The best part of getting away with it wasn’t the sex or the freedom or the bottomless charge accounts—it was not being caught. Not once, not even a glimmer of suspicion.

Kent slouched deeper into the lounge chair next to the pool and let the afternoon sun tingle across Julie’s oiled skin. He wiggled Julie’s toes, letting the sunlight toast her ankle bones. The clone appeared a few minutes later, balancing a silver tray with fruit and a chilled drink. Kent barely glanced up as it knelt to set the tray beside him. He picked up a grape, rolled it between Julie’s fingers, and popped it into his mouth.

Kent loved the fact that Julie’s palate was a hundred times more sensitive than his old one. Every bite of honeydew or cold strawberry was nearly an orgasm in itself; every sip of sparkling water left his tongue tingling, even the vape he had bought to start indulging from time-to-time, tasted different and induced a unique high of its own. He could almost forgive Julie for being such a bitch, if this was what she’d got to feel all the time.

“Fan me,” he said to the clone.

It obeyed without protest, waving a palm frond in steady strokes. The air brushed over Julie’s skin, lifting up the scent of sunscreen and citrus. Kent closed his eyes, chewing lazily, letting the cool air and warm sunlight blur together.

Every now and then, he caught the clone glancing at him. He smiled without looking. “You’re sweating. Must be hard work.”

The clone said nothing, jaw tight. Kent took another sip of his drink, licking a drop from Julie’s lip. “You should try harder. I can still feel the sun on my thighs.”

He enjoyed the way the clone’s expression twitched, like it wanted to say something but remembered who it was now. Kent drew out the moment, until the silence between them was sticky and thick. He squirmed under the heat, feeling the little droplets of sweat gathering under the band of Julie’s bikini top.

It was his favourite part of lounging out by the pool—the skimpy triangle bikinis that barely covered Julie’s body. Today’s one was a bright neon yellow. It was so small it might as well have been wishful thinking. Not even the sunglasses could hide the way he stared at his own body, lost in the joy of being Julie.

He’d definitely worked up a tan over the past couple of days. Julie’s skin glimmered so nicely, deep and buttery with highlights on every curve. He liked it even more when he stretched, the slick shine glowing along the lines of Julie’s stomach and pulling tight across her ribs. He’d never been this beautiful, or this lazy, in his entire life.

Kent sighed. He was living in paradise while his skinny male body did all the heavy lifting. The clone had spent all last week weeding the pool deck and shuffling rocks out from under the pool furniture all because Kent said so. Kent-as-Julie only had to wave a dismissive hand to get the job done.

This was the dream, and it was all his.

The most surprising turn of events came when after a couple days, he couldn’t stay away from his parents house anymore. He was panicking in what he likes to call “Julie fashion.” Buying dozens of clothing items online and running up her credit card bill with a bunch of luxury home goods and makeup, all to avoid thinking about the clone, or the attic, or what would happen if somebody found out.

But then he bit the bullet. He’d sent the body double—his original body—back to the home he’d once known. At first, Kent worried that his parents might sense something was amiss, but when it returned the next day—and then the next without a peep, Kent realised they’d barely noticed.

It had stung at first, but then he realised something else. If they hadn’t noticed, it meant he didn’t have to worry. He could stay here in the lap of luxury, in this body, living life as a pampered, self-obsessed woman.

Since the clone still came by every day, it meant that the old arrangement was still in effect. So Kent-as-Julie took full advantage of it. So, for the past three days, he’d done nothing but treat himself: pool, sun, and a relentless campaign of masturbation so thorough it would have killed the old Kent’s right arm.

The clone was running errands for him, fetching drinks and fruit on a tray, much like today. And, sometimes, when Kent was in the mood, he’d make it rub lotion into his back. It wasn’t about the task—it was about the power. Kent had started to enjoy teasing the clone, rubbing the imbalance in its face just to watch it fold. Julie’s body made it too easy to indulge that side of himself.

The clone’s palm-frond fanning slowed. Kent pulled his sunglasses down with one finger, not caring that the sun half-blinded him. “You have a complaint?” he asked, watching the clone intently. He lifted one leg, and the bikini bottom rode up, the thin string digging into Julie’s smooth hip. He flicked a grape stem off her thigh and waited.

The clone hesitated, then shook its head. “No, Mistress.”

Kent stifled a laugh, pushing the sunglasses back into place. He waved the clone off with a dismissive hand. “Get me a refill. This one is warm.”

It stood there for another second more than Kent wanted it to. “Well? Are you just going to stand there with a mouth full of teeth or are you going to get me a new drink?” he snapped.

That worked. The clone spun on its heel, mumbling out an apology.

A minute later, the clone returned with a fresh drink, condensation sliding down the sides of the glass. Kent didn’t bother sitting up. He held out Julie’s hand without looking, and the clone places the glass into her palm.

Kent took a slow sip. The cold hit her tongue and sent a faint shiver down her chest. Much better.

He let the clone stand there for a moment longer, unsure whether it was dismissed, sweat dripping down its neck. Only when Kent lowered the glass did he flick his fingers in a lazy wave.

Kent considered going for a swim, but the sun was too good, and the little beads of sweat crowding Julie’s cleavage were almost as satisfying as the clone’s defeat. He called after the clone, “If you want to be useful, you can sort through those. Fold the things I might wear. Burn the rest.”

The clone glanced over its shoulder, and Kent pointed at the pile of shopping bags dumped on the patio tiles. The clone’s jaw flexed, but all it said was, “Yes, Mistress.”

Kent almost laughed. He loved that—loved hearing it, loved the way it sounded coming out of his old mouth. “Then hop to it. I want the latex stuff hung up, not creased. That’s the only warning you’ll get.” He took a lazy sip from the glass, closed his eyes, and let the heat spread through Julie’s chest and limbs.

The clone shuffled off, shoulders hunched. Kent didn’t even try to hide his satisfied smile as it walked away. He could feel the clone’s frustration burning through the air, could sense the little grumbles it tried to keep under its breath.

Kent smirked, and called out. “Good boy.”

He stretched out, letting his head loll to the side, and glanced down at the phone blinking on the side table. He swapped his glass for it, and thumbed the unlock with a lazy swipe. A text from Zafira, the hot lingerie shop assistant from the mall. The same one who helped him measure Julie’s tits so he could know what cup size to take. Kent still remembered the flush on Zafira’s cheeks when she did his measurements, how her hands had trembled as she wrapped the tape around Julie’s underbust and hips.

Zafira: still on for tonight, babe? 🥂🥂🥂

Kent smirked and typed back with one hand, the other absently trailing over his stomach. It felt good to touch her skin, even when it was just a casual brush.

Kent: “Of course. What’s your poison?”

Zafira: tequila shots. No chasers. you?

Kent: Something strong, something dirty.

Zafira: lol. god, you’re so hot.

Kent: you have NO idea.

Zafira: 7pm @club goodwin? I’ll be wearing something cute for you 😘

Kent bit his lip. It was hard to hide the anticipation for the evening. His hand on his stomach moved faster, and he knew if he still had a cock, it would have been fattening up right now. He shot off a reply, then set the phone aside. He picked up his drink and took a sip.

It was almost unfair how responsive she was.

Kent didn’t even need to think about it anymore—just the lightest touch, and her skin lit up like a pinball machine. He circled a fingertip around her nipple, feeling it tighten instantly, harder than any boner he’d ever had. Then, he dragged the cold edge of the glass along her cleavage, goosebumps rippling out across her skin.

“Fuck,” he whispered, enjoying the shiver.

His free hand drifted down to the edge of the bikini bottoms, tracing the thin strap that vanished between Julie’s ass cheeks. He played with it idly, imagining the look on Zafira’s face when she saw him later. He pictured her hands all over him, imagined the taste of tequila and sweat and lip gloss when they finally made out in the club bathroom.

It would be good. He’d make sure of it.

A clatter from the patio broke the daydream. The clone was rummaging through the shopping bags, laying out lingerie and club dresses like a miserable personal shopper. Kent sat up, letting the sun hit his chest full-on.

“Careful with those,” he said. “If you rip a seam, you’re paying for it.”

The clone glared, then turned away.

Kent grinned wider. He couldn’t help it.

It was nearly time to get ready. But first: a little preview.

He dipped two fingers into the cold drink, then pressed them flat against his nipple. The sensation was sharp, cool, and blinding. He loved it. It was one of the best parts of Julie’s body—her sensitive little nipples. Kent inhaled through his teeth, then did it again, rolling the nub between his thumb and index finger until the whole breast was alive under his touch.

A bead of sweat ran down the center of his chest, catching in the valley between his tits. He caught it with his finger, and licked it off. Julie’s fingers pop out of her mouth loudly, and Kent decided he would need to reward himself for the effort. For the patience. For the sheer joy of being Julie and making the world spin around his little finger.

He stretched, arching his back, letting the bikini top nearly slip off one breast. The clone was pretending not to notice, but Kent could see the way the clone kept sneaking glances. He smiled, and slid his fingers lower, under the bikini bottoms. They spread Julie’s pussy lips apart, finding wetness there even on a hot day like today.

It was the perfect little tease. He didn’t need to come—not right now. But it was fun to play a bit.

Fun to know how easy it would be, if he wanted to. Sometimes he wondered if Julie would ever get her body back, or if she’d have to inherit it like this: ruined by his endless need to experience pleasure in her body.

That would be poetic justice.

The phone buzzed again. This time it was a photo: Zafira in her own mirror wearing only a pair of panties and an arm holding up her breasts as she covered them. She was wearing a pair of cute white heels that Kent loved on her. She’d scrawled “for you” across the image with her finger.

Kent’s breath hitched.

He took a picture of himself, still half-naked, one nipple showing, and sent it back without a word.

Then, Kent let his hand slide all the way down, cupping the heat between his legs. He pressed the slick fabric aside, rubbing slow circles over his clit. It was amazing, every pulse sharper than the last. He rocked his hips just a little, careful not to be obvious about it.

He wasn’t going to come. He wouldn’t—yet. He’ll wait for Zafira.

So, instead, he got up, stretched, and sauntered inside. The clone wasn’t on the porch anymore. Kent grabbed a glass of water from the kitchen and debated whether he should relax a bit more under the air conditioner or get ready for his date later.

He’ll need a few hours to get ready, so maybe he should start with a shower. He wanted to be clean, smooth, and smelling like a million bucks when he opened the door for Zafira. The very thought made his chest flutter.

His hand drifted down Julie’s stomach before he caught himself. He’d spent half the afternoon fighting the urge to start something he didn’t have time to finish. The heat under her skin wasn’t helping.

“Cool off,” he muttered to himself, and stepped back outside.

The pool glittered in the sun, clear and so blue. Kent took off his sunglasses, hesitating only a second before diving in. The water closed over Julie’s body in a cool rush, stealing the heat from her skin and the tension from her muscles. It felt good—grounding. He pushed off the wall and began to glide through the water, enjoying the strength in Julie’s arms and the long stretch of her legs with every stroke.

He swam slow laps for nearly thirty minutes, letting the movement clear his head. The water kept him from day dreaming too hard about Zafira, or the dress he planned to wear, or how good Julie’s body would look tonight.

Eventually, he floated near the edge of the pool, arms hooked over the warm tiles, catching his breath. Sunlight slid across her wet shoulders, turning every droplet into a spark.

It was time to get ready. Just the thought of his outfit, of the makeup look he had planned… It all made him excited.

He walked to Julie’s bedroom, and found the clone walking out of the closet with a look of resignation on its face.

“You’re done?” Kent asked, making it sound like a challenge.

The clone nodded, jaw tight. “Yes, Julie.”

He liked that. “Let me see,” he said, and pushed past the clone with a lazy wave. He moved through the walk-in, running his hands over the latex and mesh and silk hanging in fresh rows. Everything was in order. The shoes were even sorted by colour. Kent felt a surge of pride at his own initiative.

He turned around and saw the clone hovering at the threshold. Its hand were folded in front of them, like it was trying very hard to pretend it didn’t care. But Kent could see the way it watched him, scanning Julie’s body up and down with a kind of hungry look. Kent grinned wider, watching his old self try not to look needy.

“Nice work,” he said, touching the latex outfit he was planning on wearing tonight. “You can go now.”

The clone blushed, glancing away. It was always like this: a flash of resentment, a swallow, then submission. Kent wanted to roll around in that power, get it all over him, but he had a club to get ready for. He turned to walk into the bathroom at the other end of the closet, already picturing the look on Zafira’s face when he showed up dressed to kill.

But the clone didn’t move from where it was hovering.

Kent looked over his shoulder. “Need something?”

The clone shifted from foot to foot. “Actually, um. Is it okay if I…?”

Kent waited, savoring the way his old body squirmed. “If you what?”

The clone stared at the floor. “If I take care of you,” it whispered. “Saw you outside. Looked like you could use a hand. Or—”

“Or a cock?” Kent finished, enjoying the way his words made the clone flinch.

The clone’s face went red. “Yeah. If you want.”
Kent let the silence stretch. This was the game, the real one: drawing out the hope, making the old Kent think he had a chance, then snatching it away at the last moment. He stepped closer, closing the gap between them, so close that the tips of his breasts grazed the clone’s chest.

“Why would I want that?” Kent said sweetly. “Do you think you can make me come all on your own?”

The clone looked like it might die from shame, but didn’t back down. “I could try,” it said.

“Please.”

Kent glanced down, saw the bulge in his old shorts, and smiled. “I could always use an extra hand. Even if it was yours…” He reached out, resting one hand on the clone’s hip, the other trailing down to the tent in the shorts. He cupped it, squeezed, felt the cock leap in his palm. The clone gasped, eyes wide and hungry. Kent leaned in, brushing his lips close to the clone’s ear. “How would you start, hm? Would you cup my breasts first and play with them before trailing those fingers down to my soaking cunt?” He drew the syllables out like a dare, watching the way it made the clone squirm.

It nodded, swallowing hard. “I’d start with your tits,” it said. “You like that.” The old Kent’s voice trembled, but there was a rough, honest edge to it.

Kent-as-Julie smirked. He was right. He did love playing with Julie’s tits, and would love it even more if someone else did it. “I’d love a mouth on my tits too. Just as fingers spread my pussy lips apart, I’d want the sucking on my tits to massage my clit so all I could feel was their touch.”

The clone shuddered, his throat clicking. Kent could see the hunger in his old face, the way the clone’s eyes dropped to Julie’s chest, then back up to her lips. The clone’s hands hovered at his sides, knuckles whitening, like he was terrified to touch but desperate to do it anyway.

Kent leaned in again, and whispered, “Too bad.”

He pressed Julie’s tits into his old chest. “You won’t be the one to take care of me today.” He squeezed the clone’s cock harder, thumb rolling over the head through the thin fabric. The clone whimpered.

Kent drew back, smirking. “But I appreciate the offer.”

He let go, patted the clone on the cheek, and turned away. “Next time, try harder.”

The clone stood there, frozen, humiliated and hard as a rock. Kent strutted away, hips swinging as he laughed.

It felt good to be bad.

In the bathroom, he stripped off the bikini and let it drop to the marble in a heap. Julie’s tits fell free, nipples pink and stiff from the teasing. He admired himself in the mirror, running his hands over her waist, down her hips, then cupping the mound between her legs. The way the flesh swelled under his touch, how the lips glistened and parted—fuck, he could have stood there for hours.

But there were plans to keep.

Kent cranked the shower up hot and stepped in, letting the spray beat down on his shoulders and tits and back. He soaped, shaved, scrubbed every inch of Julie’s skin until it glowed. Her skin felt warm and hyper-responsive, almost too smooth under his palms.

Kent lingered between her legs, sliding two, then three fingers inside, feeling the tightness and heat. He practiced moaning, practiced the little gasps and cries. Every time he mimicked the way she might’ve reacted, he felt closer to her and further from the person he used to be.

When he finished, he toweled off, then pawed through the outfits in his closet for his chosen outfit. It was a black latex dress with a matching set of gloves. The gloves came up to the armpits, and the dress barely covered his ass. He’d seen it online and just had to buy it. It was perfect.

Before slipping it on, he stopped at the counter and added a quick layer of makeup—nothing heavy yet, just a swipe of gloss and a touch of red to Julie’s lips. He wanted to see how the full look might come together. The colour lit up her whole face, and the sight alone made his pulse kick.

He slathered oil over his body. It warmed instantly against her skin, turning her body slick and glossy. It looked unreal in the bathroom lights. Then, he rolled the dress up his thighs. It resisted at first, stretching tight before easing upward with a smooth, slippery pull.

The latex clung, compressing and lifting her every curve. It cinched her waist just enough to to change her posture, pulling her spine straighter and forcing her chest forward. The laces at the front, right over Julie’s tits, all the way down to his waist, took a little work. But it was the perfect fit once they were secured.

Once he was done, Kent spun in front of the mirror and whistled. He could feel the tension of the dress with every breath. It was a snugness that pressed against Julie’s sternum, and set a flutter alive in his stomach.

The glossy lips helped too. They made her look even more like trouble. Kent liked it a lot. He might have to add on some more makeup later.

The gloves went on next, and changed the sound of her movements—a faint squeak with every shift. The strappy black heels went on next. They were the kind that laced all the way to the calf, and did a little twirl for no one but himself as he walked down the hallway.

Kent couldn’t walk past a mirror without stopping. Seeing himself like this was addictive—the kind of thrill that made him want to pose again and again. He loitered in front of the full-length glass in the guest bedroom, one heel cocked up. The heels tipped her pelvis just enough to make her hips sway with every shift of weight. The latex dress was glued to his ass and hips, and Julie’s was hair still damp from the shower and swim.

He looked incredible. He looked illegal.

Everything about the outfit said she should not be allowed unsupervised in public.

He ran his hands down his sides, pausing to appreciate how the oil made every inch of Julie’s skin look like a pornographic candy apple. The gloves squeaked and shone. He squeezed her tits—squeezed hard, then harder, until the cleavage bulged up and nearly out of the dress. He licked his lips, gave himself the “fuck me” eyes, and stuck out his tongue for a second, just to see how slutty he could look.

The answer was: extremely.

He bit the inside of Julie’s cheek. The heat was coming back, not slow and easy this time but like a tidal wave, dragging every nerve ending with it. His brain ran through a quick slideshow of all the things he’d done with this body over the last week, then all the things he was planning to do with it tonight, and then—fuck it—why not now?

He still had time.

Kent arched his back, twisted for a better view of Julie’s ass in the latex. The dress was so tight it looked like it had to be peeled off, but he just hoisted it up instead, bunching it around his waist. The gloves made everything a little slippery, which only made it better. He traced one gloved hand over her hips, the other over her tits, and stared into the mirror as if daring himself to take it further.

“God, you’re such a whore,” he said, pouting at his reflection.

He pressed two fingers between Julie’s legs, rubbing through the thin layer of latex. The friction was perfect, better than skin on skin, almost. He pushed harder, worked her clit in slow, mean circles, and watched as his own mouth fell open, lips glistening. He wanted to see himself come. Needed to.

“Can’t help it, can you?” Kent said to the mirror, his hot breath fogging up the cool glass. “It’s just too easy with this body. Too fucking good.”

He kept at it, teasingly slow, until the pressure inside built up to a fever pitch. The latex made every pulse brighter, every gasp louder. He braced one hand on the mirror, smearing oil and fingerprints, and let his fingers work harder, faster. The wet sound was barely muffled by the latex. He ground her hips forward, feeling the tight dress fight back, feeling her thighs tense.

His reflection looked desperate, lost in the heat of the moment, and that just pushed him further. He moaned, biting down on Julie’s lip, then spat out a curse and started talking to himself.

“You want to come, don’t you?” Kent sneered at the glass. “So fucking needy. Just like always.”

He pressed his lips to the glass, feeling a tingle run through them at the coldness of the glass.

He was teasing her, kissing her reflection in a messy, wet mash of glossy red lipstick and heat. He licked the taste of himself from the glass, feeling a little shock at how sweet and tangy it was, and pressed his forehead to the mirror. His gloved hand kept pumping, two fingers working the slippery cleft of Julie’s pussy, every nerve singing for more.

He wanted more, he wanted so much more.
His tits mashed against the mirror, and he pulled the latex down so his nipples could scrape against the cold surface. His breath fogged the glass more as he kept fingering himself, pushing two, then three smooth gloved fingers in, stretching the latex and Julie’s hole. It was tight and good and insane. He could barely stand up straight.

He kissed his reflection again, harder this time, leaving streaks of gloss and tongue on the surface.

“You taste so good,” he whispered, licking the mirror and laughing at how ridiculous it looked.

He kept going, circling the clit with one hand, grabbing a tit with the other, then sliding down until he was crouched on his heels. He spat on the gloved fingers, worked them deeper, and watched the way his ass jutted out in the reflection. He was obsessed, addicted, completely caught up in the fantasy of being this perfect, unrepentant bitch.

The orgasm was close, close, close. He rocked forward and back, pumping his fingers, and the world shrank down to just the mirror and the feel of latex and the ache between his legs.

“Come for me,” Kent said, not sure if he was commanding himself or Julie or both. “Come, you little slut. Do it.”

He did.

It started as a tremor in her thighs, then a full-body shudder that made her knees buckle and her tits slap the glass. He moaned into his own mouth, eyes rolling back, then collapsed forward, chest slicked with sweat and streaks of lip gloss. He kept rubbing even after, working out every last spasm, until he was gasping for breath and slumped on the carpet.

He laughed, wiped the mess off his mouth, then looked back at the mirror. Julie’s makeup was a disaster; her hair wild; her tits and thighs coated in lube and sweat.

She looked even better like this.

Kent picked himself up, pushed the dress back into place, and smoothed the latex over his hips. He wiped his face, and headed for Julie’s makeup table. He spent half an hour fixing her hair and face, using all the little tricks and memories he’d stolen from her mind. When he was done, she looked perfect again: lashes long, lips plump, eyes wide and electric.

Kent looked in the mirror again, tilted his head, and grinned. He was going to fuck himself stupid tonight. And then, maybe, someone else too.

The doorbell rang downstairs. Kent blew a kiss to his reflection, swatted Julie’s ass, and headed toward the front door.

There was always more time for fun.