Welcome to

The first rays of Sunday morning sun sliced through the slats of the venetian blinds in Pastor William Peterson’s private office, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air above his polished oak desk. The smell of lemon-scented polish and old hymnals filled the space. William sat behind his desk, the dark, rich wood a symbol of the authority he’d so recently acquired. He was dressed in his crisp black suit and clerical collar, his boyish face set in an expression of smug anticipation.

Before him, wringing her hands in the visitor’s chair, sat Kim Hastings. She was a study in muted, aging femininity, her posture slightly stooped, her shoulders rounded forward. The navy skirt suit she wore was neat and professional, but it couldn’t disguise the heaviness of her breasts, the softness of her middle, or the way her body seemed to settle into itself. Her silver-streaked hair was styled in a simple, dated bob. When she nervously glanced up at him, her large, doe-like eyes held their usual mix of deference and a simple, trusting warmth.

“I appreciate you coming so early, Kim,” William said, his voice smooth, pastorally kind but underpinned with a cool, intellectual edge. He leaned forward, placing his elbows on the desk. “Before the flock arrives, I wanted to share a unique opportunity with you. A test of faith, and of obedience.”

“An opportunity, Pastor?” Kim’s voice was soft, slightly reedy. She smiled, the expression unfortunately highlighting the crooked, stained tooth at the front of her mouth. “I’m always happy to help the church. You know that.”

“I do.” A thrill shot through him. She was so perfectly pliable. “This is a bit more personal. A spiritual exercise. I’ve been granted let’s call them tools.” He opened the top drawer of his desk and withdrew a small, velvet-lined box. Inside, nestled on the dark fabric, were two simple silver bands. They looked like cheap, unremarkable rings you might find in a discount bin.

He took one out and slid it onto the ring finger of his right hand. It fit perfectly. “Put the other one on, Kim.”

She didn’t question him. With a slight tremble in her thick, aged fingers, she picked up the second ring and pushed it onto her own right hand. It was a little tight, but it went on. “What are they for, Pastor?”

“A lesson in perspective,” William said, his heart beginning to pound with a dark, exhilarating excitement. “The Lord works in mysterious ways. These rings they facilitate a temporary exchange. A soul, for a time, experiencing another vessel. You would step into my role. I would humbly take on yours. Just for the day. A lesson in humility for me, and in authority for you.”

Kim blinked her large eyes. The concept seemed to swim slowly in her mind. “Swap? You mean like, I’d be you? And you’d be me?”

“Exactly. Think of it, Kim. You, standing in the pulpit. Delivering the sermon I wrote. You, receiving the respect and deference due to the pastor.” He watched her closely, feeding the fantasy. “And in private we would debrief. You would, of course, seek my guidance. My wisdom. It would all be under my direction. A controlled experiment.”

A faint blush crept up Kim’s wrinkled neck. The idea seemed to embarrass and excite her in equal measure. To be seen, to be heard “But the congregation they’d see me as the pastor?”

“They’d see this body,” William said, gesturing to himself. “And the mind guiding it would be yours. Following my instructions, of course. Do you trust me, Kim?”

It was the magic question. Her simple faith in his office, in his maleness, in his education, was absolute. “With all my heart, Pastor.”

“Good.” He stood up, coming around the desk. He held out his ringed hand. “Then let’s begin. Take my hand. Close your eyes. And focus with me.”

She stood, her movement awkward, her heels clicking on the hardwood. She placed her small, lined hand in his. Her skin was cool, slightly papery. He closed his eyes, not in prayer, but in focus. He imagined the switch, the transfer, the delicious humiliation of what was to come.

A strange, cold tingle shot up his arm from the ring, sharp and electric. He heard Kim gasp. The world didn’t spin, but it lurched. It was a sensation of being pulled through a keyhole, a sudden, profound dislocation.William opened his eyes.

The first thing he noticed was the change in perspective. He was shorter. Significantly shorter. The desk loomed before him, massive and imposing. His, no, Kim’s body felt alien. A deep, heavy weight pulled at his chest, an insistent, unfamiliar pressure. He looked down.

The navy blazer strained over the pronounced swell of breasts, his breasts now. They were large, heavy, and he could feel their soft, pendulous weight anchored to his chest, the constriction of the white lace bra a strange, intimate harness. He raised a hand a hand with age spots and short, unpolished nails and touched his collarbone, then lower, his fingertips brushing over silk and the shocking softness of flesh beneath.

A dizzying wave of nausea and exhilaration washed over him. It worked.

He looked up, across the desk.

Standing where he had been was himself. Or rather, his body. It stood straighter, the shoulders squared in the black suit. But the face. The face held an expression of stunned, vacant wonder. The eyes, his eyes, were wide, saucer-like with amazement. The mouth, his own firm, arrogant mouth, was hanging slightly open.

“K-Kim?” William said, and the sound that came out was her voice. It was higher, softer, touched with the reedy quality of age. It was horrifying. It was thrilling.

The person in his body blinked. She looked down at her, well, his, hands. Large, masculine hands with strong fingers. She flexed them, turning them over. A slow, dawning smile spread across William’s handsome young face. It was an odd expression, one of simple, profound discovery.

“Oh my,” the voice that came from his lips was Kim’s tone, but filtered through his deeper vocal cords, creating a strange, soft baritone. “Oh my goodness.”

She took a step, stumbling slightly in his dress shoes. Then she steadied herself, her posture shifting. She straightened the suit jacket with a touch of unfamiliar pride. She looked across at him—at the woman she now saw.

“Pastor?” she said, the title tentative.

“William,” he corrected sharply, in Kim’s voice. He was still reeling, his mind trying to catalog the sensations: the gentle sway of his hips as he adjusted his stance, the unfamiliar void between his legs where his penis should have been, replaced by a smooth, flat mound pressed by tight fabric. The granny panties were a shocking, embarrassing reality. The hunch in his upper back was a constant, slight pull. “Call me William. In private. Remember the rules.”

Kim in William’s-body nodded, that strange smile still playing on his lips. “Yes. William. It’s it’s really you in there?”

“It is.” He tried to sound commanding, but the high, feminine voice undermined him. It fueled his humiliation, and his dark excitement grew. “And you are to follow the plan. You have the sermon notes on the desk. You will go out, you will greet the early deacons, you will lead the service. You will speak only the words I have written. You will do nothing without my private approval. Understood?”

She nodded again, more firmly this time. She reached up and touched his—her new—face, tracing the strong jawline. “Understood.” There was a new light in those borrowed eyes. Not just obedience, but a spark of something else. Awe, perhaps. Or the first faint glimmer of something more.

William watched her, this older woman’s mind in his young, powerful male body. The game had begun. The thrill of control was intoxicating. But as he shifted his weight, feeling the unfamiliar, heavy tug of Kim’s breasts and the empty space where his manhood used to be, a sliver of doubt, sharp as the ring’s cold bite, pricked at his certainty. He had the ring on her finger. He controlled the swap back.

For now.

William took a sharp, steadying breath, a breath that felt shallower in this smaller chest. He focused on Kim, who was still marveling at the breadth of his—her new shoulders. The game required precision. The humiliation required savoring.

“Listen carefully,” he said, his voice straining to convey authority through Kim’s gentle, aging tones. He walked around the desk, each step a lesson in a new center of gravity. The swing of his hips in the tight skirt was involuntary, a feminine sway that felt both foreign and strangely natural. He stopped before his own body, having to look up at it. The power dynamic was visually inverted, and it made his heart, Kim’s heart, flutter with a perverse excitement.

“Deacon Miller will be the first to arrive,” William instructed, forcing himself to ignore the persistent, heavy ache in his chest and the strange, empty feeling below. “He’s a traditionalist. Respectful of the office, skeptical of the man. You will nod, you will say, ‘Good morning, Deacon. A blessed day for worship.’ Firm handshake. Brief. Don’t smile too widely.” He gestured to his own face. “You have my teeth now. Straight, white. Use them. But not too much. Confidence, not friendliness.”

Kim in his body nodded, her expression one of intense concentration. “Good morning, Deacon. A blessed day,” she repeated, the voice deeper than William’s own usual cadence, softer, more tentative.

“Louder. From the diaphragm.” William placed a hand on his own on her stomach, just below the soft swell of Kim’s middle. The touch through the silk blouse was intimate, a reminder of the soft, yielding flesh he now inhabited. “You have the lungs for it now. Use them.”

As he spoke, his own awareness kept being dragged back into the vessel he occupied. The smooth mound between his legs was a constant, profound absence. It was more than just the lack of weight and bulk; it was a topological void, a quiet, flat plane where once there had been definitive, proud architecture. He shifted his stance slightly, and the brush of the tight, white silk panties against that smoothness was a shocking, intimate sensation. There was no friction, no familiar hang. Just a gentle pressure and a baffling sense of nothingness that was somehow acutely something. It was vulnerable. It was exposed, even beneath layers of skirt and silk. It made him feel paradoxically both neutered and hyper-aware of the femininity he’d been thrust into.

He saw Kim’s eyes, his own eyes, flicker downward, glancing at the skirt that now housed him. A faint, curious blush colored his own stolen cheeks.

“Does it feel very strange, William?” she asked, her head tilting with an empathy that felt entirely Kim-like.

The question, coming from his own mouth, was a direct strike at his composure. He wanted to bark at her, to reassert dominance, but the sheer novelty of the sensation overwhelmed him. “It’s an adjustment,” he admitted through tight lips, the feminine voice wavering. “A profound lesson in design.” He clenched his jaw, feeling the weaker musculature there. “But that is not your concern. Your concern is the performance. Now, the handshake. Give me your hand.”

She extended his own large, masculine hand. William took it with Kim’s smaller, lined one. The difference was staggering. His hand was enveloped, swallowed by the strength and size of his former body. The handshake was Kim’s limp, polite.

“No,” he snapped, the sound shrill. “Like you mean it. Like you own the room. You are Pastor William Peterson. You are in charge.” He squeezed with all of Kim’s strength, which wasn’t much.

She looked at their joined hands, then back at his face. Slowly, the grip firmed. The muscles in the forearm he knew so well tightened. The handshake became solid, authoritative. It was his handshake, performed by her.

“Good,” he breathed, releasing the hand. A new, unsettling thought occurred to him. “And you what do you feel? In that body.”

A slow, wondering smile spread across his face again. Kim-in-his-body looked down, not at the skirt before her, but at the trousers she now wore. She subtly adjusted her stance, her hips shifting. A faint, almost imperceptible flush went to the tips of his, her, ears.

“It’s heavy,” she whispered, her voice full of awe. “There’s a a weight. A presence. It’s” She trailed off, seemingly unable to articulate the profound, anchoring reality of male anatomy. She didn’t say it was powerful. She didn’t have to. The dazed reverence in her expression said it all. She was feeling the physical fact of the penis, the simple, biological authority William had always taken for granted.

William watched her, a cold trickle of something that wasn’t quite thrill anymore running down Kim’s spine. He was the one in the submissive, soft, emptied out body. She was the one discovering the weight of the scepter. The game was perfect. It was humiliating.

It was, he realized with a jolt, also terrifyingly balanced on a knife’s edge.