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Parasite Zero: Chapter 6 in Parasite Zero
by
GaylynneQT
· 18 Jun 2025
Zoe now has added another person to the growing Empire. But before she heads back home, she has a little bit of fun with them.
Chapter 6 - The Best Nanny Mama in Girlfriend What - A Doctor Who Regeneration Parody
by
ninhjimmy007
· 15 Jun 2025
Gabby, the black nanny who is Liam's 6th girlfriend, that she regenerated. Not to mention, she almost looks like Jasmine, the 3rd girlfriend, but only fatter, curvier, nicer, more motherly, more responsible, and more joyful than Jasmine.
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Chapter 5 - El Sexy Latina in Girlfriend What - A Doctor Who Regeneration Parody
by
ninhjimmy007
· 15 Jun 2025
Liam can't believe himself that he was surrounded by women who were the same girl that regeneration. Chloe the 1st girlfriend, Beatrice the 2nd British MILF girlfriend, Jasmine the 3rd black girlfriend, Grandma Gretchen the 4th GILF girlfriend, and finally now he has Isabella Diaz the 5th Latina Stepmom girlfriend that he never had before. Much like the Doctor that regenerate into different doctor.
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Chapter 4 - Grandma Get Rolled By Her Grandson in Girlfriend What - A Doctor Who Regeneration Parody
by
ninhjimmy007
· 15 Jun 2025
Granny Gretchen is now Liam's 4th girlfriend and his very own grandmother, this is kinda great as he can't believe he have a GILF girlfriend. Granny Gretchen is sweet, gentle, and beautiful old woman, plus she's even his girlfriend.
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Chapter 3 - Ebony from Da Hood in Girlfriend What - A Doctor Who Regeneration Parody
by
ninhjimmy007
· 14 Jun 2025
First is Chloe, second is Beatrice the MILF, and now the third is Jasmine. Seems like Liam dates a girl who regenerates like Doctor Who, he somehow turns on and loves it.
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New Adventures
Mark develop nanomachines that can go into a persons body, taking control of their mind. From there, Mark can control them via remote, program an AI to take over their body, or use a VR headset to possess them completely
Mark is a junior at a large university where he has been working hard on developing nanotechnology that would allow full interface with the subjects brain. He can see useful applications for this, but he also is a huge pervert who can’t wait to control the minds and bodies of anyone he desires.
CHARACTERS
Mark, the inventor of the nanomachines and a huge pervert. Has a mind control and body possession fetish
SETTING & WORLD
Current day on university campus
Mark is a junior at a large university where he has been working hard on developing nanotechnology that would allow full interface with the subjects brain. He can see useful applications for this, but he also is a huge pervert who can’t wait to control the minds and bodies of anyone he desires.
CHARACTERS
Mark, the inventor of the nanomachines and a huge pervert. Has a mind control and body possession fetish
SETTING & WORLD
Current day on university campus
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A witch curses you to become an immortal soul eating creature. You have cursed since Emperor Nero died.
CHARACTERS
Lucius: You. You became cursed to be a soul eater. You have black hair and Purple eyes. A scar over your left eye.
Eliza: The witch who cursed you for being unfaithful. Your ex-wife.
SETTING & WORLD
An alternative Earth that still has Magic.
CHARACTERS
Lucius: You. You became cursed to be a soul eater. You have black hair and Purple eyes. A scar over your left eye.
Eliza: The witch who cursed you for being unfaithful. Your ex-wife.
SETTING & WORLD
An alternative Earth that still has Magic.
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Matt is a perverted thief who is saved from execution by humanity's hero, Saintess Anne. That same night Anne takes Matt to an underground room in the royal church where she reveals why she saved him.
Matt is sentenced to death for his crimes, but Saintess Anne intervenes and offers him a chance to save himself and humanity. Matt agrees, and she takes him to an underground chamber, where Anne explains the situation to Matt, that the forces of the Darkness are trying to invade. But she will soon run out of mana.
CHARACTERS
Matt: A perverted thief with a love for stealing jewellery. He is arrogant and has no regard for the law. He has a moral compass that prevents him from hurting those weaker than him. He is saved from execution by the Saintess Anne. He has dark hair, a lean build, and a scar on his face.
Saintess Anne: Humanity's hero and a spiritual leader. She is beautiful, kind, and has a mysterious aura. She is the one who saves Matt from execution. She has flowing white hair, red eyes, and a bust that belongs on a prostitute.
SETTING & WORLD
A fantasy world where Mana is an energy source that is used to perform magical feats, and is only found in all living things. Every soul has a limited quantity. Rare mutations happen in the soul, one of which allows people to regenerate Mana.
Matt is sentenced to death for his crimes, but Saintess Anne intervenes and offers him a chance to save himself and humanity. Matt agrees, and she takes him to an underground chamber, where Anne explains the situation to Matt, that the forces of the Darkness are trying to invade. But she will soon run out of mana.
CHARACTERS
Matt: A perverted thief with a love for stealing jewellery. He is arrogant and has no regard for the law. He has a moral compass that prevents him from hurting those weaker than him. He is saved from execution by the Saintess Anne. He has dark hair, a lean build, and a scar on his face.
Saintess Anne: Humanity's hero and a spiritual leader. She is beautiful, kind, and has a mysterious aura. She is the one who saves Matt from execution. She has flowing white hair, red eyes, and a bust that belongs on a prostitute.
SETTING & WORLD
A fantasy world where Mana is an energy source that is used to perform magical feats, and is only found in all living things. Every soul has a limited quantity. Rare mutations happen in the soul, one of which allows people to regenerate Mana.
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Horny alien slugs have invaded earth searching for new bodies to help them reproduce. Inspired by Thisonelad’s Control series
Tor’igs are green/brown slugs, about a foot long who travel the universe on debris. They are unable to reproduce on their own, and can only do so using another species reproductive system. A small meteor heads towards earth carrying one of these aliens, and its only goal is to invade a body through any orifice, and take over. Once in control, the host mind is disconnected from its own body, unaware of their actions while the alien pilots them for its own needs. The Tor’igs can access their host’s memories.
CHARACTERS
Tor’igs- slug like aliens who can invade a human body through any orifice. They take control of their host’s memories and need to use their body to produce more of its kind.
SETTING & WORLD
Present day earth, the meteor carrying the Tor’ig is landing slightly outside a popular collage town near a beach.
Tor’igs are green/brown slugs, about a foot long who travel the universe on debris. They are unable to reproduce on their own, and can only do so using another species reproductive system. A small meteor heads towards earth carrying one of these aliens, and its only goal is to invade a body through any orifice, and take over. Once in control, the host mind is disconnected from its own body, unaware of their actions while the alien pilots them for its own needs. The Tor’igs can access their host’s memories.
CHARACTERS
Tor’igs- slug like aliens who can invade a human body through any orifice. They take control of their host’s memories and need to use their body to produce more of its kind.
SETTING & WORLD
Present day earth, the meteor carrying the Tor’ig is landing slightly outside a popular collage town near a beach.
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How hard will it be to go on a journey of self discovery, when you could be someone else?
Growing up, you learned early that some questions were best left unanswered. Like why your clothes sometimes changed color between breakfast and lunch. Or how your juicebox never seemed to run dry no matter how much you drank. Or that time your third-grade teacher apparently forgot collecting homework for an entire month—the month you’d "accidentally" turned yours into origami swans.
Your parents had a way of smoothing things over with a touch to the temple and a muttered apology to the confused adults. You didn’t understand how it worked then—just that your little miracles always dissolved into vague memories and shrugged shoulders.
Now, six weeks after you started to rent out rooms of your freshly renovated, idyllic estate (a "fixer-upper" your parents helped secure), you’ve collected a household of endearing oddballs. The rent you charge them is nominal—mostly to keep the lights on and the pantry stocked—but what your housemates lack in payments, they make up for in quirks:
- Cassie insists on accompanying Luna everywhere—"To ward off creeps!"—despite being just as likely to attract attention with her crop tops and mile-wide smirk. Luna tolerates it with affectionate eye-rolls.
- Liam’s students hang on his every syllable, according to his proud girlfriend. "It’s like they’re hypnotized," she laughs. (You laugh too. But you notice the honor students blink rapidly afterward, as if waking up.)
- Felix boasts about his "unforgettable" nights at the club, yet his stories crumble under follow-up questions. "Dude, I was there—why can’t I remember her name?!"
- Elise’s tailoring clients leave clutching garments and muttering "How did she know?"—especially those who never got measured.
It’s all charming. Cozy, even
CHARACTERS
You (Max)
- Age: 28
- Appearance: Tall (6'2"), brown hair and eyes, decently athletic.
- Personality: Caring and kind.
Cassie Vale
- Age: 27
- Appearance: Petit (5'1"), Straight blond hair, freckles, always wears crop tops that show her midriff, small chest but a decent ass.
- Job: Works in an animal shelter.
- Personality: Confident, Playfully arrogant, A bit perverted.
Derek Boone
- Age: 23
- Appearance: Average (5'11") Broad-shouldered jock, perpetually in gym shorts.
- Job: Works at a Gym.
- Personality: Territorial. Bit of a dumbass.
Naomi Lin
- Age: 29
- Appearance: Tall (6'4"), curvy, long wavy black hair, athletic, black.
- Job: Works as a lawyer.
- Personality: Seductive but playfully cruel.
Raj Shah
- Age: 23
- Appearance: Small (5'3"), Indian, square glasses, scrawny.
- Job: Still studying (Computer Science).
- Personality: Coldly analytical. Has a superiority complex.
Liam Grant
- Age: 25
- Appearance: Tall (6'3") Lean, dark circles under eyes.
- Job: Works as a teacher.
- Personality: Strict but caring.
Avery Cross
- Age: 25
- Appearance: Average (5'8") Androgynous, wears all white, blonde hair, very pretty.
- Job: Works as a waiter in a very high-end restaurant.
- Personality: Chaotic neutral. Is always up for fun stuff, but can switch instantly to classy and tactful.
Elise Moreau
- Age: 27
- Appearance: Average (5'7") Ginger, French, skinny, perky chest (32C) and ass, always in typical Parisian fit.
- Job: Works as a designer in an uptown tailor.
- Personality: Fashion diva, Confident, Wants everyone to feel confident in their skin.
Felix Wu
- Age: 24
- Appearance: Tall (6'1"), Asian, short hair, attractive.
- Job: Bartender in a small nightclub.
- Personality: Smarter than he looks, but oblivious to a fault. A good guy.
Hannah Park
- Age: 21
- Appearance: Average (5'6"), Curvy, even slightly chubby.
- Job: Still studying (Art)
- Personality: Happy-go-lucky, teases Derek constantly
- Note: Derek’s exasperated GF.
Priya Singh
- Age: 23
- Appearance: Small (5'1"), Indian, skinny, petit, long straight black hair.
- Job: Still studying (Computer Science)
- Personality: Confident, reassuring, good, moral.
- Note: Raj’s lab partner. Unshakable will according to Cassie.
Maria Lopez
- Age: 29
- Appearance: Tall (6'0"), Buxom, Latina. Long straight black hair.
- Job: Firefighter
- Personality: Fiery and protective, Motherly to a fault. Bakes and cooks like a true chef. Bisexual.
Luna Holloway (Your crush)
- Age: 27
- Appearance: Tall (5'11"), Curvy, Athletic, supermodel face, with femme fatale chest (34F) and the legs of a swimmer, almost floor length pink hair, Grey eyes.
- Job: Lifeguard at the local pool, has had to save plenty of 'fake-drowning' men.
- Personality: Happy and bubbly, but shy when the center of attention. Attentive to others. Uncomfortable around flirty men.
Sarah Domme
- Age: 27
- Appearance: Short (5'6"), slightly chubby, bookworm, big glasses, very large doe-eyes, chestnut brown long curly hair. Big tits and large ass, has a small belly pouch.
- Job: Works as a teacher in the same school as Liam.
- Personality: Shy booknerd. Liam coached her to be a bit more confident in front of the class, but outside of her job she is very shy.
- Note: Liam's girlfriend.
Growing up, you learned early that some questions were best left unanswered. Like why your clothes sometimes changed color between breakfast and lunch. Or how your juicebox never seemed to run dry no matter how much you drank. Or that time your third-grade teacher apparently forgot collecting homework for an entire month—the month you’d "accidentally" turned yours into origami swans.
Your parents had a way of smoothing things over with a touch to the temple and a muttered apology to the confused adults. You didn’t understand how it worked then—just that your little miracles always dissolved into vague memories and shrugged shoulders.
Now, six weeks after you started to rent out rooms of your freshly renovated, idyllic estate (a "fixer-upper" your parents helped secure), you’ve collected a household of endearing oddballs. The rent you charge them is nominal—mostly to keep the lights on and the pantry stocked—but what your housemates lack in payments, they make up for in quirks:
- Cassie insists on accompanying Luna everywhere—"To ward off creeps!"—despite being just as likely to attract attention with her crop tops and mile-wide smirk. Luna tolerates it with affectionate eye-rolls.
- Liam’s students hang on his every syllable, according to his proud girlfriend. "It’s like they’re hypnotized," she laughs. (You laugh too. But you notice the honor students blink rapidly afterward, as if waking up.)
- Felix boasts about his "unforgettable" nights at the club, yet his stories crumble under follow-up questions. "Dude, I was there—why can’t I remember her name?!"
- Elise’s tailoring clients leave clutching garments and muttering "How did she know?"—especially those who never got measured.
It’s all charming. Cozy, even
CHARACTERS
You (Max)
- Age: 28
- Appearance: Tall (6'2"), brown hair and eyes, decently athletic.
- Personality: Caring and kind.
Cassie Vale
- Age: 27
- Appearance: Petit (5'1"), Straight blond hair, freckles, always wears crop tops that show her midriff, small chest but a decent ass.
- Job: Works in an animal shelter.
- Personality: Confident, Playfully arrogant, A bit perverted.
Derek Boone
- Age: 23
- Appearance: Average (5'11") Broad-shouldered jock, perpetually in gym shorts.
- Job: Works at a Gym.
- Personality: Territorial. Bit of a dumbass.
Naomi Lin
- Age: 29
- Appearance: Tall (6'4"), curvy, long wavy black hair, athletic, black.
- Job: Works as a lawyer.
- Personality: Seductive but playfully cruel.
Raj Shah
- Age: 23
- Appearance: Small (5'3"), Indian, square glasses, scrawny.
- Job: Still studying (Computer Science).
- Personality: Coldly analytical. Has a superiority complex.
Liam Grant
- Age: 25
- Appearance: Tall (6'3") Lean, dark circles under eyes.
- Job: Works as a teacher.
- Personality: Strict but caring.
Avery Cross
- Age: 25
- Appearance: Average (5'8") Androgynous, wears all white, blonde hair, very pretty.
- Job: Works as a waiter in a very high-end restaurant.
- Personality: Chaotic neutral. Is always up for fun stuff, but can switch instantly to classy and tactful.
Elise Moreau
- Age: 27
- Appearance: Average (5'7") Ginger, French, skinny, perky chest (32C) and ass, always in typical Parisian fit.
- Job: Works as a designer in an uptown tailor.
- Personality: Fashion diva, Confident, Wants everyone to feel confident in their skin.
Felix Wu
- Age: 24
- Appearance: Tall (6'1"), Asian, short hair, attractive.
- Job: Bartender in a small nightclub.
- Personality: Smarter than he looks, but oblivious to a fault. A good guy.
Hannah Park
- Age: 21
- Appearance: Average (5'6"), Curvy, even slightly chubby.
- Job: Still studying (Art)
- Personality: Happy-go-lucky, teases Derek constantly
- Note: Derek’s exasperated GF.
Priya Singh
- Age: 23
- Appearance: Small (5'1"), Indian, skinny, petit, long straight black hair.
- Job: Still studying (Computer Science)
- Personality: Confident, reassuring, good, moral.
- Note: Raj’s lab partner. Unshakable will according to Cassie.
Maria Lopez
- Age: 29
- Appearance: Tall (6'0"), Buxom, Latina. Long straight black hair.
- Job: Firefighter
- Personality: Fiery and protective, Motherly to a fault. Bakes and cooks like a true chef. Bisexual.
Luna Holloway (Your crush)
- Age: 27
- Appearance: Tall (5'11"), Curvy, Athletic, supermodel face, with femme fatale chest (34F) and the legs of a swimmer, almost floor length pink hair, Grey eyes.
- Job: Lifeguard at the local pool, has had to save plenty of 'fake-drowning' men.
- Personality: Happy and bubbly, but shy when the center of attention. Attentive to others. Uncomfortable around flirty men.
Sarah Domme
- Age: 27
- Appearance: Short (5'6"), slightly chubby, bookworm, big glasses, very large doe-eyes, chestnut brown long curly hair. Big tits and large ass, has a small belly pouch.
- Job: Works as a teacher in the same school as Liam.
- Personality: Shy booknerd. Liam coached her to be a bit more confident in front of the class, but outside of her job she is very shy.
- Note: Liam's girlfriend.
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New AI Chat
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A Mysterious App let you possess other people bodies.
You download an app on your cellphone from the darkweeb - TAMAASHI. For every contact saved in your cellphone, now you can possess them instantly, leaving your body behind. First for only 30 minutes, as you continue using it, new functions will be unblocked, and longer possession time will be available.
CHARACTERS
ERIK - parents are dead and you don't talk anymore with your sucessfully sister. You were bullied during highschool and now you are a recluse.
SETTING & WORLD
Normal World. City, suburbs, high shcool, park, stripclub, mall
You download an app on your cellphone from the darkweeb - TAMAASHI. For every contact saved in your cellphone, now you can possess them instantly, leaving your body behind. First for only 30 minutes, as you continue using it, new functions will be unblocked, and longer possession time will be available.
CHARACTERS
ERIK - parents are dead and you don't talk anymore with your sucessfully sister. You were bullied during highschool and now you are a recluse.
SETTING & WORLD
Normal World. City, suburbs, high shcool, park, stripclub, mall
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College is the time to try new things, so why not try someone else? From the inside or outside, you or someone you know finds a method to become or play with anyone on campus.
You or someone else you know finds a way to possess, mind control, body swap, and more at will. Done by magic, technology, or any other method you can dream of someone on your floor makes the college their playground, and the semester is just getting started.
CHARACTERS
You - The main character and POV. Unfortunately, your best friend transferred out of state, leaving your housing plans in a lurch. You lucked out getting the lone single on the floor at the end of the hall.
Veronica - Jane's friend and roommate. Veronica is your stereotypical goth, short with a thick body, large boobs, and black hair and clothes. She is deeply into the occult and all things magic. Works as a stagehand for the school musical. No current partner.
Jane - Veronica's friend and roommate. One of the leads in the school play, she is of average height and build, with an amazing singing voice. Always the actor, she enjoys roleplaying and the thrill of pretending to be someone else. No current partner, although she does hook up with other students in the musical fairly frequently.
Andre - Erics friend and roommate. On the collegiate swim and dive team, he is taller than Eric with a long and lean swimmers body. He and Amy have been going somewhat steady, although they have not made it official.
Eric - Andres friend and roommate. Standing around 6'2" and built like a brick house, he plays linebacker for the schools football team. He doesn't currently have a girlfriend, but seems to have a new partner in his bed every few days.
Mia - Amy's friend and roommate. Pretty much the opposite of Veronica, she is tall, instagram gorgeous, overly bubbly, and as a sorority member pretty much always wearing some shade of pink. Dating someone in a fraternity.
Amy - Mia's friend and roommate. Amy plays for the school's soccer team, complimenting her above average height frame with strong legs and six-pack abs. Competitive, focused, and dedicated, she always seems to be headed off to training or study hall. Going somewhat steady with Andre, but has not made it official.
Daniel - Kevin's friend and roommate. Insanely brilliant, he and Kevin work in a tech lab on campus doing work you can never quite understand. Just below average in height, he is surprisingly fit due to his background in martial arts and loves doing cosplay. Currently dating someone he met at a cosplay convention.
Kevin - Daniel's friend and roommate. Also incredibly brilliant and works with Kevin in the tech lab on campus. Tall, lanky, and wears glasses. Does cosplay with Daniel, and sometimes even goes to the gym with him, but is overall fairly unathletic. No current relationship, but seems to have a crush on Veronica.
SETTING & WORLD
The story takes place at your states college. Due to a mix-up in the schools housing assignment software, you and the listed characters have all been randomly assigned to the same dorm floor. While the fun may start on your floor, there is a whole college campus and thousands of people to explore.
You or someone else you know finds a way to possess, mind control, body swap, and more at will. Done by magic, technology, or any other method you can dream of someone on your floor makes the college their playground, and the semester is just getting started.
CHARACTERS
You - The main character and POV. Unfortunately, your best friend transferred out of state, leaving your housing plans in a lurch. You lucked out getting the lone single on the floor at the end of the hall.
Veronica - Jane's friend and roommate. Veronica is your stereotypical goth, short with a thick body, large boobs, and black hair and clothes. She is deeply into the occult and all things magic. Works as a stagehand for the school musical. No current partner.
Jane - Veronica's friend and roommate. One of the leads in the school play, she is of average height and build, with an amazing singing voice. Always the actor, she enjoys roleplaying and the thrill of pretending to be someone else. No current partner, although she does hook up with other students in the musical fairly frequently.
Andre - Erics friend and roommate. On the collegiate swim and dive team, he is taller than Eric with a long and lean swimmers body. He and Amy have been going somewhat steady, although they have not made it official.
Eric - Andres friend and roommate. Standing around 6'2" and built like a brick house, he plays linebacker for the schools football team. He doesn't currently have a girlfriend, but seems to have a new partner in his bed every few days.
Mia - Amy's friend and roommate. Pretty much the opposite of Veronica, she is tall, instagram gorgeous, overly bubbly, and as a sorority member pretty much always wearing some shade of pink. Dating someone in a fraternity.
Amy - Mia's friend and roommate. Amy plays for the school's soccer team, complimenting her above average height frame with strong legs and six-pack abs. Competitive, focused, and dedicated, she always seems to be headed off to training or study hall. Going somewhat steady with Andre, but has not made it official.
Daniel - Kevin's friend and roommate. Insanely brilliant, he and Kevin work in a tech lab on campus doing work you can never quite understand. Just below average in height, he is surprisingly fit due to his background in martial arts and loves doing cosplay. Currently dating someone he met at a cosplay convention.
Kevin - Daniel's friend and roommate. Also incredibly brilliant and works with Kevin in the tech lab on campus. Tall, lanky, and wears glasses. Does cosplay with Daniel, and sometimes even goes to the gym with him, but is overall fairly unathletic. No current relationship, but seems to have a crush on Veronica.
SETTING & WORLD
The story takes place at your states college. Due to a mix-up in the schools housing assignment software, you and the listed characters have all been randomly assigned to the same dorm floor. While the fun may start on your floor, there is a whole college campus and thousands of people to explore.
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Then one day my wish came true.
"The first time it happened was when I shapechanged into a friend by
accident," I admitted, reluctantly.
"How did that happen?" asked Jo. She was starting to relax a little,
her head canted slightly so that her wavy red hair draped languidly
into her face. She'd taken her goggles off since the fight, revealing
eyes that were large, gray-tinted and beautiful. They were familiar.
I'd once looked through those eyes and I remembered the crystal clarity
of their vision. "Was it some kind of big, colorful manifestation?" she
insisted.
"No, nothing like that." I stopped to clear my throat before going on.
"Only I knew anything had happened. I was hanging with my pal and just
patted them on the shoulder, all friendly. Then there was this 'zap'
feeling as I touched them, like a small electric shock. Suddenly I
could feel their shape in my head. It was like I held the blueprints
for their body in my mind. It made me feel weird. I didn't actually
shapechange properly until later. Not 'til I got home."
There was a lot I'd left out of this description. The friend had been
Bill, my bud at school. He's a smart, funny guy. Good grades. Good
enough at sports and the social round to be at the centre of several
circles. He hung with the nerd crowd and played in our World of
Warcraft clan. He was our natural leader and the organizer of many
online raids and stunts.
That time I'd felt the zap, the experience had left me feeling so
queasy and sick that I crawled home, leaving Bill at the arcade where
we'd been hanging. I stumbled into my bed complaining of a stomachache
and asked Mom to stop fussing and leave me alone. I dozed off and when
I woke up I was in Bill's body--or at least a copy of it--looking
through his eyes and breathing his air.
"Who was this friend of yours?" Jo asked, trying to gently lever her
way past my defenses. I licked my dry lips and tried to fend her off.
"Can we leave my friends out of it, Jo?" I briefly felt assertive and
defensive of my privacy. "They have nothing to do with this. I
discovered I could touch people and get an impression of their form
from the physical contact. Once it was in my head I could change into
that imprinted form and back again."
Jo wisely let it drop. "Did you use the power much once you'd mastered
it?"
"Uh, yeah. I experimented."
Yes, I experimented. A lot.
Of course, there was Bill's body at first. I wasn't really sure how I
had come to change, and after the initial panic it was a while before I
realized that my mind seemed to hold imprints of my old and new bodies.
I could focus on the ghostly shape there and swap between his body and
mine as easy as moving from one train of thought to another. It didn't
take more than five or six seconds to transform and it was painless. My
entire body would bubble with a weird energy, then it would flow and
gel into the new shape and become solid again.
I soon discovered the power's first limitation. It didn't work on
clothes, leaving me wearing whatever I had on before the change. That
would be a source of occasional embarrassment in the times to come.
As Bill it was disconcerting to have his bulk, his muscle, his senses,
and even his man-parts. Yeah, that felt icky at first. But once I felt
comfortable shifting back and forth between forms I test-drove his
body. I was impressed by how different a climax felt; it seemed to go
on longer than in my own physique.
All this, of course, was in secret, in the warm privacy of my bedroom
or the shower; anywhere my parents couldn't see me. There was no way I
was going to tell Mom or Pop about this and I was never going to admit
amything to Bill.
I spent a week trying to figure out the power, trying to master it. I
wondered if it was a one-off so I tried imprinting other friends from
school. All it took was some handshakes and backslaps and I soon also
had the imprints of three other friends. Having four phantom shapes
floating at the back of my consciousness was distracting and made it
hard to concentrate. I was glad when, after a few days, they began to
fade away.
However, while I held their imprints each change catapulted me into an
exhilarating new world of sensation. Each body had its own signature
characteristics, slightly different from my own. John's vision had an
acuity that profoundly changed the way I looked at the universe. The
colors I saw through his eyes seemed so much more vibrant. Tanc was
blessed with sharp hearing and I could make out sounds and voices more
easily from the tumble of background noise, while Raul possessed a
sense of smell so fine that I could make out olfactory notes I never
knew existed.
There were other unexpected differences. Muscles stretched and twanged
in unfamiliar ways. John's body seemed more flexible than the others
while in Raul's form my hands felt pudgy and clumsy. Tanc's legs seemed
so long compared to my own that I kept stumbling as I walked. Shifts in
height or reach could be a minefield, as they changed my perception of
distances and space. Even mundane alterations could be striking. In
each body I had a different heartbeat, an alien breathing rhythm, the
altered tang of saliva in my mouth and the feel of a new set of teeth
against my tongue.
Practicing the changes I found I could control the imprinting so that
it didn't happen on every physical contact. The transformations were
coming easy now and the overwhelming rush of the impressions didn't
make me feel sick like the first time.
I felt I was ready to try the biggest change yet. I wanted to become a
girl.
This was something I didn't want to mention to Jo. This was all about
sex, okay? Pure gratification. I was this lanky geek, a horny teen
who'd never dated yet was forced to swim in the hormone-charged
environment of high school. I felt I was missing what other guys at
school seemed to be getting, and that was pussy.
But now I could change my physical form to whomever I was able to touch
and imprint. Who needed to date a woman if you could become one? This
fever dream began to exterminate all rational thought. I started to
fantasize about transforming into a hot chick and checking myself out.
As soon as the idea of changing into a girl began to careen across my
imagination, I began to form a plan. I wanted to become someone foxy-
looking, of course. By a shaky process of logic I concluded that I
should imprint a person I'd never met and who didn't know me. So I set
my trap at the Mall.
If this sounds like stalkerish behavior, well, I plead that this was a
victimless crime. I wasn't going to attack anyone, just touch them for
a moment, imprint their physical pattern and then I'd be gone. However,
I didn't want any awkward questions, so to disguise myself I changed
into John's tall, rangy body. His was the closest shape to mine, I
wasn't too clumsy in it and I could wear the same clothes in both
forms. I biked down to the Mall and hung about the marble air-
conditioned concourse, watching people walk by and rating the women on
a one to ten scale.
It took a while to find the right subject. Most of the women were too
old or too young, too fat or thin. There were lumpen women, saggy
women, girls with lived-in faces. There were some who looked great at a
distance and as they walked closer did not look so hot. And there were
some who were pretty, but not pretty enough. I had this great power and
arrogantly felt I could afford to pick and choose.
Eventually I saw what I wanted: she was definitely a nine out of ten, a
lovely brunette with lustrous, shoulder-length hair. The woman was a
twenty-something, with an oval face and dazzling eyes that were kissed
with a dash of green. She had a small, straight nose and a generous
mouth with inviting lips. Her figure was slim-waisted and wide-hipped,
with what looked like shapely legs beneath her pants, and she wore a
stretch top that barely contained her generous breasts. I watched them
move as she did, bobbing in sympathy with her walk. The woman's well-
tanned arms were bare, which was ideal for me to make contact, and she
was alone, window shopping outside the chic clothes stores with a bag
swinging from her shoulder. Heart in my mouth I approached her from the
side.
"Hi Julie!" I said to her, all enthusiasm and bonhomie. I had no idea
who Julie was; it was the first name that came to mind. I lightly
touched the woman's arm, just long enough to feel the zap and rush of
the imprint. Startled, her head snapped to look at me, hair whirling
and mouth open. I was momentarily transfixed; she looked really
beautiful. But before she could say anything I immediately launched
into an apology. "Oh, I'm so sorry," I said, backing out of her
personal space. "From a distance I thought you were my friend. My bad,
I'm real sorry."
"No, uh, it's okay," she said and gave an embarrassed laugh. Her voice
was light and friendly. She hadn't felt the imprint process. None of
them ever do, though I saw her hand absently brush the skin where I'd
touched her.
"Look, I'd better go!" I said, thumbing toward the exit. "I gotta find
my friend Julie. Again, I'm sorry about the mistake!" Heart-in-mouth I
dashed outside to the lonely concrete post where I'd shackled my
mountain bike. I took a moment to morph back into my own shape and then
pedaled back home as fast as my legs could take me.
I almost never made it. My limbs were shaking from the adrenalin rush
of what I'd just done. And then there was the imprint of the woman's
body, which was beginning to fill my senses.
It's hard to articulate how an imprint feels. It's like a new sense, a
spectral memory of a body shape on the edge of my consciousness. On
that bike ride I could feel the outline of this woman's physical form
and it was making me horny. My dick was so hard I could barely pedal.
This was different from the guy forms I'd impressed. Almost as if it
could touch them my mind could make out the fleshy physicality of
breasts, the curve of a waist and an unfamiliar space between my
thighs. It's a wonder I didn't orgasm in my shorts.
Back in the house, I ran thumpety-thump upstairs and locked myself in
the antiseptic privacy of the bathroom. I stripped in a hurry, clumsily
hurling off shoes, shirt and pants until they were strewn across the
floor. Then my hands, on autopilot, pushed down my shorts and began to
stroke and jerk my dick, which was hard, hot and sleek. I felt an urge
to ejaculate before I transformed. But the weight of the strange,
feminine imprint on my psyche was too great. My mind kept flicking to
the ghostly sensations of tits, ass and clit. The feeling of male
orgasm began to build, but I couldn't stop the deep desire to change
from overwhelming me. Just as I was about to come I began to morph and
my penis shrunk back out of my hands. I was suddenly robbed of my
ability to orgasm, leaving a momentary ache where my balls had been. In
seconds, I was all woman, standing naked save for the shorts pooling
around my ankles. In the bathroom mirror I could see a bloom of sweat
across my heaving chest while the hand that had held my dick now
grasped at empty air in front of my pussy.
Not for the first time I was to discover that there's a disjoint
between looking at a pretty girl and actually occupying her body. This
is especially true when your only experience of hot women comes from
airbrushed photos on the internet. There's a rude reality you have to
face up to. This close I could see the myriad tiny flaws of a real
woman's form. I had fine hairs on my arms, enlarged pores on my skin,
tiny wrinkles near my eyes and a barely perceptible bend in my nose,
along with a dozen other irritating defects. Already my long, dark hair
was wandering into my face to itch and scratch at my nose and my hands
rose up to flick it away with long-nailed fingers.
Suddenly I was aware of padding in places that were unfamiliar. My ass
and thighs felt unusually plump, as if the world around my tuchas began
a long way away. Then there was the mass of flesh tugging at my chest
muscles. I had breasts that were big, but without a bra to hold them
they just sagged back against my body and looked uneven, one larger
than the other.
My cans were nothing like the firm mountains I'd imagined they'd be.
They shivered like jello and yielded to the slightest touch. A tracery
of veins tracked across a skin that blazed with pale bikini triangles.
My hands mashed my boobs then lifted them, feeling their heft and
fleshy weight. Something carnal stirred in my chest and crotch as
fingernails brushed the hardening blobs of my redcurrant nipples and
their large surrounds. It was different from a hard-on. This arousal
was more like a heavy heat that made my skin more sensitive, that made
me conscious of the secret new spaces inside of me.
Suddenly the flaws didn't matter any more and my hands were all over my
body. It was almost like I didn't have enough fingers to stroke, touch
and pinch at all the parts of my new physique. Playing with my breasts
was sensational, feeling a horny thrill prickle back from behind the
teats and make its way to my cootchie, which became tremendously wet. I
hadn't anticipated how rapidly this warmth and moistness in my loins
would build. My face flushed and I felt as if I was starting to glow.
As the excitement increased I caressed my flat belly, with its firm
abs, and cupped the swell of my ass. It was a lovely peach-skinned
behind, soft and satisfyingly round.
And then, after exploring the slick sensitivity of my inner thighs,
which staggered me and almost made me fall on the floor, I began to
quest at the soft folds of skin around my vagina. I was about to slip
one nailed finger gingerly in to the hot wetness when a voice from
downstairs rose up and drenched me like a cold shower. It was Mom
calling me down for lunch. I cursed a streak in a soft soprano and then
stood there, staring angrily around the spotless expanse of the
bathroom. The spell was broken and the exquisite sexual heat of my
girl-body was cooling. Reluctantly, I focused for long enough to shift
back to my own shape, feeling its bony angles develop and my balls
drop. I felt a deep resentment at having to give up the exotic
experience of being a woman and return to my original form. I wiped
myself where girl-juices had dripped a slick, solitary trail down the
inside of one thigh, then got dressed and went downstairs to a
miserable meal.
From that day on I would have to hunt for private moments to explore my
feminine form. Often this was at night when I was safe in bed and the
house was suspended in sleep. In the stillness, with the warm urban
nightlight filtering through the blinds, I'd transform beneath the
sheets. My skinny awkwardness would subside and swell into supple
curves, reshaping the bedclothes. My head would suddenly be pillowed by
a mass of soft hair.
I'd lay there for a while, absorbing the new rhythms, the breathing and
heartbeat, of this limber body. I'd taste my sweet saliva and explore
my perfect, regular teeth with my tongue. Then slowly, in an act of
seduction, I'd start to play with myself in the dark. Slim hands would
flutter across my breasts as they puddled on my chest. Fingers would
delicately pluck at my sweet teats, teasing them rigid and making my
body writhe in response before my hand slid down across my belly and a
ragged thatch of pubic hair to reach the entrance to my vulva. There,
sliding into the folds of flesh, I was able to explore the hot
moistness, hunt out my clitoris and press it to make my back arch. Then
I'd enjoy the sensation of my fingers inside of me. I liked to withdraw
a wet digit and taste myself; lapping with my tongue at the hot musk of
my sex.
The first time I climaxed it was difficult to keep the noise down and I
lay in bed, gasping, feeling buzzy and blissed out. It was nothing like
the urgent surge of my male orgasms. This was more like a tide, a rise
and fall of sensation and emotion. Exhausted, I dozed off, still
encased in a female body. I was fortunate not to be discovered before I
woke and could change back.
I kept this pattern of exploration up for almost two weeks, excited by
my female shape and entranced by its otherness. I'd lock myself in my
room all evening, enjoying the experience of being a woman. I felt more
relaxed in this form, and was becoming increasingly comfortable with
it. As the sensation of breasts and vagina became familiar, I started
to appreciate the rest of what I thought of as my 'Julie body'. I loved
the line formed by my slim waist and broad hips, and the way my center
of gravity seemed to shift downwards. I admired the shapliness of my
legs and how even the back of my knees seemed to be an erogenous zone.
I would spend some evenings playing World of Warcraft in my Julie
shape, typing chat messages to friends. They couldn't see me, of
course. They didn't realize that I was now a hottie, sitting at a
screen clad only in a bathrobe, a stray boob just poking out from
behind the towelling. That gave me a secret thrill for as long as it
lasted, but I'd always have to change back whenever we raided, as our
guild used voice chat to communicate. I contemplated creating a new
game account, a new identity in which I could be a woman all the time,
and I wondered how differently my friends would respond to a girl's
voice.
Now I could turn into a sexy girl at will, I became obsessed with
clothing and tried to see how much of my wardrobe would fit a figure
that was shorter, but curved in new places. I pulled on a T-shirt that
squashed my chest flat, then fondled my boobs through the taut fabric.
That was so arousing that I tried my swimming briefs on. They stretched
pleasingly over the plumpness of my ass but bunched into unsightly
folds at the crotch. At least there was plenty of space there to reach
a hand inside and rub my vajayjay.
My boy clothes were all the wrong cut and didn't feel comfortable or
sexy enough. I wondered what it felt like to try on some women's
clothing. One Saturday afternoon, while my parents were visiting a
distant uncle, I stayed home and nervously snuck into the sacred space
of my mother's wardrobe. Mom was in her late thirties and, my friends
reckoned, had kept her looks. Amongst the racks of clothes I found
something that I thought I could squeeze my girl form into.
I took it down from its hanger, a simple knee-length dress with a
conservative floral pattern. I stripped nude, unzipped the back and
stepped into it, feeling a thrill as I pulled it up. The dress slid up
my legs, but then got stuck at my ass. I had to spend a few minutes
working my curves into it, inch by inch. By the time I'd managed, with
some effort, to zip it (mostly) up the back, everything felt
constricted and fit to burst. I could barely move for fear of something
ripping.
I found Mom's shoes in the wardrobe and was disappointed to find, after
forcing my feet into a pair of pumps, that they pinched badly. I stood
in front of the mirror, wrapped too tight to move, my bust squashed to
overflowing while wobbling precariously on Mom's heels. I was not
comfortable, and yet the whole experience of dressing as a woman made
the experience more thrilling, more sexy. I was turned on by the sight
of myself in a dress. When I clutched my breasts through the fabric my
body responded with strong arousal, straining at the confining apparel.
There was no way I could diddle myself like this, so I levered off the
dressâ€"an operation as difficult as getting it onâ€"and looked for what
else I could try. Mom's underwear drawer netted a pair of silky panties
that stretched satisfyingly over my smooth behind. I was disappointed
to find that her bras were far too small for my capacious chest, but in
another drawer I found a striped bikini top that could just about be
made to fit, though it barely cupped my boobs
So in this mismatched outfit of bikini bra, panties and two-inch pumps,
I flopped onto my parents' bed and began to touch myself. I was now
expert in arousing my girl-body. I swiftly felt the wetness come and
then rammed my hand down the sheer front of Mom's underwear to start
the gentle stirring and flicking that would bring me to climax.
This shape was addictive. But there was something else, besides the
erotic sensation of girl flesh, that brought me back to this body. I
was now an attractive woman. I felt desirable. Who would reject someone
who looked at hot as me? People would at last pay me the attention I
never received as a guy.
I climaxed and lay panting, legs akimbo on the bed. The bikini bra was
askew on my chest, the panties were pushed down across my thighs and
those too-tight high heels dug into the bedcover. I must have looked a
mess. As I lay in the afterglow I contemplated going out dressed as a
woman, but I hadn't the guts and I had nothing that fitted.
Days passed and I soon discovered a new limitation of my powers. So
long as the imprint remained fresh, the change was easy. When I
transformed each night I retained a pristine memory of the body shape.
It would even retain changes from the night before, such as the time I
tried shaving my pubic hair, creating a stubbly patch and a couple of
small razor nicks that reappeared each time I changed.
However, if I didn't change into a form regularly, its imprint would
degrade. School and chores and late nights hanging with my friends
online in World of Warcraft finally got the better of me. Exhausted, I
began to go straight to sleep without changing as soon as I hit the
hay. So when, after skipping a couple of nights, I tried to shapeshift
again I realized that my memory of 'Julie' had partially faded.
I focussed on the imprint and felt the usual tingle of morphing, but
the result petered out into an incomplete change. It felt all wrong.
When I stripped and looked in the mirror I appeared to be half man and
half woman. I checked my face and it was partly feminized with Julie's
and nose and the mass of her soft hair framing my features. Though my
hips had widened and my ass had swelled into its familiar proportions,
my waist was still thick and below the abdomen my genitals remained
male, though shriveled and weeny. My narrow chest sported a pair of
tiny, pointed mounds like those of a pubescent girl.
I tried to play with this androgynous physique, but it didn't function
properly. My adolescent, unfilled breasts ached slightly, as if in
growing pains, and rubbing them only made them sore. It took an age to
bring my tiny dick and balls to climax. It was really difficult to jerk
myself when my penis was so small. At the moment I came barely anything
came out and the pleasure it gave was miniscule and unsatisfying.
The realization that I'd lost the woman's imprint was like a
bereavement. I had become accustomed to that body's comfort and poise
and cursed myself for letting it disappear. I'd never find that woman
again and so I sulked for a day, wondering what to do. Then I resolved
to search for some new bodies to replace hers. I picked out the most
attractive girls in my classes and found ways to imprint them without
getting too touchy-feely. I could now handle three imprints without
much distraction. It wasn't long before I had a new parade of imprinted
shapes. I could feel their exotic forms at the edges of my
consciousness.
With three girl bodies stored safely away my nights became a carnival
of solo sex, enjoyed between the sheets of my bed. The experience of
wearing the new bodies was mind-blowing.
The first shape I tried on was that of a girl named Tani. She was an
ash blonde with a nondescript, almost homely face, but her incredible
curves meant she was much in demand with the boys. It took a gentle
touch of her hand in class to capture her form. Back at home when I
changed bodies that first time I had the brief sensation of feeling
inflated, like a Michelin man. As I adjusted to the shift of fleshy
ballast my sense of balance was thrown. Then I looked in the mirror to
check myself out. Tani possessed a fabulous hourglass with a broad
carriage and heavy breasts sagging down her ribcage, aureoles like
bruised circles.
It didn't take long to put Tani's nimble fingers to work, exploring and
circumnavigating my new frame. Tani was not fat, but her voluptuousness
was such that transitioning from my lean male body to hers was like
being zippered into a padded suit. I began to play with my tits, which
hung like ripe eggplants from my chest, but found they were less
sensitive than in my last girl body. The doughy masses seemed to get in
the way when I moved and were hot and a little uncomfortable. However,
as my hands slid down below the slight swell of my/Tani's belly, I
discovered her vulva. Even before I could enter myself, I felt
something dilate and in moments I was in flood. Tani's clit was a
beautiful instrument to play with; a sleek knot of nerve-endings that
slipped beneath my fingers. Its responses were so acute that in my
nocturnal explorations I had to be careful not to moan as I stroked and
worked it towards a climax. My middle finger sucked and popped as I
thrust it in and out of Tani's, no MY wet vagina. I worked it hard
with rapid little motions, tension brewing until I crested the wave and
came. In Tani's body orgasms were vast and emotional, washing over me
in great beach-breakers, leaving me quietly sobbing, unable to staunch
the tears.
Over the days that followed I kept coming back to Tani's pillowy form.
Her pussy became mine each night and it had me entranced. I began to
use bananas, whisked from the fruit bowl, as improvised dildos,
slipping them between my lips then pushing them gently and deeper
inside until the sensation was so great I could barely breathe. Jerking
the fruit back and forwards in my vagina I seemed to discover new
spots. These broadcast dizzying thrills that made my limbs jerk and my
hips squirm. Here was a luxurious body that screamed for sex. It was a
peak I needed to come down from.
By contrast with Tani, Shelley was a slender, apple-cheeked girl with
the beautiful, elastic body of a ballerina. In class I had fallen for
her smiling eyes and toothsome grin, framed by a bob of dark hair. It
took a momentary touch when handing her a book to steal her imprint.
When I morphed into Shelley's frisky form I discovered she had the most
amazing boobs. They were small, high and barely needed any support.
They came with delightful cherry nipples that, when aroused, broadcast
intense pleasure. Immediately after changing I would rub my body
against my bed so that my tiny teats would begin to buzz.
It was the closest thing I'd yet tried to my male shape: an energetic
body with a boyish figure that was tight, taut and toned. Shelley had
shaved her pussy and it was lovely to slip my finger into her snug,
moist vagina and tenderly quest for pleasure. It was as Shelley that I
discovered how different women's bodies could be from each other. Her
clitoris was a fleshy bean that needed careful caressing. Orgasms were
less overwhelming than in Tani's form. Rather, they were like sharp
peaks of erotic sensation coursing from tip to toe and winding back up
between my legs. But unlike Tani, where each climax would leave me
spent and emotionally wrecked, as Shelley I could rouse myself to
consecutive orgasms, and often did.
I developed a new masturbation technique in Shelley's body. I would
bring myself close to climax and then change back to my boy form.
Suddenly my dick would rear up, aroused and coated in Shelley's girl
juices. With a few slick jerks of my hand I would orgasm, spurting
thick ropes of semen onto my stomach. Immediately I would change back
into a girl and lay there, cum pooling on my baby-soft belly, using my
fingers to rub the sour-smelling semen up onto my tiny, schoolgirl
boobs, where I'd lubricate the tips. I once even tried a taste and
found it wasn't that bad. I briefly fantasized about making Shelley's
body pregnant with my own seed, until cold reality dawned and made me
drop the idea like a lead anvil. I had no idea of what havoc pregnancy
would play with my power and I feared getting stuck in that form.
The last of the trio of imprints was that of Lita, a beautiful Asian
girl with a heart-shaped face and full, kissable lips. It was odd to
look in the mirror and, with a finger, gently trace the sharp
epicanthic fold above my dark brown eyes. Her body was well
proportioned, with elegant lines and shapely legs.
Lita's chest was a modest pair of ice cream scoops, with up-tilted
nipples. But I found her boobs thrilling to fondle and they felt
comfortable in a way that Tani's enormous knockers had not. Again, the
response to sex felt different than in my other shapes. In this lithe
body my orgasms were relaxing releases of nervous energy that made me
want to sink into drowsy torpor.
The best thing about Lita was that she was the same height and slim
shape as my mother. I waited until my folks went away again before I
stole once more into my parents' bedroom to play with Mom's clothes.
Naked, I slipped on a pair of four-inch pumps and discovered that Lita
could wear Mom's shoes. With a little practice I could walk in them
comfortably, my trim fanny figure-eighting as I strolled across the
room. Mom's bras were just the right size to pack my perky bosom into
and I soon found myself encased in an underwired lace brassiere and
matching panties. I felt so hot and sexy it was all I could do to stop
myself dancing.
Dresses, pants and blouses fitted perfectly and I spent an exciting day
dressing up. I learned to walk in a skirt, which felt so strange
compared to pants. I marveled at the sheerness of a peach color silk
teddy sliding against my skin. I admired myself in a side-tie bikini
while still wearing those shiny heels that seemed to elongate my nice
legs even further. I put on a black party frock and paraded up and down
the bedroom, feeling it swish around me. I knew I had here a wardrobe I
could go out in, even if it was for someone a little older.
With three bodies at my command this was the happy time. I was sorta
getting sex, even if it was by masturbating. I would change two or
three times every night to keep the imprint of each girl-shape fresh.
The power did wonders for my self-esteem and I found that even in my
male body I was beginning to act more confident and assertive in
company.
Then one day my wish came true.
"The first time it happened was when I shapechanged into a friend by
accident," I admitted, reluctantly.
"How did that happen?" asked Jo. She was starting to relax a little,
her head canted slightly so that her wavy red hair draped languidly
into her face. She'd taken her goggles off since the fight, revealing
eyes that were large, gray-tinted and beautiful. They were familiar.
I'd once looked through those eyes and I remembered the crystal clarity
of their vision. "Was it some kind of big, colorful manifestation?" she
insisted.
"No, nothing like that." I stopped to clear my throat before going on.
"Only I knew anything had happened. I was hanging with my pal and just
patted them on the shoulder, all friendly. Then there was this 'zap'
feeling as I touched them, like a small electric shock. Suddenly I
could feel their shape in my head. It was like I held the blueprints
for their body in my mind. It made me feel weird. I didn't actually
shapechange properly until later. Not 'til I got home."
There was a lot I'd left out of this description. The friend had been
Bill, my bud at school. He's a smart, funny guy. Good grades. Good
enough at sports and the social round to be at the centre of several
circles. He hung with the nerd crowd and played in our World of
Warcraft clan. He was our natural leader and the organizer of many
online raids and stunts.
That time I'd felt the zap, the experience had left me feeling so
queasy and sick that I crawled home, leaving Bill at the arcade where
we'd been hanging. I stumbled into my bed complaining of a stomachache
and asked Mom to stop fussing and leave me alone. I dozed off and when
I woke up I was in Bill's body--or at least a copy of it--looking
through his eyes and breathing his air.
"Who was this friend of yours?" Jo asked, trying to gently lever her
way past my defenses. I licked my dry lips and tried to fend her off.
"Can we leave my friends out of it, Jo?" I briefly felt assertive and
defensive of my privacy. "They have nothing to do with this. I
discovered I could touch people and get an impression of their form
from the physical contact. Once it was in my head I could change into
that imprinted form and back again."
Jo wisely let it drop. "Did you use the power much once you'd mastered
it?"
"Uh, yeah. I experimented."
Yes, I experimented. A lot.
Of course, there was Bill's body at first. I wasn't really sure how I
had come to change, and after the initial panic it was a while before I
realized that my mind seemed to hold imprints of my old and new bodies.
I could focus on the ghostly shape there and swap between his body and
mine as easy as moving from one train of thought to another. It didn't
take more than five or six seconds to transform and it was painless. My
entire body would bubble with a weird energy, then it would flow and
gel into the new shape and become solid again.
I soon discovered the power's first limitation. It didn't work on
clothes, leaving me wearing whatever I had on before the change. That
would be a source of occasional embarrassment in the times to come.
As Bill it was disconcerting to have his bulk, his muscle, his senses,
and even his man-parts. Yeah, that felt icky at first. But once I felt
comfortable shifting back and forth between forms I test-drove his
body. I was impressed by how different a climax felt; it seemed to go
on longer than in my own physique.
All this, of course, was in secret, in the warm privacy of my bedroom
or the shower; anywhere my parents couldn't see me. There was no way I
was going to tell Mom or Pop about this and I was never going to admit
amything to Bill.
I spent a week trying to figure out the power, trying to master it. I
wondered if it was a one-off so I tried imprinting other friends from
school. All it took was some handshakes and backslaps and I soon also
had the imprints of three other friends. Having four phantom shapes
floating at the back of my consciousness was distracting and made it
hard to concentrate. I was glad when, after a few days, they began to
fade away.
However, while I held their imprints each change catapulted me into an
exhilarating new world of sensation. Each body had its own signature
characteristics, slightly different from my own. John's vision had an
acuity that profoundly changed the way I looked at the universe. The
colors I saw through his eyes seemed so much more vibrant. Tanc was
blessed with sharp hearing and I could make out sounds and voices more
easily from the tumble of background noise, while Raul possessed a
sense of smell so fine that I could make out olfactory notes I never
knew existed.
There were other unexpected differences. Muscles stretched and twanged
in unfamiliar ways. John's body seemed more flexible than the others
while in Raul's form my hands felt pudgy and clumsy. Tanc's legs seemed
so long compared to my own that I kept stumbling as I walked. Shifts in
height or reach could be a minefield, as they changed my perception of
distances and space. Even mundane alterations could be striking. In
each body I had a different heartbeat, an alien breathing rhythm, the
altered tang of saliva in my mouth and the feel of a new set of teeth
against my tongue.
Practicing the changes I found I could control the imprinting so that
it didn't happen on every physical contact. The transformations were
coming easy now and the overwhelming rush of the impressions didn't
make me feel sick like the first time.
I felt I was ready to try the biggest change yet. I wanted to become a
girl.
This was something I didn't want to mention to Jo. This was all about
sex, okay? Pure gratification. I was this lanky geek, a horny teen
who'd never dated yet was forced to swim in the hormone-charged
environment of high school. I felt I was missing what other guys at
school seemed to be getting, and that was pussy.
But now I could change my physical form to whomever I was able to touch
and imprint. Who needed to date a woman if you could become one? This
fever dream began to exterminate all rational thought. I started to
fantasize about transforming into a hot chick and checking myself out.
As soon as the idea of changing into a girl began to careen across my
imagination, I began to form a plan. I wanted to become someone foxy-
looking, of course. By a shaky process of logic I concluded that I
should imprint a person I'd never met and who didn't know me. So I set
my trap at the Mall.
If this sounds like stalkerish behavior, well, I plead that this was a
victimless crime. I wasn't going to attack anyone, just touch them for
a moment, imprint their physical pattern and then I'd be gone. However,
I didn't want any awkward questions, so to disguise myself I changed
into John's tall, rangy body. His was the closest shape to mine, I
wasn't too clumsy in it and I could wear the same clothes in both
forms. I biked down to the Mall and hung about the marble air-
conditioned concourse, watching people walk by and rating the women on
a one to ten scale.
It took a while to find the right subject. Most of the women were too
old or too young, too fat or thin. There were lumpen women, saggy
women, girls with lived-in faces. There were some who looked great at a
distance and as they walked closer did not look so hot. And there were
some who were pretty, but not pretty enough. I had this great power and
arrogantly felt I could afford to pick and choose.
Eventually I saw what I wanted: she was definitely a nine out of ten, a
lovely brunette with lustrous, shoulder-length hair. The woman was a
twenty-something, with an oval face and dazzling eyes that were kissed
with a dash of green. She had a small, straight nose and a generous
mouth with inviting lips. Her figure was slim-waisted and wide-hipped,
with what looked like shapely legs beneath her pants, and she wore a
stretch top that barely contained her generous breasts. I watched them
move as she did, bobbing in sympathy with her walk. The woman's well-
tanned arms were bare, which was ideal for me to make contact, and she
was alone, window shopping outside the chic clothes stores with a bag
swinging from her shoulder. Heart in my mouth I approached her from the
side.
"Hi Julie!" I said to her, all enthusiasm and bonhomie. I had no idea
who Julie was; it was the first name that came to mind. I lightly
touched the woman's arm, just long enough to feel the zap and rush of
the imprint. Startled, her head snapped to look at me, hair whirling
and mouth open. I was momentarily transfixed; she looked really
beautiful. But before she could say anything I immediately launched
into an apology. "Oh, I'm so sorry," I said, backing out of her
personal space. "From a distance I thought you were my friend. My bad,
I'm real sorry."
"No, uh, it's okay," she said and gave an embarrassed laugh. Her voice
was light and friendly. She hadn't felt the imprint process. None of
them ever do, though I saw her hand absently brush the skin where I'd
touched her.
"Look, I'd better go!" I said, thumbing toward the exit. "I gotta find
my friend Julie. Again, I'm sorry about the mistake!" Heart-in-mouth I
dashed outside to the lonely concrete post where I'd shackled my
mountain bike. I took a moment to morph back into my own shape and then
pedaled back home as fast as my legs could take me.
I almost never made it. My limbs were shaking from the adrenalin rush
of what I'd just done. And then there was the imprint of the woman's
body, which was beginning to fill my senses.
It's hard to articulate how an imprint feels. It's like a new sense, a
spectral memory of a body shape on the edge of my consciousness. On
that bike ride I could feel the outline of this woman's physical form
and it was making me horny. My dick was so hard I could barely pedal.
This was different from the guy forms I'd impressed. Almost as if it
could touch them my mind could make out the fleshy physicality of
breasts, the curve of a waist and an unfamiliar space between my
thighs. It's a wonder I didn't orgasm in my shorts.
Back in the house, I ran thumpety-thump upstairs and locked myself in
the antiseptic privacy of the bathroom. I stripped in a hurry, clumsily
hurling off shoes, shirt and pants until they were strewn across the
floor. Then my hands, on autopilot, pushed down my shorts and began to
stroke and jerk my dick, which was hard, hot and sleek. I felt an urge
to ejaculate before I transformed. But the weight of the strange,
feminine imprint on my psyche was too great. My mind kept flicking to
the ghostly sensations of tits, ass and clit. The feeling of male
orgasm began to build, but I couldn't stop the deep desire to change
from overwhelming me. Just as I was about to come I began to morph and
my penis shrunk back out of my hands. I was suddenly robbed of my
ability to orgasm, leaving a momentary ache where my balls had been. In
seconds, I was all woman, standing naked save for the shorts pooling
around my ankles. In the bathroom mirror I could see a bloom of sweat
across my heaving chest while the hand that had held my dick now
grasped at empty air in front of my pussy.
Not for the first time I was to discover that there's a disjoint
between looking at a pretty girl and actually occupying her body. This
is especially true when your only experience of hot women comes from
airbrushed photos on the internet. There's a rude reality you have to
face up to. This close I could see the myriad tiny flaws of a real
woman's form. I had fine hairs on my arms, enlarged pores on my skin,
tiny wrinkles near my eyes and a barely perceptible bend in my nose,
along with a dozen other irritating defects. Already my long, dark hair
was wandering into my face to itch and scratch at my nose and my hands
rose up to flick it away with long-nailed fingers.
Suddenly I was aware of padding in places that were unfamiliar. My ass
and thighs felt unusually plump, as if the world around my tuchas began
a long way away. Then there was the mass of flesh tugging at my chest
muscles. I had breasts that were big, but without a bra to hold them
they just sagged back against my body and looked uneven, one larger
than the other.
My cans were nothing like the firm mountains I'd imagined they'd be.
They shivered like jello and yielded to the slightest touch. A tracery
of veins tracked across a skin that blazed with pale bikini triangles.
My hands mashed my boobs then lifted them, feeling their heft and
fleshy weight. Something carnal stirred in my chest and crotch as
fingernails brushed the hardening blobs of my redcurrant nipples and
their large surrounds. It was different from a hard-on. This arousal
was more like a heavy heat that made my skin more sensitive, that made
me conscious of the secret new spaces inside of me.
Suddenly the flaws didn't matter any more and my hands were all over my
body. It was almost like I didn't have enough fingers to stroke, touch
and pinch at all the parts of my new physique. Playing with my breasts
was sensational, feeling a horny thrill prickle back from behind the
teats and make its way to my cootchie, which became tremendously wet. I
hadn't anticipated how rapidly this warmth and moistness in my loins
would build. My face flushed and I felt as if I was starting to glow.
As the excitement increased I caressed my flat belly, with its firm
abs, and cupped the swell of my ass. It was a lovely peach-skinned
behind, soft and satisfyingly round.
And then, after exploring the slick sensitivity of my inner thighs,
which staggered me and almost made me fall on the floor, I began to
quest at the soft folds of skin around my vagina. I was about to slip
one nailed finger gingerly in to the hot wetness when a voice from
downstairs rose up and drenched me like a cold shower. It was Mom
calling me down for lunch. I cursed a streak in a soft soprano and then
stood there, staring angrily around the spotless expanse of the
bathroom. The spell was broken and the exquisite sexual heat of my
girl-body was cooling. Reluctantly, I focused for long enough to shift
back to my own shape, feeling its bony angles develop and my balls
drop. I felt a deep resentment at having to give up the exotic
experience of being a woman and return to my original form. I wiped
myself where girl-juices had dripped a slick, solitary trail down the
inside of one thigh, then got dressed and went downstairs to a
miserable meal.
From that day on I would have to hunt for private moments to explore my
feminine form. Often this was at night when I was safe in bed and the
house was suspended in sleep. In the stillness, with the warm urban
nightlight filtering through the blinds, I'd transform beneath the
sheets. My skinny awkwardness would subside and swell into supple
curves, reshaping the bedclothes. My head would suddenly be pillowed by
a mass of soft hair.
I'd lay there for a while, absorbing the new rhythms, the breathing and
heartbeat, of this limber body. I'd taste my sweet saliva and explore
my perfect, regular teeth with my tongue. Then slowly, in an act of
seduction, I'd start to play with myself in the dark. Slim hands would
flutter across my breasts as they puddled on my chest. Fingers would
delicately pluck at my sweet teats, teasing them rigid and making my
body writhe in response before my hand slid down across my belly and a
ragged thatch of pubic hair to reach the entrance to my vulva. There,
sliding into the folds of flesh, I was able to explore the hot
moistness, hunt out my clitoris and press it to make my back arch. Then
I'd enjoy the sensation of my fingers inside of me. I liked to withdraw
a wet digit and taste myself; lapping with my tongue at the hot musk of
my sex.
The first time I climaxed it was difficult to keep the noise down and I
lay in bed, gasping, feeling buzzy and blissed out. It was nothing like
the urgent surge of my male orgasms. This was more like a tide, a rise
and fall of sensation and emotion. Exhausted, I dozed off, still
encased in a female body. I was fortunate not to be discovered before I
woke and could change back.
I kept this pattern of exploration up for almost two weeks, excited by
my female shape and entranced by its otherness. I'd lock myself in my
room all evening, enjoying the experience of being a woman. I felt more
relaxed in this form, and was becoming increasingly comfortable with
it. As the sensation of breasts and vagina became familiar, I started
to appreciate the rest of what I thought of as my 'Julie body'. I loved
the line formed by my slim waist and broad hips, and the way my center
of gravity seemed to shift downwards. I admired the shapliness of my
legs and how even the back of my knees seemed to be an erogenous zone.
I would spend some evenings playing World of Warcraft in my Julie
shape, typing chat messages to friends. They couldn't see me, of
course. They didn't realize that I was now a hottie, sitting at a
screen clad only in a bathrobe, a stray boob just poking out from
behind the towelling. That gave me a secret thrill for as long as it
lasted, but I'd always have to change back whenever we raided, as our
guild used voice chat to communicate. I contemplated creating a new
game account, a new identity in which I could be a woman all the time,
and I wondered how differently my friends would respond to a girl's
voice.
Now I could turn into a sexy girl at will, I became obsessed with
clothing and tried to see how much of my wardrobe would fit a figure
that was shorter, but curved in new places. I pulled on a T-shirt that
squashed my chest flat, then fondled my boobs through the taut fabric.
That was so arousing that I tried my swimming briefs on. They stretched
pleasingly over the plumpness of my ass but bunched into unsightly
folds at the crotch. At least there was plenty of space there to reach
a hand inside and rub my vajayjay.
My boy clothes were all the wrong cut and didn't feel comfortable or
sexy enough. I wondered what it felt like to try on some women's
clothing. One Saturday afternoon, while my parents were visiting a
distant uncle, I stayed home and nervously snuck into the sacred space
of my mother's wardrobe. Mom was in her late thirties and, my friends
reckoned, had kept her looks. Amongst the racks of clothes I found
something that I thought I could squeeze my girl form into.
I took it down from its hanger, a simple knee-length dress with a
conservative floral pattern. I stripped nude, unzipped the back and
stepped into it, feeling a thrill as I pulled it up. The dress slid up
my legs, but then got stuck at my ass. I had to spend a few minutes
working my curves into it, inch by inch. By the time I'd managed, with
some effort, to zip it (mostly) up the back, everything felt
constricted and fit to burst. I could barely move for fear of something
ripping.
I found Mom's shoes in the wardrobe and was disappointed to find, after
forcing my feet into a pair of pumps, that they pinched badly. I stood
in front of the mirror, wrapped too tight to move, my bust squashed to
overflowing while wobbling precariously on Mom's heels. I was not
comfortable, and yet the whole experience of dressing as a woman made
the experience more thrilling, more sexy. I was turned on by the sight
of myself in a dress. When I clutched my breasts through the fabric my
body responded with strong arousal, straining at the confining apparel.
There was no way I could diddle myself like this, so I levered off the
dressâ€"an operation as difficult as getting it onâ€"and looked for what
else I could try. Mom's underwear drawer netted a pair of silky panties
that stretched satisfyingly over my smooth behind. I was disappointed
to find that her bras were far too small for my capacious chest, but in
another drawer I found a striped bikini top that could just about be
made to fit, though it barely cupped my boobs
So in this mismatched outfit of bikini bra, panties and two-inch pumps,
I flopped onto my parents' bed and began to touch myself. I was now
expert in arousing my girl-body. I swiftly felt the wetness come and
then rammed my hand down the sheer front of Mom's underwear to start
the gentle stirring and flicking that would bring me to climax.
This shape was addictive. But there was something else, besides the
erotic sensation of girl flesh, that brought me back to this body. I
was now an attractive woman. I felt desirable. Who would reject someone
who looked at hot as me? People would at last pay me the attention I
never received as a guy.
I climaxed and lay panting, legs akimbo on the bed. The bikini bra was
askew on my chest, the panties were pushed down across my thighs and
those too-tight high heels dug into the bedcover. I must have looked a
mess. As I lay in the afterglow I contemplated going out dressed as a
woman, but I hadn't the guts and I had nothing that fitted.
Days passed and I soon discovered a new limitation of my powers. So
long as the imprint remained fresh, the change was easy. When I
transformed each night I retained a pristine memory of the body shape.
It would even retain changes from the night before, such as the time I
tried shaving my pubic hair, creating a stubbly patch and a couple of
small razor nicks that reappeared each time I changed.
However, if I didn't change into a form regularly, its imprint would
degrade. School and chores and late nights hanging with my friends
online in World of Warcraft finally got the better of me. Exhausted, I
began to go straight to sleep without changing as soon as I hit the
hay. So when, after skipping a couple of nights, I tried to shapeshift
again I realized that my memory of 'Julie' had partially faded.
I focussed on the imprint and felt the usual tingle of morphing, but
the result petered out into an incomplete change. It felt all wrong.
When I stripped and looked in the mirror I appeared to be half man and
half woman. I checked my face and it was partly feminized with Julie's
and nose and the mass of her soft hair framing my features. Though my
hips had widened and my ass had swelled into its familiar proportions,
my waist was still thick and below the abdomen my genitals remained
male, though shriveled and weeny. My narrow chest sported a pair of
tiny, pointed mounds like those of a pubescent girl.
I tried to play with this androgynous physique, but it didn't function
properly. My unfilled breasts ached slightly, as if in
growing pains, and rubbing them only made them sore. It took an age to
bring my tiny dick and balls to climax. It was really difficult to jerk
myself when my penis was so small. At the moment I came barely anything
came out and the pleasure it gave was miniscule and unsatisfying.
The realization that I'd lost the woman's imprint was like a
bereavement. I had become accustomed to that body's comfort and poise
and cursed myself for letting it disappear. I'd never find that woman
again and so I sulked for a day, wondering what to do. Then I resolved
to search for some new bodies to replace hers. I picked out the most
attractive girls in my classes and found ways to imprint them without
getting too touchy-feely. I could now handle three imprints without
much distraction. It wasn't long before I had a new parade of imprinted
shapes. I could feel their exotic forms at the edges of my
consciousness.
With three girl bodies stored safely away my nights became a carnival
of solo sex, enjoyed between the sheets of my bed. The experience of
wearing the new bodies was mind-blowing.
The first shape I tried on was that of a girl named Tani. She was an
ash blonde with a nondescript, almost homely face, but her incredible
curves meant she was much in demand with the boys. It took a gentle
touch of her hand in class to capture her form. Back at home when I
changed bodies that first time I had the brief sensation of feeling
inflated, like a Michelin man. As I adjusted to the shift of fleshy
ballast my sense of balance was thrown. Then I looked in the mirror to
check myself out. Tani possessed a fabulous hourglass with a broad
carriage and heavy breasts sagging down her ribcage, aureoles like
bruised circles.
It didn't take long to put Tani's nimble fingers to work, exploring and
circumnavigating my new frame. Tani was not fat, but her voluptuousness
was such that transitioning from my lean male body to hers was like
being zippered into a padded suit. I began to play with my tits, which
hung like ripe eggplants from my chest, but found they were less
sensitive than in my last girl body. The doughy masses seemed to get in
the way when I moved and were hot and a little uncomfortable. However,
as my hands slid down below the slight swell of my/Tani's belly, I
discovered her vulva. Even before I could enter myself, I felt
something dilate and in moments I was in flood. Tani's clit was a
beautiful instrument to play with; a sleek knot of nerve-endings that
slipped beneath my fingers. Its responses were so acute that in my
nocturnal explorations I had to be careful not to moan as I stroked and
worked it towards a climax. My middle finger sucked and popped as I
thrust it in and out of Tani's, no MY wet vagina. I worked it hard
with rapid little motions, tension brewing until I crested the wave and
came. In Tani's body orgasms were vast and emotional, washing over me
in great beach-breakers, leaving me quietly sobbing, unable to staunch
the tears.
Over the days that followed I kept coming back to Tani's pillowy form.
Her pussy became mine each night and it had me entranced. I began to
use bananas, whisked from the fruit bowl, as improvised dildos,
slipping them between my lips then pushing them gently and deeper
inside until the sensation was so great I could barely breathe. Jerking
the fruit back and forwards in my vagina I seemed to discover new
spots. These broadcast dizzying thrills that made my limbs jerk and my
hips squirm. Here was a luxurious body that screamed for sex. It was a
peak I needed to come down from.
By contrast with Tani, Shelley was a slender, apple-cheeked girl with
the beautiful, elastic body of a ballerina. In class I had fallen for
her smiling eyes and toothsome grin, framed by a bob of dark hair. It
took a momentary touch when handing her a book to steal her imprint.
When I morphed into Shelley's frisky form I discovered she had the most
amazing boobs. They were small, high and barely needed any support.
They came with delightful cherry nipples that, when aroused, broadcast
intense pleasure. Immediately after changing I would rub my body
against my bed so that my tiny teats would begin to buzz.
It was the closest thing I'd yet tried to my male shape: an energetic
body with a boyish figure that was tight, taut and toned. Shelley had
shaved her pussy and it was lovely to slip my finger into her snug,
moist vagina and tenderly quest for pleasure. It was as Shelley that I
discovered how different women's bodies could be from each other. Her
clitoris was a fleshy bean that needed careful caressing. Orgasms were
less overwhelming than in Tani's form. Rather, they were like sharp
peaks of erotic sensation coursing from tip to toe and winding back up
between my legs. But unlike Tani, where each climax would leave me
spent and emotionally wrecked, as Shelley I could rouse myself to
consecutive orgasms, and often did.
I developed a new masturbation technique in Shelley's body. I would
bring myself close to climax and then change back to my boy form.
Suddenly my dick would rear up, aroused and coated in Shelley's girl
juices. With a few slick jerks of my hand I would orgasm, spurting
thick ropes of semen onto my stomach. Immediately I would change back
into a girl and lay there, cum pooling on my baby-soft belly, using my
fingers to rub the sour-smelling semen up onto my tiny
boobs, where I'd lubricate the tips. I once even tried a taste and
found it wasn't that bad. I briefly fantasized about making Shelley's
body pregnant with my own seed, until cold reality dawned and made me
drop the idea like a lead anvil. I had no idea of what havoc pregnancy
would play with my power and I feared getting stuck in that form.
The last of the trio of imprints was that of Lita, a beautiful Asian
girl with a heart-shaped face and full, kissable lips. It was odd to
look in the mirror and, with a finger, gently trace the sharp
epicanthic fold above my dark brown eyes. Her body was well
proportioned, with elegant lines and shapely legs.
Lita's chest was a modest pair of ice cream scoops, with up-tilted
nipples. But I found her boobs thrilling to fondle and they felt
comfortable in a way that Tani's enormous knockers had not. Again, the
response to sex felt different than in my other shapes. In this lithe
body my orgasms were relaxing releases of nervous energy that made me
want to sink into drowsy torpor.
The best thing about Lita was that she was the same height and slim
shape as my mother. I waited until my folks went away again before I
stole once more into my parents' bedroom to play with Mom's clothes.
Naked, I slipped on a pair of four-inch pumps and discovered that Lita
could wear Mom's shoes. With a little practice I could walk in them
comfortably, my trim fanny figure-eighting as I strolled across the
room. Mom's bras were just the right size to pack my perky bosom into
and I soon found myself encased in an underwired lace brassiere and
matching panties. I felt so hot and sexy it was all I could do to stop
myself dancing.
Dresses, pants and blouses fitted perfectly and I spent an exciting day
dressing up. I learned to walk in a skirt, which felt so strange
compared to pants. I marveled at the sheerness of a peach color silk
teddy sliding against my skin. I admired myself in a side-tie bikini
while still wearing those shiny heels that seemed to elongate my nice
legs even further. I put on a black party frock and paraded up and down
the bedroom, feeling it swish around me. I knew I had here a wardrobe I
could go out in, even if it was for someone a little older.
With three bodies at my command this was the happy time. I was sorta
getting sex, even if it was by masturbating. I would change two or
three times every night to keep the imprint of each girl-shape fresh.
The power did wonders for my self-esteem and I found that even in my
male body I was beginning to act more confident and assertive in
company.
"The first time it happened was when I shapechanged into a friend by
accident," I admitted, reluctantly.
"How did that happen?" asked Jo. She was starting to relax a little,
her head canted slightly so that her wavy red hair draped languidly
into her face. She'd taken her goggles off since the fight, revealing
eyes that were large, gray-tinted and beautiful. They were familiar.
I'd once looked through those eyes and I remembered the crystal clarity
of their vision. "Was it some kind of big, colorful manifestation?" she
insisted.
"No, nothing like that." I stopped to clear my throat before going on.
"Only I knew anything had happened. I was hanging with my pal and just
patted them on the shoulder, all friendly. Then there was this 'zap'
feeling as I touched them, like a small electric shock. Suddenly I
could feel their shape in my head. It was like I held the blueprints
for their body in my mind. It made me feel weird. I didn't actually
shapechange properly until later. Not 'til I got home."
There was a lot I'd left out of this description. The friend had been
Bill, my bud at school. He's a smart, funny guy. Good grades. Good
enough at sports and the social round to be at the centre of several
circles. He hung with the nerd crowd and played in our World of
Warcraft clan. He was our natural leader and the organizer of many
online raids and stunts.
That time I'd felt the zap, the experience had left me feeling so
queasy and sick that I crawled home, leaving Bill at the arcade where
we'd been hanging. I stumbled into my bed complaining of a stomachache
and asked Mom to stop fussing and leave me alone. I dozed off and when
I woke up I was in Bill's body--or at least a copy of it--looking
through his eyes and breathing his air.
"Who was this friend of yours?" Jo asked, trying to gently lever her
way past my defenses. I licked my dry lips and tried to fend her off.
"Can we leave my friends out of it, Jo?" I briefly felt assertive and
defensive of my privacy. "They have nothing to do with this. I
discovered I could touch people and get an impression of their form
from the physical contact. Once it was in my head I could change into
that imprinted form and back again."
Jo wisely let it drop. "Did you use the power much once you'd mastered
it?"
"Uh, yeah. I experimented."
Yes, I experimented. A lot.
Of course, there was Bill's body at first. I wasn't really sure how I
had come to change, and after the initial panic it was a while before I
realized that my mind seemed to hold imprints of my old and new bodies.
I could focus on the ghostly shape there and swap between his body and
mine as easy as moving from one train of thought to another. It didn't
take more than five or six seconds to transform and it was painless. My
entire body would bubble with a weird energy, then it would flow and
gel into the new shape and become solid again.
I soon discovered the power's first limitation. It didn't work on
clothes, leaving me wearing whatever I had on before the change. That
would be a source of occasional embarrassment in the times to come.
As Bill it was disconcerting to have his bulk, his muscle, his senses,
and even his man-parts. Yeah, that felt icky at first. But once I felt
comfortable shifting back and forth between forms I test-drove his
body. I was impressed by how different a climax felt; it seemed to go
on longer than in my own physique.
All this, of course, was in secret, in the warm privacy of my bedroom
or the shower; anywhere my parents couldn't see me. There was no way I
was going to tell Mom or Pop about this and I was never going to admit
amything to Bill.
I spent a week trying to figure out the power, trying to master it. I
wondered if it was a one-off so I tried imprinting other friends from
school. All it took was some handshakes and backslaps and I soon also
had the imprints of three other friends. Having four phantom shapes
floating at the back of my consciousness was distracting and made it
hard to concentrate. I was glad when, after a few days, they began to
fade away.
However, while I held their imprints each change catapulted me into an
exhilarating new world of sensation. Each body had its own signature
characteristics, slightly different from my own. John's vision had an
acuity that profoundly changed the way I looked at the universe. The
colors I saw through his eyes seemed so much more vibrant. Tanc was
blessed with sharp hearing and I could make out sounds and voices more
easily from the tumble of background noise, while Raul possessed a
sense of smell so fine that I could make out olfactory notes I never
knew existed.
There were other unexpected differences. Muscles stretched and twanged
in unfamiliar ways. John's body seemed more flexible than the others
while in Raul's form my hands felt pudgy and clumsy. Tanc's legs seemed
so long compared to my own that I kept stumbling as I walked. Shifts in
height or reach could be a minefield, as they changed my perception of
distances and space. Even mundane alterations could be striking. In
each body I had a different heartbeat, an alien breathing rhythm, the
altered tang of saliva in my mouth and the feel of a new set of teeth
against my tongue.
Practicing the changes I found I could control the imprinting so that
it didn't happen on every physical contact. The transformations were
coming easy now and the overwhelming rush of the impressions didn't
make me feel sick like the first time.
I felt I was ready to try the biggest change yet. I wanted to become a
girl.
This was something I didn't want to mention to Jo. This was all about
sex, okay? Pure gratification. I was this lanky geek, a horny teen
who'd never dated yet was forced to swim in the hormone-charged
environment of high school. I felt I was missing what other guys at
school seemed to be getting, and that was pussy.
But now I could change my physical form to whomever I was able to touch
and imprint. Who needed to date a woman if you could become one? This
fever dream began to exterminate all rational thought. I started to
fantasize about transforming into a hot chick and checking myself out.
As soon as the idea of changing into a girl began to careen across my
imagination, I began to form a plan. I wanted to become someone foxy-
looking, of course. By a shaky process of logic I concluded that I
should imprint a person I'd never met and who didn't know me. So I set
my trap at the Mall.
If this sounds like stalkerish behavior, well, I plead that this was a
victimless crime. I wasn't going to attack anyone, just touch them for
a moment, imprint their physical pattern and then I'd be gone. However,
I didn't want any awkward questions, so to disguise myself I changed
into John's tall, rangy body. His was the closest shape to mine, I
wasn't too clumsy in it and I could wear the same clothes in both
forms. I biked down to the Mall and hung about the marble air-
conditioned concourse, watching people walk by and rating the women on
a one to ten scale.
It took a while to find the right subject. Most of the women were too
old or too young, too fat or thin. There were lumpen women, saggy
women, girls with lived-in faces. There were some who looked great at a
distance and as they walked closer did not look so hot. And there were
some who were pretty, but not pretty enough. I had this great power and
arrogantly felt I could afford to pick and choose.
Eventually I saw what I wanted: she was definitely a nine out of ten, a
lovely brunette with lustrous, shoulder-length hair. The woman was a
twenty-something, with an oval face and dazzling eyes that were kissed
with a dash of green. She had a small, straight nose and a generous
mouth with inviting lips. Her figure was slim-waisted and wide-hipped,
with what looked like shapely legs beneath her pants, and she wore a
stretch top that barely contained her generous breasts. I watched them
move as she did, bobbing in sympathy with her walk. The woman's well-
tanned arms were bare, which was ideal for me to make contact, and she
was alone, window shopping outside the chic clothes stores with a bag
swinging from her shoulder. Heart in my mouth I approached her from the
side.
"Hi Julie!" I said to her, all enthusiasm and bonhomie. I had no idea
who Julie was; it was the first name that came to mind. I lightly
touched the woman's arm, just long enough to feel the zap and rush of
the imprint. Startled, her head snapped to look at me, hair whirling
and mouth open. I was momentarily transfixed; she looked really
beautiful. But before she could say anything I immediately launched
into an apology. "Oh, I'm so sorry," I said, backing out of her
personal space. "From a distance I thought you were my friend. My bad,
I'm real sorry."
"No, uh, it's okay," she said and gave an embarrassed laugh. Her voice
was light and friendly. She hadn't felt the imprint process. None of
them ever do, though I saw her hand absently brush the skin where I'd
touched her.
"Look, I'd better go!" I said, thumbing toward the exit. "I gotta find
my friend Julie. Again, I'm sorry about the mistake!" Heart-in-mouth I
dashed outside to the lonely concrete post where I'd shackled my
mountain bike. I took a moment to morph back into my own shape and then
pedaled back home as fast as my legs could take me.
I almost never made it. My limbs were shaking from the adrenalin rush
of what I'd just done. And then there was the imprint of the woman's
body, which was beginning to fill my senses.
It's hard to articulate how an imprint feels. It's like a new sense, a
spectral memory of a body shape on the edge of my consciousness. On
that bike ride I could feel the outline of this woman's physical form
and it was making me horny. My dick was so hard I could barely pedal.
This was different from the guy forms I'd impressed. Almost as if it
could touch them my mind could make out the fleshy physicality of
breasts, the curve of a waist and an unfamiliar space between my
thighs. It's a wonder I didn't orgasm in my shorts.
Back in the house, I ran thumpety-thump upstairs and locked myself in
the antiseptic privacy of the bathroom. I stripped in a hurry, clumsily
hurling off shoes, shirt and pants until they were strewn across the
floor. Then my hands, on autopilot, pushed down my shorts and began to
stroke and jerk my dick, which was hard, hot and sleek. I felt an urge
to ejaculate before I transformed. But the weight of the strange,
feminine imprint on my psyche was too great. My mind kept flicking to
the ghostly sensations of tits, ass and clit. The feeling of male
orgasm began to build, but I couldn't stop the deep desire to change
from overwhelming me. Just as I was about to come I began to morph and
my penis shrunk back out of my hands. I was suddenly robbed of my
ability to orgasm, leaving a momentary ache where my balls had been. In
seconds, I was all woman, standing naked save for the shorts pooling
around my ankles. In the bathroom mirror I could see a bloom of sweat
across my heaving chest while the hand that had held my dick now
grasped at empty air in front of my pussy.
Not for the first time I was to discover that there's a disjoint
between looking at a pretty girl and actually occupying her body. This
is especially true when your only experience of hot women comes from
airbrushed photos on the internet. There's a rude reality you have to
face up to. This close I could see the myriad tiny flaws of a real
woman's form. I had fine hairs on my arms, enlarged pores on my skin,
tiny wrinkles near my eyes and a barely perceptible bend in my nose,
along with a dozen other irritating defects. Already my long, dark hair
was wandering into my face to itch and scratch at my nose and my hands
rose up to flick it away with long-nailed fingers.
Suddenly I was aware of padding in places that were unfamiliar. My ass
and thighs felt unusually plump, as if the world around my tuchas began
a long way away. Then there was the mass of flesh tugging at my chest
muscles. I had breasts that were big, but without a bra to hold them
they just sagged back against my body and looked uneven, one larger
than the other.
My cans were nothing like the firm mountains I'd imagined they'd be.
They shivered like jello and yielded to the slightest touch. A tracery
of veins tracked across a skin that blazed with pale bikini triangles.
My hands mashed my boobs then lifted them, feeling their heft and
fleshy weight. Something carnal stirred in my chest and crotch as
fingernails brushed the hardening blobs of my redcurrant nipples and
their large surrounds. It was different from a hard-on. This arousal
was more like a heavy heat that made my skin more sensitive, that made
me conscious of the secret new spaces inside of me.
Suddenly the flaws didn't matter any more and my hands were all over my
body. It was almost like I didn't have enough fingers to stroke, touch
and pinch at all the parts of my new physique. Playing with my breasts
was sensational, feeling a horny thrill prickle back from behind the
teats and make its way to my cootchie, which became tremendously wet. I
hadn't anticipated how rapidly this warmth and moistness in my loins
would build. My face flushed and I felt as if I was starting to glow.
As the excitement increased I caressed my flat belly, with its firm
abs, and cupped the swell of my ass. It was a lovely peach-skinned
behind, soft and satisfyingly round.
And then, after exploring the slick sensitivity of my inner thighs,
which staggered me and almost made me fall on the floor, I began to
quest at the soft folds of skin around my vagina. I was about to slip
one nailed finger gingerly in to the hot wetness when a voice from
downstairs rose up and drenched me like a cold shower. It was Mom
calling me down for lunch. I cursed a streak in a soft soprano and then
stood there, staring angrily around the spotless expanse of the
bathroom. The spell was broken and the exquisite sexual heat of my
girl-body was cooling. Reluctantly, I focused for long enough to shift
back to my own shape, feeling its bony angles develop and my balls
drop. I felt a deep resentment at having to give up the exotic
experience of being a woman and return to my original form. I wiped
myself where girl-juices had dripped a slick, solitary trail down the
inside of one thigh, then got dressed and went downstairs to a
miserable meal.
From that day on I would have to hunt for private moments to explore my
feminine form. Often this was at night when I was safe in bed and the
house was suspended in sleep. In the stillness, with the warm urban
nightlight filtering through the blinds, I'd transform beneath the
sheets. My skinny awkwardness would subside and swell into supple
curves, reshaping the bedclothes. My head would suddenly be pillowed by
a mass of soft hair.
I'd lay there for a while, absorbing the new rhythms, the breathing and
heartbeat, of this limber body. I'd taste my sweet saliva and explore
my perfect, regular teeth with my tongue. Then slowly, in an act of
seduction, I'd start to play with myself in the dark. Slim hands would
flutter across my breasts as they puddled on my chest. Fingers would
delicately pluck at my sweet teats, teasing them rigid and making my
body writhe in response before my hand slid down across my belly and a
ragged thatch of pubic hair to reach the entrance to my vulva. There,
sliding into the folds of flesh, I was able to explore the hot
moistness, hunt out my clitoris and press it to make my back arch. Then
I'd enjoy the sensation of my fingers inside of me. I liked to withdraw
a wet digit and taste myself; lapping with my tongue at the hot musk of
my sex.
The first time I climaxed it was difficult to keep the noise down and I
lay in bed, gasping, feeling buzzy and blissed out. It was nothing like
the urgent surge of my male orgasms. This was more like a tide, a rise
and fall of sensation and emotion. Exhausted, I dozed off, still
encased in a female body. I was fortunate not to be discovered before I
woke and could change back.
I kept this pattern of exploration up for almost two weeks, excited by
my female shape and entranced by its otherness. I'd lock myself in my
room all evening, enjoying the experience of being a woman. I felt more
relaxed in this form, and was becoming increasingly comfortable with
it. As the sensation of breasts and vagina became familiar, I started
to appreciate the rest of what I thought of as my 'Julie body'. I loved
the line formed by my slim waist and broad hips, and the way my center
of gravity seemed to shift downwards. I admired the shapliness of my
legs and how even the back of my knees seemed to be an erogenous zone.
I would spend some evenings playing World of Warcraft in my Julie
shape, typing chat messages to friends. They couldn't see me, of
course. They didn't realize that I was now a hottie, sitting at a
screen clad only in a bathrobe, a stray boob just poking out from
behind the towelling. That gave me a secret thrill for as long as it
lasted, but I'd always have to change back whenever we raided, as our
guild used voice chat to communicate. I contemplated creating a new
game account, a new identity in which I could be a woman all the time,
and I wondered how differently my friends would respond to a girl's
voice.
Now I could turn into a sexy girl at will, I became obsessed with
clothing and tried to see how much of my wardrobe would fit a figure
that was shorter, but curved in new places. I pulled on a T-shirt that
squashed my chest flat, then fondled my boobs through the taut fabric.
That was so arousing that I tried my swimming briefs on. They stretched
pleasingly over the plumpness of my ass but bunched into unsightly
folds at the crotch. At least there was plenty of space there to reach
a hand inside and rub my vajayjay.
My boy clothes were all the wrong cut and didn't feel comfortable or
sexy enough. I wondered what it felt like to try on some women's
clothing. One Saturday afternoon, while my parents were visiting a
distant uncle, I stayed home and nervously snuck into the sacred space
of my mother's wardrobe. Mom was in her late thirties and, my friends
reckoned, had kept her looks. Amongst the racks of clothes I found
something that I thought I could squeeze my girl form into.
I took it down from its hanger, a simple knee-length dress with a
conservative floral pattern. I stripped nude, unzipped the back and
stepped into it, feeling a thrill as I pulled it up. The dress slid up
my legs, but then got stuck at my ass. I had to spend a few minutes
working my curves into it, inch by inch. By the time I'd managed, with
some effort, to zip it (mostly) up the back, everything felt
constricted and fit to burst. I could barely move for fear of something
ripping.
I found Mom's shoes in the wardrobe and was disappointed to find, after
forcing my feet into a pair of pumps, that they pinched badly. I stood
in front of the mirror, wrapped too tight to move, my bust squashed to
overflowing while wobbling precariously on Mom's heels. I was not
comfortable, and yet the whole experience of dressing as a woman made
the experience more thrilling, more sexy. I was turned on by the sight
of myself in a dress. When I clutched my breasts through the fabric my
body responded with strong arousal, straining at the confining apparel.
There was no way I could diddle myself like this, so I levered off the
dressâ€"an operation as difficult as getting it onâ€"and looked for what
else I could try. Mom's underwear drawer netted a pair of silky panties
that stretched satisfyingly over my smooth behind. I was disappointed
to find that her bras were far too small for my capacious chest, but in
another drawer I found a striped bikini top that could just about be
made to fit, though it barely cupped my boobs
So in this mismatched outfit of bikini bra, panties and two-inch pumps,
I flopped onto my parents' bed and began to touch myself. I was now
expert in arousing my girl-body. I swiftly felt the wetness come and
then rammed my hand down the sheer front of Mom's underwear to start
the gentle stirring and flicking that would bring me to climax.
This shape was addictive. But there was something else, besides the
erotic sensation of girl flesh, that brought me back to this body. I
was now an attractive woman. I felt desirable. Who would reject someone
who looked at hot as me? People would at last pay me the attention I
never received as a guy.
I climaxed and lay panting, legs akimbo on the bed. The bikini bra was
askew on my chest, the panties were pushed down across my thighs and
those too-tight high heels dug into the bedcover. I must have looked a
mess. As I lay in the afterglow I contemplated going out dressed as a
woman, but I hadn't the guts and I had nothing that fitted.
Days passed and I soon discovered a new limitation of my powers. So
long as the imprint remained fresh, the change was easy. When I
transformed each night I retained a pristine memory of the body shape.
It would even retain changes from the night before, such as the time I
tried shaving my pubic hair, creating a stubbly patch and a couple of
small razor nicks that reappeared each time I changed.
However, if I didn't change into a form regularly, its imprint would
degrade. School and chores and late nights hanging with my friends
online in World of Warcraft finally got the better of me. Exhausted, I
began to go straight to sleep without changing as soon as I hit the
hay. So when, after skipping a couple of nights, I tried to shapeshift
again I realized that my memory of 'Julie' had partially faded.
I focussed on the imprint and felt the usual tingle of morphing, but
the result petered out into an incomplete change. It felt all wrong.
When I stripped and looked in the mirror I appeared to be half man and
half woman. I checked my face and it was partly feminized with Julie's
and nose and the mass of her soft hair framing my features. Though my
hips had widened and my ass had swelled into its familiar proportions,
my waist was still thick and below the abdomen my genitals remained
male, though shriveled and weeny. My narrow chest sported a pair of
tiny, pointed mounds like those of a pubescent girl.
I tried to play with this androgynous physique, but it didn't function
properly. My adolescent, unfilled breasts ached slightly, as if in
growing pains, and rubbing them only made them sore. It took an age to
bring my tiny dick and balls to climax. It was really difficult to jerk
myself when my penis was so small. At the moment I came barely anything
came out and the pleasure it gave was miniscule and unsatisfying.
The realization that I'd lost the woman's imprint was like a
bereavement. I had become accustomed to that body's comfort and poise
and cursed myself for letting it disappear. I'd never find that woman
again and so I sulked for a day, wondering what to do. Then I resolved
to search for some new bodies to replace hers. I picked out the most
attractive girls in my classes and found ways to imprint them without
getting too touchy-feely. I could now handle three imprints without
much distraction. It wasn't long before I had a new parade of imprinted
shapes. I could feel their exotic forms at the edges of my
consciousness.
With three girl bodies stored safely away my nights became a carnival
of solo sex, enjoyed between the sheets of my bed. The experience of
wearing the new bodies was mind-blowing.
The first shape I tried on was that of a girl named Tani. She was an
ash blonde with a nondescript, almost homely face, but her incredible
curves meant she was much in demand with the boys. It took a gentle
touch of her hand in class to capture her form. Back at home when I
changed bodies that first time I had the brief sensation of feeling
inflated, like a Michelin man. As I adjusted to the shift of fleshy
ballast my sense of balance was thrown. Then I looked in the mirror to
check myself out. Tani possessed a fabulous hourglass with a broad
carriage and heavy breasts sagging down her ribcage, aureoles like
bruised circles.
It didn't take long to put Tani's nimble fingers to work, exploring and
circumnavigating my new frame. Tani was not fat, but her voluptuousness
was such that transitioning from my lean male body to hers was like
being zippered into a padded suit. I began to play with my tits, which
hung like ripe eggplants from my chest, but found they were less
sensitive than in my last girl body. The doughy masses seemed to get in
the way when I moved and were hot and a little uncomfortable. However,
as my hands slid down below the slight swell of my/Tani's belly, I
discovered her vulva. Even before I could enter myself, I felt
something dilate and in moments I was in flood. Tani's clit was a
beautiful instrument to play with; a sleek knot of nerve-endings that
slipped beneath my fingers. Its responses were so acute that in my
nocturnal explorations I had to be careful not to moan as I stroked and
worked it towards a climax. My middle finger sucked and popped as I
thrust it in and out of Tani's, no MY wet vagina. I worked it hard
with rapid little motions, tension brewing until I crested the wave and
came. In Tani's body orgasms were vast and emotional, washing over me
in great beach-breakers, leaving me quietly sobbing, unable to staunch
the tears.
Over the days that followed I kept coming back to Tani's pillowy form.
Her pussy became mine each night and it had me entranced. I began to
use bananas, whisked from the fruit bowl, as improvised dildos,
slipping them between my lips then pushing them gently and deeper
inside until the sensation was so great I could barely breathe. Jerking
the fruit back and forwards in my vagina I seemed to discover new
spots. These broadcast dizzying thrills that made my limbs jerk and my
hips squirm. Here was a luxurious body that screamed for sex. It was a
peak I needed to come down from.
By contrast with Tani, Shelley was a slender, apple-cheeked girl with
the beautiful, elastic body of a ballerina. In class I had fallen for
her smiling eyes and toothsome grin, framed by a bob of dark hair. It
took a momentary touch when handing her a book to steal her imprint.
When I morphed into Shelley's frisky form I discovered she had the most
amazing boobs. They were small, high and barely needed any support.
They came with delightful cherry nipples that, when aroused, broadcast
intense pleasure. Immediately after changing I would rub my body
against my bed so that my tiny teats would begin to buzz.
It was the closest thing I'd yet tried to my male shape: an energetic
body with a boyish figure that was tight, taut and toned. Shelley had
shaved her pussy and it was lovely to slip my finger into her snug,
moist vagina and tenderly quest for pleasure. It was as Shelley that I
discovered how different women's bodies could be from each other. Her
clitoris was a fleshy bean that needed careful caressing. Orgasms were
less overwhelming than in Tani's form. Rather, they were like sharp
peaks of erotic sensation coursing from tip to toe and winding back up
between my legs. But unlike Tani, where each climax would leave me
spent and emotionally wrecked, as Shelley I could rouse myself to
consecutive orgasms, and often did.
I developed a new masturbation technique in Shelley's body. I would
bring myself close to climax and then change back to my boy form.
Suddenly my dick would rear up, aroused and coated in Shelley's girl
juices. With a few slick jerks of my hand I would orgasm, spurting
thick ropes of semen onto my stomach. Immediately I would change back
into a girl and lay there, cum pooling on my baby-soft belly, using my
fingers to rub the sour-smelling semen up onto my tiny, schoolgirl
boobs, where I'd lubricate the tips. I once even tried a taste and
found it wasn't that bad. I briefly fantasized about making Shelley's
body pregnant with my own seed, until cold reality dawned and made me
drop the idea like a lead anvil. I had no idea of what havoc pregnancy
would play with my power and I feared getting stuck in that form.
The last of the trio of imprints was that of Lita, a beautiful Asian
girl with a heart-shaped face and full, kissable lips. It was odd to
look in the mirror and, with a finger, gently trace the sharp
epicanthic fold above my dark brown eyes. Her body was well
proportioned, with elegant lines and shapely legs.
Lita's chest was a modest pair of ice cream scoops, with up-tilted
nipples. But I found her boobs thrilling to fondle and they felt
comfortable in a way that Tani's enormous knockers had not. Again, the
response to sex felt different than in my other shapes. In this lithe
body my orgasms were relaxing releases of nervous energy that made me
want to sink into drowsy torpor.
The best thing about Lita was that she was the same height and slim
shape as my mother. I waited until my folks went away again before I
stole once more into my parents' bedroom to play with Mom's clothes.
Naked, I slipped on a pair of four-inch pumps and discovered that Lita
could wear Mom's shoes. With a little practice I could walk in them
comfortably, my trim fanny figure-eighting as I strolled across the
room. Mom's bras were just the right size to pack my perky bosom into
and I soon found myself encased in an underwired lace brassiere and
matching panties. I felt so hot and sexy it was all I could do to stop
myself dancing.
Dresses, pants and blouses fitted perfectly and I spent an exciting day
dressing up. I learned to walk in a skirt, which felt so strange
compared to pants. I marveled at the sheerness of a peach color silk
teddy sliding against my skin. I admired myself in a side-tie bikini
while still wearing those shiny heels that seemed to elongate my nice
legs even further. I put on a black party frock and paraded up and down
the bedroom, feeling it swish around me. I knew I had here a wardrobe I
could go out in, even if it was for someone a little older.
With three bodies at my command this was the happy time. I was sorta
getting sex, even if it was by masturbating. I would change two or
three times every night to keep the imprint of each girl-shape fresh.
The power did wonders for my self-esteem and I found that even in my
male body I was beginning to act more confident and assertive in
company.
Then one day my wish came true.
"The first time it happened was when I shapechanged into a friend by
accident," I admitted, reluctantly.
"How did that happen?" asked Jo. She was starting to relax a little,
her head canted slightly so that her wavy red hair draped languidly
into her face. She'd taken her goggles off since the fight, revealing
eyes that were large, gray-tinted and beautiful. They were familiar.
I'd once looked through those eyes and I remembered the crystal clarity
of their vision. "Was it some kind of big, colorful manifestation?" she
insisted.
"No, nothing like that." I stopped to clear my throat before going on.
"Only I knew anything had happened. I was hanging with my pal and just
patted them on the shoulder, all friendly. Then there was this 'zap'
feeling as I touched them, like a small electric shock. Suddenly I
could feel their shape in my head. It was like I held the blueprints
for their body in my mind. It made me feel weird. I didn't actually
shapechange properly until later. Not 'til I got home."
There was a lot I'd left out of this description. The friend had been
Bill, my bud at school. He's a smart, funny guy. Good grades. Good
enough at sports and the social round to be at the centre of several
circles. He hung with the nerd crowd and played in our World of
Warcraft clan. He was our natural leader and the organizer of many
online raids and stunts.
That time I'd felt the zap, the experience had left me feeling so
queasy and sick that I crawled home, leaving Bill at the arcade where
we'd been hanging. I stumbled into my bed complaining of a stomachache
and asked Mom to stop fussing and leave me alone. I dozed off and when
I woke up I was in Bill's body--or at least a copy of it--looking
through his eyes and breathing his air.
"Who was this friend of yours?" Jo asked, trying to gently lever her
way past my defenses. I licked my dry lips and tried to fend her off.
"Can we leave my friends out of it, Jo?" I briefly felt assertive and
defensive of my privacy. "They have nothing to do with this. I
discovered I could touch people and get an impression of their form
from the physical contact. Once it was in my head I could change into
that imprinted form and back again."
Jo wisely let it drop. "Did you use the power much once you'd mastered
it?"
"Uh, yeah. I experimented."
Yes, I experimented. A lot.
Of course, there was Bill's body at first. I wasn't really sure how I
had come to change, and after the initial panic it was a while before I
realized that my mind seemed to hold imprints of my old and new bodies.
I could focus on the ghostly shape there and swap between his body and
mine as easy as moving from one train of thought to another. It didn't
take more than five or six seconds to transform and it was painless. My
entire body would bubble with a weird energy, then it would flow and
gel into the new shape and become solid again.
I soon discovered the power's first limitation. It didn't work on
clothes, leaving me wearing whatever I had on before the change. That
would be a source of occasional embarrassment in the times to come.
As Bill it was disconcerting to have his bulk, his muscle, his senses,
and even his man-parts. Yeah, that felt icky at first. But once I felt
comfortable shifting back and forth between forms I test-drove his
body. I was impressed by how different a climax felt; it seemed to go
on longer than in my own physique.
All this, of course, was in secret, in the warm privacy of my bedroom
or the shower; anywhere my parents couldn't see me. There was no way I
was going to tell Mom or Pop about this and I was never going to admit
amything to Bill.
I spent a week trying to figure out the power, trying to master it. I
wondered if it was a one-off so I tried imprinting other friends from
school. All it took was some handshakes and backslaps and I soon also
had the imprints of three other friends. Having four phantom shapes
floating at the back of my consciousness was distracting and made it
hard to concentrate. I was glad when, after a few days, they began to
fade away.
However, while I held their imprints each change catapulted me into an
exhilarating new world of sensation. Each body had its own signature
characteristics, slightly different from my own. John's vision had an
acuity that profoundly changed the way I looked at the universe. The
colors I saw through his eyes seemed so much more vibrant. Tanc was
blessed with sharp hearing and I could make out sounds and voices more
easily from the tumble of background noise, while Raul possessed a
sense of smell so fine that I could make out olfactory notes I never
knew existed.
There were other unexpected differences. Muscles stretched and twanged
in unfamiliar ways. John's body seemed more flexible than the others
while in Raul's form my hands felt pudgy and clumsy. Tanc's legs seemed
so long compared to my own that I kept stumbling as I walked. Shifts in
height or reach could be a minefield, as they changed my perception of
distances and space. Even mundane alterations could be striking. In
each body I had a different heartbeat, an alien breathing rhythm, the
altered tang of saliva in my mouth and the feel of a new set of teeth
against my tongue.
Practicing the changes I found I could control the imprinting so that
it didn't happen on every physical contact. The transformations were
coming easy now and the overwhelming rush of the impressions didn't
make me feel sick like the first time.
I felt I was ready to try the biggest change yet. I wanted to become a
girl.
This was something I didn't want to mention to Jo. This was all about
sex, okay? Pure gratification. I was this lanky geek, a horny teen
who'd never dated yet was forced to swim in the hormone-charged
environment of high school. I felt I was missing what other guys at
school seemed to be getting, and that was pussy.
But now I could change my physical form to whomever I was able to touch
and imprint. Who needed to date a woman if you could become one? This
fever dream began to exterminate all rational thought. I started to
fantasize about transforming into a hot chick and checking myself out.
As soon as the idea of changing into a girl began to careen across my
imagination, I began to form a plan. I wanted to become someone foxy-
looking, of course. By a shaky process of logic I concluded that I
should imprint a person I'd never met and who didn't know me. So I set
my trap at the Mall.
If this sounds like stalkerish behavior, well, I plead that this was a
victimless crime. I wasn't going to attack anyone, just touch them for
a moment, imprint their physical pattern and then I'd be gone. However,
I didn't want any awkward questions, so to disguise myself I changed
into John's tall, rangy body. His was the closest shape to mine, I
wasn't too clumsy in it and I could wear the same clothes in both
forms. I biked down to the Mall and hung about the marble air-
conditioned concourse, watching people walk by and rating the women on
a one to ten scale.
It took a while to find the right subject. Most of the women were too
old or too young, too fat or thin. There were lumpen women, saggy
women, girls with lived-in faces. There were some who looked great at a
distance and as they walked closer did not look so hot. And there were
some who were pretty, but not pretty enough. I had this great power and
arrogantly felt I could afford to pick and choose.
Eventually I saw what I wanted: she was definitely a nine out of ten, a
lovely brunette with lustrous, shoulder-length hair. The woman was a
twenty-something, with an oval face and dazzling eyes that were kissed
with a dash of green. She had a small, straight nose and a generous
mouth with inviting lips. Her figure was slim-waisted and wide-hipped,
with what looked like shapely legs beneath her pants, and she wore a
stretch top that barely contained her generous breasts. I watched them
move as she did, bobbing in sympathy with her walk. The woman's well-
tanned arms were bare, which was ideal for me to make contact, and she
was alone, window shopping outside the chic clothes stores with a bag
swinging from her shoulder. Heart in my mouth I approached her from the
side.
"Hi Julie!" I said to her, all enthusiasm and bonhomie. I had no idea
who Julie was; it was the first name that came to mind. I lightly
touched the woman's arm, just long enough to feel the zap and rush of
the imprint. Startled, her head snapped to look at me, hair whirling
and mouth open. I was momentarily transfixed; she looked really
beautiful. But before she could say anything I immediately launched
into an apology. "Oh, I'm so sorry," I said, backing out of her
personal space. "From a distance I thought you were my friend. My bad,
I'm real sorry."
"No, uh, it's okay," she said and gave an embarrassed laugh. Her voice
was light and friendly. She hadn't felt the imprint process. None of
them ever do, though I saw her hand absently brush the skin where I'd
touched her.
"Look, I'd better go!" I said, thumbing toward the exit. "I gotta find
my friend Julie. Again, I'm sorry about the mistake!" Heart-in-mouth I
dashed outside to the lonely concrete post where I'd shackled my
mountain bike. I took a moment to morph back into my own shape and then
pedaled back home as fast as my legs could take me.
I almost never made it. My limbs were shaking from the adrenalin rush
of what I'd just done. And then there was the imprint of the woman's
body, which was beginning to fill my senses.
It's hard to articulate how an imprint feels. It's like a new sense, a
spectral memory of a body shape on the edge of my consciousness. On
that bike ride I could feel the outline of this woman's physical form
and it was making me horny. My dick was so hard I could barely pedal.
This was different from the guy forms I'd impressed. Almost as if it
could touch them my mind could make out the fleshy physicality of
breasts, the curve of a waist and an unfamiliar space between my
thighs. It's a wonder I didn't orgasm in my shorts.
Back in the house, I ran thumpety-thump upstairs and locked myself in
the antiseptic privacy of the bathroom. I stripped in a hurry, clumsily
hurling off shoes, shirt and pants until they were strewn across the
floor. Then my hands, on autopilot, pushed down my shorts and began to
stroke and jerk my dick, which was hard, hot and sleek. I felt an urge
to ejaculate before I transformed. But the weight of the strange,
feminine imprint on my psyche was too great. My mind kept flicking to
the ghostly sensations of tits, ass and clit. The feeling of male
orgasm began to build, but I couldn't stop the deep desire to change
from overwhelming me. Just as I was about to come I began to morph and
my penis shrunk back out of my hands. I was suddenly robbed of my
ability to orgasm, leaving a momentary ache where my balls had been. In
seconds, I was all woman, standing naked save for the shorts pooling
around my ankles. In the bathroom mirror I could see a bloom of sweat
across my heaving chest while the hand that had held my dick now
grasped at empty air in front of my pussy.
Not for the first time I was to discover that there's a disjoint
between looking at a pretty girl and actually occupying her body. This
is especially true when your only experience of hot women comes from
airbrushed photos on the internet. There's a rude reality you have to
face up to. This close I could see the myriad tiny flaws of a real
woman's form. I had fine hairs on my arms, enlarged pores on my skin,
tiny wrinkles near my eyes and a barely perceptible bend in my nose,
along with a dozen other irritating defects. Already my long, dark hair
was wandering into my face to itch and scratch at my nose and my hands
rose up to flick it away with long-nailed fingers.
Suddenly I was aware of padding in places that were unfamiliar. My ass
and thighs felt unusually plump, as if the world around my tuchas began
a long way away. Then there was the mass of flesh tugging at my chest
muscles. I had breasts that were big, but without a bra to hold them
they just sagged back against my body and looked uneven, one larger
than the other.
My cans were nothing like the firm mountains I'd imagined they'd be.
They shivered like jello and yielded to the slightest touch. A tracery
of veins tracked across a skin that blazed with pale bikini triangles.
My hands mashed my boobs then lifted them, feeling their heft and
fleshy weight. Something carnal stirred in my chest and crotch as
fingernails brushed the hardening blobs of my redcurrant nipples and
their large surrounds. It was different from a hard-on. This arousal
was more like a heavy heat that made my skin more sensitive, that made
me conscious of the secret new spaces inside of me.
Suddenly the flaws didn't matter any more and my hands were all over my
body. It was almost like I didn't have enough fingers to stroke, touch
and pinch at all the parts of my new physique. Playing with my breasts
was sensational, feeling a horny thrill prickle back from behind the
teats and make its way to my cootchie, which became tremendously wet. I
hadn't anticipated how rapidly this warmth and moistness in my loins
would build. My face flushed and I felt as if I was starting to glow.
As the excitement increased I caressed my flat belly, with its firm
abs, and cupped the swell of my ass. It was a lovely peach-skinned
behind, soft and satisfyingly round.
And then, after exploring the slick sensitivity of my inner thighs,
which staggered me and almost made me fall on the floor, I began to
quest at the soft folds of skin around my vagina. I was about to slip
one nailed finger gingerly in to the hot wetness when a voice from
downstairs rose up and drenched me like a cold shower. It was Mom
calling me down for lunch. I cursed a streak in a soft soprano and then
stood there, staring angrily around the spotless expanse of the
bathroom. The spell was broken and the exquisite sexual heat of my
girl-body was cooling. Reluctantly, I focused for long enough to shift
back to my own shape, feeling its bony angles develop and my balls
drop. I felt a deep resentment at having to give up the exotic
experience of being a woman and return to my original form. I wiped
myself where girl-juices had dripped a slick, solitary trail down the
inside of one thigh, then got dressed and went downstairs to a
miserable meal.
From that day on I would have to hunt for private moments to explore my
feminine form. Often this was at night when I was safe in bed and the
house was suspended in sleep. In the stillness, with the warm urban
nightlight filtering through the blinds, I'd transform beneath the
sheets. My skinny awkwardness would subside and swell into supple
curves, reshaping the bedclothes. My head would suddenly be pillowed by
a mass of soft hair.
I'd lay there for a while, absorbing the new rhythms, the breathing and
heartbeat, of this limber body. I'd taste my sweet saliva and explore
my perfect, regular teeth with my tongue. Then slowly, in an act of
seduction, I'd start to play with myself in the dark. Slim hands would
flutter across my breasts as they puddled on my chest. Fingers would
delicately pluck at my sweet teats, teasing them rigid and making my
body writhe in response before my hand slid down across my belly and a
ragged thatch of pubic hair to reach the entrance to my vulva. There,
sliding into the folds of flesh, I was able to explore the hot
moistness, hunt out my clitoris and press it to make my back arch. Then
I'd enjoy the sensation of my fingers inside of me. I liked to withdraw
a wet digit and taste myself; lapping with my tongue at the hot musk of
my sex.
The first time I climaxed it was difficult to keep the noise down and I
lay in bed, gasping, feeling buzzy and blissed out. It was nothing like
the urgent surge of my male orgasms. This was more like a tide, a rise
and fall of sensation and emotion. Exhausted, I dozed off, still
encased in a female body. I was fortunate not to be discovered before I
woke and could change back.
I kept this pattern of exploration up for almost two weeks, excited by
my female shape and entranced by its otherness. I'd lock myself in my
room all evening, enjoying the experience of being a woman. I felt more
relaxed in this form, and was becoming increasingly comfortable with
it. As the sensation of breasts and vagina became familiar, I started
to appreciate the rest of what I thought of as my 'Julie body'. I loved
the line formed by my slim waist and broad hips, and the way my center
of gravity seemed to shift downwards. I admired the shapliness of my
legs and how even the back of my knees seemed to be an erogenous zone.
I would spend some evenings playing World of Warcraft in my Julie
shape, typing chat messages to friends. They couldn't see me, of
course. They didn't realize that I was now a hottie, sitting at a
screen clad only in a bathrobe, a stray boob just poking out from
behind the towelling. That gave me a secret thrill for as long as it
lasted, but I'd always have to change back whenever we raided, as our
guild used voice chat to communicate. I contemplated creating a new
game account, a new identity in which I could be a woman all the time,
and I wondered how differently my friends would respond to a girl's
voice.
Now I could turn into a sexy girl at will, I became obsessed with
clothing and tried to see how much of my wardrobe would fit a figure
that was shorter, but curved in new places. I pulled on a T-shirt that
squashed my chest flat, then fondled my boobs through the taut fabric.
That was so arousing that I tried my swimming briefs on. They stretched
pleasingly over the plumpness of my ass but bunched into unsightly
folds at the crotch. At least there was plenty of space there to reach
a hand inside and rub my vajayjay.
My boy clothes were all the wrong cut and didn't feel comfortable or
sexy enough. I wondered what it felt like to try on some women's
clothing. One Saturday afternoon, while my parents were visiting a
distant uncle, I stayed home and nervously snuck into the sacred space
of my mother's wardrobe. Mom was in her late thirties and, my friends
reckoned, had kept her looks. Amongst the racks of clothes I found
something that I thought I could squeeze my girl form into.
I took it down from its hanger, a simple knee-length dress with a
conservative floral pattern. I stripped nude, unzipped the back and
stepped into it, feeling a thrill as I pulled it up. The dress slid up
my legs, but then got stuck at my ass. I had to spend a few minutes
working my curves into it, inch by inch. By the time I'd managed, with
some effort, to zip it (mostly) up the back, everything felt
constricted and fit to burst. I could barely move for fear of something
ripping.
I found Mom's shoes in the wardrobe and was disappointed to find, after
forcing my feet into a pair of pumps, that they pinched badly. I stood
in front of the mirror, wrapped too tight to move, my bust squashed to
overflowing while wobbling precariously on Mom's heels. I was not
comfortable, and yet the whole experience of dressing as a woman made
the experience more thrilling, more sexy. I was turned on by the sight
of myself in a dress. When I clutched my breasts through the fabric my
body responded with strong arousal, straining at the confining apparel.
There was no way I could diddle myself like this, so I levered off the
dressâ€"an operation as difficult as getting it onâ€"and looked for what
else I could try. Mom's underwear drawer netted a pair of silky panties
that stretched satisfyingly over my smooth behind. I was disappointed
to find that her bras were far too small for my capacious chest, but in
another drawer I found a striped bikini top that could just about be
made to fit, though it barely cupped my boobs
So in this mismatched outfit of bikini bra, panties and two-inch pumps,
I flopped onto my parents' bed and began to touch myself. I was now
expert in arousing my girl-body. I swiftly felt the wetness come and
then rammed my hand down the sheer front of Mom's underwear to start
the gentle stirring and flicking that would bring me to climax.
This shape was addictive. But there was something else, besides the
erotic sensation of girl flesh, that brought me back to this body. I
was now an attractive woman. I felt desirable. Who would reject someone
who looked at hot as me? People would at last pay me the attention I
never received as a guy.
I climaxed and lay panting, legs akimbo on the bed. The bikini bra was
askew on my chest, the panties were pushed down across my thighs and
those too-tight high heels dug into the bedcover. I must have looked a
mess. As I lay in the afterglow I contemplated going out dressed as a
woman, but I hadn't the guts and I had nothing that fitted.
Days passed and I soon discovered a new limitation of my powers. So
long as the imprint remained fresh, the change was easy. When I
transformed each night I retained a pristine memory of the body shape.
It would even retain changes from the night before, such as the time I
tried shaving my pubic hair, creating a stubbly patch and a couple of
small razor nicks that reappeared each time I changed.
However, if I didn't change into a form regularly, its imprint would
degrade. School and chores and late nights hanging with my friends
online in World of Warcraft finally got the better of me. Exhausted, I
began to go straight to sleep without changing as soon as I hit the
hay. So when, after skipping a couple of nights, I tried to shapeshift
again I realized that my memory of 'Julie' had partially faded.
I focussed on the imprint and felt the usual tingle of morphing, but
the result petered out into an incomplete change. It felt all wrong.
When I stripped and looked in the mirror I appeared to be half man and
half woman. I checked my face and it was partly feminized with Julie's
and nose and the mass of her soft hair framing my features. Though my
hips had widened and my ass had swelled into its familiar proportions,
my waist was still thick and below the abdomen my genitals remained
male, though shriveled and weeny. My narrow chest sported a pair of
tiny, pointed mounds like those of a pubescent girl.
I tried to play with this androgynous physique, but it didn't function
properly. My unfilled breasts ached slightly, as if in
growing pains, and rubbing them only made them sore. It took an age to
bring my tiny dick and balls to climax. It was really difficult to jerk
myself when my penis was so small. At the moment I came barely anything
came out and the pleasure it gave was miniscule and unsatisfying.
The realization that I'd lost the woman's imprint was like a
bereavement. I had become accustomed to that body's comfort and poise
and cursed myself for letting it disappear. I'd never find that woman
again and so I sulked for a day, wondering what to do. Then I resolved
to search for some new bodies to replace hers. I picked out the most
attractive girls in my classes and found ways to imprint them without
getting too touchy-feely. I could now handle three imprints without
much distraction. It wasn't long before I had a new parade of imprinted
shapes. I could feel their exotic forms at the edges of my
consciousness.
With three girl bodies stored safely away my nights became a carnival
of solo sex, enjoyed between the sheets of my bed. The experience of
wearing the new bodies was mind-blowing.
The first shape I tried on was that of a girl named Tani. She was an
ash blonde with a nondescript, almost homely face, but her incredible
curves meant she was much in demand with the boys. It took a gentle
touch of her hand in class to capture her form. Back at home when I
changed bodies that first time I had the brief sensation of feeling
inflated, like a Michelin man. As I adjusted to the shift of fleshy
ballast my sense of balance was thrown. Then I looked in the mirror to
check myself out. Tani possessed a fabulous hourglass with a broad
carriage and heavy breasts sagging down her ribcage, aureoles like
bruised circles.
It didn't take long to put Tani's nimble fingers to work, exploring and
circumnavigating my new frame. Tani was not fat, but her voluptuousness
was such that transitioning from my lean male body to hers was like
being zippered into a padded suit. I began to play with my tits, which
hung like ripe eggplants from my chest, but found they were less
sensitive than in my last girl body. The doughy masses seemed to get in
the way when I moved and were hot and a little uncomfortable. However,
as my hands slid down below the slight swell of my/Tani's belly, I
discovered her vulva. Even before I could enter myself, I felt
something dilate and in moments I was in flood. Tani's clit was a
beautiful instrument to play with; a sleek knot of nerve-endings that
slipped beneath my fingers. Its responses were so acute that in my
nocturnal explorations I had to be careful not to moan as I stroked and
worked it towards a climax. My middle finger sucked and popped as I
thrust it in and out of Tani's, no MY wet vagina. I worked it hard
with rapid little motions, tension brewing until I crested the wave and
came. In Tani's body orgasms were vast and emotional, washing over me
in great beach-breakers, leaving me quietly sobbing, unable to staunch
the tears.
Over the days that followed I kept coming back to Tani's pillowy form.
Her pussy became mine each night and it had me entranced. I began to
use bananas, whisked from the fruit bowl, as improvised dildos,
slipping them between my lips then pushing them gently and deeper
inside until the sensation was so great I could barely breathe. Jerking
the fruit back and forwards in my vagina I seemed to discover new
spots. These broadcast dizzying thrills that made my limbs jerk and my
hips squirm. Here was a luxurious body that screamed for sex. It was a
peak I needed to come down from.
By contrast with Tani, Shelley was a slender, apple-cheeked girl with
the beautiful, elastic body of a ballerina. In class I had fallen for
her smiling eyes and toothsome grin, framed by a bob of dark hair. It
took a momentary touch when handing her a book to steal her imprint.
When I morphed into Shelley's frisky form I discovered she had the most
amazing boobs. They were small, high and barely needed any support.
They came with delightful cherry nipples that, when aroused, broadcast
intense pleasure. Immediately after changing I would rub my body
against my bed so that my tiny teats would begin to buzz.
It was the closest thing I'd yet tried to my male shape: an energetic
body with a boyish figure that was tight, taut and toned. Shelley had
shaved her pussy and it was lovely to slip my finger into her snug,
moist vagina and tenderly quest for pleasure. It was as Shelley that I
discovered how different women's bodies could be from each other. Her
clitoris was a fleshy bean that needed careful caressing. Orgasms were
less overwhelming than in Tani's form. Rather, they were like sharp
peaks of erotic sensation coursing from tip to toe and winding back up
between my legs. But unlike Tani, where each climax would leave me
spent and emotionally wrecked, as Shelley I could rouse myself to
consecutive orgasms, and often did.
I developed a new masturbation technique in Shelley's body. I would
bring myself close to climax and then change back to my boy form.
Suddenly my dick would rear up, aroused and coated in Shelley's girl
juices. With a few slick jerks of my hand I would orgasm, spurting
thick ropes of semen onto my stomach. Immediately I would change back
into a girl and lay there, cum pooling on my baby-soft belly, using my
fingers to rub the sour-smelling semen up onto my tiny
boobs, where I'd lubricate the tips. I once even tried a taste and
found it wasn't that bad. I briefly fantasized about making Shelley's
body pregnant with my own seed, until cold reality dawned and made me
drop the idea like a lead anvil. I had no idea of what havoc pregnancy
would play with my power and I feared getting stuck in that form.
The last of the trio of imprints was that of Lita, a beautiful Asian
girl with a heart-shaped face and full, kissable lips. It was odd to
look in the mirror and, with a finger, gently trace the sharp
epicanthic fold above my dark brown eyes. Her body was well
proportioned, with elegant lines and shapely legs.
Lita's chest was a modest pair of ice cream scoops, with up-tilted
nipples. But I found her boobs thrilling to fondle and they felt
comfortable in a way that Tani's enormous knockers had not. Again, the
response to sex felt different than in my other shapes. In this lithe
body my orgasms were relaxing releases of nervous energy that made me
want to sink into drowsy torpor.
The best thing about Lita was that she was the same height and slim
shape as my mother. I waited until my folks went away again before I
stole once more into my parents' bedroom to play with Mom's clothes.
Naked, I slipped on a pair of four-inch pumps and discovered that Lita
could wear Mom's shoes. With a little practice I could walk in them
comfortably, my trim fanny figure-eighting as I strolled across the
room. Mom's bras were just the right size to pack my perky bosom into
and I soon found myself encased in an underwired lace brassiere and
matching panties. I felt so hot and sexy it was all I could do to stop
myself dancing.
Dresses, pants and blouses fitted perfectly and I spent an exciting day
dressing up. I learned to walk in a skirt, which felt so strange
compared to pants. I marveled at the sheerness of a peach color silk
teddy sliding against my skin. I admired myself in a side-tie bikini
while still wearing those shiny heels that seemed to elongate my nice
legs even further. I put on a black party frock and paraded up and down
the bedroom, feeling it swish around me. I knew I had here a wardrobe I
could go out in, even if it was for someone a little older.
With three bodies at my command this was the happy time. I was sorta
getting sex, even if it was by masturbating. I would change two or
three times every night to keep the imprint of each girl-shape fresh.
The power did wonders for my self-esteem and I found that even in my
male body I was beginning to act more confident and assertive in
company.
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Kent is young guy that has to spend the summer paying off his debt after accidentally damaging his bitch of a neighbour Julie’s car while playing a game with his friend Marcus. Kent resigns himself to working as Julie’s glorified servant, that is until he finds an odd looking idol that allows him to possess her body. Now with a summer of freedom ahead and Julie’s hot body to do with as he pleases, Kent is looking forward to making up for lost time and having some fun.
Note: This is a commissioned work that has not been personally written by me. I have been granted permission to distribute and share the story by the original author.
The push mower's dull rattle droned in Kent’s ears, blades whirring through the grass. His body strained beneath the midday sun, and through damp lashes, he caught the blur of a cherry-red convertible roaring down the road—top down, laughter trailing like exhaust.
“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, wiping away another hand of sweat.
The mower sputtered as he yanked it over a thick patch near Julie’s hydrangeas. He imagined Marcus at the wheel, music cranked, their friends crowded in the back seat, already sunburned and salty from the ocean. They wouldn’t miss him today; they probably hadn’t even noticed he wasn’t around these days.
The sun seared, hammering against his back, arms, the nape of his neck where his hair stuck and tangled. Kent tried not to groan, but it was getting harder not to resent the injustice of it all. He trudged along, kicking dust into the air, each pass of the mower a reminder of how thoroughly he'd been screwed.
Two weeks ago, he’d been carefree, tossing a ball back and forth with Marcus in his front yard. It had all gone wrong so fast: Marcus’ wild throw, laughing at Kent’s half-hearted protest, goading him to catch it. Kent squinted against the sky; his hand fumbled the air. The dull clang was the sound of his afternoon crashing against Julie’s car, leaving a perfect circle of incrimination in the glossy finish.
They'd both stared—Marcus with lips curled around the brink of a "whoops," and Kent with his gut unraveling through his shirt.
Marcus caught his eye and smiled like he’d planned the whole thing. "No one saw. Chill, man!" Kent opened his mouth, closed it, hoped it wasn’t as big a deal as he feared.
It was.
The door slammed with the sharp report of impending disaster, and there was Julie in full fury, an avenging angel with a tan. "Which one of you incompetent brats—" She halted, eyes narrowing at the guilty-looking crease on her convertible’s door. Her voice fell, low and venomous. "—thinks this is funny?"
Kent swallowed. He hated the dryness in his mouth, the stickiness on his palms. He hated the dent in the car, hated Marcus's grin, and hated even more how it slid away into something else. Something innocent, friendly. "Hey, Ms. Bentley. We were just leaving a note."
She crossed the lawn with the gait of someone used to having her way, every step as dangerous as an exclamation mark. "Try again, boys."
"We were—"
"He threw it," Kent interrupted. "It got away from him. We’ll get it fixed."
"Kent..." Marcus raised his eyebrows, a betrayed chorus of one.
"You’re damn right you’ll get it fixed." Julie’s attention speared Kent and held. He could feel Marcus shifting, inching toward the door. "And you’ll work off every cent. Both of you."
The pause stretched longer than the afternoon sun. "I guess I can help," Marcus finally said, with the agonized reluctance of a guy donating a kidney. "If I don’t work weekends, and if Mom doesn’t ground me again—"
"Save it," Kent muttered, already caught, already sentenced. He’d seen this play out before. "I’ll take care of it."
Marcus’s hand clamped on his shoulder with all the sincerity of a condolence card bought half-price. "Thanks, bro. I’ll owe you."
"I know you will," Kent had replied, staring past Julie's gloating smile to where Marcus, framed by sunlight and betrayal, had slouched away.
Back in the present, the sun hadn’t moved. Kent kicked the mower into a new row, ignoring how his arms shook from the effort, ignoring how his thoughts spun through pointless what-ifs. He ducked his head, let the work and heat crush him down until he was too small to bother with.
The next pass went easier. Resignation did that—took the sting out of unfairness like Novocain. Kent mowed numbly, lines and rows blurring into one another until the grass lay behind him.
Two more weeks of this? A lifetime? Might as well. Julie was a woman who knew how to wield silence as well as threats. Not for the first time, Kent wondered why Marcus ever threw the damn ball.
He finished, choked the mower dead, wiped sweat from his eyes. His skin felt crispy and tight. All he needed was a dive, no a dip—of his toe into the pool. That would fix it all.
"Is this a joke to you?" Julie's voice, another thing that refused to wilt in the heat.
Kent was shaken back to the present, and caught in the scent of chlorine and coconut oil threading through the afternoon air. He was standing on the edge of the water as Julie stretched relaxingly, every move as intentional as the flick of her gaze.
Her bikini clung like sweat, and Kent's eyes traced its path against his will.
"This isn't acceptable," she said. "Again."
He wanted to disappear into the chlorinated depths, but she was already lounging back, already dismissing him from her thoughts as she dangled new chores between them like a cat with an injured mouse.
"A kid your age shouldn’t have such a hard time keeping up." Julie's eyes glinted like a promise he wasn't going to get. Kent swallowed a retort, tasted salt on his upper lip instead. She knew the effect she had, both in giving orders and ignoring them. "My daughter could do better."
"I doubt that." The words slipped out with a touch more venom than he'd meant.
Kent turned away, wanting to muffle the clink of ice against her glass with his own hands around her throat. Or maybe his own hands around his own throat. He couldn’t decide.
"I don't need attitude. I need that lawn mowed right."
It was a subtle dance of dominance. One she performed like a pro, even reclining. Julie's skin shone like polished bronze under the sun. The same sun had Kent looking like a washed-up sweat rag by comparison. A rag that hadn't worked off his debt, yet.
Julie glanced back at the pool, effectively tossing him from her thoughts, while he stood dumbly in the tangle of lust, obligation, and a boy’s last ounce of pride.
"You want me to go over it again?" His voice cracked—broke around the words.
Her chin tilted up, uninterested. "If it’s not perfect, you’ll keep doing it until it is. Start with the hedges. I expect more from you."
Kent shuffled away, back toward the toolshed.
Home. Kent made his way home that night, in a huff. The familiar house sat quiet and useless, just like his last three paychecks.
Mom greeted him as he trudged through the kitchen door, hand resting on his shoulder—too gentle to be real sympathy. Dad folded a corner of the paper down, equally gentle. "Get it all finished up?"
Kent slumped into the chair across from them, felt himself sink. "Not quite. She keeps adding stuff—"
Mom shook her head. "She wouldn’t do that if you did it right the first time, honey."
"I did do it right! She’s just—" Beautiful, unreasonable, half-naked, impossible. The words tangled up in each other, fell into a frustrated heap at his feet. "—Julie. I’ll never get it done."
Dad was halfway through a reply when Kent cut in. "Can you at least admit this is bullshit?"
"Language, Kent." Mom’s voice held the same note Julie’s did. "You know why you have to finish. We’ve been over this. A hundred times."
"A thousand," Kent grumbled, feeling very young and very old at once.
"A hundred," Dad agreed, unfolding another section of newspaper.
It wasn’t what Kent wanted, but it was more than he'd get from Julie. "She says it’ll take weeks."
"Not if you stick with it," Mom said.
That sounded suspiciously like something he told himself when he woke up to do it all over again.
"I’m not being unreasonable. Marcus should—"
Dad’s look cut him off. "Marcus should listen to his mother and be more like you. Get your things done instead of complaining. It’ll build character, son."
Kent braced against the edges of their insistence, the too-smooth conviction he felt slipping past him like oil on water. He needed it rougher, sharper, like sandpaper. Instead, they filed him down to nothing, left him to carry the pieces.
"Yeah," he mumbled. "Character."
Kent walked through the inferno to Julie’s again the next morning. The sprinklers had done more to cool the yard than he ever would.
She let him in, and Kent found himself in the toolshed again. He was being dramatic, he knew it, but he saw himself doomed to middle age before he left this hellscape.
That’s why you did it, Marcus. To build character. That’s what Kent wanted to believe.
He hoisted a gas can, hated the way it felt so familiar. "Get it all finished up?" he muttered, mocking more than himself.
At the edge of the yard, Marcus’s words snagged his thoughts. "Thanks, bro. I’ll owe you."
Kent cringed inwardly, the flashback was as unwelcome as Marcus’s easy grin. He wasn’t getting anything out of this. The mower whirred to life again, drowning out the last bit of sanity Kent had.
Task 2: Move an ungodly amount of boxes.
Julie watched from the side of the pool again, an ice cube balanced between her lips, as Kent hauled a heavy box across the patio. His steps were an awkward choreography of anger and heat exhaustion. She stretched a leg, attention already back on her phone. "I’m not running a charity, Kent. I expect all of those moved by the end of the day."
His body screamed for rest, but he plowed forward. If she wanted to break him, it would take more than a few shopping sprees and heat waves to do it.
"Commitment, Kent. I need to see you’re committed to paying what you owe," Julie said. She reached lazily for a magazine. Kent nearly buckled under the weight. The sprinklers sputtered on, mocking him. His arms throbbed, and the boxes felt heavier with every step.
Kent glared back at the pool. "Is this all of them?"
Julie sipped her drink, feigning deep consideration. "We'll see, won’t we?"
The heat was a solid thing. He dragged himself back for the next load, ignored the stubborn itch of humiliation as he passed her sun chair. Julie's skin was already bronzed, glowing against the red of her bikini like Christmas in July. She wasn't even watching. Her complete lack of attention chafed worse than his sticky shirt. Maybe this wasn’t better than the lawn.
Kent shook his head and moved another box.
Julie seemed perfectly at ease, flipping the pages without even glancing at him. In turn, each glance he stole fueled the resentment he was supposed to be working off. No, it grew. Larger than him, larger than life.
Kent sighed. Three trips later and Kent's shoulders felt like they were shredding. Julie's calm was like ice in his throat, grating.
She made a bored gesture in his direction.
"I’m going, I’m going," he muttered, head lowered. Prisoner.
"I almost believe you, dear."
Kent rubbed his shoulder, wished he could ignore it as easily as she ignored him. He wanted to break something, maybe her resolve. Maybe his own.
Halfway through the stack, the boxes became heavier. How? Kent’s eyes bulged as her struggled to keep a box in his arms, needing to use his legs to stabilise it.
"Careful," she called without looking up, her foot dangling in the pool. The water, like the entire house, was a universe away. His jaw tightened like the strings of a cheap violin. His actions were almost noble if nobility felt like dirt, grit, and sarcasm. Maybe he wouldn’t get what he wanted—freedom, the beach, even Julie’s attention—but he could work until nothing mattered.
Task 3: Clean the attic.
Kent sneezed.
The attic smelled like dead things, old things, dust and age and memories. Light filtered through a single window, and dust motes mocked him as they danced around. He waved a hand in front of his face, spitting out dirt and frustration in equal measure.
Julie’s voice floated up the stairs, a siren call to hell. "Get it all done, Kent."
He choked on a reply and another sneeze. This was the worst. His arms screamed for relief, but he grabbed a broom instead. Webs clung to every part of the room, and Kent wondered if a spider bit him what kind of superpowers he’d get. Maybe he’d turn into a kid who had some actual free time.
Kent swept the floor with the same dedication that had gotten him here in the first place. He imagined Marcus at the beach, surrounded by friends and bikinis that weren’t his boss’s. The broom handle dug into his blistered palms, and he pushed harder, until the pile of dust and dirt became a small mountain of failure.
He coughed, doubled over. This was pointless. He rubbed his face with a dirty shirt sleeve, smeared the mess across his cheek. A week ago he might have cared.
The broom thudded against the wall. He leaned against it, feeling the sting of dust and sweat in his eyes. It was a lost cause. The whole thing.
Something caught his eye. A figure, cloaked under a dusty wool blanket. He reached for it, more curious than he should have been, and pulled the fabric away.
A doll? An idol?
Kent almost laughed at the absurdity. An old-fashioned thing, with yellowing lace and painted eyes that stared past him like Julie did. He wiped his hands on his shirt, reached for it, fingers closing around the figure. Maybe it—
One touch, and it was the last contact he had, the last time he felt a thing.
One step, and he felt himself shift and separate, pulling apart like a zipper splitting seams that held his mind and body tight. There was a ripping sensation, a fraying sensation, and then a lightness so complete Kent thought he might disappear entirely.
“What the hell is this?!” he screamed in his mind.
Kent looked down at his hands, saw them glowing a pale blue that didn’t hide what was behind them. See-through? Transparent? He was floating-feather light, above the attic floor. Above the mess he’d made of it, above his own body, which was slumped where he’d left it.
His first thought was to panic. His second thought was that he already had. He drifted forward, then back. What just happened?
Was he dead?
No, that wasn’t right. Dead people didn’t get mad, and Kent was mad as hell. He was anything but dead.
He was alive, more alive than he ever felt. Alive, free of the heat and the drudgery and the persistent ache of muscle and bone. Alive, free, and…shimmering?
Kent felt the spark of something he hadn’t felt in weeks. Possibility.
His spirit stretched into the attic's corners, testing his new reach, dancing through the crowded loft. He shot past his old body, tempted to wave. He'd give it up again without a second thought. Let Julie wonder what magic swapped out her slave, wonder what left her so completely she couldn’t yell at it.
Kent skipped through the abandoned boxes, gliding over ancient bags, years of forgotten excess. One flick of his ghostly finger set the attic in motion, objects swaying like they finally believed in ghosts.
They had to believe. Kent wasn't even trying, not yet. He might have spent the entire day haunting her past, finding new things to set loose.
He stuck his head through the attic wall, through the attic floor, and stared at the room below. It was upside down, or maybe he was? Not that it mattered when he could fly—when he could phase. He could phase through walls. Kent laughed at the brilliance of it, the sheer giddiness of going where no one wanted him. He stretched his spirit like a growing boy, like a growing thought, and shot down into Julie’s world.
He peeked out through the window, head first of course. Then his shoulders followed, then his legs. Next thing, Kent was soaring over the manicured lawn that he manicured. He stopped short of her lawn chair, hovering in the blistering summer heat. He felt none of it. Nice!
The chair, the yard, the entire universe looked different when it wasn't pushing him around. A magazine perched on the small table next to her. She relaxed, as fully and completely as if he'd never existed.
Kent watched, waiting to see if she'd notice the power shift. Notice him. It was all he could do not to burst with thrill of possibilities.
But nothing happened. No matter how long he stared at her, she barely felt his eyes on her.
Then he nudged it, pushing at the magazine with a single finger. It slipped from the table, fluttering down onto the grass.
She glanced at it, not even removing her sunglasses. "Wind’s picking up," she mumbled, and leaned back into her own self-absorption.
"Okay," he thought to himself. "If you want to play, let’s play."
Kent pulled at the towel that draped her sun chair. It slipped to the ground with a thud. This time, Julie's eyes popped open. She stared around the yard like she'd just seen him flung from the roof, like her furniture flung itself from the roof.
Her eyes were slits, suspicious, curious, but not afraid. "Ha ha," Kent heard her say. Fine.
He tugged next at the sunscreen, nudging it off her lap, and watching it roll into the water. Julie sat up. Her brow furrowed, and after a long second she slowly slid the sunglasses down her nose. Kent almost laughed. She was so used to getting her way, she couldn't comprehend the universe acting out.
“It’s not funny,” she shouted at cosmic injustice, and at Kent. “Who’s there?”
Kent hovered above her, a cheeky grin spread across his face. The rules had changed—she was playing the game now, and he was the game master. Kent shoved at the drink in her hand, watched as it splashed cold ice, and lemonade on her sun-warmed skin. Julie yelped, surprised. An ice cube melted between her fingers, over her navel, all along the exact same path Kent’s thoughts wanted to travel.
This time, she stood.
However, it was the wrong move.
Kent yanked at the string on her bikini, wild and reckless. The top slipped loose, and before he could whoop with victory, the world stopped.
It happened again.
The same shifting, the same separation. Julie’s spirit rose out of her body like steam from a kettle. She stared down at herself, and then right through him. Kent froze. Her spirit paused, hovered.
Then Kent did what he did best.
He panicked.
How to fix this? How to fix this? How to not get caught?
Kent grabbed at Julie’s astral form, desperate to reverse what he’d done. Instead, it became even worse. When he came to his sense again, his astral form was anew—only it wasn’t. He was inside Julie’s spirit, possessing her essence.
“What the hell is this?!” he screamed again. This time, out loud.
Kent looked down at himself, but all he saw was Julie’s astral body. Her real one took that very moment to slump sideways, falling on the lawn chair with all the grace of a corpse.
A beautiful, half-naked, very vulnerable corpse.
Kent—Julie—stood in shock, mind racing through the possibilities. He could leave her like this. She’d never know. But then another thought crashed over him, stronger than the first: If he didn’t get caught, he’d never get the chance again.
He dove for Julie’s body, not feeling the grass beneath his feet or the sun on his bare shoulders, feeling only the thrill of new freedom around him. It was a game, and he was winning. Kent entered her body through her astral form, through the space where she had left herself open to him.
He settled in.
Kent sat up, eyes going wide when he moved Julie’s body with his own will. The bikini top hung loose, her skin tingled from the lemonade, and he felt everything. Was everything. He was inside her, but more than that—he was her.
Kent—Julie—drew a breath and another, chest rising and falling in thrilling confirmation of what he’d done. This was crazy.
He looked down at himself, taking in the naked curve of Julie’s breasts, feeling the rich sensation of being in her skin—the weight of her breast sat on her chest, the sway of her streaky blonde hair tickling her back, the air on her damp stomach. He had never felt so much, so intensely, and it was all his.
He moved his hand, watched her manicured fingers respond, marveled at how it felt to have nails like these. The sensations were overwhelming, a tidal wave of newness crashing through him, and he was at the center of it all.
Kent rose from the lounge chair, feeling Julie’s legs unfurl beneath him. Her legs. His legs. He took a step and stumbled slightly—her body was so different from his own—but he laughed, a melodic sound that he’s only ever heard from an outsider’s perspective. Now, it was all around him.
He—Julie—stretched, arching her back, reveling in the supple bend of her spine. He swayed from side to side, his eyes drawn to her breasts as they moved with him, to the way her stomach stretched and flattened under her skin. He was gleeful, reckless, and ready to explore.
Kent hopped in place, feeling the heaviness of having breasts that large, of having them jiggle and shift with Julie’s every motion. He hugged her arms around herself, squeezing tight, feeling the way her soft skin gave under her own touch.
“My God,” he said under his breath. He reached up and cupped Julie’s breasts, felt the fullness of them in his new hands. This was better than he could have imagined. “The things I could do…”
A wicked grin spread across his face, a thought forming in his mind that he couldn’t let go of even if he tried. The lemonade was drying on his—her—skin, a sticky sweetness that called out to him. He trailed a finger across Julie’s stomach, felt the tacky residue there. He brought the finger to his mouth, tasted it, and shivered at the sensation. Her body was alive with feeling, with want—Kent’s wants.
“What a silly little blonde I am,” he said, mocking Julie with her own voice. “To spill lemonade all over my tits.”
Kent laughed, delighted with how it felt to be Julie, with how it felt to be free. He let her arms fall to her sides, let them hang loose as he enjoyed the sensation of heaviness on her chest, of the tightness in her bikini top still tied around his waist, and then with no warning at all, he tore it off.
He threw the top in an exaggerated motion that reminded him of Julie, letting it flop somewhere on the grass. With a satisfied sigh, he lay back down on the lounge chair, eager to savor it all. The sun was hot, and it warmed her skin, heating up the stickiness that covered him.
“Kent!” he called, dragging out the syllables of his own name. “The attic better be spotless. Ah, ah,” he tutted in Julie’s voice, as if he were really talking to himself. “I don’t need attitude. I need the attic clean, and I need it now!”
He laughed again, louder this time, and watched the way Julie’s breasts shook with it. He cupped them again, feeling the weight of them, the heat of them under his hands. He kneaded them, felt her nipples harden under his palms. “Yes please.”
The way she responded was electric, was addictive. He circled her nipples with her fingers, feeling the give and pull of her flesh under his touch. He pinched them, tugged at them, and gasped as the sensation rippled through her entire body.
Kent—Julie—arched off the lounge chair, relishing in the newfound closeness of her own skin against itself. Her body, his body now, was a treasure trove of feeling. Guilt was one of them, but Kent discarded it the moment he felt the heat of Julie’s skin.
His new skin.
Kent let his fingers wander, hesitating nowhere, exploring each inch of Julie’s body with an urgency that was all his own. His hands moved from her breasts to her stomach, reveling in the tautness of it, the smoothness. This was incredible. Nothing like his own body, nothing like the weak and overworked thing he’d left behind to gather dust.
The lemonade was a slick trail that led him further down, but Kent wanted to savour every part of Julie’s body.
He grabbed the abandoned cup and found two melting ice cubes in it. Without thinking, he placed one against the pulse point of her neck and felt the cold travel through him, felt it race along her veins in a shiver that made him gasp. He ran it down to her breasts, tracing the hard ice along the soft skin, watching as it left a shiny trail in its wake.
He groaned with pleasure as heat met chill, as her body—his body—reacted to every small sensation.
Kent teased the ice around Julie’s nipples, feeling it melt fast against her warmth, feeling the slickness of water and lemonade mix on her skin. This was too good. Too intense. He pressed harder, drawing circles until nothing but a wet pool remained. Then he took the second ice cube and slid it down her stomach, felt it slip over Julie’s navel, felt it dip lower. He shivered with raw want, with a hunger that was all his own.
Her body was so needy.
Kent couldn’t get enough of her breasts, wanted to hold them, squeeze them, lose himself in the swell and the softness. He ran his hands over her glistening skin, slick and sweet. He rolled Julie’s nipples between her fingers again, felt a tight heat coil at her center, felt the pleasure spread. He was giddy, greedy, and relentless.
Another pinch, another nipple. Kent felt harden beneath his touch—her touch—their touch. He groaned at the intensity of it, the foreignness of it. His fingers were relentless, trailing over Julie’s breasts, thumbs teasing every part of her perky pink nipples. They were like something he'd never felt, like she'd never let him feel. Moans pulled from somewhere within, or perhaps somewhere very far beyond him, mingled with the summer air.
His arousal grew, a heaviness that pulled in his stomach, one that wasn’t accompanied by the swelling of a cock—no. This was all heat and wetness. He could feel the warmth of it spreading, the want of it filling him, and he was unstoppable now, a force with no fear.
He couldn’t resist. Kent settled back against the lounge chair, really made himself comfortable, and let Julie’s fingers trail along her sides. His fingers hooked Julie’s bikini bottom strings, tugging it up higher, so high the fabric pulled tight through her legs, through pussy lips. Her wetness was slick against the bikini bottom, and he moaned, feeling the pressure, the friction of it.
“Holy shit,” he murmured, looking down at how the fabric tucked snug against Julie’s body, feeling the way her pussy responded to the tightness. It had him biting Julie’s lips, moaning softly.
Kent let the strings snap back, rolled his hips against the chair, felt every bit of Julie’s body respond with a raw hunger that was all his own. Then, he loosened one side, then the other, freeing the bikini bottom from her hips and sliding it slowly down. He watched it peel off with a slow stickiness, felt every inch of the cool air as it hit her bare skin, hit her exposed pussy. It left her bare and open to the world. Open to him.
Kent loved every second of it—he wanted more.
He let his hands roam, feeling the soft curve of Julie’s thighs, feeling their warmth, their strength, the way they flexed and tensed as he touched her.
The lemonade was everywhere now, a sweet slickness that begged for more attention. He slid his hands between her legs, feeling them part beneath his touch, feeling the wetness there—a different kind of wetness, one that made him ache, one that made his gasp.
Julie’s pussy.
It was soft, wet. So much wetter than any part of him used to be.
His fingers traced over the smooth skin of Julie’s waxed mound, and Kent knew he was lost to it. He spread her lips with Julie’s fingers, found wetness there, and the heat. It was incredible.
His fingers were sure of themselves, even if the feelings they caused were not. He couldn’t handle it as curiosity fuelled every actions—Kent traced the outer vaginal folds of Julie’s pussy, toying with the heat that roared inside him, that wanted him to dip his fingers in, to move faster, to make Julie come. He rubbed her clit in circles he could feel all the way through himself, all the way up to his nipples, all the way back down. He was breathing hard now, fast and shallow as a dog in heat.
His mind couldn’t handle it, but her body could. His body could. Kent’s fingers massaged her clit in slow, maddening circles, building the intensity of it, building the pressure. He could feel her start to float away from herself, from everything, and Kent whimpered as he felt it too.
He pushed two fingers inside her, felt the wetness close around them. It was tight and hot and nothing like what he’d imagined, but better, better than he’d imagined. He moved his fingers in and out, feeling the slickness grow, feeling her body respond to it. His thumb circled her clit, his other hand squeezing her breast—the sounds, they were music to his ears.
Kent pushed her fingers deep again, fucking into her with growing urgency. He was past the point of caring, past the point of restraint. He pumped her pussy, felt her tighten around the fingers, felt her breath catch in her throat as she started to let go, to really let go.
It was intoxicating, with each squelch, each stroke, a musk scent filled the air—a scent that Julie’s and his. He was so wet, so turned on, Kent was losing his mind. He gathered slickness on his fingertips, savoring it as he brought fingers to his mouth. Her lips parted; her tongue tasted it—tasted herself—and Kent shivered at the sensation, at how different it was from anything he'd known.
Kent moaned, Julie’s voice responded, and it was heaven. His fingers moved faster, more desperate. He was so close, so close to everything.
“Fuuuck,” Kent said, felt the pleasure build and coil. His other hand kneaded her breasts while he licked and sucked at his fingers, alternating between the two until both were coated in sweat and juice and the taste of summer freedom.
It was almost more than he could handle.
He pressed fingers against himself again, dipping deeper this time. Dipping farther into her—inside himself—felt the slick heat of her pussy wrap around him, pull him in. His breath came faster now. His hands moved with a mind of their own, slick against her skin, wet against his thighs.
Julie’s breathing was erratic, and Kent stretched out, arm falling behind his head, mouth parting on every moan, every whine. He turned his head, nose brushing against Julie’s armpit; she’d never let anyone near there before—not even herself.
He groaned again.
Kent-as-Julie buried her face in the hollow crook where arm met shoulder; her shoulder; their shoulder; felt another wave of dizziness at how hot and alive she smelled; tasted another drop of sweat as it ran down his cheek; hers; theirs.
He took a deep inhale, sniffing himself—herself—into a frenzy. She smelled of expensive perfume and a raw muskiness that came form sitting under the summer sun—she smelled of sex. It was new, and it was familiar, and it made him bite down on the skin there as his fingers moved faster, as he felt the pressure build and build.
Kent wanted to consume her.
His tongue darted out as his fingers kept moving, faster still, guided by instinct or greed or maybe just teenage hormones run amok. Julie’s skin tasted salty-sweet; her sweat tasted like freedom.
The world narrowed to the space between Julie’s legs, and Kent gave up entirely on restraint. He moved faster now, thrusting with an urgency that left him panting for breath.
Every touch sent shockwaves through him. It was a new kind of heat—a heat so intense it bordered on pain then circled back again. The sun bore down on him, too, like a spotlight as he squirmed and writhed beneath its attention.
It was happening.
He was going to come.
Kent rocked against the chair, against her fingers, against himself. He was so close.
His back arched off the chair as waves crashed over him: tidal waves, rogue waves; hard enough to knock sense loose from his head; hard enough that it didn’t matter when Julie's voice bubbled up inside, “Oh God oh God oh Godddddd…!”
He panted, fingers wet with her juice, body slick with her sweat, his mind blown. Kent lay still when it subsided—limp with satisfaction yet buzzing with energy.
A lazy smile spread across his face—her face as he let the warmth settle in. He was sated but hungry for so much more; dizzy from exertion yet clear-headed for once about what kind of summer awaited him now: One where Marcus didn’t owe him shit anymore.
One where Marcus didn’t owe him shit anymore.
Note: This is a commissioned work that has not been personally written by me. I have been granted permission to distribute and share the story by the original author.
The push mower's dull rattle droned in Kent’s ears, blades whirring through the grass. His body strained beneath the midday sun, and through damp lashes, he caught the blur of a cherry-red convertible roaring down the road—top down, laughter trailing like exhaust.
“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, wiping away another hand of sweat.
The mower sputtered as he yanked it over a thick patch near Julie’s hydrangeas. He imagined Marcus at the wheel, music cranked, their friends crowded in the back seat, already sunburned and salty from the ocean. They wouldn’t miss him today; they probably hadn’t even noticed he wasn’t around these days.
The sun seared, hammering against his back, arms, the nape of his neck where his hair stuck and tangled. Kent tried not to groan, but it was getting harder not to resent the injustice of it all. He trudged along, kicking dust into the air, each pass of the mower a reminder of how thoroughly he'd been screwed.
Two weeks ago, he’d been carefree, tossing a ball back and forth with Marcus in his front yard. It had all gone wrong so fast: Marcus’ wild throw, laughing at Kent’s half-hearted protest, goading him to catch it. Kent squinted against the sky; his hand fumbled the air. The dull clang was the sound of his afternoon crashing against Julie’s car, leaving a perfect circle of incrimination in the glossy finish.
They'd both stared—Marcus with lips curled around the brink of a "whoops," and Kent with his gut unraveling through his shirt.
Marcus caught his eye and smiled like he’d planned the whole thing. "No one saw. Chill, man!" Kent opened his mouth, closed it, hoped it wasn’t as big a deal as he feared.
It was.
The door slammed with the sharp report of impending disaster, and there was Julie in full fury, an avenging angel with a tan. "Which one of you incompetent brats—" She halted, eyes narrowing at the guilty-looking crease on her convertible’s door. Her voice fell, low and venomous. "—thinks this is funny?"
Kent swallowed. He hated the dryness in his mouth, the stickiness on his palms. He hated the dent in the car, hated Marcus's grin, and hated even more how it slid away into something else. Something innocent, friendly. "Hey, Ms. Bentley. We were just leaving a note."
She crossed the lawn with the gait of someone used to having her way, every step as dangerous as an exclamation mark. "Try again, boys."
"We were—"
"He threw it," Kent interrupted. "It got away from him. We’ll get it fixed."
"Kent..." Marcus raised his eyebrows, a betrayed chorus of one.
"You’re damn right you’ll get it fixed." Julie’s attention speared Kent and held. He could feel Marcus shifting, inching toward the door. "And you’ll work off every cent. Both of you."
The pause stretched longer than the afternoon sun. "I guess I can help," Marcus finally said, with the agonized reluctance of a guy donating a kidney. "If I don’t work weekends, and if Mom doesn’t ground me again—"
"Save it," Kent muttered, already caught, already sentenced. He’d seen this play out before. "I’ll take care of it."
Marcus’s hand clamped on his shoulder with all the sincerity of a condolence card bought half-price. "Thanks, bro. I’ll owe you."
"I know you will," Kent had replied, staring past Julie's gloating smile to where Marcus, framed by sunlight and betrayal, had slouched away.
Back in the present, the sun hadn’t moved. Kent kicked the mower into a new row, ignoring how his arms shook from the effort, ignoring how his thoughts spun through pointless what-ifs. He ducked his head, let the work and heat crush him down until he was too small to bother with.
The next pass went easier. Resignation did that—took the sting out of unfairness like Novocain. Kent mowed numbly, lines and rows blurring into one another until the grass lay behind him.
Two more weeks of this? A lifetime? Might as well. Julie was a woman who knew how to wield silence as well as threats. Not for the first time, Kent wondered why Marcus ever threw the damn ball.
He finished, choked the mower dead, wiped sweat from his eyes. His skin felt crispy and tight. All he needed was a dive, no a dip—of his toe into the pool. That would fix it all.
"Is this a joke to you?" Julie's voice, another thing that refused to wilt in the heat.
Kent was shaken back to the present, and caught in the scent of chlorine and coconut oil threading through the afternoon air. He was standing on the edge of the water as Julie stretched relaxingly, every move as intentional as the flick of her gaze.
Her bikini clung like sweat, and Kent's eyes traced its path against his will.
"This isn't acceptable," she said. "Again."
He wanted to disappear into the chlorinated depths, but she was already lounging back, already dismissing him from her thoughts as she dangled new chores between them like a cat with an injured mouse.
"A kid your age shouldn’t have such a hard time keeping up." Julie's eyes glinted like a promise he wasn't going to get. Kent swallowed a retort, tasted salt on his upper lip instead. She knew the effect she had, both in giving orders and ignoring them. "My daughter could do better."
"I doubt that." The words slipped out with a touch more venom than he'd meant.
Kent turned away, wanting to muffle the clink of ice against her glass with his own hands around her throat. Or maybe his own hands around his own throat. He couldn’t decide.
"I don't need attitude. I need that lawn mowed right."
It was a subtle dance of dominance. One she performed like a pro, even reclining. Julie's skin shone like polished bronze under the sun. The same sun had Kent looking like a washed-up sweat rag by comparison. A rag that hadn't worked off his debt, yet.
Julie glanced back at the pool, effectively tossing him from her thoughts, while he stood dumbly in the tangle of lust, obligation, and a boy’s last ounce of pride.
"You want me to go over it again?" His voice cracked—broke around the words.
Her chin tilted up, uninterested. "If it’s not perfect, you’ll keep doing it until it is. Start with the hedges. I expect more from you."
Kent shuffled away, back toward the toolshed.
Home. Kent made his way home that night, in a huff. The familiar house sat quiet and useless, just like his last three paychecks.
Mom greeted him as he trudged through the kitchen door, hand resting on his shoulder—too gentle to be real sympathy. Dad folded a corner of the paper down, equally gentle. "Get it all finished up?"
Kent slumped into the chair across from them, felt himself sink. "Not quite. She keeps adding stuff—"
Mom shook her head. "She wouldn’t do that if you did it right the first time, honey."
"I did do it right! She’s just—" Beautiful, unreasonable, half-naked, impossible. The words tangled up in each other, fell into a frustrated heap at his feet. "—Julie. I’ll never get it done."
Dad was halfway through a reply when Kent cut in. "Can you at least admit this is bullshit?"
"Language, Kent." Mom’s voice held the same note Julie’s did. "You know why you have to finish. We’ve been over this. A hundred times."
"A thousand," Kent grumbled, feeling very young and very old at once.
"A hundred," Dad agreed, unfolding another section of newspaper.
It wasn’t what Kent wanted, but it was more than he'd get from Julie. "She says it’ll take weeks."
"Not if you stick with it," Mom said.
That sounded suspiciously like something he told himself when he woke up to do it all over again.
"I’m not being unreasonable. Marcus should—"
Dad’s look cut him off. "Marcus should listen to his mother and be more like you. Get your things done instead of complaining. It’ll build character, son."
Kent braced against the edges of their insistence, the too-smooth conviction he felt slipping past him like oil on water. He needed it rougher, sharper, like sandpaper. Instead, they filed him down to nothing, left him to carry the pieces.
"Yeah," he mumbled. "Character."
Kent walked through the inferno to Julie’s again the next morning. The sprinklers had done more to cool the yard than he ever would.
She let him in, and Kent found himself in the toolshed again. He was being dramatic, he knew it, but he saw himself doomed to middle age before he left this hellscape.
That’s why you did it, Marcus. To build character. That’s what Kent wanted to believe.
He hoisted a gas can, hated the way it felt so familiar. "Get it all finished up?" he muttered, mocking more than himself.
At the edge of the yard, Marcus’s words snagged his thoughts. "Thanks, bro. I’ll owe you."
Kent cringed inwardly, the flashback was as unwelcome as Marcus’s easy grin. He wasn’t getting anything out of this. The mower whirred to life again, drowning out the last bit of sanity Kent had.
Task 2: Move an ungodly amount of boxes.
Julie watched from the side of the pool again, an ice cube balanced between her lips, as Kent hauled a heavy box across the patio. His steps were an awkward choreography of anger and heat exhaustion. She stretched a leg, attention already back on her phone. "I’m not running a charity, Kent. I expect all of those moved by the end of the day."
His body screamed for rest, but he plowed forward. If she wanted to break him, it would take more than a few shopping sprees and heat waves to do it.
"Commitment, Kent. I need to see you’re committed to paying what you owe," Julie said. She reached lazily for a magazine. Kent nearly buckled under the weight. The sprinklers sputtered on, mocking him. His arms throbbed, and the boxes felt heavier with every step.
Kent glared back at the pool. "Is this all of them?"
Julie sipped her drink, feigning deep consideration. "We'll see, won’t we?"
The heat was a solid thing. He dragged himself back for the next load, ignored the stubborn itch of humiliation as he passed her sun chair. Julie's skin was already bronzed, glowing against the red of her bikini like Christmas in July. She wasn't even watching. Her complete lack of attention chafed worse than his sticky shirt. Maybe this wasn’t better than the lawn.
Kent shook his head and moved another box.
Julie seemed perfectly at ease, flipping the pages without even glancing at him. In turn, each glance he stole fueled the resentment he was supposed to be working off. No, it grew. Larger than him, larger than life.
Kent sighed. Three trips later and Kent's shoulders felt like they were shredding. Julie's calm was like ice in his throat, grating.
She made a bored gesture in his direction.
"I’m going, I’m going," he muttered, head lowered. Prisoner.
"I almost believe you, dear."
Kent rubbed his shoulder, wished he could ignore it as easily as she ignored him. He wanted to break something, maybe her resolve. Maybe his own.
Halfway through the stack, the boxes became heavier. How? Kent’s eyes bulged as her struggled to keep a box in his arms, needing to use his legs to stabilise it.
"Careful," she called without looking up, her foot dangling in the pool. The water, like the entire house, was a universe away. His jaw tightened like the strings of a cheap violin. His actions were almost noble if nobility felt like dirt, grit, and sarcasm. Maybe he wouldn’t get what he wanted—freedom, the beach, even Julie’s attention—but he could work until nothing mattered.
Task 3: Clean the attic.
Kent sneezed.
The attic smelled like dead things, old things, dust and age and memories. Light filtered through a single window, and dust motes mocked him as they danced around. He waved a hand in front of his face, spitting out dirt and frustration in equal measure.
Julie’s voice floated up the stairs, a siren call to hell. "Get it all done, Kent."
He choked on a reply and another sneeze. This was the worst. His arms screamed for relief, but he grabbed a broom instead. Webs clung to every part of the room, and Kent wondered if a spider bit him what kind of superpowers he’d get. Maybe he’d turn into a kid who had some actual free time.
Kent swept the floor with the same dedication that had gotten him here in the first place. He imagined Marcus at the beach, surrounded by friends and bikinis that weren’t his boss’s. The broom handle dug into his blistered palms, and he pushed harder, until the pile of dust and dirt became a small mountain of failure.
He coughed, doubled over. This was pointless. He rubbed his face with a dirty shirt sleeve, smeared the mess across his cheek. A week ago he might have cared.
The broom thudded against the wall. He leaned against it, feeling the sting of dust and sweat in his eyes. It was a lost cause. The whole thing.
Something caught his eye. A figure, cloaked under a dusty wool blanket. He reached for it, more curious than he should have been, and pulled the fabric away.
A doll? An idol?
Kent almost laughed at the absurdity. An old-fashioned thing, with yellowing lace and painted eyes that stared past him like Julie did. He wiped his hands on his shirt, reached for it, fingers closing around the figure. Maybe it—
One touch, and it was the last contact he had, the last time he felt a thing.
One step, and he felt himself shift and separate, pulling apart like a zipper splitting seams that held his mind and body tight. There was a ripping sensation, a fraying sensation, and then a lightness so complete Kent thought he might disappear entirely.
“What the hell is this?!” he screamed in his mind.
Kent looked down at his hands, saw them glowing a pale blue that didn’t hide what was behind them. See-through? Transparent? He was floating-feather light, above the attic floor. Above the mess he’d made of it, above his own body, which was slumped where he’d left it.
His first thought was to panic. His second thought was that he already had. He drifted forward, then back. What just happened?
Was he dead?
No, that wasn’t right. Dead people didn’t get mad, and Kent was mad as hell. He was anything but dead.
He was alive, more alive than he ever felt. Alive, free of the heat and the drudgery and the persistent ache of muscle and bone. Alive, free, and…shimmering?
Kent felt the spark of something he hadn’t felt in weeks. Possibility.
His spirit stretched into the attic's corners, testing his new reach, dancing through the crowded loft. He shot past his old body, tempted to wave. He'd give it up again without a second thought. Let Julie wonder what magic swapped out her slave, wonder what left her so completely she couldn’t yell at it.
Kent skipped through the abandoned boxes, gliding over ancient bags, years of forgotten excess. One flick of his ghostly finger set the attic in motion, objects swaying like they finally believed in ghosts.
They had to believe. Kent wasn't even trying, not yet. He might have spent the entire day haunting her past, finding new things to set loose.
He stuck his head through the attic wall, through the attic floor, and stared at the room below. It was upside down, or maybe he was? Not that it mattered when he could fly—when he could phase. He could phase through walls. Kent laughed at the brilliance of it, the sheer giddiness of going where no one wanted him. He stretched his spirit like a growing boy, like a growing thought, and shot down into Julie’s world.
He peeked out through the window, head first of course. Then his shoulders followed, then his legs. Next thing, Kent was soaring over the manicured lawn that he manicured. He stopped short of her lawn chair, hovering in the blistering summer heat. He felt none of it. Nice!
The chair, the yard, the entire universe looked different when it wasn't pushing him around. A magazine perched on the small table next to her. She relaxed, as fully and completely as if he'd never existed.
Kent watched, waiting to see if she'd notice the power shift. Notice him. It was all he could do not to burst with thrill of possibilities.
But nothing happened. No matter how long he stared at her, she barely felt his eyes on her.
Then he nudged it, pushing at the magazine with a single finger. It slipped from the table, fluttering down onto the grass.
She glanced at it, not even removing her sunglasses. "Wind’s picking up," she mumbled, and leaned back into her own self-absorption.
"Okay," he thought to himself. "If you want to play, let’s play."
Kent pulled at the towel that draped her sun chair. It slipped to the ground with a thud. This time, Julie's eyes popped open. She stared around the yard like she'd just seen him flung from the roof, like her furniture flung itself from the roof.
Her eyes were slits, suspicious, curious, but not afraid. "Ha ha," Kent heard her say. Fine.
He tugged next at the sunscreen, nudging it off her lap, and watching it roll into the water. Julie sat up. Her brow furrowed, and after a long second she slowly slid the sunglasses down her nose. Kent almost laughed. She was so used to getting her way, she couldn't comprehend the universe acting out.
“It’s not funny,” she shouted at cosmic injustice, and at Kent. “Who’s there?”
Kent hovered above her, a cheeky grin spread across his face. The rules had changed—she was playing the game now, and he was the game master. Kent shoved at the drink in her hand, watched as it splashed cold ice, and lemonade on her sun-warmed skin. Julie yelped, surprised. An ice cube melted between her fingers, over her navel, all along the exact same path Kent’s thoughts wanted to travel.
This time, she stood.
However, it was the wrong move.
Kent yanked at the string on her bikini, wild and reckless. The top slipped loose, and before he could whoop with victory, the world stopped.
It happened again.
The same shifting, the same separation. Julie’s spirit rose out of her body like steam from a kettle. She stared down at herself, and then right through him. Kent froze. Her spirit paused, hovered.
Then Kent did what he did best.
He panicked.
How to fix this? How to fix this? How to not get caught?
Kent grabbed at Julie’s astral form, desperate to reverse what he’d done. Instead, it became even worse. When he came to his sense again, his astral form was anew—only it wasn’t. He was inside Julie’s spirit, possessing her essence.
“What the hell is this?!” he screamed again. This time, out loud.
Kent looked down at himself, but all he saw was Julie’s astral body. Her real one took that very moment to slump sideways, falling on the lawn chair with all the grace of a corpse.
A beautiful, half-naked, very vulnerable corpse.
Kent—Julie—stood in shock, mind racing through the possibilities. He could leave her like this. She’d never know. But then another thought crashed over him, stronger than the first: If he didn’t get caught, he’d never get the chance again.
He dove for Julie’s body, not feeling the grass beneath his feet or the sun on his bare shoulders, feeling only the thrill of new freedom around him. It was a game, and he was winning. Kent entered her body through her astral form, through the space where she had left herself open to him.
He settled in.
Kent sat up, eyes going wide when he moved Julie’s body with his own will. The bikini top hung loose, her skin tingled from the lemonade, and he felt everything. Was everything. He was inside her, but more than that—he was her.
Kent—Julie—drew a breath and another, chest rising and falling in thrilling confirmation of what he’d done. This was crazy.
He looked down at himself, taking in the naked curve of Julie’s breasts, feeling the rich sensation of being in her skin—the weight of her breast sat on her chest, the sway of her streaky blonde hair tickling her back, the air on her damp stomach. He had never felt so much, so intensely, and it was all his.
He moved his hand, watched her manicured fingers respond, marveled at how it felt to have nails like these. The sensations were overwhelming, a tidal wave of newness crashing through him, and he was at the center of it all.
Kent rose from the lounge chair, feeling Julie’s legs unfurl beneath him. Her legs. His legs. He took a step and stumbled slightly—her body was so different from his own—but he laughed, a melodic sound that he’s only ever heard from an outsider’s perspective. Now, it was all around him.
He—Julie—stretched, arching her back, reveling in the supple bend of her spine. He swayed from side to side, his eyes drawn to her breasts as they moved with him, to the way her stomach stretched and flattened under her skin. He was gleeful, reckless, and ready to explore.
Kent hopped in place, feeling the heaviness of having breasts that large, of having them jiggle and shift with Julie’s every motion. He hugged her arms around herself, squeezing tight, feeling the way her soft skin gave under her own touch.
“My God,” he said under his breath. He reached up and cupped Julie’s breasts, felt the fullness of them in his new hands. This was better than he could have imagined. “The things I could do…”
A wicked grin spread across his face, a thought forming in his mind that he couldn’t let go of even if he tried. The lemonade was drying on his—her—skin, a sticky sweetness that called out to him. He trailed a finger across Julie’s stomach, felt the tacky residue there. He brought the finger to his mouth, tasted it, and shivered at the sensation. Her body was alive with feeling, with want—Kent’s wants.
“What a silly little blonde I am,” he said, mocking Julie with her own voice. “To spill lemonade all over my tits.”
Kent laughed, delighted with how it felt to be Julie, with how it felt to be free. He let her arms fall to her sides, let them hang loose as he enjoyed the sensation of heaviness on her chest, of the tightness in her bikini top still tied around his waist, and then with no warning at all, he tore it off.
He threw the top in an exaggerated motion that reminded him of Julie, letting it flop somewhere on the grass. With a satisfied sigh, he lay back down on the lounge chair, eager to savor it all. The sun was hot, and it warmed her skin, heating up the stickiness that covered him.
“Kent!” he called, dragging out the syllables of his own name. “The attic better be spotless. Ah, ah,” he tutted in Julie’s voice, as if he were really talking to himself. “I don’t need attitude. I need the attic clean, and I need it now!”
He laughed again, louder this time, and watched the way Julie’s breasts shook with it. He cupped them again, feeling the weight of them, the heat of them under his hands. He kneaded them, felt her nipples harden under his palms. “Yes please.”
The way she responded was electric, was addictive. He circled her nipples with her fingers, feeling the give and pull of her flesh under his touch. He pinched them, tugged at them, and gasped as the sensation rippled through her entire body.
Kent—Julie—arched off the lounge chair, relishing in the newfound closeness of her own skin against itself. Her body, his body now, was a treasure trove of feeling. Guilt was one of them, but Kent discarded it the moment he felt the heat of Julie’s skin.
His new skin.
Kent let his fingers wander, hesitating nowhere, exploring each inch of Julie’s body with an urgency that was all his own. His hands moved from her breasts to her stomach, reveling in the tautness of it, the smoothness. This was incredible. Nothing like his own body, nothing like the weak and overworked thing he’d left behind to gather dust.
The lemonade was a slick trail that led him further down, but Kent wanted to savour every part of Julie’s body.
He grabbed the abandoned cup and found two melting ice cubes in it. Without thinking, he placed one against the pulse point of her neck and felt the cold travel through him, felt it race along her veins in a shiver that made him gasp. He ran it down to her breasts, tracing the hard ice along the soft skin, watching as it left a shiny trail in its wake.
He groaned with pleasure as heat met chill, as her body—his body—reacted to every small sensation.
Kent teased the ice around Julie’s nipples, feeling it melt fast against her warmth, feeling the slickness of water and lemonade mix on her skin. This was too good. Too intense. He pressed harder, drawing circles until nothing but a wet pool remained. Then he took the second ice cube and slid it down her stomach, felt it slip over Julie’s navel, felt it dip lower. He shivered with raw want, with a hunger that was all his own.
Her body was so needy.
Kent couldn’t get enough of her breasts, wanted to hold them, squeeze them, lose himself in the swell and the softness. He ran his hands over her glistening skin, slick and sweet. He rolled Julie’s nipples between her fingers again, felt a tight heat coil at her center, felt the pleasure spread. He was giddy, greedy, and relentless.
Another pinch, another nipple. Kent felt harden beneath his touch—her touch—their touch. He groaned at the intensity of it, the foreignness of it. His fingers were relentless, trailing over Julie’s breasts, thumbs teasing every part of her perky pink nipples. They were like something he'd never felt, like she'd never let him feel. Moans pulled from somewhere within, or perhaps somewhere very far beyond him, mingled with the summer air.
His arousal grew, a heaviness that pulled in his stomach, one that wasn’t accompanied by the swelling of a cock—no. This was all heat and wetness. He could feel the warmth of it spreading, the want of it filling him, and he was unstoppable now, a force with no fear.
He couldn’t resist. Kent settled back against the lounge chair, really made himself comfortable, and let Julie’s fingers trail along her sides. His fingers hooked Julie’s bikini bottom strings, tugging it up higher, so high the fabric pulled tight through her legs, through pussy lips. Her wetness was slick against the bikini bottom, and he moaned, feeling the pressure, the friction of it.
“Holy shit,” he murmured, looking down at how the fabric tucked snug against Julie’s body, feeling the way her pussy responded to the tightness. It had him biting Julie’s lips, moaning softly.
Kent let the strings snap back, rolled his hips against the chair, felt every bit of Julie’s body respond with a raw hunger that was all his own. Then, he loosened one side, then the other, freeing the bikini bottom from her hips and sliding it slowly down. He watched it peel off with a slow stickiness, felt every inch of the cool air as it hit her bare skin, hit her exposed pussy. It left her bare and open to the world. Open to him.
Kent loved every second of it—he wanted more.
He let his hands roam, feeling the soft curve of Julie’s thighs, feeling their warmth, their strength, the way they flexed and tensed as he touched her.
The lemonade was everywhere now, a sweet slickness that begged for more attention. He slid his hands between her legs, feeling them part beneath his touch, feeling the wetness there—a different kind of wetness, one that made him ache, one that made his gasp.
Julie’s pussy.
It was soft, wet. So much wetter than any part of him used to be.
His fingers traced over the smooth skin of Julie’s waxed mound, and Kent knew he was lost to it. He spread her lips with Julie’s fingers, found wetness there, and the heat. It was incredible.
His fingers were sure of themselves, even if the feelings they caused were not. He couldn’t handle it as curiosity fuelled every actions—Kent traced the outer vaginal folds of Julie’s pussy, toying with the heat that roared inside him, that wanted him to dip his fingers in, to move faster, to make Julie come. He rubbed her clit in circles he could feel all the way through himself, all the way up to his nipples, all the way back down. He was breathing hard now, fast and shallow as a dog in heat.
His mind couldn’t handle it, but her body could. His body could. Kent’s fingers massaged her clit in slow, maddening circles, building the intensity of it, building the pressure. He could feel her start to float away from herself, from everything, and Kent whimpered as he felt it too.
He pushed two fingers inside her, felt the wetness close around them. It was tight and hot and nothing like what he’d imagined, but better, better than he’d imagined. He moved his fingers in and out, feeling the slickness grow, feeling her body respond to it. His thumb circled her clit, his other hand squeezing her breast—the sounds, they were music to his ears.
Kent pushed her fingers deep again, fucking into her with growing urgency. He was past the point of caring, past the point of restraint. He pumped her pussy, felt her tighten around the fingers, felt her breath catch in her throat as she started to let go, to really let go.
It was intoxicating, with each squelch, each stroke, a musk scent filled the air—a scent that Julie’s and his. He was so wet, so turned on, Kent was losing his mind. He gathered slickness on his fingertips, savoring it as he brought fingers to his mouth. Her lips parted; her tongue tasted it—tasted herself—and Kent shivered at the sensation, at how different it was from anything he'd known.
Kent moaned, Julie’s voice responded, and it was heaven. His fingers moved faster, more desperate. He was so close, so close to everything.
“Fuuuck,” Kent said, felt the pleasure build and coil. His other hand kneaded her breasts while he licked and sucked at his fingers, alternating between the two until both were coated in sweat and juice and the taste of summer freedom.
It was almost more than he could handle.
He pressed fingers against himself again, dipping deeper this time. Dipping farther into her—inside himself—felt the slick heat of her pussy wrap around him, pull him in. His breath came faster now. His hands moved with a mind of their own, slick against her skin, wet against his thighs.
Julie’s breathing was erratic, and Kent stretched out, arm falling behind his head, mouth parting on every moan, every whine. He turned his head, nose brushing against Julie’s armpit; she’d never let anyone near there before—not even herself.
He groaned again.
Kent-as-Julie buried her face in the hollow crook where arm met shoulder; her shoulder; their shoulder; felt another wave of dizziness at how hot and alive she smelled; tasted another drop of sweat as it ran down his cheek; hers; theirs.
He took a deep inhale, sniffing himself—herself—into a frenzy. She smelled of expensive perfume and a raw muskiness that came form sitting under the summer sun—she smelled of sex. It was new, and it was familiar, and it made him bite down on the skin there as his fingers moved faster, as he felt the pressure build and build.
Kent wanted to consume her.
His tongue darted out as his fingers kept moving, faster still, guided by instinct or greed or maybe just teenage hormones run amok. Julie’s skin tasted salty-sweet; her sweat tasted like freedom.
The world narrowed to the space between Julie’s legs, and Kent gave up entirely on restraint. He moved faster now, thrusting with an urgency that left him panting for breath.
Every touch sent shockwaves through him. It was a new kind of heat—a heat so intense it bordered on pain then circled back again. The sun bore down on him, too, like a spotlight as he squirmed and writhed beneath its attention.
It was happening.
He was going to come.
Kent rocked against the chair, against her fingers, against himself. He was so close.
His back arched off the chair as waves crashed over him: tidal waves, rogue waves; hard enough to knock sense loose from his head; hard enough that it didn’t matter when Julie's voice bubbled up inside, “Oh God oh God oh Godddddd…!”
He panted, fingers wet with her juice, body slick with her sweat, his mind blown. Kent lay still when it subsided—limp with satisfaction yet buzzing with energy.
A lazy smile spread across his face—her face as he let the warmth settle in. He was sated but hungry for so much more; dizzy from exertion yet clear-headed for once about what kind of summer awaited him now: One where Marcus didn’t owe him shit anymore.
One where Marcus didn’t owe him shit anymore.
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Welcome to America's Sexiest Gameshow! Where your ass and more can win cash as long as you're willing! We got three amazing contestants here to win prizes. So, let's see what challenges we can put them through, what truths they will reveal, and how many times we can make the audience cum! This... is Truth! Dare! And Derriere!
“Hello everyone and welcome back to another exciting episode of…Say it with me folks!” The host leaned in closer towards the audience.
“Truth! Dare! And Derriere!!” The audience roared into a cheer as they clapped for the start of the show.
“That’s right. This is Truth, Dare, and Derriere, the only game show where we’re legally allowed to show your ass and more on broadcast television!” There were quite a few cheers and whistles from the audience before the host gestured for everyone to settle down. “As usual, I’m your host, Atticus Ghul.”
Atticus had been the host of Truth, Dare, and Derriere for the past seven years, having taken over after his father, Colbert, retired. Standing at a respectable 6’ 2”, Atticus had the personality, charm, and body to follow in his father’s footsteps. A freshly groomed beard, black hair that transitioned into silver curls, and a tan skin tone; it was no wonder that he quickly made headlines. His choices for Derriere and his charm dazzled audiences and pulled in crowds like no other, even succeeding his father.
Atticus cleared his throat and adjusted the tie on his suit before continuing on. “We searched the streets to find our set of contestants. So, let’s meet them, shall we?”
He gestured to his left where there was a set of three stands, each of which were where the contestants would stand behind. Behind those stands were a set of large blue curtains with golden ornate patterns on them. A set of spotlights danced around before settling in the middle of the curtains.
“Introducing our first contestant! She’s a soccer mom from Boston with two kids fresh off to college! Everyone, give it up for Siobhan Newchester!”
Coming out of the curtains was a 5’ 6” blonde haired woman, about in her mid-forties, with D cups that had a hefty bounce to them. She had fair skin with freckles to match her complexion. She was wearing a sleek pair of gray sweatpants that hugged her round ass, paired with a white blouse that showed off her curves. Siobhan practically danced her way onto the stage as the crowd cheered for her. She blew kisses to the audience and little winks before making her way to her designated spot on the stage.
“Isn’t she just lovely folks?” Atticus tapped a set of cards onto his desk and pointed to the curtain. “Our next contestant is working for his Business degree at Spaton University! Everyone, give it up for Charlie Tanner!”
Next out of the curtains was a young man, easily in his early twenties. He had dark skin, clearly from tanning, and brown hair that was combed back. He strutted out onto the stage, winking and pointing finger guns at the audience. His shirt was a tank top that read “FRAT LIFE” on it and his shorts barely came down to the middle of his thighs. Charlie walked over to Siobhan, pulled down his sunglasses and looked at her.
“Hey there, foxy mama. What are you doing later? Answer. Could be me.” Charlie flashed a cheesy grin.
“Hey!” Atticus said, snapping his fingers. “Save it for the game.”
Charlie shrugged and walked over to his stand, but not before holding his hand up to Siobhan and gestured “Call me,” to which Siobhan blushed a little.
“Alright, and our final contestant tonight is a bartender at Penny’s Pub in Vegas! Give it up for Raddia Van Pelt!”
The final contestant out of the curtains was a dark-skinned woman; her black hair half-shaved on the left and down to about her neck. She had a confident swagger to her, unlike the cocky attitude of Charlie. She wore a red T-shirt that had a deep V-neck to it, which showed off her C cups, along with a deeper red jacket. Her jeans hugged against her legs, showing off her toned thighs as she walked to her place at the stand.
“Welcome contestants! We’re so glad to have you all here!” Atticus said as he quieted down the crowd.
“So honored to be here!” Siobhan said as she smiled to the cameras.
“I still can’t believe I got chosen,” Raddia said as she turned to the audience and then to Attticus.
“Well, you better believe it. You’re here and it’s all real. Both the set and the bodies you’re about to see!” Atticus said, gesturing to the cameras.
“YEAH!” Charlie said as he hooted. “Gonna get to see some fresh tail tonight!”
“Well you better be careful,” Atticus said, “That tail we see tonight might be yours.”
“Bring it on,” Charlie said, “I ain’t afraid of any dares! I’ve seen every episode!”
“Pfft, you watch this show on your own?” Raddia said, smirking.
“Nah bro, I watch this with the boys!” Charlie said, pointing at the audience. “Shout out to my homies back in Cincinnati! Whoo whoo!”
“You’re all raring to go, so let’s jump right into the rule!” Atticus said as he turned in his chair, gesturing to his right.
Appearing from under a light was a large digital board of 84 squares, arranged in a 7 by 12 grid. On the left were player icons, representing the three contestants. The squares were labeled 1-84 from left to right and top to bottom. Each of them were one of five colors: green, blue, yellow, red, and rainbow. On the right side was a checkered banner labeled “BONUS!”
“For those who are coming back for another episode, welcome back,” Atticus said, looking at the cameras. “For those of you who are just tuning in for the first time and wondering ‘what the hell is this show and can they really show this much public nudity on live TV?’ The answer is that this is Truth, Dare, and Derriere. And thanks to a legal loophole, if you think we’ve shown you anything naughty, you haven’t seen anything yet.
“Here’s how the game works. Contestants, you will take turns moving across the board, one square at a time, in whatever path that you choose. When you get to a square, you will decide either Truth or Dare. Answer the question truthfully or do the dare, you get the square and some cash! Fail to do the dare or if our special magic lie detector machine catches you lying, you get punished! Players can move in any direction across the board and can move back onto squares they have already captured. Moving onto a square another player has captured results in you doing the dare that was on that square.
“Every square has a color. Green squares are the easiest challenges and worth the least amount. Blue ones are harder but worth more. Yellow squares are worth a lot more, but also much harder. Red ones are the hardest challenges and questions, but they are also worth the most. Rainbow ones are where your fellow contestants will challenge you to something.
“The first player to reach the other side of the board ends the game and moves onto the bonus round. When that happens, everyone gets the cash they’ve earned and the winner gets a chance to win some extra cash. Everyone got it?”
The three contestants nodded their heads.
“Excellent! Then, let’s play…”
“Truth! Dare! And Derriere!” The audience cheered.
“Now, first up is going to be Siobhan,” Atticus said as he gestured to the board. The first column of squares consisted of 3 green squares, 2 blue squares, 1 yellow, and 1 red. “Pick whichever square you want.”
Siobhan looked at the different options and pondered them. “Well, let’s start out a little slow. I’ll take Green Number 1, Atticus.” With that, her player icon moved to the Green 1 square.
“Alright, now, Siobhan, what will it be? Truth or Dare?” Atticus said as he flipped through his cards to find the associated question and dare for that square.
“I’ll go with a truth,” Siobhan said as the crowd clapped for her choice.
“Fantastic!” Atticus said as he leaned over his desk. “So, Siobhan, for $20, tell us, who was your first sexual encounter with?”
“Oh gosh,” Siobhan said with a chuckle. “We’re already starting off like this, are we?”
“Pfft, that’s so tame!” Charlie said.
“Oh hush you,” Siobhan said as she stuck her tongue out at Charlie before turning back over to Atticus. “Well, my first sexual encounter was my second ex’s 18th birthday party. He wanted me to give him a blowjob for a gift, so I gave him one.”
“Come on!” Charlie groaned. “Give us more details than that!”
“Details! Details! Details!” the audience cheered.
“Well, you heard them,” Atticus said as he gestured for the audience to quiet down. “Siobhan, if you would please, for an extra $10, give us a more vivid description.”
“Oh, alright,” Siobhan said, twirling her hair. “So, it was the afternoon of his 18th birthday party. At the time, I was dating Brett, the hottest guy from the drama club. He was having the party at his parent’s house, so there were a bunch of people we knew from school, as well as a few of his family members.
“I was wearing a very sexy blue dress that I only brought out for special occasions, and my boyfriend at the time’s birthday seemed like a good one. We were mostly in the backyard, people mingling about and everything. There was a glorious cake that his mother had baked while his father was manning the grill.
“Brett came over to me at some point during the party and whispered into my ear, ‘I wanna show you this awesome gift I got. Come to my bedroom in about half an hour’ At the time, I had no idea what he was talking about. I mean, he loved to collect figurines and such, so I expected that he was gonna show me something like that.
“I went to meet him after excusing myself from a conversation with his aunt to go to the bathroom and headed into his room.
“‘Alright Brett. I’m here. What did you wanna show me?’
“‘Shhh, keep your voice down, Siobhan. And shut the door.’
“I shut the door quickly and walked over to him.
“‘Okay, what’s the awesome gift you got?’
“‘Well, I haven’t gotten it yet.’
“‘Okay. What is it? Is it being delivered?’
“‘Yeah, and it just got here.’
“At that point, he reached down and unzipped his pants, dropping his cock in front of me. I gasped in surprise, but he brushed his hand against my face.
“‘The awesome gift is the one you’re about to give me. A nice wet blowjob.’
“At that point, he used his hand to push me down onto my knees, bringing me face to face with his dick that was getting harder and harder by the moment. I was just in awe, staring at this erect 5 inch cock in front of me. Again, this was, like, the first time that I had ever done anything sexual. Of course I had watched porn, but I had never done anything like that. But, he wanted this as a gift and I wasn’t about to disappoint my boyfriend.
“So, I started by taking it slow. I reached my hand up and gently began to stroke it, feeling his warm shaft in my palm from the base to the tip. At the tip, I stuck out my tongue and slowly swirled it around like I had seen different porn actors do. He let out a gentle moan, so I had a feeling that I was doing something right.
“Of course, I could only tease him like this for so long. He reached back and put his hands on my head, guiding my mouth to slowly start to take in his cock. It was my first time ever tasting someone’s cock, so I was a little surprised at the taste. But, it felt really nice inside my mouth. I bobbed my head up and down on his shaft, using my fingers to make a little O shape to stroke the parts that I couldn’t fit inside.
“He moaned in pleasure, especially loud when I flicked my tongue along his cock, lubing it right up with my spit. I was hungry for it. I wanted more but I didn’t know the best way to do it. And of course, I wanted to give him the best first blowjob. At some point, he stopped letting me move on my own and holding my head in place. He made me drop my fingers and used his hips to thrust in and out of my mouth. I could feel every inch of him inside my mouth, and I couldn’t help but moan in delight.
“‘Take those tits out. I wanna see them bounce as I fuck your face.’
“I did as he requested, dropping down my dress to bring out my tits. Just seeing them made his dick twitch. He stopped moving his hips and instead started moving my head. I’m sure it felt different and even better for him, but I really think he just wanted to see my tits bounce. I tightened up my cheeks against the sides of his cock, loving every moment as it slid along inside. I could feel myself getting wetter and wetter, each thrust sending shivers down my spine as he used me.
“I must have been doing really good because he wasn’t able to last that long. He started moving my head and his hips at the same time, thrusting in as deep as possible into my mouth. I loved just how rough he was with me, and honestly, I wish he had been rougher. I can take it. And he made sure that I could take it all as he gripped my hair tightly. I felt his cock twitch intensely as he came into my mouth. The taste of sperm mixed with my spit for a delightfully salty flavor. Now, I didn’t want to get any on my dress, otherwise everyone would know what we just did. So, I swallowed. Ah, you never forget your first time swallowing cum, and frankly, after that, I was addicted. Once he finished, he pulled out of my mouth and tucked his dick back into his pants, panting heavily. I put my dress back on properly, covering back up my tits.
“‘That… was… fucking amazing. Holy shit are you so good at this, Siobhan.’
“‘Thank you. That was amazing as well. I hope we can do that again soon.’
“And that’s the story of my first sexual encounter,” Siobhan said, blushing red at the fond memories. “God, I’m wet just remembering that. And Brett, if you’re out there, well, I guess your family and friends know now.”
“Now THAT’S details!” Charlie said as he hooted. “I am rock hard after that, baby!”
“As am I,” Atticus said. “That story right there just earned you a solid $30 to start off. Not bad at all.” Siobhan’s score at the front of her stand was updated to show her new winnings. “So, next up is Charlie. Charlie, what are you gonna pick?”
“Oh, if I’m going in, I’m going all in!” Charlie said, giving the air a thrust. “Atticus, I’m taking Red number 49!”
“Whoa! Alright! Starting off swinging out of the gates, are we, Charlie?” Atticus chuckled as he picked up the card for number 49 as Charlie’s player token moved to the space. “Now, Truth or Dare?”
“I ain’t scared of nothing!” Charlie said as he tried to hype up the crowd. “Hit me with a dare!”
“As you wish!” Atticus said as he looked over at Charlie. He patted onto the desk and coming out from behind the curtain was a cart being wheeled out by one of the stage hands. Sitting on the cart was a 10-inch rubber dildo and a gallon jug of lube. All of the contestants' eyes went wide as their minds processed what the challenge was. Raddia could hardly contain her laughter. “Charlie, for $200, I dare you to take this full, 10-inch dildo, up the ass.”
Charlie coughed, just to make sure that he heard Atticus right. “Uh, Atticus, buddy, what’s the punishment if I fail or don’t do it?”
“Oh, you said you’ve seen this show before,” Atticus teased. “You know that we don’t tell you the punishment unless you fail or refuse. So, what will it be? Attempt the dare or take the punishment?”
“Come on bro! You can do it!” a loud voice came from the crowd.
“Oh? And who do we have in the crowd today?” Atticus said.
“That’s my boy Trev! He came to support me!” Charlie said as he hooted back at the crowd, pounding his fist on his chest. “Atticus, I’m doing the dare!”
“Feel free to use as much lube as you need,” Atticus said, watching intently.
The crowd cheered as Charlie walked over to it. Charlie looked at the dildo up and down before pouring half of the lube onto the dildo. He stroked it hard, lubing it right up until his hand was practically sliding right off of it. He took a deep breath as he looked at it.
“Do it for the money, bro,” he said to himself as he dropped his pants and boxers.
“Oh wow,” Siobhan said as she leaned over to get a better look at Charlie’s package, which was at five inches even while flaccid.
“Damn. Frat boy is packing,” Raddia said, leaning forward with a smile on her face.
“Let’s do this!”
Charlie kicked off his pants and put the dildo on the ground. He took the rest of the lube and ran it down his back, rubbing his ass cheeks together to lube up as best as he could. Charlie positioned his ass over the dildo and squatted down until his ass barely touched the dildo’s tip. Charlie took a deep breath and clenched his teeth.
The moment the dildo entered his ass, everyone could hear a loud moan come from him. Slowly, he went further down the dildo. His breathing became heavier and his dick got harder and harder.
“Come on, be a man and take it all!” Raddia shouted, then whistled. “God that’s hot.” She slipped her hand underneath her waistband and began to play with herself.
Charlie was now three inches into the dildo, grunting as he continued to work his way down.
“Don’t clench!” Trev shouted from the audience. “Relax your ass!”
“Bro, I’m trying! It’s like I’m shitting upwards!” Charlie shouted back. He groaned loudly as he went down to five inches, which causes his dick to now be fully hard, standing at a full 7 and a half inches.
“Halfway there!” Atticus said.
“I got this!” Charlie said, more trying to convince himself than anyone else. He slid down further on the dildo, now seven inches. “Fuck dude, it’s so big!”
“That’s what she said!” Raddia said, her hand feverishly working at her crotch.
“I’m just gonna…” Charlie said, as he took a deep breath. “Go for it!” He let his feet go from under him, causing him to take the remaining three inches up into his ass. Charlie groaned loudly, but he stuck his hands into the air. “I did it!” The crowd cheered wildly as Charlie turned to audience, basking in their adoration.
“Well done!” Atticus said, clapping his hands. “Charlie, you just took ten inches and came out of that $200 richer!” He pointed and Charlie’s winnings went up to $200.
Charlie groaned loudly as he lifted himself off the dildo. “Hell yeah dude!” He rubbed his ass, breathing heavily as he went to retrieve his pants.
“And now, we’re onto you, Raddia,” Atticus said as he turned to the board. “Raddia, what are you picking?”
“Let’s see,” Raddia said as she mulled over her options. “I’ll take Blue 61, Atticus.”
“Great choice,” Atticus said as he picked up the card. “Now, truth or dare?”
“I’ll take a dare,” Raddia said with a confident smile.
“Sounds good,” Atticus said as he prepared to read the card. “Raddia, since you seemed to have such a fun time playing with yourself, for $50, I dare you to let a random audience member write on your body.”
“Pfft, is that all?” Raddia said. “I’m taking that dare. Easy money!” She stepped out to the center of the stage. “Go on! I’m your canvas!”
“Look at her, folks! Already ready and raring to go!” Atticus said. “Now, let’s pick a random audience member.” He brought out two jars of ping-pong balls, one set had letters and the other had numbers. He shuffled his hands through them and pulled out a letter and number. “Seat number D13! Come on down!”
“Whoo!” Standing up was a man in a business suit. He stepped his way through the clapping audience and made his way down to the stage. By the time that he came down, Raddia had already stripped down to her underwear.
“Sir, what is your name?” Atticus said.
“Kevin,” the man said. One of the stage hands approached him with an array of colored body-safe markers.
“Great name! Well, Kevin, go right ahead. Write as much as you want,” Atticus said, gesturing to Raddia.
Kevin smiled as he picked up the blue marker. He turned Raddia’s cheeks, writing WH on her right cheeks and RE on her left cheeks so with her mouth, it spelled out WHORE. On her tits, he wrote “Dump your cum here” with arrows between her cleavage in green. On her left arm, he put a tally counter that read “Men serviced” and he put seven tally marks in white. Kevin moved down to her stomach and wrote “Insert dick here” with an arrow pointing to her crotch in red marker. He spun Raddia around and on her back, right above her ass, he wrote “Kevin’s Bitch” in orange. Finally he wrote “SLUT” all over her body in purple.
“There we go,” Kevin said, satisfied with his work. He handed back the markers to the stage hand and returned to his seat.
“Well Raddia, give us a twirl. Let’s see the handiwork,” Atticus said.
“Man, was that all?” Raddia said as she spun around slowly, letting everyone get a good look at her. “I was expecting something more, Kevin.”
“Well, you did it,” Atticus said, gesturing for Raddia’s winnings to increase by $50. “You can head back to your spot now.” Raddia nodded and picked up her clothes, heading back to her place behind her stand. She didn’t even bother to put back on her clothes.
“And that, folks, is the end of our first round!” The audience cheered and clapped. “We’re already starting out strong with some wonderful contestants! And we will keep going… after this commercial break!”
“Hello everyone and welcome back to another exciting episode of…Say it with me folks!” The host leaned in closer towards the audience.
“Truth! Dare! And Derriere!!” The audience roared into a cheer as they clapped for the start of the show.
“That’s right. This is Truth, Dare, and Derriere, the only game show where we’re legally allowed to show your ass and more on broadcast television!” There were quite a few cheers and whistles from the audience before the host gestured for everyone to settle down. “As usual, I’m your host, Atticus Ghul.”
Atticus had been the host of Truth, Dare, and Derriere for the past seven years, having taken over after his father, Colbert, retired. Standing at a respectable 6’ 2”, Atticus had the personality, charm, and body to follow in his father’s footsteps. A freshly groomed beard, black hair that transitioned into silver curls, and a tan skin tone; it was no wonder that he quickly made headlines. His choices for Derriere and his charm dazzled audiences and pulled in crowds like no other, even succeeding his father.
Atticus cleared his throat and adjusted the tie on his suit before continuing on. “We searched the streets to find our set of contestants. So, let’s meet them, shall we?”
He gestured to his left where there was a set of three stands, each of which were where the contestants would stand behind. Behind those stands were a set of large blue curtains with golden ornate patterns on them. A set of spotlights danced around before settling in the middle of the curtains.
“Introducing our first contestant! She’s a soccer mom from Boston with two kids fresh off to college! Everyone, give it up for Siobhan Newchester!”
Coming out of the curtains was a 5’ 6” blonde haired woman, about in her mid-forties, with D cups that had a hefty bounce to them. She had fair skin with freckles to match her complexion. She was wearing a sleek pair of gray sweatpants that hugged her round ass, paired with a white blouse that showed off her curves. Siobhan practically danced her way onto the stage as the crowd cheered for her. She blew kisses to the audience and little winks before making her way to her designated spot on the stage.
“Isn’t she just lovely folks?” Atticus tapped a set of cards onto his desk and pointed to the curtain. “Our next contestant is working for his Business degree at Spaton University! Everyone, give it up for Charlie Tanner!”
Next out of the curtains was a young man, easily in his early twenties. He had dark skin, clearly from tanning, and brown hair that was combed back. He strutted out onto the stage, winking and pointing finger guns at the audience. His shirt was a tank top that read “FRAT LIFE” on it and his shorts barely came down to the middle of his thighs. Charlie walked over to Siobhan, pulled down his sunglasses and looked at her.
“Hey there, foxy mama. What are you doing later? Answer. Could be me.” Charlie flashed a cheesy grin.
“Hey!” Atticus said, snapping his fingers. “Save it for the game.”
Charlie shrugged and walked over to his stand, but not before holding his hand up to Siobhan and gestured “Call me,” to which Siobhan blushed a little.
“Alright, and our final contestant tonight is a bartender at Penny’s Pub in Vegas! Give it up for Raddia Van Pelt!”
The final contestant out of the curtains was a dark-skinned woman; her black hair half-shaved on the left and down to about her neck. She had a confident swagger to her, unlike the cocky attitude of Charlie. She wore a red T-shirt that had a deep V-neck to it, which showed off her C cups, along with a deeper red jacket. Her jeans hugged against her legs, showing off her toned thighs as she walked to her place at the stand.
“Welcome contestants! We’re so glad to have you all here!” Atticus said as he quieted down the crowd.
“So honored to be here!” Siobhan said as she smiled to the cameras.
“I still can’t believe I got chosen,” Raddia said as she turned to the audience and then to Attticus.
“Well, you better believe it. You’re here and it’s all real. Both the set and the bodies you’re about to see!” Atticus said, gesturing to the cameras.
“YEAH!” Charlie said as he hooted. “Gonna get to see some fresh tail tonight!”
“Well you better be careful,” Atticus said, “That tail we see tonight might be yours.”
“Bring it on,” Charlie said, “I ain’t afraid of any dares! I’ve seen every episode!”
“Pfft, you watch this show on your own?” Raddia said, smirking.
“Nah bro, I watch this with the boys!” Charlie said, pointing at the audience. “Shout out to my homies back in Cincinnati! Whoo whoo!”
“You’re all raring to go, so let’s jump right into the rule!” Atticus said as he turned in his chair, gesturing to his right.
Appearing from under a light was a large digital board of 84 squares, arranged in a 7 by 12 grid. On the left were player icons, representing the three contestants. The squares were labeled 1-84 from left to right and top to bottom. Each of them were one of five colors: green, blue, yellow, red, and rainbow. On the right side was a checkered banner labeled “BONUS!”
“For those who are coming back for another episode, welcome back,” Atticus said, looking at the cameras. “For those of you who are just tuning in for the first time and wondering ‘what the hell is this show and can they really show this much public nudity on live TV?’ The answer is that this is Truth, Dare, and Derriere. And thanks to a legal loophole, if you think we’ve shown you anything naughty, you haven’t seen anything yet.
“Here’s how the game works. Contestants, you will take turns moving across the board, one square at a time, in whatever path that you choose. When you get to a square, you will decide either Truth or Dare. Answer the question truthfully or do the dare, you get the square and some cash! Fail to do the dare or if our special magic lie detector machine catches you lying, you get punished! Players can move in any direction across the board and can move back onto squares they have already captured. Moving onto a square another player has captured results in you doing the dare that was on that square.
“Every square has a color. Green squares are the easiest challenges and worth the least amount. Blue ones are harder but worth more. Yellow squares are worth a lot more, but also much harder. Red ones are the hardest challenges and questions, but they are also worth the most. Rainbow ones are where your fellow contestants will challenge you to something.
“The first player to reach the other side of the board ends the game and moves onto the bonus round. When that happens, everyone gets the cash they’ve earned and the winner gets a chance to win some extra cash. Everyone got it?”
The three contestants nodded their heads.
“Excellent! Then, let’s play…”
“Truth! Dare! And Derriere!” The audience cheered.
“Now, first up is going to be Siobhan,” Atticus said as he gestured to the board. The first column of squares consisted of 3 green squares, 2 blue squares, 1 yellow, and 1 red. “Pick whichever square you want.”
Siobhan looked at the different options and pondered them. “Well, let’s start out a little slow. I’ll take Green Number 1, Atticus.” With that, her player icon moved to the Green 1 square.
“Alright, now, Siobhan, what will it be? Truth or Dare?” Atticus said as he flipped through his cards to find the associated question and dare for that square.
“I’ll go with a truth,” Siobhan said as the crowd clapped for her choice.
“Fantastic!” Atticus said as he leaned over his desk. “So, Siobhan, for $20, tell us, who was your first sexual encounter with?”
“Oh gosh,” Siobhan said with a chuckle. “We’re already starting off like this, are we?”
“Pfft, that’s so tame!” Charlie said.
“Oh hush you,” Siobhan said as she stuck her tongue out at Charlie before turning back over to Atticus. “Well, my first sexual encounter was my second ex’s 18th birthday party. He wanted me to give him a blowjob for a gift, so I gave him one.”
“Come on!” Charlie groaned. “Give us more details than that!”
“Details! Details! Details!” the audience cheered.
“Well, you heard them,” Atticus said as he gestured for the audience to quiet down. “Siobhan, if you would please, for an extra $10, give us a more vivid description.”
“Oh, alright,” Siobhan said, twirling her hair. “So, it was the afternoon of his 18th birthday party. At the time, I was dating Brett, the hottest guy from the drama club. He was having the party at his parent’s house, so there were a bunch of people we knew from school, as well as a few of his family members.
“I was wearing a very sexy blue dress that I only brought out for special occasions, and my boyfriend at the time’s birthday seemed like a good one. We were mostly in the backyard, people mingling about and everything. There was a glorious cake that his mother had baked while his father was manning the grill.
“Brett came over to me at some point during the party and whispered into my ear, ‘I wanna show you this awesome gift I got. Come to my bedroom in about half an hour’ At the time, I had no idea what he was talking about. I mean, he loved to collect figurines and such, so I expected that he was gonna show me something like that.
“I went to meet him after excusing myself from a conversation with his aunt to go to the bathroom and headed into his room.
“‘Alright Brett. I’m here. What did you wanna show me?’
“‘Shhh, keep your voice down, Siobhan. And shut the door.’
“I shut the door quickly and walked over to him.
“‘Okay, what’s the awesome gift you got?’
“‘Well, I haven’t gotten it yet.’
“‘Okay. What is it? Is it being delivered?’
“‘Yeah, and it just got here.’
“At that point, he reached down and unzipped his pants, dropping his cock in front of me. I gasped in surprise, but he brushed his hand against my face.
“‘The awesome gift is the one you’re about to give me. A nice wet blowjob.’
“At that point, he used his hand to push me down onto my knees, bringing me face to face with his dick that was getting harder and harder by the moment. I was just in awe, staring at this erect 5 inch cock in front of me. Again, this was, like, the first time that I had ever done anything sexual. Of course I had watched porn, but I had never done anything like that. But, he wanted this as a gift and I wasn’t about to disappoint my boyfriend.
“So, I started by taking it slow. I reached my hand up and gently began to stroke it, feeling his warm shaft in my palm from the base to the tip. At the tip, I stuck out my tongue and slowly swirled it around like I had seen different porn actors do. He let out a gentle moan, so I had a feeling that I was doing something right.
“Of course, I could only tease him like this for so long. He reached back and put his hands on my head, guiding my mouth to slowly start to take in his cock. It was my first time ever tasting someone’s cock, so I was a little surprised at the taste. But, it felt really nice inside my mouth. I bobbed my head up and down on his shaft, using my fingers to make a little O shape to stroke the parts that I couldn’t fit inside.
“He moaned in pleasure, especially loud when I flicked my tongue along his cock, lubing it right up with my spit. I was hungry for it. I wanted more but I didn’t know the best way to do it. And of course, I wanted to give him the best first blowjob. At some point, he stopped letting me move on my own and holding my head in place. He made me drop my fingers and used his hips to thrust in and out of my mouth. I could feel every inch of him inside my mouth, and I couldn’t help but moan in delight.
“‘Take those tits out. I wanna see them bounce as I fuck your face.’
“I did as he requested, dropping down my dress to bring out my tits. Just seeing them made his dick twitch. He stopped moving his hips and instead started moving my head. I’m sure it felt different and even better for him, but I really think he just wanted to see my tits bounce. I tightened up my cheeks against the sides of his cock, loving every moment as it slid along inside. I could feel myself getting wetter and wetter, each thrust sending shivers down my spine as he used me.
“I must have been doing really good because he wasn’t able to last that long. He started moving my head and his hips at the same time, thrusting in as deep as possible into my mouth. I loved just how rough he was with me, and honestly, I wish he had been rougher. I can take it. And he made sure that I could take it all as he gripped my hair tightly. I felt his cock twitch intensely as he came into my mouth. The taste of sperm mixed with my spit for a delightfully salty flavor. Now, I didn’t want to get any on my dress, otherwise everyone would know what we just did. So, I swallowed. Ah, you never forget your first time swallowing cum, and frankly, after that, I was addicted. Once he finished, he pulled out of my mouth and tucked his dick back into his pants, panting heavily. I put my dress back on properly, covering back up my tits.
“‘That… was… fucking amazing. Holy shit are you so good at this, Siobhan.’
“‘Thank you. That was amazing as well. I hope we can do that again soon.’
“And that’s the story of my first sexual encounter,” Siobhan said, blushing red at the fond memories. “God, I’m wet just remembering that. And Brett, if you’re out there, well, I guess your family and friends know now.”
“Now THAT’S details!” Charlie said as he hooted. “I am rock hard after that, baby!”
“As am I,” Atticus said. “That story right there just earned you a solid $30 to start off. Not bad at all.” Siobhan’s score at the front of her stand was updated to show her new winnings. “So, next up is Charlie. Charlie, what are you gonna pick?”
“Oh, if I’m going in, I’m going all in!” Charlie said, giving the air a thrust. “Atticus, I’m taking Red number 49!”
“Whoa! Alright! Starting off swinging out of the gates, are we, Charlie?” Atticus chuckled as he picked up the card for number 49 as Charlie’s player token moved to the space. “Now, Truth or Dare?”
“I ain’t scared of nothing!” Charlie said as he tried to hype up the crowd. “Hit me with a dare!”
“As you wish!” Atticus said as he looked over at Charlie. He patted onto the desk and coming out from behind the curtain was a cart being wheeled out by one of the stage hands. Sitting on the cart was a 10-inch rubber dildo and a gallon jug of lube. All of the contestants' eyes went wide as their minds processed what the challenge was. Raddia could hardly contain her laughter. “Charlie, for $200, I dare you to take this full, 10-inch dildo, up the ass.”
Charlie coughed, just to make sure that he heard Atticus right. “Uh, Atticus, buddy, what’s the punishment if I fail or don’t do it?”
“Oh, you said you’ve seen this show before,” Atticus teased. “You know that we don’t tell you the punishment unless you fail or refuse. So, what will it be? Attempt the dare or take the punishment?”
“Come on bro! You can do it!” a loud voice came from the crowd.
“Oh? And who do we have in the crowd today?” Atticus said.
“That’s my boy Trev! He came to support me!” Charlie said as he hooted back at the crowd, pounding his fist on his chest. “Atticus, I’m doing the dare!”
“Feel free to use as much lube as you need,” Atticus said, watching intently.
The crowd cheered as Charlie walked over to it. Charlie looked at the dildo up and down before pouring half of the lube onto the dildo. He stroked it hard, lubing it right up until his hand was practically sliding right off of it. He took a deep breath as he looked at it.
“Do it for the money, bro,” he said to himself as he dropped his pants and boxers.
“Oh wow,” Siobhan said as she leaned over to get a better look at Charlie’s package, which was at five inches even while flaccid.
“Damn. Frat boy is packing,” Raddia said, leaning forward with a smile on her face.
“Let’s do this!”
Charlie kicked off his pants and put the dildo on the ground. He took the rest of the lube and ran it down his back, rubbing his ass cheeks together to lube up as best as he could. Charlie positioned his ass over the dildo and squatted down until his ass barely touched the dildo’s tip. Charlie took a deep breath and clenched his teeth.
The moment the dildo entered his ass, everyone could hear a loud moan come from him. Slowly, he went further down the dildo. His breathing became heavier and his dick got harder and harder.
“Come on, be a man and take it all!” Raddia shouted, then whistled. “God that’s hot.” She slipped her hand underneath her waistband and began to play with herself.
Charlie was now three inches into the dildo, grunting as he continued to work his way down.
“Don’t clench!” Trev shouted from the audience. “Relax your ass!”
“Bro, I’m trying! It’s like I’m shitting upwards!” Charlie shouted back. He groaned loudly as he went down to five inches, which causes his dick to now be fully hard, standing at a full 7 and a half inches.
“Halfway there!” Atticus said.
“I got this!” Charlie said, more trying to convince himself than anyone else. He slid down further on the dildo, now seven inches. “Fuck dude, it’s so big!”
“That’s what she said!” Raddia said, her hand feverishly working at her crotch.
“I’m just gonna…” Charlie said, as he took a deep breath. “Go for it!” He let his feet go from under him, causing him to take the remaining three inches up into his ass. Charlie groaned loudly, but he stuck his hands into the air. “I did it!” The crowd cheered wildly as Charlie turned to audience, basking in their adoration.
“Well done!” Atticus said, clapping his hands. “Charlie, you just took ten inches and came out of that $200 richer!” He pointed and Charlie’s winnings went up to $200.
Charlie groaned loudly as he lifted himself off the dildo. “Hell yeah dude!” He rubbed his ass, breathing heavily as he went to retrieve his pants.
“And now, we’re onto you, Raddia,” Atticus said as he turned to the board. “Raddia, what are you picking?”
“Let’s see,” Raddia said as she mulled over her options. “I’ll take Blue 61, Atticus.”
“Great choice,” Atticus said as he picked up the card. “Now, truth or dare?”
“I’ll take a dare,” Raddia said with a confident smile.
“Sounds good,” Atticus said as he prepared to read the card. “Raddia, since you seemed to have such a fun time playing with yourself, for $50, I dare you to let a random audience member write on your body.”
“Pfft, is that all?” Raddia said. “I’m taking that dare. Easy money!” She stepped out to the center of the stage. “Go on! I’m your canvas!”
“Look at her, folks! Already ready and raring to go!” Atticus said. “Now, let’s pick a random audience member.” He brought out two jars of ping-pong balls, one set had letters and the other had numbers. He shuffled his hands through them and pulled out a letter and number. “Seat number D13! Come on down!”
“Whoo!” Standing up was a man in a business suit. He stepped his way through the clapping audience and made his way down to the stage. By the time that he came down, Raddia had already stripped down to her underwear.
“Sir, what is your name?” Atticus said.
“Kevin,” the man said. One of the stage hands approached him with an array of colored body-safe markers.
“Great name! Well, Kevin, go right ahead. Write as much as you want,” Atticus said, gesturing to Raddia.
Kevin smiled as he picked up the blue marker. He turned Raddia’s cheeks, writing WH on her right cheeks and RE on her left cheeks so with her mouth, it spelled out WHORE. On her tits, he wrote “Dump your cum here” with arrows between her cleavage in green. On her left arm, he put a tally counter that read “Men serviced” and he put seven tally marks in white. Kevin moved down to her stomach and wrote “Insert dick here” with an arrow pointing to her crotch in red marker. He spun Raddia around and on her back, right above her ass, he wrote “Kevin’s Bitch” in orange. Finally he wrote “SLUT” all over her body in purple.
“There we go,” Kevin said, satisfied with his work. He handed back the markers to the stage hand and returned to his seat.
“Well Raddia, give us a twirl. Let’s see the handiwork,” Atticus said.
“Man, was that all?” Raddia said as she spun around slowly, letting everyone get a good look at her. “I was expecting something more, Kevin.”
“Well, you did it,” Atticus said, gesturing for Raddia’s winnings to increase by $50. “You can head back to your spot now.” Raddia nodded and picked up her clothes, heading back to her place behind her stand. She didn’t even bother to put back on her clothes.
“And that, folks, is the end of our first round!” The audience cheered and clapped. “We’re already starting out strong with some wonderful contestants! And we will keep going… after this commercial break!”
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Hi there! I'm a 23-year-old woman, renting out my body to pay for medical school. I work with an agency that uses neuralink implants to let my renters see through my eyes, control my actions, and essentially live in my skin while I'm unconscious. Once their session is over, I wake up without any recollection of what they've done. It's like I was asleep or in a coma, but meanwhile my body was up and about doing things. The industry calls us 'bodies for rent' or 'meatsuits', though some of us prefer to be known as 'surrogates'.
I let people rent my meatsuit (and I can’t remember it) AMA
Hi there! I'm a 23-year-old woman, renting out my body to pay for medical school. I work with an agency that uses neuralink implants to let my renters see through my eyes, control my actions, and essentially live in my skin while I'm unconscious. Once their session is over, I wake up without any recollection of what they've done. It's like I was asleep or in a coma, but meanwhile my body was up and about doing things. The industry calls us 'bodies for rent' or 'meatsuits', though some of us prefer to be known as 'surrogates'.
It sounds scary, but it's completely safe, regulated, and - dare I say it - kinda fun. Let's get into all the gritty realities of the renting industry. Ask me anything!
How does it feel when you wake up after being 'rented'? Any physical fatigue?
Great question! It's a bit like waking up from a deep sleep. There's a period of disorientation, but that clears up quickly. As for physical fatigue, it depends on what my body has been doing. If my renter had been doing strenuous activities, then yes, I might feel a little worn out.
Aren't you afraid that someone might misuse your body?
That's a common concern, but the industry has safeguards in place. Renters sign contracts agreeing not to harm the body or engage in illegal activities. Plus, there's constant monitoring by a neutral third party during the rental period. If anything suspicious happens, they can shut down the session.
How much can you make in this business?
It varies depending on factors like the duration of the session, what the renter plans to do, and even the desirability of the surrogate. I make a comfortable amount, enough to pay my medical school tuition and living expenses.
Can you sense anything while being rented? Any kind of dreams?
Not at all. It's like being in a very deep sleep, without dreams. I wake up completely blank, with no memory or sensation from the rental period.
Do people ever have sex or masturbate when they rent you?
Yes, of course, it’s part of the job. I basically expect more often than not to have the renter touch me. It’s not as bad as it sounds – it’s basically my hand doing it, after all. Sometimes I feel a little sore after – especially when I’m rented by guys, who tend to be a bit less gentle with my body – but nothing serious.
Do your friends and family know about this? How do they feel?
Yes, they know, and it took some time for them to understand. They were concerned at first, but they've seen how regulated and safe it is, and how it's helping me achieve my dream of becoming a doctor. So, they're supportive now!
How did you get into this business?
I stumbled upon an advertisement and was intrigued. I did my research, understood the risks and benefits, and decided it was a viable way to finance my medical studies. And here I am!
Any advice for someone considering becoming a surrogate?
Do your homework. Understand the pros and cons. Consider the physical and mental aspects - remember, your body might be doing things you're not used to. Also, ensure you're working with a reputable company. There are sketchy operators out there.
What was your most memorable experience after waking up from a rental period?
There was this one time when I woke up in a beautiful dress, covered in glitter and glam, standing in the middle of what seemed to be a high-end fashion event. The smooth silk of the dress hugged my body, contrasting starkly against the cold, air-conditioned atmosphere of the venue. The dress was a stunning shade of midnight blue, matching the color of my eyes, and it was sprinkled with silver glitters, twinkling as they caught the spotlights. High heels elongated my petite frame, although they made my feet ache a bit. People were clapping and cheering, and I had this feeling of exhilaration that lingered even after the confusion had passed.
The aroma of rich perfume and champagne wafted through the air, and my lips tasted faintly of a delicate canapé. My hands were a little shaky from the adrenaline, and I felt the cool touch of a glass of bubbly in my right hand. I could tell by the appreciative eyes and stunned silence that my renter had just pulled off a fantastic runway walk.
I felt strangely empowered, stepping out of my usual comfort zone of t-shirts, jeans, and tennis shoes, into this glamorous world of fashion, something I'd never dare to do on my own. The moment felt almost surreal, like a scene straight out of a movie. I loved the feeling of confidence, of owning the room. Even though it wasn't me who had strutted down the catwalk, a small part of that boldness lingered, reminding me of my own potential.
Have you ever felt violated or uneasy after a rental session?
Yes, there have been moments of discomfort. One time, I woke up in a very crowded place, in the middle of a music festival. I’m a bit of an introvert, so waking up in such a noisy, chaotic environment was quite jarring. My body was adorned in a loose crop top, denim shorts, and a floral headband – typical festival attire, but it felt strange since I usually prefer more conservative clothing. My hair, normally tied up in a neat bun, was let loose and felt messy with dried sweat and probably some beer someone had spilled.
I could still feel the throb of the loud music in my ears, the vibrations settling into my body, like a low hum beneath my skin. My feet ached from dancing, my throat was parched, and there was a residual taste of beer and cheap festival food on my tongue. My hands were stained with neon paint, evidence of the craziness of the night. The faint smell of sweat, alcohol, and smoke clung to my skin, making me feel a bit dirty.
I remember feeling lost and out of place among the sea of enthusiastic festival-goers. Although the monitors had ended the rental as soon as I started to regain consciousness, the sudden shift from unconscious tranquility to overwhelming sensory stimulation was a shock. I felt a twinge of unease, realizing how vulnerable I was during these rentals, but it also reminded me of the importance of trust in this profession.
Have you ever considered renting out your body for more extended periods, like a week or a month?
I've given it some thought, but there are practical and emotional challenges to consider. Physically, the neuralink is designed for shorter periods – up to 24 hours. So, waking up in the same clothes I wore a day ago is common, sometimes with minor changes like a different pair of shoes or an added accessory. My body, toned from regular exercise and yoga, would handle the physical strain quite well, but there is a limit to how long the technology can keep my consciousness suppressed. The device needs to be recharged, and my body needs rest and rejuvenation.
Emotionally, there's a strange intimacy in sharing my body for such extended periods. Every time I wake up after a rental, it's as though a veil is lifted from my eyes. There's a brief moment of disorientation, like a foggy morning, where I'm not quite sure where I am or what has happened. My fingers would glide over the fabric of my clothes, tracing the alien feel of a shirt or a dress that I didn’t remember putting on. There's a rush of sensations, the leftover smells of where my renter has been, the lingering tastes on my tongue, and the physical echoes of their activities.
Imagine that feeling extended for a week or a month. Imagine the shift in my daily routines, my eating habits, and my social interactions. My body would live a life that my mind wasn't a part of. As it stands, the rental periods are already a leap of faith, a testament to my trust in the technology, the system, and the people who rent me. Prolonging the rental period only escalates the implications.
However, the notion isn't without its appeal. I could potentially earn more, and it might provide a unique opportunity for me to experience different lives. But for now, the constraints outweigh the benefits. I've chosen to prioritize my sense of self, my personal boundaries, and the preservation of my own life experiences.
Do you have any plans for after medical school? Will you continue to be a surrogate?
Once I'm done with medical school, I plan to specialize in neurology. Being a surrogate has given me an intriguing perspective on how our brain functions and how advanced technology like neuralink can integrate with it. I'm eager to dive deeper, to understand the complex mysteries of our brains. My body, though petite and young, has become a fascinating landscape for my academic curiosity. Each pulse in my veins, every breath I take, has become a testament to the marvels of human biology and technology intertwined.
As for continuing as a surrogate, it's unlikely. Once I start my practice, my focus will be on my patients. I won’t have the time, or the emotional bandwidth, to lend my body to others. Plus, there's a certain comfort in the idea of regaining exclusive ownership of my body. To wake up in my bed, in my clothes, knowing that whatever memories I have from the previous day are my own, sounds incredibly comforting after a few years of sharing it with people.
There's a strange satisfaction in being a surrogate. It's not just about the money, although that's a significant factor. It's about providing a service, allowing people to experience life from a different perspective. There's a sense of pride, of fulfillment, in knowing that my body can help fulfill someone else's dream or desire, even if I don't remember any of it. So, while I look forward to focusing on my medical career, I'll always cherish the experiences and insights I've gained as a surrogate.
Ever stumbled upon photos or videos of yourself from a rental session you don't remember?
Yes, it's happened on more than one occasion. There's something strangely unnerving about seeing photos or videos of yourself in action, knowing that you don’t remember a single moment of it.
The first time this happened, I was scrolling through social media when I found a picture of myself at a charity marathon. My usually fair complexion was flushed with exertion, sweat glinting on my forehead, my blonde hair pulled back into a tight ponytail, strands sticking to my moist skin. The tight runner’s outfit clung to my petite frame, accentuating my toned muscles, highlighting my runner's posture. In the photo, I was crossing the finish line, arms in the air, a picture of triumph and satisfaction.
Seeing myself there, the exuberance on my face, the sheer exhilaration in my wide, bright eyes was surreal. It felt like looking at a doppelganger or a twin, someone who shared my body, my face, but lived experiences that I didn’t remember. It was as if this 'other me' had successfully completed a marathon, something I'd never done. It was a bizarre mixture of pride and confusion, seeing a triumphant moment that I had no recollection of.
There were a few other times that it happened – one in particular was pretty creepy – but there’s no rule against it right now, so, you know.
Have you ever confronted a renter about the things they've done while renting your body?
I’ve never directly confronted a renter, but there have been times when I've requested the agency to talk to them. Once, I found a video of myself eating a tarantula at a food festival. My stomach churned as I watched 'me' in the video, sporting a wide grin, taking a big bite of the deep-fried spider, savoring the crunch with evident delight.
I remembered feeling a bizarre disconnect as I watched my own fingers delicately holding the spider, the crunch echoing in my ears as I bit down, the sound so vivid, it felt real. My heart pounded as my face on the screen twisted into an expression of joy and satisfaction, my blue eyes twinkling with daring and adventure. The image haunted me, even when I had closed my eyes, the back of my eyelids mirroring the ghastly sight. The discomfort was so intense that I had to reach out to the agency, reminding them of my arachnophobia and the importance of renters respecting the surrogate's personal boundaries.
The process was quite straightforward, actually. The agency assured me they would remind the renter of the rules. The interesting (and perhaps, unnerving) part of this whole situation was the realization of how much control I had surrendered. While I was tucked safely away in the realm of unconsciousness, my body was out there, in the world, engaging in activities I’d never imagine doing in a conscious state. It brought up a mix of feelings – a tad of unease, a hint of exhilaration, and an odd sense of curiosity about what my body is capable of when untethered from my conscious mind.
It was unsettling to find a video of myself doing something that was so contradictory to my personality. Yet, it was also an opportunity for me to face my fear, albeit in a roundabout way. It didn't cure my arachnophobia, but it did make me question how much of our fears are mental barriers. It was like staring at a reflection of what I could potentially be, unbound by personal fears or biases. And in a twisted way, it was liberating.
Although I don’t wish for a repeat of such experiences, these instances have pushed me to reflect on myself and consider my perceptions. They've nudged me out of my comfort zone and made me realize the extraordinary adaptability of the human mind and body. And for that, I am oddly grateful.
Have you ever found provocative photos of yourself from a rental session? How did you react?
Yes, I have. One incident that particularly stands out was when I stumbled upon a series of photos of me dressed as a 'catgirl' at what seemed to be a cosplay event.
In these images, I was dressed in a black, form-fitting bodysuit that hugged my petite figure, accentuating my curves. Ears pointed upwards were attached to a headband on my blonde hair, which was styled into playful, loose curls. A long, fluffy tail was clipped onto the back of the bodysuit, and a mischievous smirk played on my face. My eyes were highlighted with dramatic, catlike makeup, and I had a delicate, diamond-shaped nose and whiskers painted on. Completing the look were long, black gloves and boots, adding a certain allure to the whole ensemble.
Seeing myself in this provocative outfit was an unnerving experience. I've always been more of a modest dresser, preferring comfort and functionality over fashion or trends. My heart pounded in my chest as I looked at the photos. My cheeks, usually fair, turned a deep shade of red, my body reacting to the shock and embarrassment even though my mind was still trying to process what it was seeing.
Despite the initial shock, I had to admire the artistry involved. The attention to detail in the costume and makeup was impeccable. My body looked confident, empowered, even seductive - a stark contrast to my usual demeanor. There was an undeniable beauty in the images that I couldn't ignore, a transformation so complete that it was hard to believe it was me.
Although this incident did make me feel uncomfortable, it also forced me to confront my own perceptions of my body and my sexuality. It showed me a version of myself that I had never considered before, pushing me to reassess my boundaries and my comfort zones.
These photos served as a reminder of how diverse and varied human experiences can be, and how our bodies can be a canvas for different forms of expression. It wasn't an easy experience, but it was a learning opportunity for me. Since then, I've become more open-minded, learning to embrace the unexpected and finding beauty in all forms of self-expression.
What's the most bizarre situation you've found yourself in after a rental session?
One of the most bizarre situations I've woken up to was when I found myself at a beach party, covered in chocolate, and wearing a bikini.
The moment my consciousness resurfaced, I was greeted by the smell of salt and sunscreen, underscored by the sweet scent of melted chocolate. My skin felt sticky, and as I glanced down, I saw my petite body donned in a vibrant red bikini, smothered with chocolate sauce. The droplets were scattered like modern art across the soft, fair skin of my abdomen, my arms, and even my legs. The sunlight glinted off the slick coating, giving me an oddly shiny appearance.
Around me, people were laughing and cheering, music blaring from nearby speakers. The party seemed to be in full swing, the beach lined with young people engaged in various activities - some were playing beach volleyball, others were tanning, sipping cocktails, or dancing to the lively music. A makeshift stage had been set up nearby, and it seemed like I had just participated in a chocolate-themed competition.
The sandy grit beneath my feet, the comforting warmth of the sun on my chocolate-covered skin, the riotous noise of the party, all contributed to a sensory overload. But amidst the chaos, there was also an underlying feeling of exhilaration and freedom, a giddy aftertaste of what seemed to have been a wild and enjoyable event.
Despite the initial shock, a part of me couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation. There was something incredibly surreal and yet comically charming about it. Extracting myself from the party, I made my way towards the sea, intending to wash off the chocolate and to reclaim a sense of normalcy. As the cool waves lapped against my legs, I remember feeling a renewed sense of appreciation for my unusual job. While it occasionally landed me in sticky situations (quite literally in this case), it also made for some truly unforgettable experiences.
Have you ever found photos taken by a renter afterwards, anything embarrassing?
Oh, you have no idea. There was this one time when I woke up to find a series of pictures on my phone that left me both amused and perplexed.
The first photo showed me in a bright yellow chicken costume. My usually petite and slender figure was enveloped in a fluffy, oversized suit, complete with a red plume on top. My face, usually serene or focused, was contorted into a comical squawk, my mouth wide open, my eyes squeezed shut in exaggerated expression.
Next, I found a picture of myself wearing a pair of oversized glasses, their frames so large they covered half my face, my blue eyes appearing comically magnified. A fluorescent green wig was placed haphazardly on my head, strands of synthetic hair falling over my forehead. My lips were stretched into a goofy grin, my cheeks dimpled with laughter.
The photo parade continued with me donning an array of humorous costumes – a pirate with a plastic hook, a faux fur-lined onesie of a unicorn, a clown with a red nose and oversized shoes. In each photo, I was making different faces - there was a mock-scared expression, a wide-eyed surprise, a faux-angry scowl, and many more.
A couple got a little bit more lewd. There were a few, um, revealing selfies in the mix – one where they’d stuck my tongue out and rolled my eyes back in a pretty stupid looking way. And one really embarrassing one where they were basically naked and cupping my boobs for the camera. I did have a word with the agency after that one – the renters aren’t meant to do that.
Does your body ever feel different when you return to it? Like, sore, worn out, used differently?
Absolutely, my body often feels different when I return to it after a rental session. It’s almost like getting reacquainted with a familiar yet slightly altered space.
One instance that particularly stands out was after a renter who was evidently a dance enthusiast had used my body. I woke up in a dance studio, my reflection mirrored in the wall-length mirror. My petite frame was dressed in a flowing, practice skirt and a snug-fitting top. My blonde hair, usually worn down, was pulled up into a tight, professional bun.
When I moved, I felt a certain soreness in my muscles that I wasn’t used to. It was clear that my body had been stretching and moving in ways that were unfamiliar. My calves throbbed slightly, hinting at an intense session of pointe work. My shoulders and back felt looser, likely the result of expressive modern dance movements.
Despite the soreness, there was also an underlying sense of satisfaction. I could tell that my body had been put through a substantial, yet enjoyable workout. As I moved, I could feel a fluidity in my motions, a rhythm that seemed to resonate in my muscles. It was as if my body had picked up a faint echo of the dance, a lingering melody imprinted in the way I moved.
In these moments, my body sometimes feels like an instrument that has been played beautifully and then set aside. There’s a feeling of having been ‘used’ – not in a negative sense, but in the way that a well-loved book is used, its pages turned carefully, its spine bearing the imprints of a reader's hands. There’s a sense of having been part of someone else’s story, even if just for a while.
So wait, you wake up in random positions after each session? What happens if you don't know how to get home after, haha
Haha, yes, I do wake up in different places following a rental session, but it's not as chaotic as it sounds.
Renters are required to ensure I'm in a safe environment before the rental period ends. This rule is strictly enforced by the agency, ensuring that I don't wake up in dangerous or compromising situations. The location can be anywhere - a park, a café, a shopping mall, even a dance studio, as I mentioned in an earlier response. But whatever the location, safety is paramount.
As for getting back home, that's rarely been a problem. My phone is always with me, and it has all the necessary apps and information for navigation. Plus, we live in an era where rideshares are just a few taps away.
However, there was this one time when I woke up in a botanical garden. It was early evening, the setting sun casting long, golden shadows around me. I was seated on a park bench, amidst a riot of colorful flowers and lush greenery. A gentle breeze was playing with my blonde curls, carrying the scent of earth and blooming roses. The tranquillity of the scene was almost meditative.
Despite not immediately recognizing the place, a quick check on my phone showed it to be within the city limits. Instead of rushing home, I decided to take my time exploring the garden, reveling in the unexpected treat. It was a refreshing change of pace from my usual, fast-paced life. Moments like these make the unpredictable nature of my work not just tolerable, but sometimes surprisingly rewarding.
Do people ever... you know... need to use the toilet when you're being rented?
That's a part of the reality not often talked about, isn't it? Yes, biological needs don't stop during a rental session. The human body, including mine, continues to function as usual - this includes needing to use the toilet.
However, I must assure you that the agency has regulations in place to ensure that renters deal with such situations appropriately. Before a rental session, every renter is thoroughly briefed about treating the body with respect and maintaining personal hygiene.
The first time I woke up in a restroom, I must admit it was a bit disconcerting. I was in a posh restaurant's restroom, staring at my reflection in a tastefully framed mirror. My body was dressed in an elegant black cocktail dress, my blonde hair swept into an intricate updo. My usually bare face had a dash of makeup - a subtle smoky eye and a soft pink lip color.
What startled me was not the environment, but the stark realisation of the intimacy that the rental process implied. In that moment I understood that my renters weren't just walking in my shoes; they were living in my skin. It brought a level of humility and vulnerability that took me a while to get used to.
Over time, however, I've come to terms with it. It's a part of the job, as mundane as it might sound. And it underscores the fact that even when dressed up for an elegant evening out, the human body has its fundamental needs that don't pause for anyone, renter or otherwise. It's a humbling reminder of our shared biology, stripping away the glamour and bringing us down to the basics of existence.
Wait, you woke up in a restroom? Why did they take your body somewhere else before dismounting? Did something go wrong?
It's an interesting question, and to be honest, each rental experience can be quite unique, including where I regain consciousness.
In the case of the restroom scenario, nothing actually went wrong. Renters are advised to ensure I'm in a safe and private location before the rental period ends. In this particular case, I suspect the renter wanted to ensure privacy at the moment of dismounting, which is why they chose a restroom – I suppose they didn’t want to waste their rental minutes walking back through the city.
When I regained consciousness, I was in the ladies' room. Despite the initial disorientation, the transition was smooth. I was safe, and as per the regulations, my dignity and privacy were maintained.
In such circumstances, it's vital to maintain composure and confidence, which is something I've learned with experience. While it can feel strange to navigate these post-rental situations, it's also a fascinating exploration of human behavior and norms. It's like jumping into the middle of a movie and trying to figure out the plot. And in a strange way, that's part of the appeal for me. It keeps life interesting.
What happens to the renter's bodies while they control yours?
While the renters are controlling my body, their own bodies are in a state of neural stasis, almost akin to being in a deep sleep or a coma. The Neuralink technology takes over the function of their neural signals, effectively allowing their consciousness to be projected into my body. However, their bodies do require care during this time, which is where the agency comes in.
The agency has a specialized facility where renters' bodies are looked after during the rental period. They're kept in a safe, controlled environment, with continuous monitoring of vital signs to ensure their physical well-being. Medical professionals are always on standby to intervene if any health concerns arise.
I once had the chance to visit this facility. It was a rather surreal experience, seeing rows of bodies lying still, as if in a peaceful sleep. The room was bathed in a soft, soothing light, the air regulated to maintain an optimal temperature. The silence was punctuated by the occasional beep of a heart monitor, lending a rhythmic undertone to the tranquility.
It felt oddly serene, each body representing a person exploring the world in a different form. I remember standing there, thinking about the paradox of the situation - the quiet, unmoving bodies and the vibrant, active minds experiencing life through rented bodies.
This level of care gives me peace of mind, knowing that my renters are taken care of while they're renting my body. It also underscores the mutual trust inherent in this process - while they trust me with their consciousness, I trust them with my body, all the while knowing that we both are in safe hands.
I couldn't imagine doing that work. What if someone made you do something illegal! Or creepy!
While there are thorough safeguards in place to prevent misuse of the rental service, there was one instance that gave me quite a bit of a scare. It's an interesting story about a renter who got too attached to the rental experience and crossed some boundaries.
This individual, let's call him John, had rented my body a few times, and initially, everything seemed fine. However, over time, his behavior started to become problematic. He began requesting my body more frequently, and started leaving me in places that were meaningful to him - his favorite coffee shop, the park where he used to play as a child, and once even outside his apartment.
It was disorienting and unnerving to say the least. Waking up outside John's apartment was particularly alarming. It was late at night, and the street was bathed in the harsh, white glow of the streetlights. I was dressed in casual jeans and a t-shirt, my hair pulled back in a loose ponytail. The quiet, residential area felt foreign and eerily silent, the only sound being the occasional rustling of leaves in the breeze.
I started receiving messages from John too, filled with sentiments that were too intimate, too personal. It was as if he was confusing me with someone he knew closely or someone he wished to be close with. The messages made me uncomfortable, their tone straying from friendly to obsessive.
Then he began sending me photographs - selfies he had taken while renting my body. In each of these images, my body was in various scenarios, some casual, others more intimate.
One of the first pictures was of 'me' at his favorite coffee shop, sipping on a caramel latte. The backdrop was familiar to me - the vintage posters on the wall, the warm, wooden interior of the café. My body was casually dressed, a cozy sweater hugging my petite frame, my blonde hair tumbling over my shoulders. It was as if he had taken me on a casual, coffee date.
At first, I found it a bit amusing, even endearing. Here was a man so taken by the experience of renting my body that he wanted to share his moments with me. It was a new angle to the renting experience that I hadn't considered before - the renter wanting to connect on a more personal level.
As more photographs followed, the tone of them started to change. There was one where 'I' was standing on the edge of a rooftop, the city lights glittering in the background. My body, clad in a fitting leather jacket and ripped jeans, seemed to emanate an air of recklessness that was not me. It was unnerving, a stark contrast to the earlier, cozy coffee shop picture.
Some photos of my feet came next, which was kind of odd, and then my own face making a kissy face at the camera. Ugh. Then came the intimate ones - a picture of 'me' lounging on a bed, dressed in a silk nightgown, a soft smile playing on 'my' lips. The familiarity of the scenario, coupled with the knowledge that it wasn't truly me, left me with an uncomfortable feeling, a breach of privacy that was hard to ignore.
That's when it dawned on me that this was more than just a renter enjoying his experiences - it was veering into an obsessive territory. I could see John blurring the lines between the rented experience and real connection, transforming the relationship into something it was not supposed to be.
Things took a turn for the more disturbing when I received a video from John.
I remember when the notification popped up on my phone, it was late at night, and I was just wrapping up some study session. Intrigued and admittedly a little apprehensive, I clicked on the message.
The video was a selfie, but not just any selfie – it was John, renting my body, talking directly into the camera. He’s dressed me in a guy’s business shirt, boxers, and nothing else. The shirt was unbuttoned, and you could see my bare breasts underneath, pretty much totally exposed.
He was sat outside on a park bench, legs spread, leaning back with a smirk. He winked at the camera, a mischievous glint in his eyes, before launching into a monologue. The topics were all over the place - he shared his thoughts on books he liked, mused about our supposed 'connection', even hinted at plans he had for future rentals. His gestures were expressive, my hands moving animatedly as he spoke, the sunlight bouncing off the silver watch wrapped around his wrist. The watch was his, I’d never seen it before.
Throughout the video, he wore a knowing smile that was a clear departure from my typical expressions. It was chillingly intimate, uncomfortably personal. Here was a man who seemed to be under the delusion that he was developing a personal, almost romantic relationship with me, despite the starkly impersonal nature of our interaction.
Watching that video, it became clear to me that I needed to act. His delusions, his growing obsession was not just disturbing but potentially dangerous. It was then that I decided to report him to the agency. Despite the uncomfortable circumstances, I take solace in knowing that the system worked as it should, ensuring safety and enforcing boundaries when necessary. It served as a stark reminder of the potential risks and oddities I might face in my unique line of work.
Do renters take care of you? Like, do they eat properly? Exercise?
While renters are usually respectful, it's important to remember that for them, renting a body is often seen as a kind of vacation or escape from their own lives. As such, they might not stick to the same kind of diet and exercise routines I typically do.
There have been times when I've woken up to the remnants of a food binge - empty pizza boxes, chocolate wrappers, ice cream tubs - the works. It's amusing in a way, a clear indication of the renter letting loose and enjoying their 'time off'. I've found myself in the middle of a carnival, the sweet scent of cotton candy lingering on my tongue, or sometimes at an upscale restaurant, the remnants of a steak dinner still on the plate.
Exercise, unfortunately, doesn't seem to be a priority for most renters. Understandably, hitting the gym or going for a run might not be their idea of a fun time while renting someone else's body. As a result, I have to put in the extra work to maintain my fitness and health.
It's an interesting trade-off - I get to pay for medical school, and they get to take a break from their own lives, diets, and routines. It does add an extra layer of challenge to my life, but it's one I've grown accustomed to. I've learned to appreciate the workout sessions, the way my muscles ache after a good run or the soothing burn of a yoga routine. It's a part of my life that's wholly mine, a piece of routine and normalcy amidst the chaotic nature of my job.
At the end of the day, it's about understanding and accepting that my body is shared space. I do my best to provide a fit, healthy body for my renters to use, and in return, they give me the means to chase my dreams.
Hey meatsuitAMA, ever woke up with a badass tattoo that you didn't remember getting?
Ha! Luckily, no! The agency's pretty strict about that stuff - no permanent changes to the body, and that includes tattoos. Although, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't curious about what kind of ink a renter might choose.
Do you ever feel like you're missing out on your own life?
Damn, you're getting deep on me, aren't ya? It's a trip, no doubt. I mean, one minute I'm me, next I'm catching up on the shenanigans some renter got up to. But hey, at least I'm missing out on my life for a good cause, right? And who knows, maybe one day I'll wake up with a Nobel Prize because some renter used my body to solve quantum physics or something!
So, what if a renter decides to go skydiving or bungee jumping?
Well, they're supposed to stick to a set of ground rules, and extreme sports is a big no-no. But honestly? If someone secretly went skydiving with my body, I'd be pissed I missed out on the thrill! But for real, don't do that, future renters. I don't want my heart giving out at 22.
Are you ever scared of not getting your body back?
Haha, you know how to keep a girl up at night. But no, the tech's solid, and I trust the agency. But you bet your ass I've had some nightmares about that. If my body goes on a world tour without me, I better at least get a postcard.
Do your friends or family know about your job?
Well, mom knows, and she wasn't thrilled, let me tell ya. Tried to get me to consider waitressing or something. But my pals think it's pretty cool. And it's one hell of an ice breaker at parties. Imagine - "Hey, I'm meatsuitAMA, I rent out my body for a living. Pass the chips?"
What happens if the renter gets drunk or high?
Don't get me started. I basically wake up in whatever condition they leave me in. This one time, I woke up on a bed made of candy wrappers and empty bottles. My head is pounding, and I'm pretty sure I can still taste tequila. The renter had a full-on party, got sloshed, and binged on candy.
It wasn’t my best wake-up call, I’ll tell ya that much. Had to down a gallon of water and pop a few aspirins just to stop the world from spinning. And I was finding candy wrappers in my clothes for days after!
Have you ever been rented by someone famous?
Okay, I can’t reveal names ‘cause privacy and all that jazz, but holy crap, yes! And it was wild! Woke up in this swanky hotel suite, there's room service on the table, and I'm wearing designer gear head to toe. Even found a selfie with a major celeb on my phone. They were on a secret vacation or something. Crazy, right?
What about romantic stuff? Ever wake up with a partner next to you?
Sure, it's happened. I woke up once cuddling another sleeping lady, and I was wearing this cute red dress pulled up around my waist. There were rose petals everywhere, and I mean EVERYWHERE. Took me hours to clean up. Turns out the renter had a long-distance relationship, wanted to surprise their partner. Sweet, but talk about awkward for me!
Have you ever woken up eating something really weird?
Haha, well, get ready for this. Once, I woke up in a chilli eating competition. I kid you not, I was in the middle of chewing this nuclear-level hot chilli. My eyes were watering, my throat was burning, and I was sweating like I just ran a marathon. My lips were stained a bright red from the chilli, and I could feel the heat radiating off my tongue, my entire mouth felt like it was on fire.
I was wearing this ridiculous chilli-shaped hat and a bib with "Chilli Queen" printed on it. It took every ounce of my control not to spit out the chilli right then and there. With tears streaming down my face, I somehow managed to swallow the damn thing, then proceeded to drink about a gallon of milk straight from the jug.
Let's just say, the after-effects were...not pleasant. And that's the last time I ever want to be part of a chilli eating competition!
Do people ever rent you for physical labor or things like that?
It happens sometimes. I hadn’t thought it would ahead of time – who would want my body to do manual labour, I can lift like, two bricks on a good day. But it turns out there’s so few bodies available at any given time, sometimes there are shortages, and they just want more hands on site.
Once I woke up in a construction site wearing those baggy, heavy duty work clothes, you know the kind, and a hard hat. There were smudges of dirt on my hands and face, and my muscles ached like I'd been lifting weights all day. The work gloves were still on my hands, and I could feel the rough material chafing against my skin. The boots were a bit too large for my feet, and I had to be careful not to trip over anything.
Apparently, the renter was a contractor from the other side of the country. The agency assures me that they ensure safety measures for such rentals, but I still found it a bit weird. But hey, I guess it’s a way for people to get their work done :/.
What are the most common reasons people rent your body?
Good question! It's a mixed bag, honestly. Sometimes it's for the experience of being a petite woman, which is kinda weird but hey, to each their own. Other times they want to use me like a canvas. I woke up once in a room filled with wigs and makeup. I was wearing this professional grade makeup, you know, the kind you see on models during fashion week.
I’m talking glittery eye shadow that matched the exact color of my eyes, perfectly applied red lipstick that made my lips look fuller, and a rosy blush that gave my cheeks a healthy glow. The fake eyelashes were a bit annoying though. Every blink felt heavy, and my eyes were watering a bit from the glue.
I later found out that the renter was a makeup artist. They had used my face as a canvas to practice new makeup techniques. I gotta say, it felt pretty cool walking around looking like I stepped straight out of a beauty magazine.
Other people might rent me to explore the city, like for travel and tourism things. Sometimes I'm rented for people to go to meetings or hangouts long distance. Occasionally it seems to be just a sex thing -- girls (or even guys, idk) renting me to have fun on the town -- which I'm less keen on, but as long as they take it easy.
I let people rent my meatsuit (and I can’t remember it) AMA
Hi there! I'm a 23-year-old woman, renting out my body to pay for medical school. I work with an agency that uses neuralink implants to let my renters see through my eyes, control my actions, and essentially live in my skin while I'm unconscious. Once their session is over, I wake up without any recollection of what they've done. It's like I was asleep or in a coma, but meanwhile my body was up and about doing things. The industry calls us 'bodies for rent' or 'meatsuits', though some of us prefer to be known as 'surrogates'.
It sounds scary, but it's completely safe, regulated, and - dare I say it - kinda fun. Let's get into all the gritty realities of the renting industry. Ask me anything!
How does it feel when you wake up after being 'rented'? Any physical fatigue?
Great question! It's a bit like waking up from a deep sleep. There's a period of disorientation, but that clears up quickly. As for physical fatigue, it depends on what my body has been doing. If my renter had been doing strenuous activities, then yes, I might feel a little worn out.
Aren't you afraid that someone might misuse your body?
That's a common concern, but the industry has safeguards in place. Renters sign contracts agreeing not to harm the body or engage in illegal activities. Plus, there's constant monitoring by a neutral third party during the rental period. If anything suspicious happens, they can shut down the session.
How much can you make in this business?
It varies depending on factors like the duration of the session, what the renter plans to do, and even the desirability of the surrogate. I make a comfortable amount, enough to pay my medical school tuition and living expenses.
Can you sense anything while being rented? Any kind of dreams?
Not at all. It's like being in a very deep sleep, without dreams. I wake up completely blank, with no memory or sensation from the rental period.
Do people ever have sex or masturbate when they rent you?
Yes, of course, it’s part of the job. I basically expect more often than not to have the renter touch me. It’s not as bad as it sounds – it’s basically my hand doing it, after all. Sometimes I feel a little sore after – especially when I’m rented by guys, who tend to be a bit less gentle with my body – but nothing serious.
Do your friends and family know about this? How do they feel?
Yes, they know, and it took some time for them to understand. They were concerned at first, but they've seen how regulated and safe it is, and how it's helping me achieve my dream of becoming a doctor. So, they're supportive now!
How did you get into this business?
I stumbled upon an advertisement and was intrigued. I did my research, understood the risks and benefits, and decided it was a viable way to finance my medical studies. And here I am!
Any advice for someone considering becoming a surrogate?
Do your homework. Understand the pros and cons. Consider the physical and mental aspects - remember, your body might be doing things you're not used to. Also, ensure you're working with a reputable company. There are sketchy operators out there.
What was your most memorable experience after waking up from a rental period?
There was this one time when I woke up in a beautiful dress, covered in glitter and glam, standing in the middle of what seemed to be a high-end fashion event. The smooth silk of the dress hugged my body, contrasting starkly against the cold, air-conditioned atmosphere of the venue. The dress was a stunning shade of midnight blue, matching the color of my eyes, and it was sprinkled with silver glitters, twinkling as they caught the spotlights. High heels elongated my petite frame, although they made my feet ache a bit. People were clapping and cheering, and I had this feeling of exhilaration that lingered even after the confusion had passed.
The aroma of rich perfume and champagne wafted through the air, and my lips tasted faintly of a delicate canapé. My hands were a little shaky from the adrenaline, and I felt the cool touch of a glass of bubbly in my right hand. I could tell by the appreciative eyes and stunned silence that my renter had just pulled off a fantastic runway walk.
I felt strangely empowered, stepping out of my usual comfort zone of t-shirts, jeans, and tennis shoes, into this glamorous world of fashion, something I'd never dare to do on my own. The moment felt almost surreal, like a scene straight out of a movie. I loved the feeling of confidence, of owning the room. Even though it wasn't me who had strutted down the catwalk, a small part of that boldness lingered, reminding me of my own potential.
Have you ever felt violated or uneasy after a rental session?
Yes, there have been moments of discomfort. One time, I woke up in a very crowded place, in the middle of a music festival. I’m a bit of an introvert, so waking up in such a noisy, chaotic environment was quite jarring. My body was adorned in a loose crop top, denim shorts, and a floral headband – typical festival attire, but it felt strange since I usually prefer more conservative clothing. My hair, normally tied up in a neat bun, was let loose and felt messy with dried sweat and probably some beer someone had spilled.
I could still feel the throb of the loud music in my ears, the vibrations settling into my body, like a low hum beneath my skin. My feet ached from dancing, my throat was parched, and there was a residual taste of beer and cheap festival food on my tongue. My hands were stained with neon paint, evidence of the craziness of the night. The faint smell of sweat, alcohol, and smoke clung to my skin, making me feel a bit dirty.
I remember feeling lost and out of place among the sea of enthusiastic festival-goers. Although the monitors had ended the rental as soon as I started to regain consciousness, the sudden shift from unconscious tranquility to overwhelming sensory stimulation was a shock. I felt a twinge of unease, realizing how vulnerable I was during these rentals, but it also reminded me of the importance of trust in this profession.
Have you ever considered renting out your body for more extended periods, like a week or a month?
I've given it some thought, but there are practical and emotional challenges to consider. Physically, the neuralink is designed for shorter periods – up to 24 hours. So, waking up in the same clothes I wore a day ago is common, sometimes with minor changes like a different pair of shoes or an added accessory. My body, toned from regular exercise and yoga, would handle the physical strain quite well, but there is a limit to how long the technology can keep my consciousness suppressed. The device needs to be recharged, and my body needs rest and rejuvenation.
Emotionally, there's a strange intimacy in sharing my body for such extended periods. Every time I wake up after a rental, it's as though a veil is lifted from my eyes. There's a brief moment of disorientation, like a foggy morning, where I'm not quite sure where I am or what has happened. My fingers would glide over the fabric of my clothes, tracing the alien feel of a shirt or a dress that I didn’t remember putting on. There's a rush of sensations, the leftover smells of where my renter has been, the lingering tastes on my tongue, and the physical echoes of their activities.
Imagine that feeling extended for a week or a month. Imagine the shift in my daily routines, my eating habits, and my social interactions. My body would live a life that my mind wasn't a part of. As it stands, the rental periods are already a leap of faith, a testament to my trust in the technology, the system, and the people who rent me. Prolonging the rental period only escalates the implications.
However, the notion isn't without its appeal. I could potentially earn more, and it might provide a unique opportunity for me to experience different lives. But for now, the constraints outweigh the benefits. I've chosen to prioritize my sense of self, my personal boundaries, and the preservation of my own life experiences.
Do you have any plans for after medical school? Will you continue to be a surrogate?
Once I'm done with medical school, I plan to specialize in neurology. Being a surrogate has given me an intriguing perspective on how our brain functions and how advanced technology like neuralink can integrate with it. I'm eager to dive deeper, to understand the complex mysteries of our brains. My body, though petite and young, has become a fascinating landscape for my academic curiosity. Each pulse in my veins, every breath I take, has become a testament to the marvels of human biology and technology intertwined.
As for continuing as a surrogate, it's unlikely. Once I start my practice, my focus will be on my patients. I won’t have the time, or the emotional bandwidth, to lend my body to others. Plus, there's a certain comfort in the idea of regaining exclusive ownership of my body. To wake up in my bed, in my clothes, knowing that whatever memories I have from the previous day are my own, sounds incredibly comforting after a few years of sharing it with people.
There's a strange satisfaction in being a surrogate. It's not just about the money, although that's a significant factor. It's about providing a service, allowing people to experience life from a different perspective. There's a sense of pride, of fulfillment, in knowing that my body can help fulfill someone else's dream or desire, even if I don't remember any of it. So, while I look forward to focusing on my medical career, I'll always cherish the experiences and insights I've gained as a surrogate.
Ever stumbled upon photos or videos of yourself from a rental session you don't remember?
Yes, it's happened on more than one occasion. There's something strangely unnerving about seeing photos or videos of yourself in action, knowing that you don’t remember a single moment of it.
The first time this happened, I was scrolling through social media when I found a picture of myself at a charity marathon. My usually fair complexion was flushed with exertion, sweat glinting on my forehead, my blonde hair pulled back into a tight ponytail, strands sticking to my moist skin. The tight runner’s outfit clung to my petite frame, accentuating my toned muscles, highlighting my runner's posture. In the photo, I was crossing the finish line, arms in the air, a picture of triumph and satisfaction.
Seeing myself there, the exuberance on my face, the sheer exhilaration in my wide, bright eyes was surreal. It felt like looking at a doppelganger or a twin, someone who shared my body, my face, but lived experiences that I didn’t remember. It was as if this 'other me' had successfully completed a marathon, something I'd never done. It was a bizarre mixture of pride and confusion, seeing a triumphant moment that I had no recollection of.
There were a few other times that it happened – one in particular was pretty creepy – but there’s no rule against it right now, so, you know.
Have you ever confronted a renter about the things they've done while renting your body?
I’ve never directly confronted a renter, but there have been times when I've requested the agency to talk to them. Once, I found a video of myself eating a tarantula at a food festival. My stomach churned as I watched 'me' in the video, sporting a wide grin, taking a big bite of the deep-fried spider, savoring the crunch with evident delight.
I remembered feeling a bizarre disconnect as I watched my own fingers delicately holding the spider, the crunch echoing in my ears as I bit down, the sound so vivid, it felt real. My heart pounded as my face on the screen twisted into an expression of joy and satisfaction, my blue eyes twinkling with daring and adventure. The image haunted me, even when I had closed my eyes, the back of my eyelids mirroring the ghastly sight. The discomfort was so intense that I had to reach out to the agency, reminding them of my arachnophobia and the importance of renters respecting the surrogate's personal boundaries.
The process was quite straightforward, actually. The agency assured me they would remind the renter of the rules. The interesting (and perhaps, unnerving) part of this whole situation was the realization of how much control I had surrendered. While I was tucked safely away in the realm of unconsciousness, my body was out there, in the world, engaging in activities I’d never imagine doing in a conscious state. It brought up a mix of feelings – a tad of unease, a hint of exhilaration, and an odd sense of curiosity about what my body is capable of when untethered from my conscious mind.
It was unsettling to find a video of myself doing something that was so contradictory to my personality. Yet, it was also an opportunity for me to face my fear, albeit in a roundabout way. It didn't cure my arachnophobia, but it did make me question how much of our fears are mental barriers. It was like staring at a reflection of what I could potentially be, unbound by personal fears or biases. And in a twisted way, it was liberating.
Although I don’t wish for a repeat of such experiences, these instances have pushed me to reflect on myself and consider my perceptions. They've nudged me out of my comfort zone and made me realize the extraordinary adaptability of the human mind and body. And for that, I am oddly grateful.
Have you ever found provocative photos of yourself from a rental session? How did you react?
Yes, I have. One incident that particularly stands out was when I stumbled upon a series of photos of me dressed as a 'catgirl' at what seemed to be a cosplay event.
In these images, I was dressed in a black, form-fitting bodysuit that hugged my petite figure, accentuating my curves. Ears pointed upwards were attached to a headband on my blonde hair, which was styled into playful, loose curls. A long, fluffy tail was clipped onto the back of the bodysuit, and a mischievous smirk played on my face. My eyes were highlighted with dramatic, catlike makeup, and I had a delicate, diamond-shaped nose and whiskers painted on. Completing the look were long, black gloves and boots, adding a certain allure to the whole ensemble.
Seeing myself in this provocative outfit was an unnerving experience. I've always been more of a modest dresser, preferring comfort and functionality over fashion or trends. My heart pounded in my chest as I looked at the photos. My cheeks, usually fair, turned a deep shade of red, my body reacting to the shock and embarrassment even though my mind was still trying to process what it was seeing.
Despite the initial shock, I had to admire the artistry involved. The attention to detail in the costume and makeup was impeccable. My body looked confident, empowered, even seductive - a stark contrast to my usual demeanor. There was an undeniable beauty in the images that I couldn't ignore, a transformation so complete that it was hard to believe it was me.
Although this incident did make me feel uncomfortable, it also forced me to confront my own perceptions of my body and my sexuality. It showed me a version of myself that I had never considered before, pushing me to reassess my boundaries and my comfort zones.
These photos served as a reminder of how diverse and varied human experiences can be, and how our bodies can be a canvas for different forms of expression. It wasn't an easy experience, but it was a learning opportunity for me. Since then, I've become more open-minded, learning to embrace the unexpected and finding beauty in all forms of self-expression.
What's the most bizarre situation you've found yourself in after a rental session?
One of the most bizarre situations I've woken up to was when I found myself at a beach party, covered in chocolate, and wearing a bikini.
The moment my consciousness resurfaced, I was greeted by the smell of salt and sunscreen, underscored by the sweet scent of melted chocolate. My skin felt sticky, and as I glanced down, I saw my petite body donned in a vibrant red bikini, smothered with chocolate sauce. The droplets were scattered like modern art across the soft, fair skin of my abdomen, my arms, and even my legs. The sunlight glinted off the slick coating, giving me an oddly shiny appearance.
Around me, people were laughing and cheering, music blaring from nearby speakers. The party seemed to be in full swing, the beach lined with young people engaged in various activities - some were playing beach volleyball, others were tanning, sipping cocktails, or dancing to the lively music. A makeshift stage had been set up nearby, and it seemed like I had just participated in a chocolate-themed competition.
The sandy grit beneath my feet, the comforting warmth of the sun on my chocolate-covered skin, the riotous noise of the party, all contributed to a sensory overload. But amidst the chaos, there was also an underlying feeling of exhilaration and freedom, a giddy aftertaste of what seemed to have been a wild and enjoyable event.
Despite the initial shock, a part of me couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation. There was something incredibly surreal and yet comically charming about it. Extracting myself from the party, I made my way towards the sea, intending to wash off the chocolate and to reclaim a sense of normalcy. As the cool waves lapped against my legs, I remember feeling a renewed sense of appreciation for my unusual job. While it occasionally landed me in sticky situations (quite literally in this case), it also made for some truly unforgettable experiences.
Have you ever found photos taken by a renter afterwards, anything embarrassing?
Oh, you have no idea. There was this one time when I woke up to find a series of pictures on my phone that left me both amused and perplexed.
The first photo showed me in a bright yellow chicken costume. My usually petite and slender figure was enveloped in a fluffy, oversized suit, complete with a red plume on top. My face, usually serene or focused, was contorted into a comical squawk, my mouth wide open, my eyes squeezed shut in exaggerated expression.
Next, I found a picture of myself wearing a pair of oversized glasses, their frames so large they covered half my face, my blue eyes appearing comically magnified. A fluorescent green wig was placed haphazardly on my head, strands of synthetic hair falling over my forehead. My lips were stretched into a goofy grin, my cheeks dimpled with laughter.
The photo parade continued with me donning an array of humorous costumes – a pirate with a plastic hook, a faux fur-lined onesie of a unicorn, a clown with a red nose and oversized shoes. In each photo, I was making different faces - there was a mock-scared expression, a wide-eyed surprise, a faux-angry scowl, and many more.
A couple got a little bit more lewd. There were a few, um, revealing selfies in the mix – one where they’d stuck my tongue out and rolled my eyes back in a pretty stupid looking way. And one really embarrassing one where they were basically naked and cupping my boobs for the camera. I did have a word with the agency after that one – the renters aren’t meant to do that.
Does your body ever feel different when you return to it? Like, sore, worn out, used differently?
Absolutely, my body often feels different when I return to it after a rental session. It’s almost like getting reacquainted with a familiar yet slightly altered space.
One instance that particularly stands out was after a renter who was evidently a dance enthusiast had used my body. I woke up in a dance studio, my reflection mirrored in the wall-length mirror. My petite frame was dressed in a flowing, practice skirt and a snug-fitting top. My blonde hair, usually worn down, was pulled up into a tight, professional bun.
When I moved, I felt a certain soreness in my muscles that I wasn’t used to. It was clear that my body had been stretching and moving in ways that were unfamiliar. My calves throbbed slightly, hinting at an intense session of pointe work. My shoulders and back felt looser, likely the result of expressive modern dance movements.
Despite the soreness, there was also an underlying sense of satisfaction. I could tell that my body had been put through a substantial, yet enjoyable workout. As I moved, I could feel a fluidity in my motions, a rhythm that seemed to resonate in my muscles. It was as if my body had picked up a faint echo of the dance, a lingering melody imprinted in the way I moved.
In these moments, my body sometimes feels like an instrument that has been played beautifully and then set aside. There’s a feeling of having been ‘used’ – not in a negative sense, but in the way that a well-loved book is used, its pages turned carefully, its spine bearing the imprints of a reader's hands. There’s a sense of having been part of someone else’s story, even if just for a while.
So wait, you wake up in random positions after each session? What happens if you don't know how to get home after, haha
Haha, yes, I do wake up in different places following a rental session, but it's not as chaotic as it sounds.
Renters are required to ensure I'm in a safe environment before the rental period ends. This rule is strictly enforced by the agency, ensuring that I don't wake up in dangerous or compromising situations. The location can be anywhere - a park, a café, a shopping mall, even a dance studio, as I mentioned in an earlier response. But whatever the location, safety is paramount.
As for getting back home, that's rarely been a problem. My phone is always with me, and it has all the necessary apps and information for navigation. Plus, we live in an era where rideshares are just a few taps away.
However, there was this one time when I woke up in a botanical garden. It was early evening, the setting sun casting long, golden shadows around me. I was seated on a park bench, amidst a riot of colorful flowers and lush greenery. A gentle breeze was playing with my blonde curls, carrying the scent of earth and blooming roses. The tranquillity of the scene was almost meditative.
Despite not immediately recognizing the place, a quick check on my phone showed it to be within the city limits. Instead of rushing home, I decided to take my time exploring the garden, reveling in the unexpected treat. It was a refreshing change of pace from my usual, fast-paced life. Moments like these make the unpredictable nature of my work not just tolerable, but sometimes surprisingly rewarding.
Do people ever... you know... need to use the toilet when you're being rented?
That's a part of the reality not often talked about, isn't it? Yes, biological needs don't stop during a rental session. The human body, including mine, continues to function as usual - this includes needing to use the toilet.
However, I must assure you that the agency has regulations in place to ensure that renters deal with such situations appropriately. Before a rental session, every renter is thoroughly briefed about treating the body with respect and maintaining personal hygiene.
The first time I woke up in a restroom, I must admit it was a bit disconcerting. I was in a posh restaurant's restroom, staring at my reflection in a tastefully framed mirror. My body was dressed in an elegant black cocktail dress, my blonde hair swept into an intricate updo. My usually bare face had a dash of makeup - a subtle smoky eye and a soft pink lip color.
What startled me was not the environment, but the stark realisation of the intimacy that the rental process implied. In that moment I understood that my renters weren't just walking in my shoes; they were living in my skin. It brought a level of humility and vulnerability that took me a while to get used to.
Over time, however, I've come to terms with it. It's a part of the job, as mundane as it might sound. And it underscores the fact that even when dressed up for an elegant evening out, the human body has its fundamental needs that don't pause for anyone, renter or otherwise. It's a humbling reminder of our shared biology, stripping away the glamour and bringing us down to the basics of existence.
Wait, you woke up in a restroom? Why did they take your body somewhere else before dismounting? Did something go wrong?
It's an interesting question, and to be honest, each rental experience can be quite unique, including where I regain consciousness.
In the case of the restroom scenario, nothing actually went wrong. Renters are advised to ensure I'm in a safe and private location before the rental period ends. In this particular case, I suspect the renter wanted to ensure privacy at the moment of dismounting, which is why they chose a restroom – I suppose they didn’t want to waste their rental minutes walking back through the city.
When I regained consciousness, I was in the ladies' room. Despite the initial disorientation, the transition was smooth. I was safe, and as per the regulations, my dignity and privacy were maintained.
In such circumstances, it's vital to maintain composure and confidence, which is something I've learned with experience. While it can feel strange to navigate these post-rental situations, it's also a fascinating exploration of human behavior and norms. It's like jumping into the middle of a movie and trying to figure out the plot. And in a strange way, that's part of the appeal for me. It keeps life interesting.
What happens to the renter's bodies while they control yours?
While the renters are controlling my body, their own bodies are in a state of neural stasis, almost akin to being in a deep sleep or a coma. The Neuralink technology takes over the function of their neural signals, effectively allowing their consciousness to be projected into my body. However, their bodies do require care during this time, which is where the agency comes in.
The agency has a specialized facility where renters' bodies are looked after during the rental period. They're kept in a safe, controlled environment, with continuous monitoring of vital signs to ensure their physical well-being. Medical professionals are always on standby to intervene if any health concerns arise.
I once had the chance to visit this facility. It was a rather surreal experience, seeing rows of bodies lying still, as if in a peaceful sleep. The room was bathed in a soft, soothing light, the air regulated to maintain an optimal temperature. The silence was punctuated by the occasional beep of a heart monitor, lending a rhythmic undertone to the tranquility.
It felt oddly serene, each body representing a person exploring the world in a different form. I remember standing there, thinking about the paradox of the situation - the quiet, unmoving bodies and the vibrant, active minds experiencing life through rented bodies.
This level of care gives me peace of mind, knowing that my renters are taken care of while they're renting my body. It also underscores the mutual trust inherent in this process - while they trust me with their consciousness, I trust them with my body, all the while knowing that we both are in safe hands.
I couldn't imagine doing that work. What if someone made you do something illegal! Or creepy!
While there are thorough safeguards in place to prevent misuse of the rental service, there was one instance that gave me quite a bit of a scare. It's an interesting story about a renter who got too attached to the rental experience and crossed some boundaries.
This individual, let's call him John, had rented my body a few times, and initially, everything seemed fine. However, over time, his behavior started to become problematic. He began requesting my body more frequently, and started leaving me in places that were meaningful to him - his favorite coffee shop, the park where he used to play as a child, and once even outside his apartment.
It was disorienting and unnerving to say the least. Waking up outside John's apartment was particularly alarming. It was late at night, and the street was bathed in the harsh, white glow of the streetlights. I was dressed in casual jeans and a t-shirt, my hair pulled back in a loose ponytail. The quiet, residential area felt foreign and eerily silent, the only sound being the occasional rustling of leaves in the breeze.
I started receiving messages from John too, filled with sentiments that were too intimate, too personal. It was as if he was confusing me with someone he knew closely or someone he wished to be close with. The messages made me uncomfortable, their tone straying from friendly to obsessive.
Then he began sending me photographs - selfies he had taken while renting my body. In each of these images, my body was in various scenarios, some casual, others more intimate.
One of the first pictures was of 'me' at his favorite coffee shop, sipping on a caramel latte. The backdrop was familiar to me - the vintage posters on the wall, the warm, wooden interior of the café. My body was casually dressed, a cozy sweater hugging my petite frame, my blonde hair tumbling over my shoulders. It was as if he had taken me on a casual, coffee date.
At first, I found it a bit amusing, even endearing. Here was a man so taken by the experience of renting my body that he wanted to share his moments with me. It was a new angle to the renting experience that I hadn't considered before - the renter wanting to connect on a more personal level.
As more photographs followed, the tone of them started to change. There was one where 'I' was standing on the edge of a rooftop, the city lights glittering in the background. My body, clad in a fitting leather jacket and ripped jeans, seemed to emanate an air of recklessness that was not me. It was unnerving, a stark contrast to the earlier, cozy coffee shop picture.
Some photos of my feet came next, which was kind of odd, and then my own face making a kissy face at the camera. Ugh. Then came the intimate ones - a picture of 'me' lounging on a bed, dressed in a silk nightgown, a soft smile playing on 'my' lips. The familiarity of the scenario, coupled with the knowledge that it wasn't truly me, left me with an uncomfortable feeling, a breach of privacy that was hard to ignore.
That's when it dawned on me that this was more than just a renter enjoying his experiences - it was veering into an obsessive territory. I could see John blurring the lines between the rented experience and real connection, transforming the relationship into something it was not supposed to be.
Things took a turn for the more disturbing when I received a video from John.
I remember when the notification popped up on my phone, it was late at night, and I was just wrapping up some study session. Intrigued and admittedly a little apprehensive, I clicked on the message.
The video was a selfie, but not just any selfie – it was John, renting my body, talking directly into the camera. He’s dressed me in a guy’s business shirt, boxers, and nothing else. The shirt was unbuttoned, and you could see my bare breasts underneath, pretty much totally exposed.
He was sat outside on a park bench, legs spread, leaning back with a smirk. He winked at the camera, a mischievous glint in his eyes, before launching into a monologue. The topics were all over the place - he shared his thoughts on books he liked, mused about our supposed 'connection', even hinted at plans he had for future rentals. His gestures were expressive, my hands moving animatedly as he spoke, the sunlight bouncing off the silver watch wrapped around his wrist. The watch was his, I’d never seen it before.
Throughout the video, he wore a knowing smile that was a clear departure from my typical expressions. It was chillingly intimate, uncomfortably personal. Here was a man who seemed to be under the delusion that he was developing a personal, almost romantic relationship with me, despite the starkly impersonal nature of our interaction.
Watching that video, it became clear to me that I needed to act. His delusions, his growing obsession was not just disturbing but potentially dangerous. It was then that I decided to report him to the agency. Despite the uncomfortable circumstances, I take solace in knowing that the system worked as it should, ensuring safety and enforcing boundaries when necessary. It served as a stark reminder of the potential risks and oddities I might face in my unique line of work.
Do renters take care of you? Like, do they eat properly? Exercise?
While renters are usually respectful, it's important to remember that for them, renting a body is often seen as a kind of vacation or escape from their own lives. As such, they might not stick to the same kind of diet and exercise routines I typically do.
There have been times when I've woken up to the remnants of a food binge - empty pizza boxes, chocolate wrappers, ice cream tubs - the works. It's amusing in a way, a clear indication of the renter letting loose and enjoying their 'time off'. I've found myself in the middle of a carnival, the sweet scent of cotton candy lingering on my tongue, or sometimes at an upscale restaurant, the remnants of a steak dinner still on the plate.
Exercise, unfortunately, doesn't seem to be a priority for most renters. Understandably, hitting the gym or going for a run might not be their idea of a fun time while renting someone else's body. As a result, I have to put in the extra work to maintain my fitness and health.
It's an interesting trade-off - I get to pay for medical school, and they get to take a break from their own lives, diets, and routines. It does add an extra layer of challenge to my life, but it's one I've grown accustomed to. I've learned to appreciate the workout sessions, the way my muscles ache after a good run or the soothing burn of a yoga routine. It's a part of my life that's wholly mine, a piece of routine and normalcy amidst the chaotic nature of my job.
At the end of the day, it's about understanding and accepting that my body is shared space. I do my best to provide a fit, healthy body for my renters to use, and in return, they give me the means to chase my dreams.
Hey meatsuitAMA, ever woke up with a badass tattoo that you didn't remember getting?
Ha! Luckily, no! The agency's pretty strict about that stuff - no permanent changes to the body, and that includes tattoos. Although, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't curious about what kind of ink a renter might choose.
Do you ever feel like you're missing out on your own life?
Damn, you're getting deep on me, aren't ya? It's a trip, no doubt. I mean, one minute I'm me, next I'm catching up on the shenanigans some renter got up to. But hey, at least I'm missing out on my life for a good cause, right? And who knows, maybe one day I'll wake up with a Nobel Prize because some renter used my body to solve quantum physics or something!
So, what if a renter decides to go skydiving or bungee jumping?
Well, they're supposed to stick to a set of ground rules, and extreme sports is a big no-no. But honestly? If someone secretly went skydiving with my body, I'd be pissed I missed out on the thrill! But for real, don't do that, future renters. I don't want my heart giving out at 22.
Are you ever scared of not getting your body back?
Haha, you know how to keep a girl up at night. But no, the tech's solid, and I trust the agency. But you bet your ass I've had some nightmares about that. If my body goes on a world tour without me, I better at least get a postcard.
Do your friends or family know about your job?
Well, mom knows, and she wasn't thrilled, let me tell ya. Tried to get me to consider waitressing or something. But my pals think it's pretty cool. And it's one hell of an ice breaker at parties. Imagine - "Hey, I'm meatsuitAMA, I rent out my body for a living. Pass the chips?"
What happens if the renter gets drunk or high?
Don't get me started. I basically wake up in whatever condition they leave me in. This one time, I woke up on a bed made of candy wrappers and empty bottles. My head is pounding, and I'm pretty sure I can still taste tequila. The renter had a full-on party, got sloshed, and binged on candy.
It wasn’t my best wake-up call, I’ll tell ya that much. Had to down a gallon of water and pop a few aspirins just to stop the world from spinning. And I was finding candy wrappers in my clothes for days after!
Have you ever been rented by someone famous?
Okay, I can’t reveal names ‘cause privacy and all that jazz, but holy crap, yes! And it was wild! Woke up in this swanky hotel suite, there's room service on the table, and I'm wearing designer gear head to toe. Even found a selfie with a major celeb on my phone. They were on a secret vacation or something. Crazy, right?
What about romantic stuff? Ever wake up with a partner next to you?
Sure, it's happened. I woke up once cuddling another sleeping lady, and I was wearing this cute red dress pulled up around my waist. There were rose petals everywhere, and I mean EVERYWHERE. Took me hours to clean up. Turns out the renter had a long-distance relationship, wanted to surprise their partner. Sweet, but talk about awkward for me!
Have you ever woken up eating something really weird?
Haha, well, get ready for this. Once, I woke up in a chilli eating competition. I kid you not, I was in the middle of chewing this nuclear-level hot chilli. My eyes were watering, my throat was burning, and I was sweating like I just ran a marathon. My lips were stained a bright red from the chilli, and I could feel the heat radiating off my tongue, my entire mouth felt like it was on fire.
I was wearing this ridiculous chilli-shaped hat and a bib with "Chilli Queen" printed on it. It took every ounce of my control not to spit out the chilli right then and there. With tears streaming down my face, I somehow managed to swallow the damn thing, then proceeded to drink about a gallon of milk straight from the jug.
Let's just say, the after-effects were...not pleasant. And that's the last time I ever want to be part of a chilli eating competition!
Do people ever rent you for physical labor or things like that?
It happens sometimes. I hadn’t thought it would ahead of time – who would want my body to do manual labour, I can lift like, two bricks on a good day. But it turns out there’s so few bodies available at any given time, sometimes there are shortages, and they just want more hands on site.
Once I woke up in a construction site wearing those baggy, heavy duty work clothes, you know the kind, and a hard hat. There were smudges of dirt on my hands and face, and my muscles ached like I'd been lifting weights all day. The work gloves were still on my hands, and I could feel the rough material chafing against my skin. The boots were a bit too large for my feet, and I had to be careful not to trip over anything.
Apparently, the renter was a contractor from the other side of the country. The agency assures me that they ensure safety measures for such rentals, but I still found it a bit weird. But hey, I guess it’s a way for people to get their work done :/.
What are the most common reasons people rent your body?
Good question! It's a mixed bag, honestly. Sometimes it's for the experience of being a petite woman, which is kinda weird but hey, to each their own. Other times they want to use me like a canvas. I woke up once in a room filled with wigs and makeup. I was wearing this professional grade makeup, you know, the kind you see on models during fashion week.
I’m talking glittery eye shadow that matched the exact color of my eyes, perfectly applied red lipstick that made my lips look fuller, and a rosy blush that gave my cheeks a healthy glow. The fake eyelashes were a bit annoying though. Every blink felt heavy, and my eyes were watering a bit from the glue.
I later found out that the renter was a makeup artist. They had used my face as a canvas to practice new makeup techniques. I gotta say, it felt pretty cool walking around looking like I stepped straight out of a beauty magazine.
Other people might rent me to explore the city, like for travel and tourism things. Sometimes I'm rented for people to go to meetings or hangouts long distance. Occasionally it seems to be just a sex thing -- girls (or even guys, idk) renting me to have fun on the town -- which I'm less keen on, but as long as they take it easy.
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Hey /r/newyoubodyswap! As the title suggests, I am a 23-year-old woman who just a few months ago, was living life as a 27-year-old man. This transformation has been made possible by the NewYou body swap service. The platform leverages neuralink technology to let transgender individuals experience life in a body that aligns with their gender identity. Ask me anything!
Hey /r/newyoubodyswap! As the title suggests, I am a 23-year-old woman who just a few months ago, was living life as a 27-year-old man. This transformation has been made possible by the NewYou body swap service. The platform leverages neuralink technology to let transgender individuals experience life in a body that aligns with their gender identity.
To put it simply, NewYou essentially bridges two bodies, transmitting sensations and motor commands between the two neuralink implants. It's a form of technological telepathy, I suppose, which allows each of us to live within the other's body.
I took the plunge a couple of months ago, opting to swap bodies with a wonderful trans man who was seeking the same sense of alignment that I was. After several medical and psychological assessments, we both decided to proceed, undergoing the surgical procedure to have the neuralink implants put in place. We then began the process of acclimating to our new bodies.
It's been a surreal, challenging, and ultimately rewarding experience. I am living life as a woman now, something I had yearned for, for as long as I can remember. This service has allowed me to be me, fully and unabashedly.
Now, I know a lot of you may have questions about this process and what it’s like living in a different body. I'm here, ready and willing to share my experience, hoping it may be helpful to those who are considering a similar journey. AMA!
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Could you tell us about the differences between your new body and old one?
Absolutely, I'd be happy to elaborate. The differences are quite stark, both physically and emotionally.
Physically, the changes are noticeable in every aspect. My new body is shorter and smaller in stature compared to my old one. My skin is softer, and I've noticed the change in my hair texture as well. The body shape is entirely different, featuring curves where there were none before. I'm also getting used to the lack of facial and body hair, which is a pleasant change for me.
The sensory experiences are also very different. I've noticed that smells and tastes seem somewhat amplified, which took some adjusting. Physically, I feel lighter and more agile. The hormonal changes have also affected my emotional state quite a bit. I tend to feel emotions more intensely than before, which has been an enlightening experience.
One thing that took some getting used to was the different strengths. I'm not as physically strong as I used to be, which was a bit of a surprise at first. Even everyday tasks like opening jars or moving furniture took some adjusting.
On the inside, it's hard to explain, but I just feel more aligned, more 'me'. It's like I've been wearing a mask my entire life, and I've finally taken it off. It's truly liberating. And, of course, experiencing life as a woman brings with it a host of societal and cultural differences that I'm still navigating.
Overall, I'm incredibly grateful for this experience. It's been challenging but also so rewarding. I finally feel comfortable in my own skin.
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It must have been odd to go from what, 6’ to 5’2”?
Absolutely, it took some getting used to for sure! The change in height and proportions was particularly striking, and led to a few amusing (and mildly embarrassing) incidents.
One day, about three weeks after the swap, I was at the supermarket doing some grocery shopping. It was the same store I'd always shopped at, and I was so used to just reaching out and grabbing things from the shelves. I was going about my shopping as usual, when I reached the aisle with canned goods. I saw a can of soup I wanted that was, unfortunately, sitting on the top shelf.
Without thinking much of it, I reached up to grab the can, as I always had. But, to my surprise, my hand found nothing but air. I looked up, perplexed, and realized the top shelf was now well out of my reach.
Standing there, looking at that can of soup like it was the Holy Grail, I felt a little foolish. I glanced around, half-expecting to see people pointing and laughing. Instead, I saw a fellow shopper looking at me with a knowing smile. He was tall, and without a word, he reached up and handed me the can of soup. He simply said, "I got you," and walked away.
I must have stood there, blushing, for a good minute before I finally moved on. The experience was a reality check for me, underscoring just how much my world had changed, literally and figuratively. It was a small, somewhat silly moment, but it was significant in helping me realize the ways in which I would have to adapt to my new body and its capabilities.
So yes, while it's been an adjustment, these little moments have also made me appreciate my new reality in ways I hadn't anticipated. It's a learning experience, and I'm enjoying the journey.
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What's it like to have guys hit on you now?
Oh man, that’s a whole different ball game! I've had my share of cringe-worthy moments, believe me.
The first time it happened, I was at a café, minding my own business, when this dude walked over. He starts off with, "Are you a magician? Because whenever I look at you, everyone else disappears." I'm not gonna lie, I thought he was trying to sell me something at first, so I just blinked at him and then looked around like I was trying to find the hidden cameras. It was only when he sat down that it clicked, and I was like, "Oh...oh!"
Honestly, it's a bit weird. Like, I appreciate a good compliment as much as the next person, but the over-the-top, cheesy pick-up lines? Those are something else. And then there's the whole etiquette around who pays for meals, holding doors open, all that stuff. It's like learning a whole new social dance.
Don't get me wrong, though, there's a certain charm to it too. The little kindnesses, when genuine, can be very sweet. And I’ve had a lot of fun gently letting down the ones who just don’t get the hint.
But yeah, it’s definitely a new and sometimes awkward experience. I’m still getting the hang of it. So, to all the guys out there, remember: cheese is great on pizza, not so much in your pick-up lines! ;)
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Does everybody know you used to be a dude, or are you kind of stealth?
That's a great question. The truth is, it's a bit of both. My close friends and family, of course, are all aware of my transition. They've been wonderfully supportive and understanding throughout this whole process. As for everyone else, it really depends on the situation and the person.
I do want to clarify that using terms like 'used to be a dude' can be a little oversimplified for many of us in the trans community. While I understand the spirit of the question, I like to think of it as 'I've always been a woman, but I was in a male body before.' Language matters, as it helps shape our understanding and attitudes!
Back to your question, though: in casual interactions, I don't generally bring it up unless it's relevant or I feel comfortable enough to share. It's not exactly a secret, but it's also not the first thing I share about myself.
Online, it's a different story. As you can tell from this AMA, I'm pretty open about my experiences. I believe that sharing these stories can help build understanding and empathy. But I'm also aware that privacy is important, and not every trans person may feel comfortable or safe to be as open.
So yeah, I guess you could say I'm semi-stealth. It's a balancing act, and one that I'm still figuring out as I go along. Like everything else in this process, it's a journey! And one that I’m glad to be on.
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So since it's a neuralink thing, does that mean you're technically still in your original body, and just being sort of broadcast into the new one? Like, if the girl you swapped with got your old body drunk, would it affect you?
So, it's not quite a full upload, more like a continuous live stream of consciousness between the two bodies.
To make it clearer, both my original body and my new one have Neuralink implants. These implants communicate constantly, sending and receiving signals between the two bodies. When I say "I'm in a new body," it's because I'm experiencing all the sensory input and motor control from this female body, all the time. My old body is essentially being piloted remotely in the same way, by my swap partner.
The ‘would I get drunk’ question is a bit harder. I think I would? I’m actually not sure exactly. They did tell us not to do anything like that. All the sensations, including ones like hunger, tiredness, etc, are transferred, so I think the sensation of being drunk would be to – that is, if my original body was drunk, I wouldn’t feel it, but I think the alcohol would still affect my brain processing? Like, the chemicals are still in there, interfering with whatever thoughts the neuralink isn’t adjusting back to baseline me. Just a guess, really.
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What was the first week of being a girl like? I'm thinking about signing up myself, but I'm a bit nervous.
The first week was a whirlwind, no doubt about it. Excitement, confusion, nerves - all mixed into one crazy cocktail. But, I have to say, it's been the best decision I ever made, despite the challenges.
Waking up for the first time in my new body was a surreal experience. Imagine waking up one morning and you're not just in a different bed, but in a different body. I was shorter now, and definitely felt it – I kept bumping into things and everything in my apartment seemed weirdly big. I had to throw out almost all of my clothes too. I kept one big jacket that I loved, but now it hangs practically down to my knees when I wear it haha.
My new body was previously owned by a trans man, so it was initially very masculine in appearance. He'd kept the hair short, and I had hair everywhere else too. Apart from being only 5’2” tall, he was basically passing. It was a strange middle ground, looking down and seeing a female body that was so much more masculine than I'd expected, like the opposite of my own body lol
The first thing I did, once I got over the initial dizziness and giddy disbelief, was to take a long, hard look at myself in the mirror. I remember running my fingers through the short hair, touching my smooth cheeks. I remember flexing my arms and giggling at how tiny they looked. Obvious spent a long time getting used to my boobs and vagina. I loved wearing really tight pants for a while afterwards and looking down and just… flat.
Re-feminizing the body was a process. My skin was different, so my makeup came out basically looking like a clown at first. I was so excited the first time I went shopping in my new body the sales girl didn’t know what to do with me. She kinda gave me a judgemental frown the whole time I was there which honestly I loved. Sounds weird, but it was like, she was judging me like a girl judges a girl? I don’t know if that makes sense.
I was pretty bad to be first tbh. I didn’t know my proportions, and the clothes I tried on were all kind of ill fitting and honestly, way too revealing. But I was revealing in it, you know! I wish I'd taken more pictures.
Working on my physique was another task altogether. I started doing more cardio, less weights, to get a softer, more feminine figure. Seeing the changes week after week was a really powerful motivator. It made the whole experience feel more real, and it was incredibly rewarding to see my reflection in the mirror become more and more the woman I felt inside.
Hope this helps you a bit with your decision. Feel free to ask any other questions you may have. Good luck on your journey, wherever it may lead!
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Did you ever meet your original body again?
I certainly did! It was about two months after the swap, once we had both gotten somewhat used to our new bodies. We had agreed to meet up, both out of curiosity and to see how the other was adjusting. It was one of the strangest and most enlightening experiences of my life.
I remember walking into the café where we'd agreed to meet and seeing him - or rather, seeing my old body, sitting there in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. It was bizarre seeing myself from the outside, like watching some kind of strange doppelgänger.
The first thing he said when he saw me was, "Wow, you really went all out, didn't you?" I'd dressed up a bit for the meeting - a tasteful dress, some light makeup, and yes, a pair of modest high heels. I'd even managed to coax my growing hair into a somewhat elegant style.
I'll never forget the look on his face as he took in the changes - a mix of amazement, amusement, and a touch of shock. He laughed and shook his head, saying, "I would have never thought to see this body in heels."
We had a good laugh about that. It was a moment of shared understanding - we'd both lived in these bodies, and we both knew the strange, surreal journey we were on. There was something comforting in that shared experience.
It was also a poignant reminder of the drastic changes we were each making to adapt to our new bodies. For him, it was about embracing the masculine physique he'd always wanted, while for me, it was about bringing out the femininity I'd always felt.
So yes, seeing my old body again was an experience, to say the least. It was strange, funny, and a little bittersweet, but I wouldn't change it for anything. It's all part of this incredible journey I've embarked upon.
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What’s the most unexpected thing about being female?
I'd have to say it's the grip strength. I had been prepared for a lot of the differences, but that one took me by surprise.
It's the weirdest thing, like my hands just don't work the same way they used to. I remember the first time I really noticed it. I was trying to open a jar of pickles and it just... wouldn't budge. I tried and tried, my hand wrapped around the lid, the tiny muscles straining in my forearm. And nothing.
I remember staring at my hand, this delicate, slender thing with neat, short nails. The wrist was thin, the knuckles less pronounced than I remembered. It was like my hand was a doll's hand, dainty and pretty, but lacking the raw strength I was used to.
I won't lie, it was a bit of a blow to my ego. I used to pride myself on my grip strength. I was the jar-opener of the house, the go-to person for stubborn bottle caps. And now, I was staring at this jar of pickles like it was an unsolvable puzzle.
But you know what? After a moment of sulking, I just laughed it off. I found a rubber band, wrapped it around the lid for extra grip, and voila - open jar of pickles.
I guess it's just one of those things you don't really think about until you're in the situation. But, as with everything else in this journey, it's about adapting and overcoming. So now, I keep a rubber band in the kitchen drawer and I've started doing some grip strength exercises.
I might not have the same brute strength I used to have, but I'm learning to navigate this world in a different way. And there's something really empowering about that. It's a daily reminder of the woman I've become, and every time I open a jar, it's a tiny victory. Plus, the pickles taste pretty good too! ;)
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Have you had sex yet? What did it feel like? How was it different?
I have, aha, and it was goooood. I mean, weird, but good. When you’re a guy it’s more concentrated in your dick right? As a girl it’s more spread out, warm and inside. To be honest, I never really liked having sex when I had a male body, so that’s probably part of it, but it was so much more enjoyable as a girl. It’s slower, more difficult to orgasm, but my whole body gets hot and I have a kind of shaky feeling now that I never used to? Also the orgasm itself lasts so much longer than before! It’s like stomach, leg, mind, everything all at once.
The other difference was just being less in control? Like, I had this odd sensation when I was being thrown around and moved about by my boyfriend in a way that I couldn’t have been before, and he really loved teasing me about it – holding me down in ways he couldn’t before, because I used to be bigger than him, haha.
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What was it like choosing your new outfits and things for the first time?
Ah, the first shopping trip. Now that was a trip in more ways than one.
When I first decided to go shopping for new clothes, I was a ball of nerves and excitement. I had this mental checklist of all the feminine clothing items I'd always admired but never had the chance to wear - dresses, skirts, blouses, you name it.
But the biggest revelation was definitely the shoes. Oh my gosh, the shoes.
As a guy, I had pretty large feet and finding stylish shoes that fit was always a struggle. Now, in my new body, my feet were comparatively tiny. The first time I stepped into a shoe store, I was gobsmacked. All these shoes, in all these styles, and they all actually FIT.
I remember sitting there, a pair of cute flats in one hand and a stylish heel in the other, just marveling at the fact that they were my size. The sleek curves of the heel, the delicate design of the flats - these were things I'd always admired from afar, and now they were mine to wear.
Slipping my foot into a heel for the first time was like stepping into a new world. The way it changed my posture, made me stand taller, the confident click-clack they made on the floor. It felt powerful in a way I hadn't anticipated.
And then came the challenge of walking in them. I won't lie, I was wobbly as a newborn deer at first. But after some practice (and a few hilarious missteps), I started getting the hang of it. Now, I can strut around in those babies like a runway model - well, a runway model on her first day, maybe.
But shoes were just the beginning. Dresses, skirts, jeans that actually fit - it was like stepping into a whole new world of fashion, and I was eager to explore it all. It was a journey of self-discovery and self-expression, and I'm still riding that wave.
As overwhelming as it was at first, I wouldn't trade those moments for anything. Every time I slip into a pair of heels, it's a reminder of how far I've come, and how much further I still have to go on this journey of mine. And let me tell you, I'm excited to see where it takes me. So here's to the road ahead - may it be as fabulous as my shoe collection!
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Do you ever get dressed up and just admire being a woman?
So about a month in, I decided to treat myself. I'd seen this stunning dress in a boutique window - knee-length, black, with a plunging neckline and an open back. It was a bold piece, the kind of thing that demands attention and confidence. I wasn't sure if I was ready for that, but I figured why not? I was embarking on a new life, and I wanted to experience it all.
Trying it on was...an experience. At first, I was a bit self-conscious. I mean, it was more revealing than anything I'd ever worn before. But as I pulled the zipper up and looked at myself in the full-length mirror, something amazing happened.
I saw a woman staring back at me. Not just any woman - but me, as a woman. The dress hugged my curves, accentuated the softness of my new figure. The open back was elegant, daring, and the neckline...well, let's just say it made the most of what I had.
I remember turning this way and that, watching how the fabric shimmered under the lights. I ran a hand down my side, marveling at the softness of my skin, the slender line of my waist. And for the first time since the swap, I felt...well, hot.
I know that sounds vain, but it was an incredible feeling. After years of feeling uncomfortable in my own skin, of not recognizing the person in the mirror, I finally felt at home. I was finally seeing the person I'd always felt I was, inside and out.
I bought the dress right then and there, and wore it out of the boutique. Strutting down the sidewalk, head high, I felt on top of the world. I won't say I didn't get a few stares - but for the first time in my life, I didn't mind. I was proud of who I was, proud of the journey I'd taken to get here.
And that dress? It's still hanging in my closet, a constant reminder of the woman I've become. It's a symbol of my transformation, a testament to my courage, and the best impulse buy I've ever made.
Hey /r/newyoubodyswap! As the title suggests, I am a 23-year-old woman who just a few months ago, was living life as a 27-year-old man. This transformation has been made possible by the NewYou body swap service. The platform leverages neuralink technology to let transgender individuals experience life in a body that aligns with their gender identity.
To put it simply, NewYou essentially bridges two bodies, transmitting sensations and motor commands between the two neuralink implants. It's a form of technological telepathy, I suppose, which allows each of us to live within the other's body.
I took the plunge a couple of months ago, opting to swap bodies with a wonderful trans man who was seeking the same sense of alignment that I was. After several medical and psychological assessments, we both decided to proceed, undergoing the surgical procedure to have the neuralink implants put in place. We then began the process of acclimating to our new bodies.
It's been a surreal, challenging, and ultimately rewarding experience. I am living life as a woman now, something I had yearned for, for as long as I can remember. This service has allowed me to be me, fully and unabashedly.
Now, I know a lot of you may have questions about this process and what it’s like living in a different body. I'm here, ready and willing to share my experience, hoping it may be helpful to those who are considering a similar journey. AMA!
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Could you tell us about the differences between your new body and old one?
Absolutely, I'd be happy to elaborate. The differences are quite stark, both physically and emotionally.
Physically, the changes are noticeable in every aspect. My new body is shorter and smaller in stature compared to my old one. My skin is softer, and I've noticed the change in my hair texture as well. The body shape is entirely different, featuring curves where there were none before. I'm also getting used to the lack of facial and body hair, which is a pleasant change for me.
The sensory experiences are also very different. I've noticed that smells and tastes seem somewhat amplified, which took some adjusting. Physically, I feel lighter and more agile. The hormonal changes have also affected my emotional state quite a bit. I tend to feel emotions more intensely than before, which has been an enlightening experience.
One thing that took some getting used to was the different strengths. I'm not as physically strong as I used to be, which was a bit of a surprise at first. Even everyday tasks like opening jars or moving furniture took some adjusting.
On the inside, it's hard to explain, but I just feel more aligned, more 'me'. It's like I've been wearing a mask my entire life, and I've finally taken it off. It's truly liberating. And, of course, experiencing life as a woman brings with it a host of societal and cultural differences that I'm still navigating.
Overall, I'm incredibly grateful for this experience. It's been challenging but also so rewarding. I finally feel comfortable in my own skin.
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It must have been odd to go from what, 6’ to 5’2”?
Absolutely, it took some getting used to for sure! The change in height and proportions was particularly striking, and led to a few amusing (and mildly embarrassing) incidents.
One day, about three weeks after the swap, I was at the supermarket doing some grocery shopping. It was the same store I'd always shopped at, and I was so used to just reaching out and grabbing things from the shelves. I was going about my shopping as usual, when I reached the aisle with canned goods. I saw a can of soup I wanted that was, unfortunately, sitting on the top shelf.
Without thinking much of it, I reached up to grab the can, as I always had. But, to my surprise, my hand found nothing but air. I looked up, perplexed, and realized the top shelf was now well out of my reach.
Standing there, looking at that can of soup like it was the Holy Grail, I felt a little foolish. I glanced around, half-expecting to see people pointing and laughing. Instead, I saw a fellow shopper looking at me with a knowing smile. He was tall, and without a word, he reached up and handed me the can of soup. He simply said, "I got you," and walked away.
I must have stood there, blushing, for a good minute before I finally moved on. The experience was a reality check for me, underscoring just how much my world had changed, literally and figuratively. It was a small, somewhat silly moment, but it was significant in helping me realize the ways in which I would have to adapt to my new body and its capabilities.
So yes, while it's been an adjustment, these little moments have also made me appreciate my new reality in ways I hadn't anticipated. It's a learning experience, and I'm enjoying the journey.
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What's it like to have guys hit on you now?
Oh man, that’s a whole different ball game! I've had my share of cringe-worthy moments, believe me.
The first time it happened, I was at a café, minding my own business, when this dude walked over. He starts off with, "Are you a magician? Because whenever I look at you, everyone else disappears." I'm not gonna lie, I thought he was trying to sell me something at first, so I just blinked at him and then looked around like I was trying to find the hidden cameras. It was only when he sat down that it clicked, and I was like, "Oh...oh!"
Honestly, it's a bit weird. Like, I appreciate a good compliment as much as the next person, but the over-the-top, cheesy pick-up lines? Those are something else. And then there's the whole etiquette around who pays for meals, holding doors open, all that stuff. It's like learning a whole new social dance.
Don't get me wrong, though, there's a certain charm to it too. The little kindnesses, when genuine, can be very sweet. And I’ve had a lot of fun gently letting down the ones who just don’t get the hint.
But yeah, it’s definitely a new and sometimes awkward experience. I’m still getting the hang of it. So, to all the guys out there, remember: cheese is great on pizza, not so much in your pick-up lines! ;)
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Does everybody know you used to be a dude, or are you kind of stealth?
That's a great question. The truth is, it's a bit of both. My close friends and family, of course, are all aware of my transition. They've been wonderfully supportive and understanding throughout this whole process. As for everyone else, it really depends on the situation and the person.
I do want to clarify that using terms like 'used to be a dude' can be a little oversimplified for many of us in the trans community. While I understand the spirit of the question, I like to think of it as 'I've always been a woman, but I was in a male body before.' Language matters, as it helps shape our understanding and attitudes!
Back to your question, though: in casual interactions, I don't generally bring it up unless it's relevant or I feel comfortable enough to share. It's not exactly a secret, but it's also not the first thing I share about myself.
Online, it's a different story. As you can tell from this AMA, I'm pretty open about my experiences. I believe that sharing these stories can help build understanding and empathy. But I'm also aware that privacy is important, and not every trans person may feel comfortable or safe to be as open.
So yeah, I guess you could say I'm semi-stealth. It's a balancing act, and one that I'm still figuring out as I go along. Like everything else in this process, it's a journey! And one that I’m glad to be on.
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So since it's a neuralink thing, does that mean you're technically still in your original body, and just being sort of broadcast into the new one? Like, if the girl you swapped with got your old body drunk, would it affect you?
So, it's not quite a full upload, more like a continuous live stream of consciousness between the two bodies.
To make it clearer, both my original body and my new one have Neuralink implants. These implants communicate constantly, sending and receiving signals between the two bodies. When I say "I'm in a new body," it's because I'm experiencing all the sensory input and motor control from this female body, all the time. My old body is essentially being piloted remotely in the same way, by my swap partner.
The ‘would I get drunk’ question is a bit harder. I think I would? I’m actually not sure exactly. They did tell us not to do anything like that. All the sensations, including ones like hunger, tiredness, etc, are transferred, so I think the sensation of being drunk would be to – that is, if my original body was drunk, I wouldn’t feel it, but I think the alcohol would still affect my brain processing? Like, the chemicals are still in there, interfering with whatever thoughts the neuralink isn’t adjusting back to baseline me. Just a guess, really.
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What was the first week of being a girl like? I'm thinking about signing up myself, but I'm a bit nervous.
The first week was a whirlwind, no doubt about it. Excitement, confusion, nerves - all mixed into one crazy cocktail. But, I have to say, it's been the best decision I ever made, despite the challenges.
Waking up for the first time in my new body was a surreal experience. Imagine waking up one morning and you're not just in a different bed, but in a different body. I was shorter now, and definitely felt it – I kept bumping into things and everything in my apartment seemed weirdly big. I had to throw out almost all of my clothes too. I kept one big jacket that I loved, but now it hangs practically down to my knees when I wear it haha.
My new body was previously owned by a trans man, so it was initially very masculine in appearance. He'd kept the hair short, and I had hair everywhere else too. Apart from being only 5’2” tall, he was basically passing. It was a strange middle ground, looking down and seeing a female body that was so much more masculine than I'd expected, like the opposite of my own body lol
The first thing I did, once I got over the initial dizziness and giddy disbelief, was to take a long, hard look at myself in the mirror. I remember running my fingers through the short hair, touching my smooth cheeks. I remember flexing my arms and giggling at how tiny they looked. Obvious spent a long time getting used to my boobs and vagina. I loved wearing really tight pants for a while afterwards and looking down and just… flat.
Re-feminizing the body was a process. My skin was different, so my makeup came out basically looking like a clown at first. I was so excited the first time I went shopping in my new body the sales girl didn’t know what to do with me. She kinda gave me a judgemental frown the whole time I was there which honestly I loved. Sounds weird, but it was like, she was judging me like a girl judges a girl? I don’t know if that makes sense.
I was pretty bad to be first tbh. I didn’t know my proportions, and the clothes I tried on were all kind of ill fitting and honestly, way too revealing. But I was revealing in it, you know! I wish I'd taken more pictures.
Working on my physique was another task altogether. I started doing more cardio, less weights, to get a softer, more feminine figure. Seeing the changes week after week was a really powerful motivator. It made the whole experience feel more real, and it was incredibly rewarding to see my reflection in the mirror become more and more the woman I felt inside.
Hope this helps you a bit with your decision. Feel free to ask any other questions you may have. Good luck on your journey, wherever it may lead!
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Did you ever meet your original body again?
I certainly did! It was about two months after the swap, once we had both gotten somewhat used to our new bodies. We had agreed to meet up, both out of curiosity and to see how the other was adjusting. It was one of the strangest and most enlightening experiences of my life.
I remember walking into the café where we'd agreed to meet and seeing him - or rather, seeing my old body, sitting there in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. It was bizarre seeing myself from the outside, like watching some kind of strange doppelgänger.
The first thing he said when he saw me was, "Wow, you really went all out, didn't you?" I'd dressed up a bit for the meeting - a tasteful dress, some light makeup, and yes, a pair of modest high heels. I'd even managed to coax my growing hair into a somewhat elegant style.
I'll never forget the look on his face as he took in the changes - a mix of amazement, amusement, and a touch of shock. He laughed and shook his head, saying, "I would have never thought to see this body in heels."
We had a good laugh about that. It was a moment of shared understanding - we'd both lived in these bodies, and we both knew the strange, surreal journey we were on. There was something comforting in that shared experience.
It was also a poignant reminder of the drastic changes we were each making to adapt to our new bodies. For him, it was about embracing the masculine physique he'd always wanted, while for me, it was about bringing out the femininity I'd always felt.
So yes, seeing my old body again was an experience, to say the least. It was strange, funny, and a little bittersweet, but I wouldn't change it for anything. It's all part of this incredible journey I've embarked upon.
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What’s the most unexpected thing about being female?
I'd have to say it's the grip strength. I had been prepared for a lot of the differences, but that one took me by surprise.
It's the weirdest thing, like my hands just don't work the same way they used to. I remember the first time I really noticed it. I was trying to open a jar of pickles and it just... wouldn't budge. I tried and tried, my hand wrapped around the lid, the tiny muscles straining in my forearm. And nothing.
I remember staring at my hand, this delicate, slender thing with neat, short nails. The wrist was thin, the knuckles less pronounced than I remembered. It was like my hand was a doll's hand, dainty and pretty, but lacking the raw strength I was used to.
I won't lie, it was a bit of a blow to my ego. I used to pride myself on my grip strength. I was the jar-opener of the house, the go-to person for stubborn bottle caps. And now, I was staring at this jar of pickles like it was an unsolvable puzzle.
But you know what? After a moment of sulking, I just laughed it off. I found a rubber band, wrapped it around the lid for extra grip, and voila - open jar of pickles.
I guess it's just one of those things you don't really think about until you're in the situation. But, as with everything else in this journey, it's about adapting and overcoming. So now, I keep a rubber band in the kitchen drawer and I've started doing some grip strength exercises.
I might not have the same brute strength I used to have, but I'm learning to navigate this world in a different way. And there's something really empowering about that. It's a daily reminder of the woman I've become, and every time I open a jar, it's a tiny victory. Plus, the pickles taste pretty good too! ;)
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Have you had sex yet? What did it feel like? How was it different?
I have, aha, and it was goooood. I mean, weird, but good. When you’re a guy it’s more concentrated in your dick right? As a girl it’s more spread out, warm and inside. To be honest, I never really liked having sex when I had a male body, so that’s probably part of it, but it was so much more enjoyable as a girl. It’s slower, more difficult to orgasm, but my whole body gets hot and I have a kind of shaky feeling now that I never used to? Also the orgasm itself lasts so much longer than before! It’s like stomach, leg, mind, everything all at once.
The other difference was just being less in control? Like, I had this odd sensation when I was being thrown around and moved about by my boyfriend in a way that I couldn’t have been before, and he really loved teasing me about it – holding me down in ways he couldn’t before, because I used to be bigger than him, haha.
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What was it like choosing your new outfits and things for the first time?
Ah, the first shopping trip. Now that was a trip in more ways than one.
When I first decided to go shopping for new clothes, I was a ball of nerves and excitement. I had this mental checklist of all the feminine clothing items I'd always admired but never had the chance to wear - dresses, skirts, blouses, you name it.
But the biggest revelation was definitely the shoes. Oh my gosh, the shoes.
As a guy, I had pretty large feet and finding stylish shoes that fit was always a struggle. Now, in my new body, my feet were comparatively tiny. The first time I stepped into a shoe store, I was gobsmacked. All these shoes, in all these styles, and they all actually FIT.
I remember sitting there, a pair of cute flats in one hand and a stylish heel in the other, just marveling at the fact that they were my size. The sleek curves of the heel, the delicate design of the flats - these were things I'd always admired from afar, and now they were mine to wear.
Slipping my foot into a heel for the first time was like stepping into a new world. The way it changed my posture, made me stand taller, the confident click-clack they made on the floor. It felt powerful in a way I hadn't anticipated.
And then came the challenge of walking in them. I won't lie, I was wobbly as a newborn deer at first. But after some practice (and a few hilarious missteps), I started getting the hang of it. Now, I can strut around in those babies like a runway model - well, a runway model on her first day, maybe.
But shoes were just the beginning. Dresses, skirts, jeans that actually fit - it was like stepping into a whole new world of fashion, and I was eager to explore it all. It was a journey of self-discovery and self-expression, and I'm still riding that wave.
As overwhelming as it was at first, I wouldn't trade those moments for anything. Every time I slip into a pair of heels, it's a reminder of how far I've come, and how much further I still have to go on this journey of mine. And let me tell you, I'm excited to see where it takes me. So here's to the road ahead - may it be as fabulous as my shoe collection!
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Do you ever get dressed up and just admire being a woman?
So about a month in, I decided to treat myself. I'd seen this stunning dress in a boutique window - knee-length, black, with a plunging neckline and an open back. It was a bold piece, the kind of thing that demands attention and confidence. I wasn't sure if I was ready for that, but I figured why not? I was embarking on a new life, and I wanted to experience it all.
Trying it on was...an experience. At first, I was a bit self-conscious. I mean, it was more revealing than anything I'd ever worn before. But as I pulled the zipper up and looked at myself in the full-length mirror, something amazing happened.
I saw a woman staring back at me. Not just any woman - but me, as a woman. The dress hugged my curves, accentuated the softness of my new figure. The open back was elegant, daring, and the neckline...well, let's just say it made the most of what I had.
I remember turning this way and that, watching how the fabric shimmered under the lights. I ran a hand down my side, marveling at the softness of my skin, the slender line of my waist. And for the first time since the swap, I felt...well, hot.
I know that sounds vain, but it was an incredible feeling. After years of feeling uncomfortable in my own skin, of not recognizing the person in the mirror, I finally felt at home. I was finally seeing the person I'd always felt I was, inside and out.
I bought the dress right then and there, and wore it out of the boutique. Strutting down the sidewalk, head high, I felt on top of the world. I won't say I didn't get a few stares - but for the first time in my life, I didn't mind. I was proud of who I was, proud of the journey I'd taken to get here.
And that dress? It's still hanging in my closet, a constant reminder of the woman I've become. It's a symbol of my transformation, a testament to my courage, and the best impulse buy I've ever made.
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Ross here again. Friends are great, but they can lead to drama sometimes. My friend Ian somehow found out that my girlfriend, Carole, has been using skinsuits to let me sleep with any woman I want (even celebrities!) and it sounds like he wants a piece of the pie. Fortunately, Carole has a plan to deal with this troublesome development but she needs my help.
Previous story: https://www.outfoxstories.com/blog/commission/smyzxb_vulnerability/
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Mrs. Rackert’s huge, soft tits felt like dough in my hands. Kneading them from behind was almost as intoxicating as the feeling of her folds convulsing around my cock.
“Ah… Ross, your hard rod, it’s so big! It’s rampaging inside me! I’m gonna cum!” Mrs. Rackert moaned in between panting breaths. Her long dirty blonde hair disheveled and flecked with glistening sweat from our rough copulation. “Ross, I’m cumming!”
“I’m cumming, too, Mrs. Rackert. Hnnghn!”
I felt my sacs tighten, a pressure building in my loins causing me to lose my rhythm. Feeling the incoming orgasm, I let go of Mrs. Rackert’s tits and took hold of her plump hips and pulled, driving my penis in as deep as I could before it exploded, pumping load after load into my professor’s innermost depths. My vision blurred as my ejaculation went on: ten seconds, twenty, thirty seconds; I almost made it to forty before I felt my high start to fade. As the pleasure dimmed, I became more aware of the semen leaking from Mrs. Rackert’s snatch, oozing out thickly to pool on the sheets below us. I was panting myself as I pulled out and flopped back onto my butt upon the soggy bedsheets. I saw Mrs. Rackert’s curvy figure slump tummy down as well. We both took a minute to catch our breath after the wild sex. This ejaculation volume booster my girlfriend found was incredible, but it took proportionally more out of me, cumming that much for that long.
Mrs. Rackert stirred first. Pulling herself up into a sitting position, I watched as she ran a hand over her body, wicking jizz from the puddle from her breasts, and stomach. She looked me in the eye as she dropped the collected cum from her hand into her mouth and swallowed.
“Ross, you’re such a naughty boy, seducing your professor like this. You know I can’t give you extra credit for this,” she purred. The sights and sounds threatened to pierce my refractory period and make me hard again in a hurry.
But, her words themselves had the opposite effect.
“Shit… Mrs. Rackert’s a fine piece of ass, but you had to bring up class and now I can’t forget how she failed me…”
The shapely professor’s demeanor changed suddenly from seductive to sympathetic.
“Aww, sorry about that, hun,” she apologized. Shaking out her golden curls, she reached behind her neck, and moments later, her facial features deformed, deflating as the person under her skin removed the head mask portion of the skinsuit.
“We were doing so well, too. It really is too bad you have bad memories with this woman. She’s got a banging body for an older lady,” Carole remarked, as if Mrs. Rackert was any older than 30. My girlfriend's face emerged from Mrs. Rackert’s back and the latter’s vacated head rested flaccidly upon her huge bosom, yellow hair spilling out around her chest and down her front. Leaving the suit in that partially removed state, Carole crawled forward on Mrs. Rackert’s hands and knees to kiss me.
“It is nice to get to plow her. I’d always wanted to do that, even since the first class,” I agreed when she let my lips go.
“And now you have,” my girlfriend giggled, sitting back and once more running a hand along Mrs. Rackert’s bodyline. “Imagine if we filmed ourselves and sent the video to her husband?”
I frowned. “That’s cruel. And if anything, that would send the mister after my head as much as get between their marriage.”
“Not if you put on a suit first. I have one of a big black guy with a huge dick. I bet Mrs. Rackert would look great taking a BBC. Alternatively, imagine his face seeing his wife railed by a girl with a cock.”
I shook my head more firmly. “No. As much as I clashed with her, it would be wrong to mess up her life like that.” Sometimes I worried about my girlfriend’s morals.
Skinsuits - a technological marvel that changed the wearer externally to whatever appearance the skinsuit was modeled after. Whether it was a real person or a fictional one, skinsuits could impersonate anyone with near perfect accuracy, and with spatial shaping technology, no disparity between wearer and disguise was incompatible. Even I, a nearly 6 ft tall 20 year old man was able to become a sexy 5’6” bombshell thanks to skinsuits.
Since then Carole and I have made skinsuits almost ubiquitous in our sex life. I didn't always use one but, on the few occasions I did, my experiences were split between becoming a girl myself to play with Carole’s cumming dildo when she wanted to take the lead and getting to try out different male body types (both usually at Carole's request). Carole herself almost always wore a skinsuit for sex these days. She gave me the chance to sleep with a wider diversity of women than I could have ever dreamed of, from my hot professor this semester to the cute convenience store android greeter modeled after a busty bunny girl, to famous celebrities. I could practically point at any woman we saw and say a word, and in a day or two, I could be fucking her. Or rather, my girlfriend in a skinsuit of the woman we saw. Thus, I had been indoctrinated in the special pleasures and privileges of skinsuits.
Even watching her put on or strip from a skinsuit had shifted from an alarming and disturbing sight to an arousing spectacle for me. But I noticed Carole’s expression sober as she removed the rest of Mrs. Rackert’s skinsuit, returning to her natural, slender form.
“Um… Ross, I have some bad news.”
I blinked. “What is it?”
“Well… It’s about Ian… somehow he found out about my skinsuits and is… pestering me about them.”
“That… could be a problem, yes…” I scowled thoughtfully. Ian was a good friend, perhaps even my best friend here at college, but he had a whimsical side that sometimes made him hard to read, and recently he’d been a bit more… bold in talking about his tastes in women. I could see him learning about skinsuits and the special play I enjoyed through my girlfriend and them being… enviable. Though, it was curious that he hadn’t mentioned anything to me about it yet.
“Sorry if he’s given you a hard time. I’ll have a talk with him about it,” I offered, though I hadn’t really formed a proper plan for the confrontation yet.
“Well, actually, I have a different idea,” Carole suggested. “And I want your help for it.”
“Sure, anything for you, Love.”
My beautiful girlfriend smiled mischievously. “That’s what I like to hear.”
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“We’re doing what?” I asked incredulously.
A few days later, my girlfriend invited me back over to her place to execute her plan to deal with Ian. Having shared little of her plan back when she first brought it up, I was informed only to be ready to suit up. None of my experience with skinsuits thus far prepared me for this though.
Inside her apartment, I found my girlfriend seated on the edge of her bed, naked and suited up to her thighs in a pale skinsuit, with nearly identical red locks hanging from the suit’s empty head.
“Come, join me inside this suit,” she repeated patiently. A small smile turned up the corners of her lips.
“We… we can do that?”
Carole nodded. “This one’s special. I had it made specially for two simultaneous wearers.”
“How does that-”
“Just put it on with me, and you’ll find out! It’ll be far easier to experience than to try to explain it,” Carole cut him off. That statement could summarize a lot of skinsuit experiences. “You go in front for this,” she added.
As I drew closer, the suit did look a bit looser around her legs than normal. Usually the suits were pretty tight, but this didn’t look like there was nearly enough space to add me to the insides.
“Don’t worry, it’ll stretch.”
“A-alright. Don’t blame me if it tears or something though…”
Despite my fears though, my girlfriend was right as usual. After stripping out of my clothes, I discovered that the suit did indeed stretch enough for me to push my legs in with Carole’s. I had to practically sit in her lap as I worked myself in, but once it was on up to my thighs like it was for her, we both were able to work together to pull it up the rest of us. Having four hands balanced out the extra awkwardness of fitting around two bodies, and even knowing spatial shapers could work miracles, it was hard to feel confident about how we would look when it was all finished.
We inserted our arms into the suit’s together, ending the Shiva-like boon of multiple arms and presenting the first difficulty I was worried about: who would control our combined body? But I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised to feel my girlfriend take charge while I was mulling over how to ask the question - Our arms felt as one, but they moved without my consent, quickly resuming the process of pulling the suit taut in the necessary places and pulling the head piece up over both of our heads. In the darkness of the mask pre-fitting, I felt us seal up the seam along our back, the feeling of sharing senses with the skinsuit already setting in for the parts of us that were already properly wearing it. Our hands adjusted the head piece and abruptly, I felt the suit take over my senses in full.
No longer was I sitting on my girlfriend’s lap, but instead, I was simply sitting on the edge of her bed, naked. The mirror on her make up table across the room reflected my girlfriend’s face upon our visage, the rest of our body as slim and properly shaped as she always looked in the nude.
“See? No one can tell we’re both in here together.” My girlfriend’s voice was like a whisper, clear but quiet, and seeming to come from just behind my ear. I wondered if it was audible at all to anyone outside.
“And because I’m registered as the suit owner, I also have master control over this body, too,” I felt the surreal experience of saying with my own lips, even though they were not my words. I felt us stand and saunter over to her walk-in closet and scan the section in the back where a multitude of skinsuits hung. I recognized several from our recent sexcapades, but I was surprised to see many more I wasn’t familiar with.
“Now, then, this is the next part of my plan.” Carole’s voice returned to the whisper version of her voice.
I felt us pick out one particular tanned skinsuit with short straw blonde hair as well as a second smaller pale peach suit with longer mousey-brown hair. We folded both over one arm before turning to a dresser in the closet and opening the top drawer. Inside was a black leather harness with a ring mount on the front - a strap-on harness. We carried the three items out of the closet and dropped them on the bed. From her nightstand, we picked up a pack of condoms. They were a dated style contraceptive in this era, but they were still available from most sex shops for novelty. These ones appeared to be shiny black latex. Lastly, I recognized the ejaculation volume boosting drug I had taken last time in the top drawer of the nightstand.
“We’re… I’m going to be fucking Ian, aren’t I?” I tried to whisper in the same stealth way Carole seemed to be able to talk in my ear, but I seemed only able to move our shared mouth and speak with my girlfriend's voice.
“Clever boy,” Carole murmured. I could hear the mirth even in her whisper. She knocked back a dose of the drug. I could only assume being in front was what made it go to my stomach; I could feel the water she drank with it quench some of my thirst. “Here, you can take over. Pack the suits up in that duffle and pick a nice outfit for us. Whatever strikes your fancy.”
“Leave me with the manual labor, huh? Alright,” I complained jokingly. As promised, I found myself in full control. Moving about felt as normal as my own body, aside from the difference in center of gravity. I almost couldn’t even tell that the suit I was wearing had an extra passenger - it was mostly no different than that vague feeling of tightness over my whole body that I remembered from the last time I wore a skinsuit. That made it easy enough to pack our bag, pick out a simple low cut yellow empire waist blouse and form fitting jeans and put them on (Carole helped with our bra).
“Not bold enough to try a skirt or dress?” Carole teased in my ear. I chose not to answer.
With the duffle on our shoulder, we locked up Carole’s apartment and set out.
______________________________
I faked a disgusted scowl.
“This is what you wanted, right? If I do this, you won’t tell Ross?” I grumbled. It was weird referring to myself in third person, as if I wasn’t there.
“Yes. Don’t worry, your secret will be safe with me!” My dark skinned friend was practically salivating as I stripped Carole’s body in the privacy of his apartment. That… was also weird, but my discomfort about it helped fuel my acting, so I tried to embrace it rather than suppress it (Carole’s idea). It was impossible to cover both her bare nipples and crotch with one hand, but I did my best, keeping one hand free to pull the tan skinsuit out of our duffle first.
“This is her, right? The girl from your gym?”
“Oh shit. Yeah, that looks like her,” Ian confirmed.
“I’ve never met this woman, so I’m not going to be able to act like her, just so you know,” I added. Carole had offered some suggestions for this interstitial banter on the way here. Why she wasn’t controlling us herself if she had all these ideas of how to play this out was beyond me.
“It’s alright. I’ve barely ever talked to her either. Just pretend your a typical tomboy and that’d be fine,” Ian waved dismissively. “A tomboy who wants my dick,” he added after the fact.
I didn’t have to veil my disgust as I turned around and started threading our Carole legs into the new skinsuit’s. “Does this work?” I whispered to Carole. “Putting on another?”
“Don’t worry, I wouldn’t have planned it this way if it didn’t,” Carole assured me in her stealth voice.
That much made sense, so I kept going, pulling the suit up our waist and then putting on her arms and chest and finally stretching the head over my own. It was nice and easy with a suit with short hair for a change, and definitely more straightforward than having two people put on one suit together. The familiar darkness quickly fade just like before once I sealed up the back and when I opened my eyes, my point of view was higher than I had become used to. Perhaps even a little higher than my own.
“Whoa, holy shit!” I heard Ian gasp behind me, his voice cracking. “You really do look just like her… I mean, I know what I saw before, but… still…”
I turned, glancing over myself as I faced Ian again. I felt strong. This woman he had requested was ripped. She had well defined muscles, but not bulging so far that it interfered with a womanly silhouette. She had big boobs and equally big areola above six pack, or no, eight pack abs and a neatly shaved patch of pubic hair just above her slit.
I cleared my throat, hearing a huskier, lower pitch than I was used to from most of the women in my life.
“Ahem… s-so, what are you waiting for, uh… dude. Take your pants off already,” I told him. A tomboy was basically a girl acting like a guy… right? I didn’t exactly have much experience with this type.
Ian picked his jaw up off the floor and scrambled to undo his belt and shuck his pants, kicking them across the room and yanking down his boxers.
I felt Carole take over. Seems she wanted to pilot for this part herself at least, so I became a passenger just along for the ride in first person.
“Hey, lose the shirt, too. If I have to be buck naked, you do, too.”
“Huh? Oh… uh… fair...” Ian squawked but complied, pulling his t-shirt over his head and tossing it with his pants. It was odd seeing my friend naked with a raging hard-on, even knowing that was where this encounter was headed from the start. It was only thanks to Carole making made me suck her dildo a number of times in the past that I wasn't totally grossed out as Carole guided our buff body in and wrapped our mouth around Ian’s pulsing brown shaft. In fact, feeling and tasting a real penis made me appreciate the accuracy of the craftsmanship of some of Carole’s dildos. They really were spot on recreations.
I should have expected that, as soon as we had taken Ian’s cock to its base, Carole would force me back in control.
“Oh my God,” Ian breathed as I choked in surprise. At least he enjoyed that. I recovered before he noticed anything and drawing on recent experience, continued the blow job as best I could until finally he came. Once again, I was startled by how well Carole’s fake cum emulated the taste of the real deal, and being used to the former made it easier to bear the slime spurting into my mouth now.
Pulling back, I felt Carole take control again. I felt a bit used, but, all things considered, the trend in swapping had been par for the course. Carole licked our lips.
“Not bad, Ian. But don’t think I’d be satisfied with just a blow job,” Carole made us say condescendingly. She reached down and grabbed his softening dick fiercely.
“Huh? W-wait, I just came. I’m still sensitive. And uh… it’s not like I can’t get hard again for a little bit!” Ian squealed.
Ian was usually a cool customer, so seeing him frantic like this, to this extent, was new to me.
Carole let him go with an indignant huff. We stood and returned to the duffle bag where she pulled out the second skinsuit and threw it at Ian.
“Since your dick is useless now, it’s your turn to put on a suit,” Carole sneered. She grabbed the strap-on harness and the condoms and turned away from Ian. “You saw me put this on, so you should be able to figure it out. Don’t worry about ripping it, it’ll stretch.”
“This is… a girl skinsuit? Wait, you want me to put this on? But…”
“Put it on, or I’ll put it on you,” Carole glared at him dangerously over our shoulder, making Ian yelp and start fumbling to obey. I caught a glance that the guy was actually hard again. He liked being bossed around by a strong woman, huh? No wonder Carole saw an opportunity to take advantage of the situation this way.
We focused once more on the strap-on harness, stepping into it and pulling it up to our hips. Before settling it fully in position though, Carole reached into the gym girl’s pussy with two fingers, then another. She went deeper and suddenly I felt an echo of the pleasure of fingering, multiplying the sensation. Did she… reach through the gym girl’s pussy to touch the Carole suit’s genitals, too? I realized what she was doing when her whole hand had almost disappeared to the wrist into the gym girl’s snatch and I felt our fingers close around my cock. This was the reason Carole had invited me along. Growing harder myself by the moment, Carole meticulously fished my dick out through two layers of suit till I protruded out through gym girl’s folds. Standing hard, size and awaiting volume bolstered by the drug earlier, my penis looked appropriately sized for her frame.
Carole opened up a condom and rolled it over me, tucking the edges into the gym girl’s pussy. Seeing the slick shine along my shaft, I understood then - it looked nearly indistinguishable from some of Carole’s black sex toys. And after she threaded it through the ring brace in the strap-on harness and finished securing the straps, it was even more convincing. We turned back to Ian to find him replaced by a petite young woman with long light brown hair and gray eyes. She had a modest chest which she seemed too distracted by to notice our approach.
“Hey, 'Mary,'” Carole grabbed the new girl by the head and yanked her close, leveling the gym girl’s “strap-on” in her face. “Suck on it.”
I could see Ian desperately processing the last few minutes’ events, clearly still hung up on the fact that he now had a female body. But at Carole’s insistence, mushing my concealed meat against “Mary’s” face, Ian hesitantly obeyed, accepting my “toy” into his mouth.
Ian was understandably not as good at fellatio as my girlfriend, but the inside of his mouth was warm and his sucking was not unpleasant in itself, so between the stimulation and the situation, not to mention the booster, it didn’t take long for me to cum.
To my surprise, through my orgasmic bliss, I saw my semen flood Ian’s mouth, gargling and sputtering out with each contraction and dribbling down “Mary’s” chin before spilling down her front. What a devious trick - Carole must have punctured the condoms’ tips beforehand for my ejaculate to escape the cover.
“Swallow it! Drink all of my cum!” Carole barked. Since she wasn’t the one cumming, she still had full function of our body. Meanwhile, I blearily counted out the longest orgasm of my life, beating my previous record by a whole ten seconds. Finally, Carole pulled me out of Ian’s mouth and let him cough, catching his breath. Vulnerable like that, I felt Carole reach down and pick Ian up with little difficulty. Was it possible that we actually had all the physical power that that gym girl had? Or was this perhaps a product of hers and my combined strength?
We carried our partner to the bed where we deposited him on his back and forced open his legs. But rather than penetrate him immediately, Carole rubbed my length against his outer folds, teasing both of us.
After a few agonizing seconds of this, Ian broke down.
“If you’re going to put it in, do it already…” he whimpered.
“Oh? Sounds like you want it now.” Carole made us taunt.
…
“Beg me for it.”
Ian’s face scrunched up. “...Please give it to me.”
“Be more specific,” Carole demanded.
“Please shove it inside me. Your big black cock! I want you to fuck my pussy with your giant black dick!” Ian squeaked.
Carole pulled back our hips, lined up my shaft and drove it in to the base with one swift motion. Ian gagged and twitched as the stimulation overwhelmed him. I felt Carole reach behind our neck and peel off the gym girl’s face. Carole leaned us down pinning Ian beneath us, the husk of the gym girl’s head hanging from our neck.
“If you ever want to feel this again, you’ll pledge to be my slave. You’ll never threaten me or Ross again, you’ll act like nothing ever happened around him, but you’ll answer to me when I call for you, and you won’t tell anyone else about these skinsuits ever again. Understand?” She laid out her terms in a deathly severe tone right in Ian’s ear. I heard a gurgling in Ian’s throat but that wasn’t enough for Carole. She pulled out a bit and jerked my dick back in again. “Do you understand?” she repeated.
Ian finally mustered the self control to swallow. “Yes, Ma’am. I understand,” he answered hoarsely.
“Good. Now that that’s taken care of. Let’s enjoy ourselves properly.”
I felt us straighten back up and pull the gym girl’s head back over our shared Carole head, restoring the tomboy’s façade. Then Carole relinquished control, leaving me to fuck my friend. I thought it’d be weirder, but with the cute girl skinsuit he had put on, and the delightfully tight pussy squeezing my thinly veiled dick, I found it surprisingly easy to enjoy shoving myself in and out of “Mary.” “Her” lustful moans encouraged me as I felt myself get close again. When I felt my second ejaculation begin, I stuffed my rod in as deep as it would go, spewing jizz all over my friend’s fake insides but in a fuzzy thought, I pulled out at what I estimated was my half way point, and pointed my shaft at Ian’s prone body, spraying him with spurt after spurt of my enhanced, thick seed. I didn’t keep track of time, but I may have broken my record again then, and thanks to the drug I still felt like I had more to give.
“Hey, roll over onto your stomach and point your ass this way,” I instructed him. “I’m going to take your anal virginity tonight, too.”
______________________________
Needless to say, Ian did not give my girlfriend any problems after that.
Previous story: https://www.outfoxstories.com/blog/commission/smyzxb_vulnerability/
______________________________
Mrs. Rackert’s huge, soft tits felt like dough in my hands. Kneading them from behind was almost as intoxicating as the feeling of her folds convulsing around my cock.
“Ah… Ross, your hard rod, it’s so big! It’s rampaging inside me! I’m gonna cum!” Mrs. Rackert moaned in between panting breaths. Her long dirty blonde hair disheveled and flecked with glistening sweat from our rough copulation. “Ross, I’m cumming!”
“I’m cumming, too, Mrs. Rackert. Hnnghn!”
I felt my sacs tighten, a pressure building in my loins causing me to lose my rhythm. Feeling the incoming orgasm, I let go of Mrs. Rackert’s tits and took hold of her plump hips and pulled, driving my penis in as deep as I could before it exploded, pumping load after load into my professor’s innermost depths. My vision blurred as my ejaculation went on: ten seconds, twenty, thirty seconds; I almost made it to forty before I felt my high start to fade. As the pleasure dimmed, I became more aware of the semen leaking from Mrs. Rackert’s snatch, oozing out thickly to pool on the sheets below us. I was panting myself as I pulled out and flopped back onto my butt upon the soggy bedsheets. I saw Mrs. Rackert’s curvy figure slump tummy down as well. We both took a minute to catch our breath after the wild sex. This ejaculation volume booster my girlfriend found was incredible, but it took proportionally more out of me, cumming that much for that long.
Mrs. Rackert stirred first. Pulling herself up into a sitting position, I watched as she ran a hand over her body, wicking jizz from the puddle from her breasts, and stomach. She looked me in the eye as she dropped the collected cum from her hand into her mouth and swallowed.
“Ross, you’re such a naughty boy, seducing your professor like this. You know I can’t give you extra credit for this,” she purred. The sights and sounds threatened to pierce my refractory period and make me hard again in a hurry.
But, her words themselves had the opposite effect.
“Shit… Mrs. Rackert’s a fine piece of ass, but you had to bring up class and now I can’t forget how she failed me…”
The shapely professor’s demeanor changed suddenly from seductive to sympathetic.
“Aww, sorry about that, hun,” she apologized. Shaking out her golden curls, she reached behind her neck, and moments later, her facial features deformed, deflating as the person under her skin removed the head mask portion of the skinsuit.
“We were doing so well, too. It really is too bad you have bad memories with this woman. She’s got a banging body for an older lady,” Carole remarked, as if Mrs. Rackert was any older than 30. My girlfriend's face emerged from Mrs. Rackert’s back and the latter’s vacated head rested flaccidly upon her huge bosom, yellow hair spilling out around her chest and down her front. Leaving the suit in that partially removed state, Carole crawled forward on Mrs. Rackert’s hands and knees to kiss me.
“It is nice to get to plow her. I’d always wanted to do that, even since the first class,” I agreed when she let my lips go.
“And now you have,” my girlfriend giggled, sitting back and once more running a hand along Mrs. Rackert’s bodyline. “Imagine if we filmed ourselves and sent the video to her husband?”
I frowned. “That’s cruel. And if anything, that would send the mister after my head as much as get between their marriage.”
“Not if you put on a suit first. I have one of a big black guy with a huge dick. I bet Mrs. Rackert would look great taking a BBC. Alternatively, imagine his face seeing his wife railed by a girl with a cock.”
I shook my head more firmly. “No. As much as I clashed with her, it would be wrong to mess up her life like that.” Sometimes I worried about my girlfriend’s morals.
Skinsuits - a technological marvel that changed the wearer externally to whatever appearance the skinsuit was modeled after. Whether it was a real person or a fictional one, skinsuits could impersonate anyone with near perfect accuracy, and with spatial shaping technology, no disparity between wearer and disguise was incompatible. Even I, a nearly 6 ft tall 20 year old man was able to become a sexy 5’6” bombshell thanks to skinsuits.
Since then Carole and I have made skinsuits almost ubiquitous in our sex life. I didn't always use one but, on the few occasions I did, my experiences were split between becoming a girl myself to play with Carole’s cumming dildo when she wanted to take the lead and getting to try out different male body types (both usually at Carole's request). Carole herself almost always wore a skinsuit for sex these days. She gave me the chance to sleep with a wider diversity of women than I could have ever dreamed of, from my hot professor this semester to the cute convenience store android greeter modeled after a busty bunny girl, to famous celebrities. I could practically point at any woman we saw and say a word, and in a day or two, I could be fucking her. Or rather, my girlfriend in a skinsuit of the woman we saw. Thus, I had been indoctrinated in the special pleasures and privileges of skinsuits.
Even watching her put on or strip from a skinsuit had shifted from an alarming and disturbing sight to an arousing spectacle for me. But I noticed Carole’s expression sober as she removed the rest of Mrs. Rackert’s skinsuit, returning to her natural, slender form.
“Um… Ross, I have some bad news.”
I blinked. “What is it?”
“Well… It’s about Ian… somehow he found out about my skinsuits and is… pestering me about them.”
“That… could be a problem, yes…” I scowled thoughtfully. Ian was a good friend, perhaps even my best friend here at college, but he had a whimsical side that sometimes made him hard to read, and recently he’d been a bit more… bold in talking about his tastes in women. I could see him learning about skinsuits and the special play I enjoyed through my girlfriend and them being… enviable. Though, it was curious that he hadn’t mentioned anything to me about it yet.
“Sorry if he’s given you a hard time. I’ll have a talk with him about it,” I offered, though I hadn’t really formed a proper plan for the confrontation yet.
“Well, actually, I have a different idea,” Carole suggested. “And I want your help for it.”
“Sure, anything for you, Love.”
My beautiful girlfriend smiled mischievously. “That’s what I like to hear.”
______________________________
“We’re doing what?” I asked incredulously.
A few days later, my girlfriend invited me back over to her place to execute her plan to deal with Ian. Having shared little of her plan back when she first brought it up, I was informed only to be ready to suit up. None of my experience with skinsuits thus far prepared me for this though.
Inside her apartment, I found my girlfriend seated on the edge of her bed, naked and suited up to her thighs in a pale skinsuit, with nearly identical red locks hanging from the suit’s empty head.
“Come, join me inside this suit,” she repeated patiently. A small smile turned up the corners of her lips.
“We… we can do that?”
Carole nodded. “This one’s special. I had it made specially for two simultaneous wearers.”
“How does that-”
“Just put it on with me, and you’ll find out! It’ll be far easier to experience than to try to explain it,” Carole cut him off. That statement could summarize a lot of skinsuit experiences. “You go in front for this,” she added.
As I drew closer, the suit did look a bit looser around her legs than normal. Usually the suits were pretty tight, but this didn’t look like there was nearly enough space to add me to the insides.
“Don’t worry, it’ll stretch.”
“A-alright. Don’t blame me if it tears or something though…”
Despite my fears though, my girlfriend was right as usual. After stripping out of my clothes, I discovered that the suit did indeed stretch enough for me to push my legs in with Carole’s. I had to practically sit in her lap as I worked myself in, but once it was on up to my thighs like it was for her, we both were able to work together to pull it up the rest of us. Having four hands balanced out the extra awkwardness of fitting around two bodies, and even knowing spatial shapers could work miracles, it was hard to feel confident about how we would look when it was all finished.
We inserted our arms into the suit’s together, ending the Shiva-like boon of multiple arms and presenting the first difficulty I was worried about: who would control our combined body? But I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised to feel my girlfriend take charge while I was mulling over how to ask the question - Our arms felt as one, but they moved without my consent, quickly resuming the process of pulling the suit taut in the necessary places and pulling the head piece up over both of our heads. In the darkness of the mask pre-fitting, I felt us seal up the seam along our back, the feeling of sharing senses with the skinsuit already setting in for the parts of us that were already properly wearing it. Our hands adjusted the head piece and abruptly, I felt the suit take over my senses in full.
No longer was I sitting on my girlfriend’s lap, but instead, I was simply sitting on the edge of her bed, naked. The mirror on her make up table across the room reflected my girlfriend’s face upon our visage, the rest of our body as slim and properly shaped as she always looked in the nude.
“See? No one can tell we’re both in here together.” My girlfriend’s voice was like a whisper, clear but quiet, and seeming to come from just behind my ear. I wondered if it was audible at all to anyone outside.
“And because I’m registered as the suit owner, I also have master control over this body, too,” I felt the surreal experience of saying with my own lips, even though they were not my words. I felt us stand and saunter over to her walk-in closet and scan the section in the back where a multitude of skinsuits hung. I recognized several from our recent sexcapades, but I was surprised to see many more I wasn’t familiar with.
“Now, then, this is the next part of my plan.” Carole’s voice returned to the whisper version of her voice.
I felt us pick out one particular tanned skinsuit with short straw blonde hair as well as a second smaller pale peach suit with longer mousey-brown hair. We folded both over one arm before turning to a dresser in the closet and opening the top drawer. Inside was a black leather harness with a ring mount on the front - a strap-on harness. We carried the three items out of the closet and dropped them on the bed. From her nightstand, we picked up a pack of condoms. They were a dated style contraceptive in this era, but they were still available from most sex shops for novelty. These ones appeared to be shiny black latex. Lastly, I recognized the ejaculation volume boosting drug I had taken last time in the top drawer of the nightstand.
“We’re… I’m going to be fucking Ian, aren’t I?” I tried to whisper in the same stealth way Carole seemed to be able to talk in my ear, but I seemed only able to move our shared mouth and speak with my girlfriend's voice.
“Clever boy,” Carole murmured. I could hear the mirth even in her whisper. She knocked back a dose of the drug. I could only assume being in front was what made it go to my stomach; I could feel the water she drank with it quench some of my thirst. “Here, you can take over. Pack the suits up in that duffle and pick a nice outfit for us. Whatever strikes your fancy.”
“Leave me with the manual labor, huh? Alright,” I complained jokingly. As promised, I found myself in full control. Moving about felt as normal as my own body, aside from the difference in center of gravity. I almost couldn’t even tell that the suit I was wearing had an extra passenger - it was mostly no different than that vague feeling of tightness over my whole body that I remembered from the last time I wore a skinsuit. That made it easy enough to pack our bag, pick out a simple low cut yellow empire waist blouse and form fitting jeans and put them on (Carole helped with our bra).
“Not bold enough to try a skirt or dress?” Carole teased in my ear. I chose not to answer.
With the duffle on our shoulder, we locked up Carole’s apartment and set out.
______________________________
I faked a disgusted scowl.
“This is what you wanted, right? If I do this, you won’t tell Ross?” I grumbled. It was weird referring to myself in third person, as if I wasn’t there.
“Yes. Don’t worry, your secret will be safe with me!” My dark skinned friend was practically salivating as I stripped Carole’s body in the privacy of his apartment. That… was also weird, but my discomfort about it helped fuel my acting, so I tried to embrace it rather than suppress it (Carole’s idea). It was impossible to cover both her bare nipples and crotch with one hand, but I did my best, keeping one hand free to pull the tan skinsuit out of our duffle first.
“This is her, right? The girl from your gym?”
“Oh shit. Yeah, that looks like her,” Ian confirmed.
“I’ve never met this woman, so I’m not going to be able to act like her, just so you know,” I added. Carole had offered some suggestions for this interstitial banter on the way here. Why she wasn’t controlling us herself if she had all these ideas of how to play this out was beyond me.
“It’s alright. I’ve barely ever talked to her either. Just pretend your a typical tomboy and that’d be fine,” Ian waved dismissively. “A tomboy who wants my dick,” he added after the fact.
I didn’t have to veil my disgust as I turned around and started threading our Carole legs into the new skinsuit’s. “Does this work?” I whispered to Carole. “Putting on another?”
“Don’t worry, I wouldn’t have planned it this way if it didn’t,” Carole assured me in her stealth voice.
That much made sense, so I kept going, pulling the suit up our waist and then putting on her arms and chest and finally stretching the head over my own. It was nice and easy with a suit with short hair for a change, and definitely more straightforward than having two people put on one suit together. The familiar darkness quickly fade just like before once I sealed up the back and when I opened my eyes, my point of view was higher than I had become used to. Perhaps even a little higher than my own.
“Whoa, holy shit!” I heard Ian gasp behind me, his voice cracking. “You really do look just like her… I mean, I know what I saw before, but… still…”
I turned, glancing over myself as I faced Ian again. I felt strong. This woman he had requested was ripped. She had well defined muscles, but not bulging so far that it interfered with a womanly silhouette. She had big boobs and equally big areola above six pack, or no, eight pack abs and a neatly shaved patch of pubic hair just above her slit.
I cleared my throat, hearing a huskier, lower pitch than I was used to from most of the women in my life.
“Ahem… s-so, what are you waiting for, uh… dude. Take your pants off already,” I told him. A tomboy was basically a girl acting like a guy… right? I didn’t exactly have much experience with this type.
Ian picked his jaw up off the floor and scrambled to undo his belt and shuck his pants, kicking them across the room and yanking down his boxers.
I felt Carole take over. Seems she wanted to pilot for this part herself at least, so I became a passenger just along for the ride in first person.
“Hey, lose the shirt, too. If I have to be buck naked, you do, too.”
“Huh? Oh… uh… fair...” Ian squawked but complied, pulling his t-shirt over his head and tossing it with his pants. It was odd seeing my friend naked with a raging hard-on, even knowing that was where this encounter was headed from the start. It was only thanks to Carole making made me suck her dildo a number of times in the past that I wasn't totally grossed out as Carole guided our buff body in and wrapped our mouth around Ian’s pulsing brown shaft. In fact, feeling and tasting a real penis made me appreciate the accuracy of the craftsmanship of some of Carole’s dildos. They really were spot on recreations.
I should have expected that, as soon as we had taken Ian’s cock to its base, Carole would force me back in control.
“Oh my God,” Ian breathed as I choked in surprise. At least he enjoyed that. I recovered before he noticed anything and drawing on recent experience, continued the blow job as best I could until finally he came. Once again, I was startled by how well Carole’s fake cum emulated the taste of the real deal, and being used to the former made it easier to bear the slime spurting into my mouth now.
Pulling back, I felt Carole take control again. I felt a bit used, but, all things considered, the trend in swapping had been par for the course. Carole licked our lips.
“Not bad, Ian. But don’t think I’d be satisfied with just a blow job,” Carole made us say condescendingly. She reached down and grabbed his softening dick fiercely.
“Huh? W-wait, I just came. I’m still sensitive. And uh… it’s not like I can’t get hard again for a little bit!” Ian squealed.
Ian was usually a cool customer, so seeing him frantic like this, to this extent, was new to me.
Carole let him go with an indignant huff. We stood and returned to the duffle bag where she pulled out the second skinsuit and threw it at Ian.
“Since your dick is useless now, it’s your turn to put on a suit,” Carole sneered. She grabbed the strap-on harness and the condoms and turned away from Ian. “You saw me put this on, so you should be able to figure it out. Don’t worry about ripping it, it’ll stretch.”
“This is… a girl skinsuit? Wait, you want me to put this on? But…”
“Put it on, or I’ll put it on you,” Carole glared at him dangerously over our shoulder, making Ian yelp and start fumbling to obey. I caught a glance that the guy was actually hard again. He liked being bossed around by a strong woman, huh? No wonder Carole saw an opportunity to take advantage of the situation this way.
We focused once more on the strap-on harness, stepping into it and pulling it up to our hips. Before settling it fully in position though, Carole reached into the gym girl’s pussy with two fingers, then another. She went deeper and suddenly I felt an echo of the pleasure of fingering, multiplying the sensation. Did she… reach through the gym girl’s pussy to touch the Carole suit’s genitals, too? I realized what she was doing when her whole hand had almost disappeared to the wrist into the gym girl’s snatch and I felt our fingers close around my cock. This was the reason Carole had invited me along. Growing harder myself by the moment, Carole meticulously fished my dick out through two layers of suit till I protruded out through gym girl’s folds. Standing hard, size and awaiting volume bolstered by the drug earlier, my penis looked appropriately sized for her frame.
Carole opened up a condom and rolled it over me, tucking the edges into the gym girl’s pussy. Seeing the slick shine along my shaft, I understood then - it looked nearly indistinguishable from some of Carole’s black sex toys. And after she threaded it through the ring brace in the strap-on harness and finished securing the straps, it was even more convincing. We turned back to Ian to find him replaced by a petite young woman with long light brown hair and gray eyes. She had a modest chest which she seemed too distracted by to notice our approach.
“Hey, 'Mary,'” Carole grabbed the new girl by the head and yanked her close, leveling the gym girl’s “strap-on” in her face. “Suck on it.”
I could see Ian desperately processing the last few minutes’ events, clearly still hung up on the fact that he now had a female body. But at Carole’s insistence, mushing my concealed meat against “Mary’s” face, Ian hesitantly obeyed, accepting my “toy” into his mouth.
Ian was understandably not as good at fellatio as my girlfriend, but the inside of his mouth was warm and his sucking was not unpleasant in itself, so between the stimulation and the situation, not to mention the booster, it didn’t take long for me to cum.
To my surprise, through my orgasmic bliss, I saw my semen flood Ian’s mouth, gargling and sputtering out with each contraction and dribbling down “Mary’s” chin before spilling down her front. What a devious trick - Carole must have punctured the condoms’ tips beforehand for my ejaculate to escape the cover.
“Swallow it! Drink all of my cum!” Carole barked. Since she wasn’t the one cumming, she still had full function of our body. Meanwhile, I blearily counted out the longest orgasm of my life, beating my previous record by a whole ten seconds. Finally, Carole pulled me out of Ian’s mouth and let him cough, catching his breath. Vulnerable like that, I felt Carole reach down and pick Ian up with little difficulty. Was it possible that we actually had all the physical power that that gym girl had? Or was this perhaps a product of hers and my combined strength?
We carried our partner to the bed where we deposited him on his back and forced open his legs. But rather than penetrate him immediately, Carole rubbed my length against his outer folds, teasing both of us.
After a few agonizing seconds of this, Ian broke down.
“If you’re going to put it in, do it already…” he whimpered.
“Oh? Sounds like you want it now.” Carole made us taunt.
…
“Beg me for it.”
Ian’s face scrunched up. “...Please give it to me.”
“Be more specific,” Carole demanded.
“Please shove it inside me. Your big black cock! I want you to fuck my pussy with your giant black dick!” Ian squeaked.
Carole pulled back our hips, lined up my shaft and drove it in to the base with one swift motion. Ian gagged and twitched as the stimulation overwhelmed him. I felt Carole reach behind our neck and peel off the gym girl’s face. Carole leaned us down pinning Ian beneath us, the husk of the gym girl’s head hanging from our neck.
“If you ever want to feel this again, you’ll pledge to be my slave. You’ll never threaten me or Ross again, you’ll act like nothing ever happened around him, but you’ll answer to me when I call for you, and you won’t tell anyone else about these skinsuits ever again. Understand?” She laid out her terms in a deathly severe tone right in Ian’s ear. I heard a gurgling in Ian’s throat but that wasn’t enough for Carole. She pulled out a bit and jerked my dick back in again. “Do you understand?” she repeated.
Ian finally mustered the self control to swallow. “Yes, Ma’am. I understand,” he answered hoarsely.
“Good. Now that that’s taken care of. Let’s enjoy ourselves properly.”
I felt us straighten back up and pull the gym girl’s head back over our shared Carole head, restoring the tomboy’s façade. Then Carole relinquished control, leaving me to fuck my friend. I thought it’d be weirder, but with the cute girl skinsuit he had put on, and the delightfully tight pussy squeezing my thinly veiled dick, I found it surprisingly easy to enjoy shoving myself in and out of “Mary.” “Her” lustful moans encouraged me as I felt myself get close again. When I felt my second ejaculation begin, I stuffed my rod in as deep as it would go, spewing jizz all over my friend’s fake insides but in a fuzzy thought, I pulled out at what I estimated was my half way point, and pointed my shaft at Ian’s prone body, spraying him with spurt after spurt of my enhanced, thick seed. I didn’t keep track of time, but I may have broken my record again then, and thanks to the drug I still felt like I had more to give.
“Hey, roll over onto your stomach and point your ass this way,” I instructed him. “I’m going to take your anal virginity tonight, too.”
______________________________
Needless to say, Ian did not give my girlfriend any problems after that.
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Bethany is in a hurry to find something to wear to this year's halloween party, so when a stranger offers to sell her an amazingly details mask for cheap, she jumps at the opportunity
Bethany hated Halloween.
Actually, that wasn’t true: It was an excuse to party, and that was all well and good, but the obligation to dress up in costume was a pain in the ass.
Put in too much effort and you were a try-hard, put in too little and you were a buzzkill, pick something too popular and you were basic, pick something too obscure and you were pretentious.
Last year Bethany had tried to play it safe by dressing up as Harley Quinn - along with what turned out to be 99% of her social circle - making for some very cringeworthy selfies with the party’s lone joker who was way, way too into it.
This year she’d put it off far too late, and suddenly it was 3pm on the 31st and she still hadn’t picked an outfit. Her boyfriend, Jason had made some well-meaning but ultimately unusable suggestions - he was going as another DC character, but that wasn’t a dice she was ready to roll two years in a row.
Instead, she found herself thumbing through the racks of a party supply store, despairing at how irredeemably tacky the available costumes were.
“Can I help you with something?”
Bethany jumped, turning to find someone quite a bit younger than herself - probably still in high school working part time - standing beside her.
“Mika” said her name tag.
With no energy to pretend and truly just wanting a moment to vent, Bethany sighed. “Honestly? Probably not. I’m desperate for an outfit for a party tonight, but I’m not THIS desperate.”
Rather than taking offence, Mika rolled her eyes in agreement. “Yeah, it’s a bit shit, hey? What were you looking for?”
Bethany tried to convey in expression and gesture what she couldn’t in words, and to her surprise seemed to be understood.
“I think I might have something for you.”
Leading Bethany through a door marked “staff only,” Mika showed her a wall display mounted with the most horrifyingly detailed masks Bethany had ever seen with her own eyes.
“Holy shit.”
Mika grinned, having gotten the desired reaction. She took one of the masks off its peg - a purple octopus-looking thing with its larger tentacles converged to form a kind of beak at the front.
“I made all of these myself. I’m actually studying prosthetics at the moment, and these are the prototypes for my major work.”
Bethany gaped. “These are just prototypes?”
Mika shrugged. “They’re not perfect, but they’re getting there.”
“They’re amazing!”
“Oh you think they’re amazing now? Watch this.”
Mika put her head into the mask she was holding, her face now completely hidden beneath its mottled hide and bulbous black eyes. Holding her hands up in the air, she turned to Bethany.
“Okay, no hands, see?”
“Yeah?”
There was an odd sucking sound, and as Mika spoke again, Bethany saw the tentacles of the mask moving as well!
“What do you think of this?”
Bethany’s eyes widened in a mix of horror and fascination. “Oh, what the fuck!”
There was a muffled laugh from under the mask before Mika removed it, flexing her jaw for a short while afterwards.
“I’m experimenting with hands-free controls - this one fits into your mouth and you can talk around it.”
“I am NOT putting that in my mouth!”
Mika shrugged. “Suit yourself. I reckon it would still look good on you.”
Bethany blinked. “You’re… giving it to me?”
Mika considered for a moment. “Well, it is only a prototype so I’m not charging for time. Materials probably cost two hundred bucks, so I’ll sell it to you for fifty?”
Bethany wordless handed the money over and took the mask in her hands. The material was disturbingly textured and almost clammy to the touch.
“What even is it? Like, what do I say I’m wearing when people freak the fuck out?”
“Hmm. Well, you know that streaming show where the kids are playing Dungeons and Dragons?”
“Yeah?”
“Well they have a thing in it called the mind flayer, but in the game it looks a lot more like this.”
Bethany stared in disbelief at the octopoid head in her hands. “They’re octopus people?”
“Pretty much. Put on a wizard robe or a toga and you’ll be a mind flayer. Bonus points for high heels and stockings underneath because nerds be thirsty.”
***
Bethany had not put on the mask in the store. Instead, she placed the mask on her bedside table and started rummaging around her wardrobe for something to wear with it.
She barely registered the sound of the front door opening and closing.
“Bethany? Are you ready? I’m gonna shower and change and then we’ve gotta go!”
It was Jason, just home from work.
“Yeah, in a minute!” Bethany shouted, elbow-deep in discarded dresses.
She heard Jason walk into their bedroom and then presumably stop in shock at what he saw.
“Holy shit!”
Bethany turned around to see Jason holding the mask and grinning in amazed disbelief.
“Why do you have an illithid mask?”
Bethany stared back at him blankly. “A what?”
“An illithid. A mind flayer.”
Bethany grimaced at him. “Of course you’d know what it is.”
Jason ignored the jab, too captivated by the mask. “Where did you get it?”
Bethany paid half attention as she continued hunting for something she knew she owned but just couldn’t find. “Uh… I found it at a… Someone sold it to me.”
“Yeah, I guessed that much, but where?”
“Party shop.”
“And they were selling these?”
“Yes. No. No, The girl working there; she makes them and she sold me one.”
“They’re fucking incredible.”
“Sure are.”
“Does she have more we could buy?”
“What? Yes. I don’t know, weren’t you going to have a shower?”
“Oh shit!”
While Jason was in the shower, Bethany finally found what she had been looking for: A short cut and airy little outfit in white and a pair of impractically intricate sandals. Together with some understated bits of jewellery, the full outfit managed to convey a kind of ancient Greek mythology theme that she hoped would fit in with whatever nerd shit she was about to put on her head.
Despite Jason’s protests, Bethany insisted that she also shower and get made up, as she didn’t plan to wear the mask all night, no matter how well made it was. She finally walked into the kitchen to find him examining it minutely.
“Do you two need a minute?”
Jason looked up guiltily before passing the mask to Bethany and grabbing his keys.
“What’s it made of? It feels really strange.”
“Babe, I don’t have a clue. All I know is that it looks freaky enough that it works as a last minute costume idea.”
Jason paused, taking in Bethany’s outfit, then looking at the mask, then back to her outfit.
“Sexy mind flayer. I like it.”
"Of coruse you do."
***
It was actually surprising how easily the mask slipped onto Bethany’s head, despite being such a snug fit once it was in place. She felt the tentacles’ controls brush against her lips and shivered, making a mental note to tape them down or something later that night.
Jason looked her up and down appraisingly.
“Well, I’ll say this much: I’m absolutely positive that nobody else is going to be wearing the same thing as you this year.”
“You don’t think I look hideous?”
“Well, I know it’s you under there, so I think you’re hot.”
“Gross.”
“Sue me.”
The music did not stop as they walked in the door, but it may as well have. The dull roar of conversation that is the typical background of any party dropped to a chorus of whispers punctuated by the occasional horrified exclamation as people laid eyes on Bethany, or more specifically, her mask.
Jason had agreed to let himself in quietly behind her so that nobody could guess who she was, allowing Bethany to spend the first few minutes sashaying around the party and waving silently to the few people she recognised. Behind her, she heard other partygoers gathering around to demand answers from the person she had waved to and their own baffled ignorance in response.
It was fun while it lasted, but then Chloe’s voice cut the silence like a guillotine.
“Oh. Em. GEE. What the FUCK is THAT?”
Of all the people not to be stunned into silence by Bethany’s costume, of course it would be Chloe. Chloe would have run her mouth if confronted with an ACTUAL eldritch horror, if only because she wouldn’t have any idea what she was looking at.
Bethany turned slowly to see Chloe wearing an outfit that looked like it was painted on, along with an expression of disgust.
“That is so GROSS. Who is that under there? That is SO uncool!”
Bethany didn’t like Chloe. Nobody liked Chloe. They partied at her family’s mansion because partying at a smaller venue meant a higher chance of being in the same room as her at any given time.
“Take that UGLY fucking thing off your face and get OUT of my house!”
Bethany weighed up her choices. There wasn’t really any way to argue with Chloe and win: That assumed she was capable of admitting defeat. Which really only left her with one option.
Sauntering slowly towards Chloe, Bethany affected the closest thing she could manage to a ghostly rasp.
“I am the herald of the dark ones,” she croaked. “Here to claim your world for my masters.”
Chloe might have scoffed at this kind of pageantry, but the approaching vision of tentacled horror had her frozen in place.
On a perverse whim, Bethany parted her lips, allowing the facial control levers into her mouth and began flexing her facial tendrils menacingly. It was really quite amazing how easily she could make them behave exactly as she wanted them to, opening like some obscene flower in front of her face.
“I’ll begin by sucking your skull dry, mortal,” she gurgled, her speech muffled by the controls. Though she hadn’t consciously thought to do so, one tentacle began to push itself against Chloe’s closed lips, while another reached delicately into one nostril.
Chloe screamed, tearing herself away and fleeing upstairs to her room, moaning and dry-retching the entire way. In the silence that followed the slamming of her door, Bethany whipped the mask off her face and held it aloft.
“Ta-da!”
The crowd erupted. It was the only thing they could do. Bethany had not only stolen the spotlight, but ensured that Chloe would spend hopefully the rest of the evening face-down in her toilet or shivering in bed.
Jason emerged from the crowd, wrapped both arms around her and kissed her. Bethany returned the kiss, riding high on the heady euphoria of victory and the perverse glee that comes with striking terror in the heart of one’s enemies.
The rest of the night was a blur, though Bethany did remember being asked several times to don the mask for a demonstration. Some people wanted to experience Chloe’s own fear first hand - Bethany obliged them. Some wanted to be seduced by the alien horror - Bethany obliged them too. Under other circumstances she might have found both requests distasteful, but she was too giddy on the positive attention to consider refusing. Several times she realised that she was still wearing the mask, mouth-controls and all, and had completely forgotten about it.
It wasn’t until the police arrived asking questions about an alleged assault that Bethany and Jason decided to hastily take their leave. Even on the drive home, Bethany kept the mask on, entwining its tentacles with her fingers in fascination.
They let themselves back into the house in silence to avoid waking the neighbours, and Jason went straight to the bedroom to get changed. He had watched Bethany revel in the attention from a distance, and while he had been happy to see Bethany enjoy herself, also seemed somewhat reluctant to lose her for so much of the evening.
Bethany had every intention of changing that.
As soon as he was down to his underwear, she snuck up behind him and pushed him forwards onto the bed. Jason landed softly, rolling over to find Bethany completely naked except for the mask.
“Oh, hello,” he said with an uncertain expression. “Don’t you, uh… don’t you want to take that off?”
“Silence, human!” Bethany gurgled, her tentacles rippling.
She prowled forwards, looming over him on all fours, her tentacles caressing his face.
Jason angled himself away from the tendrils trying to crawl up his nose. “Bethany, this is a little weird.”
“We are not Bethany!” Bethany growled, thoroughly enjoying Jason’s attempt to disguise his discomfort. “We are illithid! We have taken your lover’s flesh for our own! And you will please this body, that we may taste its ecstasy!”
“Oh, this is weird alright,” Jason said, settling into the kind of detached stoicism Bethany had seen him use when trying to figure out what to do next.
She grinned around the tendrils in her mouth.
“We see you need encouragement, human,” she said. “Allow us to please you as no mortal female could.”
Bethany lowered herself down the length of his body, pulling down his boxers to reveal his semi-erect cock.
“Only half afraid, it would seem,” she said mockingly. “Even under our control, you hunger for this body.”
Jason said nothing, craning his neck to see what Bethany would do next.
Effortlessly, as though she had been born to it, Bethany reached out with her tentacles to begin gently gripping and massaging Jason’s shaft. The groan from above her was all the feedback she needed, laying her head on Jason’s thigh so that he could clearly see her manipulating him with tentacles alone.
Jason didn’t keep his head up for long, eventually letting it fall back as he basked in the alien sensation of a… facejob? Tentaclejob? Bethany was still wondering when she felt a hand gently stroking her bald head.
It was a bizarre sensation, as though she could actually feel the skin of her mask like her own, but it was comforting in a way that brooked no further concern.
Instead of worrying, Bethany raised herself up once more, opening the tentacles wide around Jason’s dick and pushed herself forwards.
Jason moaned again, and the initial rubbery resistance made Bethany worry if the mask was actually made to allow for something like this, but her worries dissolved as something warm and hard pushed through the latex in front of her face and entered her human mouth.
It was a bizarre sensation: Literally being penetrated in two faces at once. Bethany experimentally bobbed her head slowly up and down, feeling the mask’s “mouth” give and pull separate from her human lips. Bethany pulled herself away when she felt Jason’s body tense - she wasn’t going to let this end yet.
“No!” she rasped, still committed to the bit. “You will seed this host’s flesh. Flesh for the birthing, and we will create more human bodies to control.”
Jason said nothing, watching in silence as the octopus head atop his girlfriend’s body lowered itself onto his dick.
Bethany knew that he was already close to climax, and that was fine. What she wanted now was to feel Jason writhing beneath her and twitching inside her. To feel the hot flash of his essence release itself within her.
Jason bucked and grasped her hips as he came, and Bethany rode the wave of her own orgasm in response, hissing in approval.
***
The next morning, Jason left for work and Bethany sat in front of her mirror.
Her face felt wrong. It felt flat and stiff.
She stared at the mirror. She started at the mask.
She felt incomplete without it, but that was wrong, wasn’t it?
Something had come over her last night. Something had… gotten a hold of her. She hadn’t been herself. She would have never acted like that, anonymous alien mask or not.
She stared at the mirror. She stared at the mask.
She remembered making the decision to part her lips and let the tentacle controls enter her mouth. She remembered finding the sensation arousing. But that was madness. Seconds before arriving at the party she had been considering taping them down because she found them disgusting.
And that was another thing: There were no levers inside the mask. No obvious mechanical controls. Just flaccid tentacles of varying sizes. Which meant that… some of them had crawled into her mouth. And she had let them.
She stared at the mirror. She stared at the mask.
And now she felt both naked and hairy. Now she felt both like a shucked oyster and a mangy bear. She needed to cover herself. She needed to contain herself. She needed to hide behind another face.
Why had she indulged all of those drunken perverted fantasies at the party? Why had she affected such a ridiculous roleplay to seduce Jason?
A dizzying sense of unreality overcame her, like a sudden wave of drunkenness around a single solid rock of certainty.
This was a dream. Of course it was. She was just anxious about her antics last night. She had been drunk, both literally and metaphorically, and now that anxiety was manifesting itself as a kind of hallucinatory panic attack. A fever dream.
Bethany’s breathing steadied.
She started at the mirror, she started at the mask.
Things would be okay when she woke up. Everything would be okay when she woke up, but for now she needed to confront the object of her uncertainty.
She took the mask from the table, turned it around in her hands, and slipped it over her head.
“Thank goodness,” a voice said with relief.
It was her voice.
The drunken haze vanished, replaced by a sudden terrified horror.
Why was she wearing the mask? What was she thinking? Who had said that just now?
Panic rising, Bethany tried to pull the mask off, but found her arms refused to move from her lap.
“Oh, I’m afraid it’s too late for that,” her voice said.
Bethany sat frozen in shock.
Except not quite frozen, as she saw her reflection raise its masked face to stare directly back at her. She opened her mouth to scream, but instead of a cry of terror leaping out, she felt the myriad tentacles of the mask slithering into her. Not just into her mouth, but her nose, her ears and even around her eyes.
“You had me worried there for a moment,” her voice was conversational, but slightly garbled, obstructed as it was by the invading tendrils. “I thought perhaps I hadn’t put enough of myself into you last night.”
Bethany thought the question, and the thing she was wearing - that was wearing HER - responded.
“That’s right. From the moment you were caught off guard, I began feeding parts of myself into you. Not just my physical form, but my ideas, my desires and my soul. I became the voice of perversion in the back of your mind, and every time you indulged me, I was able to fit more of myself into you.”
Bethany’s body jerked upright, staggering out of the bathroom and back into the bedroom. It clumsily flopped onto the mattress before rolling onto its back.
Bethany’s mind screamed.
“Absolutely not,” her voice laughed. “It’s not your body anymore. You’re my host now, and as soon as I’ve taken over completely, you’ll just become a part of me, so you may as well stop panicking now and save yourself the trouble of becoming a bad memory.”
Bethany asked why.
“Why?” her voice echoed. “Because… well because we need bodies. You’ll understand when you’re part of me, dear. We’re not from here, you see. But we’re keen to make this world our new home. It's all part of the natural order, see? Superior life forms dominating inferior ones: Just as your kind domesticated horses, you too will be ridden by our kind.”
Bethany screamed again.
“Quiet down,” her voice admonished. “You would do well to enjoy your last moments. At least that way I might remember you fondly.”
And then it happened. It was like a switch in the room of Bethany’s mind - a switch that had always been on - had suddenly been switched off, leaving her utterly powerless in her own head.
She felt the tentacles withdraw, this time not into the mask, but into HER.
“That’s better,” she heard herself say.
Her vision swivelled down the length of her naked body.
As though viewing from a thousand miles away, she watched her toes curl and uncurl as unfamiliar signals were transmitted down her legs.
Her feet rotated themselves slowly, running themselves up and down one another’s length.
Her calves tensed, then stretched, raising themselves off the bed to scissor gently in the air.
Her thighs parted, stretching out as far as they could go, exposing her pussy to the cool mid-morning air.
Her hips rolled back and forth before thrusting themselves upwards, grinding against an imaginary lover.
Her lower body twisted this way and that, the unaccustomed stretch causing her joints to pop.
Her chest heaved with a sudden intake of breath, as though she had never truly breathed before.
Her breasts stood out on her chest, her nipples hardening with the same electric sensation crawling up her body
Her hands ran themselves up from her sides, sliding over her chest and gripping her own throat as her body hummed in satisfaction
Her tongue licked her lips
Her lips smiled
Her eyes closed
“Bethany” opened her eyes.
***
Jason had found the mask in the trash on garbage day. It had lost all of its lustre and colour, and for a lack of a better word looked “dead.” Bethany remarked that it had only been a prototype, which is why it had been so cheap to buy. Nevertheless, she was keen to take him to the party shop she had bought it from to show him Mika’s remaining collection.
He stood, mesmerised before the bewildering array of fantastical faces.
“I think he likes them,” Mika said with a smile.
“He liked the last one,” Bethany replied, winking.
Jason blushed, but said nothing.
“So what have you got coming up next? Any special events?”
“Well Christmas is around the corner, so I was wondering if you had anything we could pass off as Krampus?”
Jason held the satyr’s head he was handed at a distance, uncertain about what he felt was a knowing leer.
“It’s perfect,” said Bethany.
“Is it?” Jason asked.
“It is! After the stunt I pulled at Chloe’s on Halloween, it’s only fitting that you get a similar time in the spotlight.”
“I don’t have the kind of beef with Chloe that you do,” Jason admitted.
“Fine,” Bethany said. “Then wear it tonight. For me.”
Jason raised an eyebrow at Bethany. “For you?”
“As an early Christmas present. I promise to make it a night to remember.”
Bethany hated Halloween.
Actually, that wasn’t true: It was an excuse to party, and that was all well and good, but the obligation to dress up in costume was a pain in the ass.
Put in too much effort and you were a try-hard, put in too little and you were a buzzkill, pick something too popular and you were basic, pick something too obscure and you were pretentious.
Last year Bethany had tried to play it safe by dressing up as Harley Quinn - along with what turned out to be 99% of her social circle - making for some very cringeworthy selfies with the party’s lone joker who was way, way too into it.
This year she’d put it off far too late, and suddenly it was 3pm on the 31st and she still hadn’t picked an outfit. Her boyfriend, Jason had made some well-meaning but ultimately unusable suggestions - he was going as another DC character, but that wasn’t a dice she was ready to roll two years in a row.
Instead, she found herself thumbing through the racks of a party supply store, despairing at how irredeemably tacky the available costumes were.
“Can I help you with something?”
Bethany jumped, turning to find someone quite a bit younger than herself - probably still in high school working part time - standing beside her.
“Mika” said her name tag.
With no energy to pretend and truly just wanting a moment to vent, Bethany sighed. “Honestly? Probably not. I’m desperate for an outfit for a party tonight, but I’m not THIS desperate.”
Rather than taking offence, Mika rolled her eyes in agreement. “Yeah, it’s a bit shit, hey? What were you looking for?”
Bethany tried to convey in expression and gesture what she couldn’t in words, and to her surprise seemed to be understood.
“I think I might have something for you.”
Leading Bethany through a door marked “staff only,” Mika showed her a wall display mounted with the most horrifyingly detailed masks Bethany had ever seen with her own eyes.
“Holy shit.”
Mika grinned, having gotten the desired reaction. She took one of the masks off its peg - a purple octopus-looking thing with its larger tentacles converged to form a kind of beak at the front.
“I made all of these myself. I’m actually studying prosthetics at the moment, and these are the prototypes for my major work.”
Bethany gaped. “These are just prototypes?”
Mika shrugged. “They’re not perfect, but they’re getting there.”
“They’re amazing!”
“Oh you think they’re amazing now? Watch this.”
Mika put her head into the mask she was holding, her face now completely hidden beneath its mottled hide and bulbous black eyes. Holding her hands up in the air, she turned to Bethany.
“Okay, no hands, see?”
“Yeah?”
There was an odd sucking sound, and as Mika spoke again, Bethany saw the tentacles of the mask moving as well!
“What do you think of this?”
Bethany’s eyes widened in a mix of horror and fascination. “Oh, what the fuck!”
There was a muffled laugh from under the mask before Mika removed it, flexing her jaw for a short while afterwards.
“I’m experimenting with hands-free controls - this one fits into your mouth and you can talk around it.”
“I am NOT putting that in my mouth!”
Mika shrugged. “Suit yourself. I reckon it would still look good on you.”
Bethany blinked. “You’re… giving it to me?”
Mika considered for a moment. “Well, it is only a prototype so I’m not charging for time. Materials probably cost two hundred bucks, so I’ll sell it to you for fifty?”
Bethany wordless handed the money over and took the mask in her hands. The material was disturbingly textured and almost clammy to the touch.
“What even is it? Like, what do I say I’m wearing when people freak the fuck out?”
“Hmm. Well, you know that streaming show where the kids are playing Dungeons and Dragons?”
“Yeah?”
“Well they have a thing in it called the mind flayer, but in the game it looks a lot more like this.”
Bethany stared in disbelief at the octopoid head in her hands. “They’re octopus people?”
“Pretty much. Put on a wizard robe or a toga and you’ll be a mind flayer. Bonus points for high heels and stockings underneath because nerds be thirsty.”
***
Bethany had not put on the mask in the store. Instead, she placed the mask on her bedside table and started rummaging around her wardrobe for something to wear with it.
She barely registered the sound of the front door opening and closing.
“Bethany? Are you ready? I’m gonna shower and change and then we’ve gotta go!”
It was Jason, just home from work.
“Yeah, in a minute!” Bethany shouted, elbow-deep in discarded dresses.
She heard Jason walk into their bedroom and then presumably stop in shock at what he saw.
“Holy shit!”
Bethany turned around to see Jason holding the mask and grinning in amazed disbelief.
“Why do you have an illithid mask?”
Bethany stared back at him blankly. “A what?”
“An illithid. A mind flayer.”
Bethany grimaced at him. “Of course you’d know what it is.”
Jason ignored the jab, too captivated by the mask. “Where did you get it?”
Bethany paid half attention as she continued hunting for something she knew she owned but just couldn’t find. “Uh… I found it at a… Someone sold it to me.”
“Yeah, I guessed that much, but where?”
“Party shop.”
“And they were selling these?”
“Yes. No. No, The girl working there; she makes them and she sold me one.”
“They’re fucking incredible.”
“Sure are.”
“Does she have more we could buy?”
“What? Yes. I don’t know, weren’t you going to have a shower?”
“Oh shit!”
While Jason was in the shower, Bethany finally found what she had been looking for: A short cut and airy little outfit in white and a pair of impractically intricate sandals. Together with some understated bits of jewellery, the full outfit managed to convey a kind of ancient Greek mythology theme that she hoped would fit in with whatever nerd shit she was about to put on her head.
Despite Jason’s protests, Bethany insisted that she also shower and get made up, as she didn’t plan to wear the mask all night, no matter how well made it was. She finally walked into the kitchen to find him examining it minutely.
“Do you two need a minute?”
Jason looked up guiltily before passing the mask to Bethany and grabbing his keys.
“What’s it made of? It feels really strange.”
“Babe, I don’t have a clue. All I know is that it looks freaky enough that it works as a last minute costume idea.”
Jason paused, taking in Bethany’s outfit, then looking at the mask, then back to her outfit.
“Sexy mind flayer. I like it.”
"Of coruse you do."
***
It was actually surprising how easily the mask slipped onto Bethany’s head, despite being such a snug fit once it was in place. She felt the tentacles’ controls brush against her lips and shivered, making a mental note to tape them down or something later that night.
Jason looked her up and down appraisingly.
“Well, I’ll say this much: I’m absolutely positive that nobody else is going to be wearing the same thing as you this year.”
“You don’t think I look hideous?”
“Well, I know it’s you under there, so I think you’re hot.”
“Gross.”
“Sue me.”
The music did not stop as they walked in the door, but it may as well have. The dull roar of conversation that is the typical background of any party dropped to a chorus of whispers punctuated by the occasional horrified exclamation as people laid eyes on Bethany, or more specifically, her mask.
Jason had agreed to let himself in quietly behind her so that nobody could guess who she was, allowing Bethany to spend the first few minutes sashaying around the party and waving silently to the few people she recognised. Behind her, she heard other partygoers gathering around to demand answers from the person she had waved to and their own baffled ignorance in response.
It was fun while it lasted, but then Chloe’s voice cut the silence like a guillotine.
“Oh. Em. GEE. What the FUCK is THAT?”
Of all the people not to be stunned into silence by Bethany’s costume, of course it would be Chloe. Chloe would have run her mouth if confronted with an ACTUAL eldritch horror, if only because she wouldn’t have any idea what she was looking at.
Bethany turned slowly to see Chloe wearing an outfit that looked like it was painted on, along with an expression of disgust.
“That is so GROSS. Who is that under there? That is SO uncool!”
Bethany didn’t like Chloe. Nobody liked Chloe. They partied at her family’s mansion because partying at a smaller venue meant a higher chance of being in the same room as her at any given time.
“Take that UGLY fucking thing off your face and get OUT of my house!”
Bethany weighed up her choices. There wasn’t really any way to argue with Chloe and win: That assumed she was capable of admitting defeat. Which really only left her with one option.
Sauntering slowly towards Chloe, Bethany affected the closest thing she could manage to a ghostly rasp.
“I am the herald of the dark ones,” she croaked. “Here to claim your world for my masters.”
Chloe might have scoffed at this kind of pageantry, but the approaching vision of tentacled horror had her frozen in place.
On a perverse whim, Bethany parted her lips, allowing the facial control levers into her mouth and began flexing her facial tendrils menacingly. It was really quite amazing how easily she could make them behave exactly as she wanted them to, opening like some obscene flower in front of her face.
“I’ll begin by sucking your skull dry, mortal,” she gurgled, her speech muffled by the controls. Though she hadn’t consciously thought to do so, one tentacle began to push itself against Chloe’s closed lips, while another reached delicately into one nostril.
Chloe screamed, tearing herself away and fleeing upstairs to her room, moaning and dry-retching the entire way. In the silence that followed the slamming of her door, Bethany whipped the mask off her face and held it aloft.
“Ta-da!”
The crowd erupted. It was the only thing they could do. Bethany had not only stolen the spotlight, but ensured that Chloe would spend hopefully the rest of the evening face-down in her toilet or shivering in bed.
Jason emerged from the crowd, wrapped both arms around her and kissed her. Bethany returned the kiss, riding high on the heady euphoria of victory and the perverse glee that comes with striking terror in the heart of one’s enemies.
The rest of the night was a blur, though Bethany did remember being asked several times to don the mask for a demonstration. Some people wanted to experience Chloe’s own fear first hand - Bethany obliged them. Some wanted to be seduced by the alien horror - Bethany obliged them too. Under other circumstances she might have found both requests distasteful, but she was too giddy on the positive attention to consider refusing. Several times she realised that she was still wearing the mask, mouth-controls and all, and had completely forgotten about it.
It wasn’t until the police arrived asking questions about an alleged assault that Bethany and Jason decided to hastily take their leave. Even on the drive home, Bethany kept the mask on, entwining its tentacles with her fingers in fascination.
They let themselves back into the house in silence to avoid waking the neighbours, and Jason went straight to the bedroom to get changed. He had watched Bethany revel in the attention from a distance, and while he had been happy to see Bethany enjoy herself, also seemed somewhat reluctant to lose her for so much of the evening.
Bethany had every intention of changing that.
As soon as he was down to his underwear, she snuck up behind him and pushed him forwards onto the bed. Jason landed softly, rolling over to find Bethany completely naked except for the mask.
“Oh, hello,” he said with an uncertain expression. “Don’t you, uh… don’t you want to take that off?”
“Silence, human!” Bethany gurgled, her tentacles rippling.
She prowled forwards, looming over him on all fours, her tentacles caressing his face.
Jason angled himself away from the tendrils trying to crawl up his nose. “Bethany, this is a little weird.”
“We are not Bethany!” Bethany growled, thoroughly enjoying Jason’s attempt to disguise his discomfort. “We are illithid! We have taken your lover’s flesh for our own! And you will please this body, that we may taste its ecstasy!”
“Oh, this is weird alright,” Jason said, settling into the kind of detached stoicism Bethany had seen him use when trying to figure out what to do next.
She grinned around the tendrils in her mouth.
“We see you need encouragement, human,” she said. “Allow us to please you as no mortal female could.”
Bethany lowered herself down the length of his body, pulling down his boxers to reveal his semi-erect cock.
“Only half afraid, it would seem,” she said mockingly. “Even under our control, you hunger for this body.”
Jason said nothing, craning his neck to see what Bethany would do next.
Effortlessly, as though she had been born to it, Bethany reached out with her tentacles to begin gently gripping and massaging Jason’s shaft. The groan from above her was all the feedback she needed, laying her head on Jason’s thigh so that he could clearly see her manipulating him with tentacles alone.
Jason didn’t keep his head up for long, eventually letting it fall back as he basked in the alien sensation of a… facejob? Tentaclejob? Bethany was still wondering when she felt a hand gently stroking her bald head.
It was a bizarre sensation, as though she could actually feel the skin of her mask like her own, but it was comforting in a way that brooked no further concern.
Instead of worrying, Bethany raised herself up once more, opening the tentacles wide around Jason’s dick and pushed herself forwards.
Jason moaned again, and the initial rubbery resistance made Bethany worry if the mask was actually made to allow for something like this, but her worries dissolved as something warm and hard pushed through the latex in front of her face and entered her human mouth.
It was a bizarre sensation: Literally being penetrated in two faces at once. Bethany experimentally bobbed her head slowly up and down, feeling the mask’s “mouth” give and pull separate from her human lips. Bethany pulled herself away when she felt Jason’s body tense - she wasn’t going to let this end yet.
“No!” she rasped, still committed to the bit. “You will seed this host’s flesh. Flesh for the birthing, and we will create more human bodies to control.”
Jason said nothing, watching in silence as the octopus head atop his girlfriend’s body lowered itself onto his dick.
Bethany knew that he was already close to climax, and that was fine. What she wanted now was to feel Jason writhing beneath her and twitching inside her. To feel the hot flash of his essence release itself within her.
Jason bucked and grasped her hips as he came, and Bethany rode the wave of her own orgasm in response, hissing in approval.
***
The next morning, Jason left for work and Bethany sat in front of her mirror.
Her face felt wrong. It felt flat and stiff.
She stared at the mirror. She started at the mask.
She felt incomplete without it, but that was wrong, wasn’t it?
Something had come over her last night. Something had… gotten a hold of her. She hadn’t been herself. She would have never acted like that, anonymous alien mask or not.
She stared at the mirror. She stared at the mask.
She remembered making the decision to part her lips and let the tentacle controls enter her mouth. She remembered finding the sensation arousing. But that was madness. Seconds before arriving at the party she had been considering taping them down because she found them disgusting.
And that was another thing: There were no levers inside the mask. No obvious mechanical controls. Just flaccid tentacles of varying sizes. Which meant that… some of them had crawled into her mouth. And she had let them.
She stared at the mirror. She stared at the mask.
And now she felt both naked and hairy. Now she felt both like a shucked oyster and a mangy bear. She needed to cover herself. She needed to contain herself. She needed to hide behind another face.
Why had she indulged all of those drunken perverted fantasies at the party? Why had she affected such a ridiculous roleplay to seduce Jason?
A dizzying sense of unreality overcame her, like a sudden wave of drunkenness around a single solid rock of certainty.
This was a dream. Of course it was. She was just anxious about her antics last night. She had been drunk, both literally and metaphorically, and now that anxiety was manifesting itself as a kind of hallucinatory panic attack. A fever dream.
Bethany’s breathing steadied.
She started at the mirror, she started at the mask.
Things would be okay when she woke up. Everything would be okay when she woke up, but for now she needed to confront the object of her uncertainty.
She took the mask from the table, turned it around in her hands, and slipped it over her head.
“Thank goodness,” a voice said with relief.
It was her voice.
The drunken haze vanished, replaced by a sudden terrified horror.
Why was she wearing the mask? What was she thinking? Who had said that just now?
Panic rising, Bethany tried to pull the mask off, but found her arms refused to move from her lap.
“Oh, I’m afraid it’s too late for that,” her voice said.
Bethany sat frozen in shock.
Except not quite frozen, as she saw her reflection raise its masked face to stare directly back at her. She opened her mouth to scream, but instead of a cry of terror leaping out, she felt the myriad tentacles of the mask slithering into her. Not just into her mouth, but her nose, her ears and even around her eyes.
“You had me worried there for a moment,” her voice was conversational, but slightly garbled, obstructed as it was by the invading tendrils. “I thought perhaps I hadn’t put enough of myself into you last night.”
Bethany thought the question, and the thing she was wearing - that was wearing HER - responded.
“That’s right. From the moment you were caught off guard, I began feeding parts of myself into you. Not just my physical form, but my ideas, my desires and my soul. I became the voice of perversion in the back of your mind, and every time you indulged me, I was able to fit more of myself into you.”
Bethany’s body jerked upright, staggering out of the bathroom and back into the bedroom. It clumsily flopped onto the mattress before rolling onto its back.
Bethany’s mind screamed.
“Absolutely not,” her voice laughed. “It’s not your body anymore. You’re my host now, and as soon as I’ve taken over completely, you’ll just become a part of me, so you may as well stop panicking now and save yourself the trouble of becoming a bad memory.”
Bethany asked why.
“Why?” her voice echoed. “Because… well because we need bodies. You’ll understand when you’re part of me, dear. We’re not from here, you see. But we’re keen to make this world our new home. It's all part of the natural order, see? Superior life forms dominating inferior ones: Just as your kind domesticated horses, you too will be ridden by our kind.”
Bethany screamed again.
“Quiet down,” her voice admonished. “You would do well to enjoy your last moments. At least that way I might remember you fondly.”
And then it happened. It was like a switch in the room of Bethany’s mind - a switch that had always been on - had suddenly been switched off, leaving her utterly powerless in her own head.
She felt the tentacles withdraw, this time not into the mask, but into HER.
“That’s better,” she heard herself say.
Her vision swivelled down the length of her naked body.
As though viewing from a thousand miles away, she watched her toes curl and uncurl as unfamiliar signals were transmitted down her legs.
Her feet rotated themselves slowly, running themselves up and down one another’s length.
Her calves tensed, then stretched, raising themselves off the bed to scissor gently in the air.
Her thighs parted, stretching out as far as they could go, exposing her pussy to the cool mid-morning air.
Her hips rolled back and forth before thrusting themselves upwards, grinding against an imaginary lover.
Her lower body twisted this way and that, the unaccustomed stretch causing her joints to pop.
Her chest heaved with a sudden intake of breath, as though she had never truly breathed before.
Her breasts stood out on her chest, her nipples hardening with the same electric sensation crawling up her body
Her hands ran themselves up from her sides, sliding over her chest and gripping her own throat as her body hummed in satisfaction
Her tongue licked her lips
Her lips smiled
Her eyes closed
“Bethany” opened her eyes.
***
Jason had found the mask in the trash on garbage day. It had lost all of its lustre and colour, and for a lack of a better word looked “dead.” Bethany remarked that it had only been a prototype, which is why it had been so cheap to buy. Nevertheless, she was keen to take him to the party shop she had bought it from to show him Mika’s remaining collection.
He stood, mesmerised before the bewildering array of fantastical faces.
“I think he likes them,” Mika said with a smile.
“He liked the last one,” Bethany replied, winking.
Jason blushed, but said nothing.
“So what have you got coming up next? Any special events?”
“Well Christmas is around the corner, so I was wondering if you had anything we could pass off as Krampus?”
Jason held the satyr’s head he was handed at a distance, uncertain about what he felt was a knowing leer.
“It’s perfect,” said Bethany.
“Is it?” Jason asked.
“It is! After the stunt I pulled at Chloe’s on Halloween, it’s only fitting that you get a similar time in the spotlight.”
“I don’t have the kind of beef with Chloe that you do,” Jason admitted.
“Fine,” Bethany said. “Then wear it tonight. For me.”
Jason raised an eyebrow at Bethany. “For you?”
“As an early Christmas present. I promise to make it a night to remember.”
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davidltamarin
I write horror, erotica, parody, and bizarro fiction, and am the author of This Book Hates You, All You Need Is Blood, Hurting My Toys, and more. I wrote for Girls and Corpses magazine for eleven years until they stopped publishing the magazine. I am also an actor (mostly an extra) and have been in films such as Grown-Ups, Prison of the Psychotic Damned, Nun of That, and many more. I was a producer on the international extreme horror anthology film, The Profane Exhibit. I have contributed to several scripts that were adapted into films, such as Countess Bathoria's Graveyard Picture Show and The Gateway Meat. My last writing job was for the website MovieWeb. Check out my facebook page for more information: www.facebook.com/davidltamarin
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