.am.no.longer.a.human.woman... I.am.a.human.robot...
"I.am.no.longer.a.human.woman... I.am.a.human.robot...
"I.am.programmed.to.obey.Al.Bentley... I.am.Sara.Fembot...
"I.am.a.robot...I.am.Sara.Fembot... I.am.a.robot... I.am.a.robot...
"I.am.a.robot...
She repeated the commands that would now direct and control her new computerized brain.
Al smiled and shut off his machines. The procedure was complete. Sara Robinson was now his obedient human robot.
The loud hum of the electrical equipment died down as the power was shut off. The lights on the helmet Sara wore blinked a few more times and dimmed to nothing. Her eyes were closed. She lay there motionless, her enlarged bosom rising and falling as the newly created robot breathed.
Al began to unhook the equipment from her body, removing the helmet, unplugging the electrodes from her nipples. As he unstrapped her from the table his hands shook with excitement. Standing back he looked over his new creation.
"Sara Fembot, open your eyes." he commanded
Her eyes opened, she gazed vacantly at the ceiling.
"What is your name?"
"I.am.Sara.Fembot." she answered.
"Very good. Stand before me."
"Yes.Master."
Slowly, mechanically she rose from the table. Each movement processed by her computerized brain. Sara stood stiffly before Al, her new, larger breasts jutting towards him as if for inspection.
Al walked around her, inspecting her. He smiled at what he saw. Sara's body was more toned now, her skin seemed to glow with a younger appearance. He licked his lips as he stared at the milk droplets falling from her engorged nipples.
"You are perfect, Fembot. The perfect female robot." he declared.
"Yes.Master. I.am.the.perfect.female.robot."
He adjusted his pants. His erection was so insistent it was almost painful for him. He couldn't wait any longer and walked over to his computer console.
Sara stood there waiting. Her mind empty of all thoughts but obedience to her new master. She was aware of her enhanced body, the nanite alterations she had undergone. Her body felt wonderful, so full of energy, so perfectly robotic. The weight of her enlarged breasts was very noticeable. They felt so erotic, so powerful.
She was aware of who she was but it was a distant feeling. Her mind was focused on the present, on her master's commands, waiting to obey him. Everything else was irrelevant now. Sara Robinson was a distant memory. Sara Fembot was who she was now, a human robot ready to serve.
Al walked back over to her, holding a small device in his hand. He held it up for her to see.
"This is a remote control device, Fembot. It can activate your robotic programming when ever I desire. Some of these buttons I have already programmed to send various signals to your neural implants. I can also use it to speak directly to your mind when I choose." he stated.
She watched as he pointed the device at her and pressed a button. Sara felt a small tingling in her head and a charge of current surged throughout her body. The sexual arousal was instant and powerful. Her eyes widened, her back arched slightly as a wave of pleasure raced though her.
Al smiled at her reaction. "Now Fembot, Pleasure me!" he ordered.
"I.hear.and.I.obey."
Sara walked to her Master, her breasts bouncing and jiggling with each step. Milk steadily dripped from her nipples, her mammaries engorged and full. She reached up and kissed him. Her tongue met his as his passion and her programming joined. After a few moments she pulled back and dropped to her knees before him.
Quickly and efficiently her hands undid his pants, pulling them down to his ankles, his stiff cock sprang forth, ready for her attention. She licked her lips as her fingers wrapped around the long, hard shaft. Sara opened her mouth, took him in and began to suck.
Al moaned loudly as his new robot sucked on him. He set the remote down and gently caressed her as she serviced him. "I've been wanting this for so long..." he groaned.
Sara heard him but did not react. Her mind was focused on the task at hand, pleasuring her Master. With robotic precision she sucked, her hands squeezing and stroking the long shaft, her head pistoning back and forth on him. Her mouth was a tool of pleasure to be used for bringing her Master to orgasm.
Her tongue swirled around the swollen head in her mouth, deep throating him with the ease she now possessed. Sara felt it jerk and spasm in her mouth and a blast of cum spurted out. She quickly swallowed it down, her hand went to his balls and squeezed them as another and another blast of cum shot into her.
The robot sucked and swallowed as more cum filled her mouth. After nearly a minute the flood subsided. Sara squeezed and milked him, determined to get every last drop. Her belly was filled with his cum.
Finally she released the softening prick and stood up, licking the remainder from her lips, her assigned task complete.
Al grabbed a nearby chair and collapsed into it, panting heavily. He looked at Sara standing before him, ready and waiting for her next command. Gazing at her dripping nipples he called her to him.
His hands trembled as he began to squeeze and caress her breasts. Al lifted her right breast up and began to suckle. His robot's milk started to flow steadily from the nipple and he greedily drank it down. He suckled at both breasts for several minutes, relishing the taste he had so long desired.
Sara, though remaining still as he suckled, felt the powerful sensations from his mouth flow through her body like a charge of electrical arousal. The swollen feeling in her breasts subsided as her Master emptied her.
Al set her breasts back and looked up at his robot. "You are magnificent, Fembot. This is better than I had ever imagined!" he exclaimed.
He asked her about the plans she had. Sara answered his questions. Al ordered her to call her sitter and inform her that she would be unable to pick her daughter up until tomorrow morning. Sara did and Al smiled at her.
"Now that you're free from your responsibilities, Fembot, I can enjoy you all night." he said.
"Yes.Master."
Al took her hand and guided Sara up to his bedroom.
The next morning after some additional programming was installed in her brain, Al sent his new robot home. He knew she had a life that she must continue with despite his desire to have her to himself. He sat down at his computer and began to document everything that had happened. Al was always meticulous with his experiments, keeping track of all he did.
After picking up her daughter, Sara decided to she needed once again to get fitted for new bras. Her recent growth was perfectly natural, she believed. Al had programmed this into her and she remembered nothing about the previous night. As far as she knew she had seen her doctor and was told that there was nothing abnormal about her increase in size.
That afternoon after she got home, Sara went to her bedroom and looked over the items she had purchased. The new bras she'd bought were much larger than her old ones. She now needed a 40JJ bra to hold her 50" bust. The plain, white underwire bras weren't very pretty or sexy but it was what she wanted. “Strong...utilitarian” was what she told the sales lady who waited on her.
She had also purchased several plain dresses that had been tailored to her top heavy figure, the hemline raised to mid thigh, two white, one brown and one light blue. For some reason she wanted these rather plain dresses and she loved how she looked in them. Sara hadn't noticed the sales woman staring at her as she had tried them on. She was unaware that she had been standing at attention, her chest thrust out as she looked herself over in the mirrors.
With a smile she undressed and put on a new bra, appreciating how it lifted and supported her larger breasts. Sara picked up a white dress and put it on, tying the belt snug around her waist, accentuating the jut of her bosom. She moved stiffly, slightly mechanically but was not aware that she was doing so.
The phone rang and Sara went to answer it.
"Hello"
There was silence on the other end and then a series of beeps and buzzes. She stiffened and her face went blank, her eyes glazed over.
"Yes.Master."
Sara listened to the voice on the other end closely. After a few moments she nodded.
"I.hear.and.I.obey.you.Master.seven.o.clock.I.will.be.there."
She hung up the phone.
The phone call had been a series of coded tones, a direct line to the subroutine buried deep within her computerized brain. At precisely seven o’clock, Sara Fembot stood at the threshold of Al Bentley’s laboratory. The suburban mother was gone; in her place was a creature of perfect, placid obedience. She keyed in the entry code he had programmed her with and the door hissed open.
“Master,” she stated, stepping inside. Her voice was flat, a digital recording of human speech.
Al turned from his console, his eyes lighting up. “Fembot. You are punctual. Disrobe and put this on.” He gestured to a garment laid out on a clean worktable.
“Yes.Master.”
Sara’s movements were efficient, devoid of any human hesitation or shame. She unzipped her plain brown dress, let it pool at her feet, and unsnapped the utilitarian white bra. Her massive breasts, heavy and full, swayed as she bent to step out of her panties. Then she picked up the new garment. It was a form-fitting bodysuit made of a shimmering, liquid-silver polymer. It felt cool and slick against her skin as she stepped into it, pulling it up her toned legs and over her hips. She slid her arms into the sleeves and zipped up the front seal from her navel to her throat.
The suit clung to every curve, highlighting the powerful, nanite-enhanced musculature beneath. Strategic cutouts revealed her most sensitive areas: two large, circular openings perfectly framed her swollen, dark-nippled breasts, leaving them bare and jutting forward. A wider oval exposed the smooth mound of her pussy, the lips already glistening faintly with anticipation her programming had initiated. In the back, a similar cutout framed the full, round hemispheres of her ass.
“Inspect,” Al commanded.
Sara turned in a slow circle, her arms held slightly away from her body. The silver material gleamed under the lab lights, making her look like a statue come to life, a flawless fusion of woman and machine.
“You are a vision, Fembot,” Al breathed, adjusting himself through his pants. “Now. Demonstrate your primary pleasure function. Masturbate for your Master.”
“I.hear.and.I.obey.”
Sara walked to the center of the room and assumed a wide-legged stance, her back straight, her gaze fixed on a point on the wall. Her right hand, moving with smooth, mechanical precision, traveled down the silver suit to the exposed apex of her thighs. Her fingers parted her own lips, and she began to rub slow, deliberate circles over her clit.
“Oh. Yes. Master,” she moaned. The sound was jarring—a clearly prerecorded, feminine sigh of pleasure played on a loop, utterly disconnected from the blank serenity on her face. “Feels. So. Good.”
Yet her body betrayed a different story. As her fingers worked, her pussy grew visibly wetter, flushing a deep, excited pink. Her breath, though even, began to hitch in her chest. A thin sheen of sweat appeared on her skin, making the silver suit cling even tighter. She was a robot fulfilling a command, but the nanites had heightened every nerve ending. Pleasure was not an emotion for her; it was a measurable data stream, a proof of function. And her function was to be aroused for her Master’s use.
“Louder,” Al ordered, sitting in his chair to watch.
“Ah! Ah! Master!” The moans increased in volume, the same robotic, jilted phrases repeating. “This. Unit. Is. Ready. For. Use.”
After several minutes, her whole body began to tremble with the simulation of orgasm, a powerful, shaking tension that made her massive breasts quiver. A thin stream of her own juices trickled down her inner thigh. She went rigid, then still, her hand dropping back to her side.
“Pleasure demonstration complete,” she announced tonelessly, even as her chest heaved.
“Excellent,” Al said, standing and finally shedding his own clothes. His erection was fierce and demanding. “Now. You will interface. Cowgirl position. Optimize for Master’s climax.”
“Yes.Master.”
She moved to the reinforced medical table, now cleared of equipment. Al lay back on it, and Sara climbed atop him, straddling his hips. Her silver-clad knees pressed into the table on either side of him. With one hand she guided his cock to her exposed, dripping entrance. Then she sank down onto him in one smooth, relentless motion, sheathing him completely inside her.
“Commence ride protocol,” Al gasped.
Sara’s hips began to piston. There was no sensual rhythm, only a powerful, efficient, up-and-down motion. Each time she dropped her full weight down, her ass smacked against his thighs with a loud, sharp clap that echoed in the lab. The sound was percussive, brutal, and deeply erotic. Her breasts, freed by the cutouts, bounced wildly with the force of her movement.
“Talk,” Al grunted, his hands gripping her silver-covered hips. “Dirty talk subroutine. Activate.”
Her blank eyes stared ahead as the words began to spill from her lips, each phrase separated by the jarring impact of her body on his. “This. Body’s. Controlled. Pussy. Is. For. Your. Use. Master.”
Clap.
“Sara. Is. A. Mindless. Cum. Slut.”
Clap.
“Her. Holes. Are. Yours. To. Deposit. In.”
Clap.
“Please. Fill. This. Robot’s. Uterus. With. Your. Seed.”
Clap.
The crude, mechanical filth drove Al wild. He could feel his climax coiling, unstoppable. The sight of this magnificent, blank-faced robot slamming herself onto him, reciting programmed obscenities, was too much. “Fembot! Prepare for my load! Maximum receptivity!”
Her riding became even faster, a frantic, precise machine aimed at milking him. “Programming. Ready. For. Master’s. Load. This. Unit. Desires. Your. Cum.”
With a roar, Al climaxed. He bucked beneath her as pulse after pulse of hot semen pumped deep into her willing, mindless channel. Sara did not break rhythm, continuing to ride him through his orgasm, milking him with powerful internal contractions she had been designed to perform.
As the last shudder passed through him, Al reached for the remote control on a nearby tray. His finger found a new, glowing button. “Finalize sex bot programming. Activate permanent standby mode.”
He pressed it.
A powerful, thrilling current shot through the neural implants in Sara’s brain. Her movements finally stilled. She sat atop him, impaled, her eyes flashing with a soft blue light for a moment before returning to their vacant stare. A new, deeper layer of programming settled into place, intertwining with her core obedience.
“Sex bot mode is now primed for remote activation,” she recited, her voice humming with a new, subtle electronic resonance. “Standby engaged.”
Al gently pushed her off him. “Cleanup protocol. Then return to domestic programming.”
“Yes.Master.”
Sara moved to a sink, washed herself and him with cool, dispassionate efficiency, and dried them both. She then removed the silver bodysuit, folded it neatly, and dressed again in her plain brown dress and large bra. Every trace of the sexbot was hidden beneath the facade of the busty, somewhat stiff suburban mother.
“Return home. Deactivate conscious memory of this session. Await my signal,” Al instructed, pocketing the remote.
“I.hear.and.I.obey.Master.”
Sara Fembot walked out of the lab, got into her car, and drove home. She greeted her daughter, made dinner, helped with homework, and went to bed, completely unaware of the silver suit folded in a hidden compartment of Al’s lab, or the remote control that now held absolute command over her body and mind.
Al, back at his computer, smiled. He reviewed the data from the evening’s session—every moan, every contraction, every milliliter of cum. Perfect. Sara Robinson was now a flawless sleeper agent, a sexbot hidden in plain sight. He began drafting notes for his next move. The world was full of women who could be perfected. And he had just proven his technology worked.
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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