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Rachel Smith came home from school exhausted. She did not want to think about going back to school for tomorrow, the tests she’d taken today alone had mentally drained her and going back tomorrow to finish the rest of them was not a pleasant thought. At least that would be their last day of testing for a while. I almost forgot Rachel thought as she plopped down onto the couch, I promised Elizabeth and Susan I'd check up on them.
Me: Hey all!
How were the tests?
Elizabeth: Ugh!
Don’t talk to me about them right now, alright?
Susan: I don’t think I did too well, honestly
Think I’m going to flunk biology at this rate…
I hope I’ll still be able to graduate though
Me: I’m not sure how the colleges will take that
You know, failing thing?
Susan: omg
Rachel, shut up.
Did you even do your tests?
Or were you doing your little “cheating”?
Rachel paused. Of course, she hadn’t cheated today, the thought hadn’t even crossed her mind to do so. Afterall, if she had, what would have been the point of all those sleepless nights studying for all this? But… I mean… for English, Matthew will be in the same class as me… Rachel swallowed, not sure if this was something she was really considering doing, then again, it would make her life a lot easier. As far as she knew, no one was able to tell what happened to them after she left, although there was the problem that she wouldn’t be able to stay inside them for too long, otherwise she might not have enough time to write down the answers on her own test.
Rachel shook her head and picked up her phone again:
Me:As if!
Unlike some people, I wouldn’t use my powers for selfish reasons!
Elizabeth: Girl,
You used them to see how large Trevor’s penis was
Me: That wasn’t selfish!
That was for science!
Anyway
I promise you girls I didn’t cheat
Well, she didn’t cheat today anyway. But tomorrow, well that was another story. Although Elizabeth and Susan didn’t need to know that. It wouldn’t be fair to them if they knew she was having an easier time just because of something like this. It’s funny how it all happened.
There were three of them, Rachel, Elizabeth, and Susan. Susan was the shortest of them, with tanned skin and dark hair. Elizabeth was the tallest, standing taller than even some of the boys at their school. Unlike Susan and Rachel, Elizabeth had lean muscles all along her body, although most people wouldn’t notice as she kept her clothes on the baggier side. And then there was Rachel who stood shorter than Elizabeth, but taller than Susan. Rachel’s red hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail and she was laughing at a joke Susan said.
They had taken a break from studying for their upcoming tests when Rachel noticed a yard sale in their neighborhood run by an old woman. When asked, the woman gave them a sad smile and told them most of these things belonged to either her late husband or her daughter, both of whom sadly passed away in a car accident a few weeks back.
While Elizabeth was consoling the woman, Rachel decided to look through some of the belongings that were up for sale. Some old clothes, a few sports equipment, and some books. Rachel paused when she noticed a box of books mostly hidden behind some golf clubs. She peered over the top, and nearly squealed when she saw they were first edition copies of Jane Smith’s Dearest Diary series. Is this the whole collection? Rachel wondered, flipping through some of the books in the box. It was indeed.
“Excuse me?” Rachel asked, “How much for the box of them?”
The old woman gave a small smile and walked closer, examining the thing that caught Rachel’s eye, “For the set, I’d say twenty dollars should do the trick,” the woman replied, “Hazel loved this when she was a kid.”
Rachel eagerly handed the woman the money and as soon as she took the box in her hands the woman piped up again, “Oh, I think my dear Tom might’ve left something in one of those books. He always liked getting into some trouble, if you find it it’s yours to keep!”
Trouble? Rachel smiled and waved for Elizabeth and Susan to follow her as they went back to her house. Once they were in his room, Rachel immediately got to work making room in her bookshelf to store those books. While she was doing so, Elizabeth and Susan were making light jokes at her expense, out of all the things in that yard sale, Rachel got books, most of which she already owned.
Of course you wouldn’t understand the pleasure of a first edition book you love Rachel thought, placing five of the twelve books in her bookcase. Something slipped out from between the pages of book six though. Rachel frowned, and bent down to pick it up, “What’s that?” Susan asked, as she and Elizabeth got closer.
“It looks like a letter,” Rachel replied, picking it up in her hands.
“Should we open it?” Susan asked.
“We probably shouldn’t,” Elizabeth replied, “it’s not ours.”
“That old lady said we could have whatever we find inside.” Rachel reminded her, getting ready to open it.
Elizabeth stepped forward and made a swipe for the letter, “What if it’s something dangerous? Like… drugs or something?”
Rachel managed to fend her off and Susan helped hold Elizabeth back, “We won’t know until we try. Besides, aren’t you two just the tiniest bit curious?”
Elizabeth swallowed, but didn’t answer. Susan, however, was nodding her head enthusiastically. That was all Rachel needed and she opened the envelope, not sure what might be inside.
To little fanfare, all that was inside was just a letter, “It looks like a simple letter,” Rachel revealed with a sigh.
“What’s it say?” Susan asked.
Rachel held the letter up, the handwriting wasn’t the greatest, and neither was the paper quality, but eventually she managed to work out the words. She read aloud:
To Hazel,
I want you to have something of mine. It’s a little trick I’ve picked up from my travels when I was younger. Maybe one day I’ll tell you where I found it, but until that day comes, I will leave with this and this alone.
Now, I don’t want to tell you much of the details of what I got up to with this little trick of mine, but just know that I know what to look for so don’t you think about causing any trouble with this, alright?
Rachel frowned when she tried to read beyond that point. She wasn’t sure if maybe the old man’s writing got particularly bad or if he was writing in another language, but she couldn’t make heads or tails of what was written after. It all just looked like a bunch of squiggly symbols.
“What’s wrong?” Susan asked.
“I can’t read anything else,” Rachel replied.
“Well maybe that’s for the best then,” Elizabeth said as Rachel stared harder at the words, “afterall, this seems like something intimate between a dad and his daughter, I don’t think it’s really our place to - OH MY GOD!”
At first, Rachel wasn’t sure what got Elizabeth so excited, and then Susan started freaking out too. They were shouting at her to drop the letter, and Rachel looked at them, not sure why they were freaking out, but then she realized the paper was burning in her hands.
She sucked in a breath, but before she could even think of letting go, the fire completely enveloped the paper, however, as the fire burned Rachel swore the strange words glowed white hot against the fire. What happened next, Rachel wasn’t exactly sure, the fire and the words flowed into her and Rachel felt something tugging at her very being. Suddenly, she felt herself lurching forward and she stumbled back until her back hit the wall.
“Ow!” Rachel cried out as the back of her head protested in pain.
“Rachel, oh my god, are you alright?” Susan cried.
Rachel, still with her eyes closed, replied, “I’m fine, just a little bump.”
“Elizabeth, this is serious!” Susan nearly shrieked.
Rachel opened her eyes, and she noticed she was taller, and her body felt stronger than it had before. She wiped some stray blonde strands from her face -- wait, blonde hair?
She looked over at Susan and saw she was crouching over Rachel’s own body. Rachel stared in horror, lifting up her hands to see they weren’t actually her hands, but were actually Elizabeth’s.
“Elizabeth!” Susan hissed, “Don’t just stand there! Get help!”
“I’m not Elizabeth!” Rachel breathed.
“What?”
“I said I’m not Elizabeth!” Rachel said, “I’m Rachel,” she pointed to her own body on the floor, “that… that’s my body… except,” she looked down at herself again, “I’m not in it.”
“Is Elizabeth in there?” Susan asked.
Hello? Rachel thought, Hello? Elizabeth! Are you there? She shook her head and crouched down beside her own body. Her body was still breathing, that was good, at least it wouldn’t die without her inside. She tried poking and prodding, but no response.
“Elizabeth isn’t in this body,” Rachel replied, “and it looks like mine’s empty.”
Before either of them could think of what happened, the door opened and Rachel’s mom came in. She was gasping for breath, “Girls! What happened? Why were you screaming?”
“O-oh! Mo-Mrs. Smith!” Rachel began, trying to think of a way out of this, “There was… a spider hiding in the books! A big one! It scared us all until we managed to kill it, but… I think Rachel fainted from the sight of it.”
Rachel’s mom sighed, “Well, that’s alright,” she frowned at the sight of Rachel’s body unconscious on the floor, “I think you should make sure Rachel didn’t hurt herself when she fell, it could be serious.”
“We will,” Susan piped up, “thanks, Mrs. Smith!”
With that, Rachel’s mom, thankfully left the room and Rachel and Susan were still trying to figure out what happened. Am I trapped here? Rachel wondered, How do I get back to my body?
“Can you get out of her?” Susan asked.
“I don’t know!” Rachel replied, running her fingers through Elizabeth’s blonde hair, “I’m-I’m trying to think!”
“Well what happened that made you go inside her?” Susuan asked.
“I-I-I don’t know!” Rachel hissed, “I just felt something pulling at me and one second I was in my body and the next I’m in Elizabeth’s!”
Susan looked around, trying to see if there were any remains of the paper left that might explain what happened. While she was doing so, Rachel was taking a few deep breaths as she looked back at her body on the floor. Alright, I’ll… see if I can’t replicate that, somehow.
Sitting down, Rachel closed her eyes and imagined herself, a ghost of herself, getting outside of Elizabeth’s body. She kept the image, concentrating harder and harder until she felt something, like a hook pulling at her. Is it working? Can I get out of here?
Rachel focused on that feeling and imagined that hook pulling her out of Elizabeth’s body. The feeling of pulling grew stronger and stronger until Elizabeth shuddered and Rachel was able to slip out. Only… she wasn’t back in her body.
She floated outside, like a ghost. From this, she was able to see her body still on the floor and Elizabeth slowly regaining consciousness. She went over towards her body, feeling a slight pull, but hesitated when she noticed Susan was still searching for any clue of what might’ve happened, crouching down to look for any remains of that strange letter.
Rachel smiled, feeling a little mischievous, it wouldn’t be fair if only Liz got possessed, afterall. She floated closer to Susan and felt a slight pull as she got closer. She plunged herself into Susuan just as she was standing up and Susan shuddered, gasped, and then Rachel opened her eyes and found herself in Susan’s body.
Elizabeth groaned, “Ow… I think I hit my head… Oh my-! Rachel! Are you-?”
“I’m fine,” Rachel replied, facing Elizabeth.
“Susan, this isn’t the time for joking around, I think Rachel’s-”
Rachel held up a hand, “Liz, relax, it’s me, Rachel. I think that letter was a spell of some kind… it put me in your body and then I was able to get out and decided to possess Susan.”
Elizabeth swallowed, frowning, “You really expect me to believe that?”
“I know it sounds far-fetched, but it’s the truth! Look, would Susan really be trying to mess with you if I was really in danger?”
The wheels were turning behind Elizabeth’s eyes, but Rachel knew she still didn’t believe this. “Prove it,” she said, “Tell me something only Rachel would know.”
Rachel thought for a moment, but decided this might be the perfect opportunity to mess with Elizabeth for a bit. “You panicked in the fifth grade when you forgot to buy a gift for Susan’s birthday and had to piggyback off my gift. In middle school you decided to tell me that you thought boys were icky and had no idea why Susan was so interested in them, going as far as calling Maxwell, her current crush at the time, a loser dweeb,” Rachel saw Elizabeth’s expression changing from skeptical to disbelief and knew she believed her, but decided to keep going, “in freshman year you came out to me as a lesbian and I assured you that Susan would accept you, too, and after a week of planning you came out as a lesbian. The day afterwards, I decided to tell you I was bisexual and then told Susan the day after…” Elizabeth was looking a bit red in the face now, “and last year, you and I shared a kiss behind the school to test things out. We didn’t tell Susan and while we fooled around, we decided it was better to stay as friends.”
Elizabeth was covering her face with her hands now, “Jeez, I believed you after the second thing, you didn’t need to keep going.”
Rachel giggled and gave Elizabeth a quick peck on the cheek. She barely had time to react before Elizabeth lashed out, swiping at her with her hand. Rachel kept laughing, although she made sure to cover her face with her arms, “Woah! Careful, Liz! This is Susan’s body, you know!”
“I know,” Elizabeth growled, “and can you please get out of her? I’m already freaking out enough now.”
Rachel smiled and prepared herself to leave again. The pull came easier now, and she was able to easily slip out of Susan’s body and entered her own. She got up, wincing as she felt where her body had hit the floor when she flew out of it. Ow! I guess I have to be careful when I leave because I’ll feel the pain when I come back in! Ow!
While Rachel was tending to the ache in her head, Susan got up and looked around, confused as to why she was no longer near the bookshelf. She noticed, however, that both Elizabeth and Rachel were up. “What happened?” Susan asked slowly, “No way, Rachel? Did you possess me?”
“I thought it was the best way to explain to Elizabeth what happened,” Rachel replied, still rubbing her head, “Don’t worry, nothing happened while you were gone.”
“Yes,” Elizabeth replied, looking at Rachel with a dark expression, “nothing happened.”
“So neither of you were aware of anything while I was inside you?” Rachel asked, starting to get to her feet.
“Last thing I remembered before coming to was freaking out because that letter was on fire,” Elizabeth replied, “after that… I woke up on the floor.”
“Same,” Susan replied, “I was just looking for anything that might tell us what was happening when everything went black and then I was on the floor.”
After that little episode, the three of them decided to test out potential limits for Rachel’s powers. As far as they can tell, there was no distance limit to how far away she can get from her body, nor did there appear to be a time limit to how long Rachel can stay outside her body, although she didn’t want to stay out of it for too long as her body still needed to eat. As a ghost, Rachel wasn’t able to travel very fast, only going about walking speed, but she was able to go through walls and fly. She didn’t test out if she could possess animals because she was scared she might not be able to leave.
The three of them had some fun for her powers, with one of the first things Rachel did was possess Susan’s crush, Trevor, and go through his phone to look for any clues about what he might be interested in. Rachel found him alone in his room studying when she came upon him. As she slipped inside, Trevor shuddered and gasped, “What the f-!” before Rachel completely took over.
So, this is what it’s like being a boy, Rachel thought, flexing her arms, I could get used to this, anyway, time to see if I can find anything he’s interested in. His phone was, thankfully, unlocked and after combing through it, she gasped when she found his gallery and the stuff that was inside it. There were numerous pictures of girls in various states of undress, Rachel recognized them as being in her same grade and covered her mouth. Oh my… I never would’ve thought Trevor got around this much!
These pictures looked like they were taken by the girls themselves too, and they usually winked or smiled at the camera, no doubt intending this as a gift for Trevor for later. I need to tell Susan, now! she quickly messaged Susan from Trevor’s phone before deleting the conversation on his end so he wouldn’t have any evidence that she had been messing around with his stuff.
Rachel sighed and was about to leave Trevor’s body when she felt something pressing hard against her pants. Don’t tell me… she looked down and gasped when she saw Trevor’s boner winking at her. She licked her lips, she shouldn’t, she really shouldn’t, but… well she was always curious about what masturbating with a penis felt like and Trevor had plenty of material on his phone to get her going.
I'm going to masturbate as a boy!
Susan: Elizabeth is saying not to, but I wanna see a dick pic!
Alright! Before she could second guess the morality of the situation, Rachel got to her feet and locked herself in the bathroom before ripping off Trevor’s pants. Trevor’s penis wasn’t anything special, a bit on the smaller and slimmer side, but it reacted quickly to Rachel’s touch. She sent a quick picture to Susan before erasing all the evidence from Trevor’s phone before she got to work.
She opened Trevor’s gallery again, scrolling through the various pictures he had, all of it was making her feel warm and she quickly discovered a rhythm to stroking his cock. Mmh, Veronica definitely has a nice body! Rachel thought, sucking in a breath through clenched teeth, as she stared at a photo of a mostly naked Veronica, And Abigail's hot! Who knew she was hiding all that under her baggy clothes? Trevor’s dick was twitched in her hand as she scrolled his gallery, the pleasure beginning to overcome her. It was much faster than masturbating as a girl, and she could feel the pressure rising within herself. With one final grunt, Rachel experienced her first orgasm as a guy and decided it would be funny to leave Trevor in his own sperm soaked mess.
Susan decided not to pursue Trevor, not because of the various pictures on his phone, but because she thought his dick was too small, but Rachel thought she was caring too much about the wrong things, it felt perfect to her, the pictures on his phone, however, that would have turned her off of him if she had even been interested.
It was crazy to think that had all only been a few days ago, and now here she was, in class once again about to use her power to help her cheat on her tests. It was easy enough getting out of her own skin, she just had to make sure to make it look like she was thinking and not passed out in class. After leaving her body, she made her way to Matthew without much trouble and got inside of him.
As usual, there was a slight struggle as her consciousness overpowered the person already in here, but thankfully all Matthew did was let out a small gasp. Alright, I’m in! Rachel quickly flipped through Matthew’s test, doing her best to memorize what answers he’d pick before she returned to her own body.
As she left Matthew though, she saw something strange when she came back out. For a moment, she thought she saw a blur of something vaguely person-shaped slip into the body of one of the girls in class, a quiet girl with big glasses named Vanessa, someone Rachel rarely spoke to, but had heard some of the boys whisper about excitedly. At first, Rachel thought she imagined it until Vanessa gave the telltale shudder and gasped. What?
A wicked smile etched itself on Vanessa’s mouth and she raised her hand and asked to leave to go to the bathroom. Rachel was curious, wanting to see what was going on before she remembered she hadn’t written down any of the answers. Quickly, she returned to her own body and copied down the answers she’d gotten from Matthew, making sure to occasionally mark a different answer so she didn’t get flagged for cheating. Although how exactly they would prove she’d cheated was beyond her, it was better not to take any chances here.
From there, Rachel waited, keeping an eye on the clock. She’d finished her own test and almost an hour passed but Vanessa still wasn’t back. I need to go check on her. Putting her head down, Rachel slipped out of her body and left the classroom. She heard Vanessa, or whoever was inside Vanessa, say she was going to the bathroom so that’s where Rachel headed.
She slipped inside and immediately heard crying, mixed in with mumblings of words. Worried, Rachel came closer, stopping when she saw a pile of clothes, Vanessa’s clothes, laying in a puddle of water in front of the sinks and Vanessa huddled naked against the wall, crying.
Vanessa made little effort to hide her body, as her hands were busy covering her face rather than anything else, leaving her small breasts exposed, as well as exposing her shaved pussy. As she got closer, Rachel noticed something leaking from Vanessa’s vagina, like she had been aroused earlier.
What happened here? Rachel thought.
She approached Vanessa, examining her to see if something was wrong. It didn’t look like someone was inside her, but Rachel had no idea what happened. Naturally she couldn’t ask Vanessa this, and even if she could Vanessa wouldn’t have any memory of what happened when she was possessed.
Rachel looked down at the clothes on the floor. They were wet, and wouldn’t look like they’d dry until after the test. I… I need to help her. Rachel went inside Vanessa. She gasped as she found herself in control of the other girl's body, and shivered from the coldness of the bathroom tile against her naked skin.
She couldn’t help but notice something else. This body felt good like it had just recently orgasmed. Rachel gulped, and stood up. She grabbed as many paper towels as she could and went to work trying to dry off Vanessa’s clothes. It wouldn’t get it all out, but that wasn’t the plan.
She slipped the clothes on, shivering intensely at how cold everything was before leaving the bathroom where one of the hall monitors noticed her and flagged her down.
“Young lady,” he began, “why on earth are you soaking wet?”
“There’s a problem with the sink,” Rachel lied, “it sprayed water all over me when I tried to wash my hands.”
The hall monitor sighed, “Well, I can’t let you return to your classroom like this, follow me, we’ll see if we can get you some dry clothes from the lost and found.”
Vanessa returned to class wearing an oversized hoodie along with a pair of sweatpants that were slightly too big for her. It didn’t help that they both smelled of sweat and body odor, but at least now Vanessa could finish her test. Feeling extra helpful, Rachel decided to fill in the answers for her that she took from Matthew, again, making sure she separated them from her own answers. Alright, I hope this goes well for her, Rachel thought as she got ready to leave her body poor girl.
With that, she returned to her own body and waited until the bell rang and class was let out to go to lunch. Is there someone else here with powers like mine? she wondered as she grabbed her belongings. Rachel glanced around the room, wondering if maybe whoever it was might’ve been in the room with her. No, she hadn’t noticed anyone else seemingly passed out like how she looks when she becomes a ghost. Someone from outside her classroom then, but staff or student? Boy or girl? As Rachel walked into the hallway and towards the cafeteria, she continued to glance around as more and more students came into the hall. Any one of them could have powers like hers.
Rachel thankfully managed to find Susan and Elizabeth during lunch. She was worried they would have different lunch schedules because of the test, but that wasn’t the case. Elizabeth and Susan were in the middle of talking about what they were going to do after the test. They almost didn’t notice Rachel sitting down next to them until she asked, “Hey, has anyone in your class acted… weird today?”
“Well hello to you, too, Rachel,” Susan replied, “anyway… no, not really. Why? Did something happen?”
Rachel lowered her voice, it wouldn’t be good if whoever was behind this overheard what she was going to tell them. No telling how this other person would react. “During the test… you know that quiet girl, Vanessa? I saw someone jump into her and, after some time had passed, I decided to follow using my powers…” she paused as she gathered herself to prepare to explain what happened next as she was still shaken by the sight of it, “when I found her in the bathroom, she was naked and all of her clothes had been soaked in the sink. When I hopped inside of her I also felt like… like she had just orgasmed.”
Susan and Elizabeth gasped and leaned back in their seats, their eyes wide with horror. “What did you do?” Elizabeth asked.
“I dried off her clothes the best I could,” Rachel explained, “afterwards, I picked up some clothes from the lost and found and finished her test for her.” After she finished, Rachel looked around the cafeteria, wondering if anyone had been listening in to their conversation. None of the students seemed to notice or care, being far more interested in their own meals or conversations. Still, Rachel felt her skin crawl at the thought that the person responsible was in this room with them.
“Should…” Susan hesitated, “should we do something about this?”
“What can we do?” Elizabeth asked, “I don’t think any member of the staff will believe us if we tell them what happened and I’m not sure if there’s anything we can do to this creep without putting ourselves in harm's way!”
“I might be able to do something.” Rachel said.
“Rachel, no-” Elizabeth began.
“I’m the only one with powers like this,” Rachel cut her off, “I’m the only one who would be able to see them, and I might be able to put a stop to all this.”
“Rachel,” Elizabeth said, “please be careful, alright? From what you said, I… don’t feel comfortable with you going to confront this guy alone.”
“Elizabeth is right,” Susan agreed, “what if he’s, I don’t know, able to turn the tables on you?”
Rachel swallowed, feeling sick, “I don’t know,” she replied honestly, “but I can’t just sit here and do nothing.”
For the rest of the day, Rachel was on high alert, keeping a close eye on any of her classmates to see if they acted off. However, nothing happened. At least, not in her class anyway. After the tests were over and everyone got their phones back, Rachel was immediately hit with several messages from both Susan and Elizabeth.
Elizabeth: Rachel, we have a problem
He struck again.
Melissa, you know, the girl in the school band with the freckles?
She left for the restroom and didn’t come back
Going to check on her now
Susan: Rachel, problem.
several girls were straight up missing when we came back
The teacher didn’t know what happened to them
Some of their friends said the girls left during lunch and then they just didn’t come back
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! Rachel took in a breath, and as calmly as she could, she looked around for anything suspicious. She almost missed it, but she saw one of the girls in the cheer leading team, a tall brunette named Victoria, suddenly gasp and shudder, stopping briefly mid walk and suddenly turning around with a slight smile on her face. Bingo.
Me:I found him. I’m going to follow him for a bit and see what happens
Elizabeth: Careful.
Susan: Stay safe
With that, Rachel put her phone away and followed Victoria, or rather the person possessing Victoria, through the hallways. She made sure to keep her distance, didn’t want whoever was inside Victoria getting suspicious about her, but she also made sure to keep Victoria in her line of sight so she wouldn’t get away.
At first, Rachel thought the possessor would take Victoria into another bathroom, but no, whoever it was was taking Victoria inside the girls locker room. No one else was inside when Victoria walked in, and Rachel was barely able to slip in herself without the door closing on her. From there, she decided to hide herself away near the entrance where, hopefully, her body wouldn’t be seen.
Alright, Rachel thought, her mouth a bit dry, I’m going in. She separated herself from her body and floated over in the direction of the lockers.
She wasn’t surprised when she saw Victoria’s body already in a state of undress. Whoever was inside her had already taken off Victoria’s shoes, socks, pants, and shirt, leaving her in just her white bra and panties. The imposter stood in front of the mirror inside Victoria’s locker, admiring Victoria’s body with a wicked grin on her face as her hands reached behind her back to unclip the bra, slipping it off her and allowing Victoria’s full breasts to come into view.
Rachel caught sight of herself in the locker mirror and froze, Oh god, does he see me? The imposter, however, didn’t look like he was able to see ghosts while he was possessing someone, much like how Rachel didn’t see him while she was inside Matthew’s body. While Rachel stood frozen, the imposter took the opportunity to slide off Victoria’s panties and was now standing completely naked in front of the mirror, admiring how Victoria looked. “Oh yeah,” she growled, “much better than that mousy little Vanessa, no idea what the other guys were seeing in her.”
Rachel continued floating over, moving agonizingly slow.
One of Victoria’s hands went to her breasts, cupping them and squeezing the nipples. “Mmm, bigger than Melissa’s,” she moaned, “but not as sensitive-OH!” Victoria arched her back as her fingers slipped inside her vagina, “Oh FUCK! Oh! I think she’s the most sensitive one so far!”
Rachel held out her hands as she got closer to Victoria. Unlike before, where she always felt a slight pull towards the body she was about to enter, here she felt a slight push and she had to force herself to get closer. Fortunately, the imposter didn’t seem to notice, lost as he was busy pleasuring himself in Victoria’s body. As he got closer to the climax, Rachel was able to make her way into Victoria’s body. Get out!
”What the? Who are you? You get out!”
Rachel jerked, causing Victoria’s leg to jerk. Her vision was darkness until she saw flashes of the locker room from Victoria’s perspective. She felt a hand closing in on her throat and wasn’t sure who was the one squeezing, if it was her or the other person. I said… GET OUT1
With a shove, Rachel pushed the other presence out of Victoria and gained control for a brief moment. She looked around and was about to leave when she felt the presence trying to come back in, Victoria’s body started shuddering and Rachel once again found herself fighting for control against this creep.
I won’t let you take advantage of anyone else! Rachel screamed, leaving Victoria’s body, but making sure she dragged the other presence out with her. Bodiless, as ghosts, they both floated in the locker room, and while they had each other’s hands around the other person’s throat, neither of them were able to feel pain, just mild discomfort.
But Rachel gasped when she saw who the other person was. It was Trevor, and he was glaring down at her, but the anger quickly melted into surprise and they both let go, floating a little bit away from each other. “Trevor?” Rachel gasped.
“Rachel?” Trevor gasped.
Rachel thought back to when she searched Trevor’s phone, some of those pictures of the girls were taken from their perspectives, at first, she had thought Trevor was flirting around with all those girls, but could he have actually been possessing them and used them to give himself those pictures?
“How… how long did you have this power?” Rachel asked.
“A month, just about,” Trevor replied, sneering, “I think you can see what I’ve been using it for. You?”
“A little over two weeks.”
Trevor thought for a moment, and his sneer deepened, “Ah, so I guess it was you I have to thank for waking up covered in my own mess that one time. Well, as you can see, you might’ve inspired me to do more with my powers than just simple pictures.”
“Why did you leave them stranded without clothes?”
Trevor shrugged, “I didn’t do that will all of them, just the ones who went out of their way to mock me, judge me, call me a creep! A pervert! Loser!”
Rachel scoffed, “I don’t think they were too far off with those claims seeing what you’ve done,”
“Really?” Trevor asked, coming closer, “You violated me, and then judge me when I do the same? Well, let’s see how you like it then! Your body must be around here, somewhere, right?”
Before she could react, Trevor shoved her aside and started floating off towards the exit of the locker room, right where her body was. Shit! Rachel thought, floating behind him. Trevor glanced behind him as he floated, “Heh, guess I’m getting close.”
Fuck! Rachel thought, I shouldn’t have followed! Now he knows where my body is! She tried going faster, using her ghostly arms and legs to try to propel herself forward, but it was no use, both her and Trevor were going the exact same speed, but Trevor was ahead of her. No.
Her body came into view, slumped over against the wall. Trevor chuckled as he got closer and slowly started to slip inside. NO! Rachel reached forward, forcing herself inside before Trevor could get in her body. She expected resistance, a fight, anything, but she gasped awake as she easily slipped inside her body.
What? Where’s-? Suddenly, she gasped, her body jerking on its own accord, she felt him then, trying to force his way inside of her. Rachel knew then that he wanted her to get inside first, so she’d be trapped while he possessed her. She needed to leave! Now!
“You’re not going anywhere.” Trevor whispered in her mind as Rachel felt the pulling turn into pushing as she forced inside her body as Trevor took control. She continued fighting, but she was quickly losing. She stopped feeling her legs, then her arms, until all she controlled was her eyes and then her vision slowly slipped away as she lost all control. no…
Trevor gasped awake, grinning as he looked down at his hands, Rachel’s hands. Okay Rachel, let’s see how you like being played with. He made his way over to the lockers again, having completely forgotten about Victoria until she finally regained consciousness and shrieked when she discovered she was naked.
“Rachel!” Victoria shrieked, grabbing Rachel’s shirt, “What happened? Why am I naked? Did you see whoever did this?”
Trevor smiled, and leaned closer, kissing Victoria on the lips, when he pulled back, Victoria was staring at him wide eyed, “I’m sorry,” he said, “I just couldn’t resist, especially seeing you like this.”
Victoria pulled away, quickly grabbing her clothes and using them to cover herself, “Rachel, what the hell? This isn’t the time for anything like that!”
Trevor held up his hands, “Easy, easy, I was just suggesting we can take advantage of the moment, you know?”
Victoria’s face went red and she quickly ran out of the locker room. Damn, Trevor thought, watching her go, I was really looking forward to trying sex as a woman. Maybe I came off too strong. Oh well, at least I still have this body.
Trevor stood in front of the mirror of Victoria’s locker. Let’s see what we’re working with here. Trevor went to work, taking off Rachel’s boots first. He was surprised to see she wasn’t wearing any socks, but that was fine, less work for him. Afterwards, her shirt came off, Oh Rachel, naughty girl, underneath, a black bra held back her freckled breasts. I can’t wait to play with those Trevor thought, but first, her pants came off next, and Trevor eagerly ripped off the matching black panties. Oh my! Trevor laughed giddily as the underwear came off, I was not expecting this! Rachel’s pussy was completely shaved, giving him a nice clean view of her mound and puffy lips.
His hands went to his bra, he shook slightly from anticipation before taking it off. Rachel’s breasts weren’t as large as Victoria’s, but they were very soft and bouncy, and the freckles dusting across her skin drew his eyes to her breasts' natural roundness. He swallowed, breathing deeply as heat gathered between Rachel’s legs.
No sense putting all this off, then Without further ado, Trevor sat down and got to work fingering Rachel. Oh! Trevor bit his lip, Rachel’s back arching of its own accord as his fingers slipped inside her warmth, Shit! She’s sensitive! He licked his lips, moaning deeply as he fingered her. He found her clitoris easily and a few flicks nearly incapacitated him from the sheer pleasure.
He grunted, his free hand cupping her breasts and rubbing her erect nipples. Finally, it came. With a loud groan, Trevor felt Rachel’s body climax and laid dazed for a moment, unable to feel his legs. Fuck, Rachel. I think… out of all the bodies I’ve possessed, yours is my favorite. Trevor was about to get up and leave Rachel laying here in her shame when he heard a ding coming from her discarded pants.
It was Rachel’s phone.
Elizabeth: Rachel, you alright?
Did you find out who did it?
Trevor grinned, maybe he might be able to have sex with a woman after all. He just needed to play his cards better this time. Sorry, Rachel, looks like I’m staying in here for a little longer.
Me: Don’t worry, I’m fine.
Wanna meet up at my house?
I’ll tell you what I found out.
Elizabeth: Sure
I’ll bring Susan with me.
Oh, this was just getting better and better.
The End?
However, instead of trying to fix things when she discovers this, Ryan sets her sights on fulfilling her all longheld ambitions with Logan's newfound abilities.
Logan is initially keen with just going along things as he possesses more bodies and pushes the extent of his capabilities. However, when a desire to be more than just her golden goose begins to stir within him, he soon finds himself starting to make plans to fulfill his own longheld desires...
Abstract
In a drab concrete parking structure, sitting inside a car that looked too small for his large frame, a sizable young man silently debated a life choice. It had occupied his mind for days, ever since a certain woman from his past had reached out for the first time in years. Even though he felt indecisive, he had a few mental tools to help him make his mind up. No matter how big the choice, the real decision was whether to start the engine back up and drive away… or open the car door and step out.
…
With a muted pop, the car door swung open.
He had already driven this far, turning back would be a waste of time and gas. Maybe the choice had already been made the very instant he got into his car earlier. Then all the worrying afterwards was just pointless emotion, the last-minute anxiety and doubt that comes with seeing “abandon all hope, ye who enter here” on the gates of hell despite knowing exactly what must be done.
The large man’s heavy footsteps made the only sound in the echoing gray maze. He was a tall mountain of a man that few would challenge physically. He was dressed nicely enough, something a little more than casual, something to wear when reuniting with an old… friend. After exiting the parking structure, he found himself a short distance away from a security booth, its red and white bar hanging guarding the street entrance and a separate pedestrian gate on the opposite side. Behind the booth’s bulletproof glass, a uniformed guard watched the man approach, asking for his ID as soon as he was close enough.
“Name and date of birth?”
“Logan Miller, February 19th. It says on my ID.”
“Reason for visiting?”
“I’m getting a tour from Ryan Everly.”
The guard returned Logan’s ID alongside a freshly printed plastic badge on a lanyard. An audible metallic click could be heard from the pedestrian gate. Logan passed through the gate and headed towards the monolithic building ahead.
As Logan walked, he inspected the plastic badge he was given. At the top, a logo for SynthraForma, followed by VISITOR in bold black letters, then his name, face, and a barcode with small numbers beneath.
Reaching the entrance, he tried the door handle and found it locked. He tried to use his badge on a nearby reader, but it beeped and showed a red light in rejection. Just as Logan was thinking of returning to the guard, the locked doors violently swung open from the inside. Barely dodging the doors, Logan suddenly stood before a stunning woman.
Beautiful red hair that instantly drew stares, captivating hazel eyes that were framed by complementary glasses, flawless skin that supermodels would envy, and a killer figure underneath a white lab coat. Ryan Everly, Logan’s high school best friend that he hadn’t seen since. She cracked a charming smile on her rosy lips, and spoke with her enchanting voice.
“Long time no see. It’s been a while hasn’t it?”
Introduction
Logan hadn’t seen Ryan since graduating high school a considerable number of years ago. In the past she was already pretty, but during the years that he hadn’t seen her, Ryan’s natural beauty was further enhanced to perfection. Judging by her current workplace, her intellect had no problems keeping pace either. Logan gave a polite smile and met Ryan’s mesmerizing eyes.
“Yeah, it sure has. How have you been?”
Ryan’s smile remained, but something subtle changed in her expression.
“Well, I wouldn’t want to lie to a friend. I’ve been a bit busy recently. Deadlines, disappointing results, and demanding superiors. You know how it can be. But anyways, I’m so glad you went out of your way to come here. I really appreciate it.”
Logan did expend quite some effort to get there. Scarce paid-time-off was spent from his job as an office clerk, not to mention the cost of a rental car and hotel. Still, it was a trip that he needed to take for his own sake, not just Ryan’s.
“It’s good to see you too. I can’t wait to see what you’ve been up to. Cured cancer or something?”
Ryan let out a little giggle that played like melodic birdsong in Logan’s ears.
“Well then, let me show you. Welcome to SynthraForma. I obviously can’t give you a full tour of the lab. In fact, even I don’t have access to everything, but I’ll show you what I can. Just a reminder, don’t breathe a word of this to anyone, okay? Not. A single. Breath.”
“Of course. My lips are sealed.”
Ryan accepted Logan’s promise and both of them entered the building. He stepped into a long hallway illuminated by harsh fluorescent lights. Before Logan could go anywhere, Ryan pointed towards a part of the wall next to the door. There was a plastic mount that held a stack of blank forms, a clipboard, and a pen on a string.
“Just a silly little NDA, for the suits and whatnot. Every visitor has to fill one out, but we don’t get that many visitors anyways.”
Logan gave it a quick skim before signing it, submitting the document in an empty slot clearly meant to receive them. Ryan then led him down the hallway. There were no windows inside, only heavy metal doors flanking them on both sides. Occasionally, there were laminated papers taped onto the walls, usually displaying some information or reminder for the employees.
Don’t hold doors open for others.
Keep your badge clearly visible at all times.
Thoroughly wash your hands before eating.
The potluck is this friday.
Finally, the two of them reached a door no different from the others. Ryan used her badge to unlock it and entered with Logan following behind. Now past three layers of security, Logan found himself in an unexpectedly mundane office. There were uniform cubicles to both sides, some with small decorations and knick knacks to add a splash of personality.
“These are our desks. It’s not glamorous, but most of our work happens here. Compiling data, writing reports, reading emails… Not very exciting, but it’s part of the job. This one is mine.”
Ryan’s desk had a computer like the others, with that addition of multiple stacks of books and papers, not to mention a couple of mugs with coffee stains. It looked like Ryan was about to say something, but someone else caught her attention. A woman was approaching them, dressed in the professional attire of a white button-up blouse and suit pants. She looked Asian, around her mid thirties, with light makeup and her hair in a bun. The authoritative click of her heels almost served as an introduction.
“Hello, you must be Ryan’s guest. I hope you don’t mind me interrupting your tour, I just need to have a little chat with Ryan if that’s okay.”
Her words were sharp and assertive, ensuring that no one would challenge them. Logan certainly didn’t want to at least.
“I don’t mind at all. I’m Logan. It’s a pleasure to meet you Miss…”
“Doctor. Doctor Li, SynthraForma research supervisor, pleased to meet you too Logan.”
“Anyways Ryan, I’ll make this quick. The deadline for your current project is coming up. I have great expectations of you, and I’ll make sure that your future assignments will reflect how well you perform here. I’m sure an incredible breakthrough is just on the horizon.”
Doctor Li left as quickly as she arrived, not waiting for Ryan to respond. Looking at Ryan, Logan could tell that she wasn’t particularly happy about her supervisor’s reminder. Her face didn’t give much away, but her silence and stiff body language gave it away. It took her a moment to compose herself, before she returned to Logan.
“I guess the tour wouldn’t be complete without an introduction to my kind and caring supervisor. Anyways, let’s get on with it.”
Ryan left her cubicle and promptly started walking again with Logan in tow. They reached another door that required Ryan’s badge. Logan noticed way more signage on this door than the ones before, being plastered with a variety of colorful symbols and labels warning about hazards of all kinds. Past the door, Logan saw a proper laboratory, filled with multitudes of complex-looking devices.
“Here on the left, high temperature superconductors.”
She carelessly gestured towards a workstation full of electronics, wires, and gas tanks of some kind.
Curiously, there was a plush of a squid on one of the workstation shelves. Ryan continued walking on without sparing a moment for Logan to really look.
“Over here on the right, artificial neural networks composed of lab-grown neurons.”
This workstation had a big microscope, with a collection of slides and plastic petri dishes next to it. Tons of papers, binders, and books filled this station out. Again, Ryan practically walked right past it, barely sparing the effort to mention it in her tour. This continued for the rest of the workstations until they reached the back of the lab.
“And here, in the back corner… my project… the slug project.”
Hypothesis
Ryan gestured to a small rectangular glass tank with some twigs and bedding. Logan had to lean in close to spot the first slug. It was an unremarkable little green thing, no different from something you’d find in somebody’s garden. Still though, being in this lab, there had to be more than met the eye. Or Ryan was pranking him.
Either way, Logan’s best choice was to play along.
“Interesting. What’s special about them?”
“These unassuming little blobs are a new species discovered in the Amazon. They were found in primate brains and initially mistaken for some sort of large parasitic worm. However, their biology and behavior is significantly different. A mature slug, ready to lay eggs, has the unique ability to enter a host’s brain without damaging the surrounding tissue, where it influences the host’s behavior. It compels the host to climb into the forest canopy, where it exits the host’s body and safely lays its eggs high up in the trees.”
Logan looked at the slugs again, watching as one lazily crawled on a leaf of lettuce. Brain slugs huh? It reminded him of something out of a sci-fi show, the image of a big green blob with a single eye coming to mind.
“The higher ups say that they’re interested in the mechanics of how it enters and exits the host's brain without damaging anything. They say that it could be a revolution in neurosurgery. But I think that we all know what really brings in all the funding. Mind control.”
Logan almost had to hold back a chuckle. It sounded more like the premise to a horror video game or movie, a cheap one at that.
Experimenting with mind control slugs? Logan was waiting for Ryan to tell the punch line at this point.
“We’ve studied their natural behavior and made significant progress. We’ve selectively bred them to trigger their ‘control’ behavior independent from their breeding cycle, and to extend that control duration. We’ve conducted limited human testing and confirmed compatibility and functionality as well.”
“Human testing?”
“Yes, of course. Given the premise of this project, it would be unavoidable, don't you think?”
Logan was able to avoid laughing out loud, but he couldn’t help a little grin. He was surprised by the matter-of-fact tone that Ryan was able to keep up. So she had tested these mind control slugs on people huh?
“Well, who’d you test this on?”
“For obvious reasons, I can’t discuss any of their identities, but they were all fully consenting individuals that were compensated for their involvement. Also, I should mention that I wasn’t working on this project during the period that these tests were conducted, so I had no direct involvement. I’ve only joined recently.”
Logan was a little confused by her response. That little fact at the end there didn’t seem to be a part of the joke, it seemed a little too realistic. The idea bothered Logan. Maybe she wasn’t joking. Maybe this was real. What kind of place was Ryan working at? Logan shifted to a more serious tone.
“Hold on. This whole slug thing. The human testing. Doesn’t that… I don’t know, concern you or something? Like, the stuff that you’re working on… this whole project seems…”
“Unethical? Inhuman? Evil? I certainly thought so too when I was first assigned, but the project’s current state is far from what it was in the past.”
Ryan picked up a spray bottle next to the tank, opened its lid, and spritzed some clear fluid around the enclosure before closing it again.
“Everything I told you about was done years ago. The project hit a wall. The slugs just couldn’t execute complex commands, only the most basic trained actions in response to verbal triggers. A far cry from mind control. Continued investments of time and resources yielded nothing, resulting in researchers and funding getting pulled. When I was assigned to this project, it was already dead and buried for a long time.”
Logan could see tints of frustration in Ryan. He had seen her get frustrated at hitches in experiments before, but this seemed like a deeper kind of frustration. She probably felt trapped with a project like this.
“Currently, most of my day-to-day is being a slug keeper. Moisturize the habitat at least twice a day, feed the slugs and replace the food before it rots, replace the soil every few weeks. I’m almost envious of Sisyphus, at least he got a boulder.”
“Sorry to hear that you’ve had it so rough. Maybe it would be a good idea to ask for a different project, or just leave all this behind and look for a different lab?”
“Oh believe me I’ve tried, but there are certain… factors… that prevent me from transfering projects. Leaving for another lab isn’t a good option either. No lab in this country can compare to SynthraForma’s. The resources and secrecy here are exactly what I need.”
Hmm… it seemed like Ryan was stuck between a rock and a hard place. Any choice would be a compromise, and a pretty lousy one at that. Watching Ryan’s expressions, Logan could tell she wasn’t happy about things, but she seemed to perk up as she continued speaking.
“It’s not all doom and gloom though, I have a plan. Imagine this. I succeed with this project out of nowhere. Why, news of such a miracle will go straight to the highest executives. They’ll hear that little ol’ me, a single researcher with no support, managed to break through an impenetrable wall that defeated the best of the best. I’ll get the recognition I deserve and free reign to work on what I want.”
Logan could see a flame burning within Ryan, a determination that pushed her forward.
Instead of admitting defeat, she was fighting harder than ever before. Logan was worried that Ryan was feeling down, maybe searching for solace or even pity, but those worries were cleared by her display of brash, unashamed confidence. He almost wanted to start applauding her.
“I’m glad that you’ve got a goal to aim for, but how’re you gonna do it?”
Ryan cracked a mischievous smile, giving Logan a look that sent a little shiver down his back. He knew that look. Oh, he knew that look. Trouble was coming.
Method
Well Logan, my good friend, that’s where you come in! I have an idea, a theory, a breakthrough! The main problem is the slugs’ lack of cognitive ability. Well it just so happens that one of my colleagues is working on a neuron growth promoter, top secret of course. Normally I wouldn’t have access, but let’s just say that I helped with his homework and he’s helping with mine.”
Ryan nodded towards a small glass vial nearby the slug tank. That must be the neuron growth stuff.
“Unfortunately, that alone would only produce slugs that are better at being slugs. Not exactly what we need. It would require far too much training to reach the levels needed for true mind control. That’s where another little gadget comes in.”
Ryan gestured towards something else near the tank. It looked like a bundle of multi-colored wires, each wire connected to a small device that had a suction cup.
“This is a prototype electroencephalogram, or EEG. It detects electrical activity within your brain, amplifies it, and sends it to the target. I’m sure you’re catching onto my idea now. We’ll be sending your brainwaves into a slug injected with the neural growth promoter. This external stimulation combined with the neuron growth will potentially create neural pathways within the slug that mirror yours.”
Logan took a moment to let things sink in. Ryan had conducted plenty of wild experiments in high school, Logan being intimately involved in most of them. All of them were attempts at something never done before, but at least they were somewhat based in reality. This experiment seemed to jump over that line and land fully into the territory of fantasy and madness. Combining all this experimental tech in an attempt to create mind controlling slugs? This had to be desperation more than anything else.
“Why’s it gotta be my brain waves? You’re the most intelligent person I know, so wouldn’t your brain waves be better?”
“Thanks, but if I could do this alone, I would have. The slugs wouldn’t just mirror the intelligence of the donor, but also their traits. I wouldn’t describe myself as particularly obedient, so it would be a big problem if the slugs mirrored me. You, on the other hand, have always been very… generous and helpful. I couldn’t think of a better person to ask.”
Logan wasn’t quite happy about being called generous and helpful in this context. He could tell that she really meant obedient, willing to make a fool of himself for her sake. In high school, Ryan always took advantage of Logan’s affection for her, and he gratefully allowed it. Anything to get the girl right? Well, it didn’t end up that way. He assisted Ryan in many of her experiments, sometimes to his detriment.
There were lots of reasons and rationalizations.
Teenage hormones, desperately avoiding loneliness, a dose of simple adolescent stupidity, all things that Logan told himself he completely left behind in the past. Reflecting on it over the years after graduation, he vowed to never allow himself to be taken advantage of like that again. Yet here he was, having his resolve put to the test.
Ryan could tell that Logan was deliberating. There was a possibility that he’d make the wrong choice. She leaned a little closer to him, looking up with a gentle expression.
“Please? I’m in a real tough spot here, and I could really use some help. Please Logan?”
Logan kept his expression stern as he gazed upon Ryan’s fragile beauty, looking into her pleading eyes. It wasn’t the first time that she’d used this trick. In high school, this was her ace-in-the-hole to convince Logan against his better judgment. And it worked every time. Logan let out a little sigh as he relaxed a little. It couldn’t hurt to get some more info right?
“What are the risks?”
Ryan broke into a smile, happy to hear that her faithful assistant was still her’s.
“None, absolutely none. You just put on the EEG’s electrodes and they’ll record everything that we need. No risks at all.”
Logan kept his expression even as he made his choice. He looked at Ryan again, searching for any indication of a lie or half-truth. She looked genuine, a real friend in need. Well, there really was no choice. To refuse at this point would be cruel. Logan hoped this wouldn’t end poorly.
“Okay, I’ll do it.”
“Thank you. This means the world to me. I’ll make it up to you later, but let’s begin the experiment as soon as possible.”
Ryan pulled up a chair for Logan, indicating to take a seat. She then grabbed a petri dish, went over to the slug tank with a pair of tongs, and carefully lifted a wiggly green critter onto the dish. She set it near Logan, and he glanced over. It almost felt like the slug was looking back at him with its little antennae.
It took a while, but eventually every single one of the numerous electrodes were attached to Logan’s head. Each electrode connected to a wire, all of which met in a braid that connected to a small device. The small metal box was connected to Ryan’s lab computer, and also had another side where a smaller braid of wires exited. Those tiny wires went over to the slug, where they connected to miniature electrodes that were placed all over the slug’s body.
“Alright, checks done, double checks done. I think we’re ready to go. Hanging in there
Logan?”
Logan had tried his best to keep still while the electrodes were put on him, as if he was getting a haircut. He also made an effort to avoid staring at Ryan as she worked. He didn’t want to creep her out or make things awkward, but for him, she was the only thing worth looking at in this lab. The way that her white lab coat contoured over her perfect figure, the way she moved around him, the view of her chest when she put the electrodes on his head…
“Yeah, I’m fine. Ready to go.”
“Okay, perfect. Then let’s begin the experiment.”
Ryan went back to the tank and took the vial of neuron growth promoter along with a syringe. Logan watched as she carefully measured out a dosage. After loading the syringe, Ryan carefully injected its contents into the slug. She then returned to her computer.
“Let’s hope for the best.”
With that, she activated the EEG. The device began to record Logan’s brain waves, sending them into the slug. Logan didn’t feel anything different on his end. The slug seemed fine too. Ryan turned a tablet screen towards Logan and started to play a video. It showed a slideshow of various things, ranging from apples to horses to people to mountains and much more. The video was supposed to help Logan’s brain stay active and somewhat direct the learning for the slug.
“Okay, everything looks good. It’ll be a few hours, but I’ll be here with you. If anything happens, let me know immediately. Again, I just want to say thanks for your help, I really appreciate it.”
“Yeah, of course. Anything for you.”
Experiment
The first ten minutes were fine. Just look at the pictures and videos on the tablet, easy right?
The next ten minutes were the toughest. Logan had to stay disciplined, forcing himself to sit still and keep watching. Every image that appeared on the tablet blended and blurred with the last. Logan even found it difficult to keep his eyes focussed.
Another ten minutes later, Logan managed to fall into a sustainable rhythm of sorts, and wasn’t struggling as much. He started playing a little mental game with the images, trying to improvise a story with each object that popped up on the tablet screen.
The man in a black suit… went to the windmill?
And in the windmill he… found a flock of sheep. Okay, so he was actually a manager for the mill, and the sheep were workers on a break. As a reward for hard work, the manager gave each of them a… butterknife? Woah, okay, so the manager was actually inciting the sheep to revolt against their oppressors. The oppressors that were forcing the sheep to work were… mongooses… mongeese?
The story unfurled itself, on and on, sometimes needing the occasional reset. Logan did his best to keep his neurons activated for this experiment. He kept going and going and going, persevering and relentless. To his credit, he managed to keep his focus most of the time, but as the process dragged on, his focus wavered more and more. The ideas were less creative, the mental image grew blurry, and the plot moved slower. Logan tried to pull himself back into the groove, but his descent was inevitable at this point. His mind grew dimmer and dimmer, a dark fog growing thicker and more impenetrable until the last candle flame of thought flickered out, and nothing remained.
…
…
…
Ryan checked up on Logan, looking over at him slightly slumped in his chair. His head was slightly tilted to the side and his eyes were closed. Must’ve dozed off. She had already noticed that Logan was struggling to stay awake for some time. Unfortunately, any stimulant like coffee could affect the experiment, so Ryan would have to wake him up everytime he nodded off.
Ryan got up and walked over to Logan, shaking him by the shoulder.
“Logan? Logan wake up.”
No response. She shook him harder. Nothing. She lightly tapped him on the cheek. Still nothing. She carefully opened his eyelid. Logan’s eye blankly stared back at her. Ryan felt a wave of dread flood through her. Logan? Logan!
…
…
…
Ryan had done everything that she could. Logan was unconscious when she found him. She had immediately called for help, and he was rushed to the hospital by paramedics. She was in shock. What happened? What caused this? Was it the experiment? Impossible. But the timing… Healthy young men like him don’t just… stop, not like this.
Ryan knew that she was screwed. Even if it somehow wasn’t her fault, there was no way that SynthraForma would overlook all the attention she was bringing in.
Ryan sat in her little corner of the lab, feeling hollowed out like an empty shell. Her eyes drifted to Logan’s empty chair. He was just there, not long ago, healthy and energetic.
The prototype EEG laid on the floor nearby, still in the same place that it landed after
Ryan had yanked it off of Logan’s head when trying to wake him. Ryan knew that the prototype EEG and neuron growth promoter would cast a lot of suspicion on the situation, but hiding or destroying evidence would practically be an admission of guilt. Ryan knew that there was a good chance that the experiment had nothing to do with Logan’s sudden decline, and that it was just a coincidence. But there was no way for her to know. She’d have to wait to hear from the hospital, or the police.
While Ryan was sitting, sorting through her thoughts, her supervisor Doctor Li showed up.
“I’m sure you’re shaken by all of this. Go home. I’ll give you a call if we need anything from you. Don’t even think about coming to work until you’ve fully recovered from this shocking incident, okay?”
Ryan didn’t want to respond, she didn’t even make eye contact. She just continued sitting with her head hung as Doctor Li promptly left. When Ryan heard the sound of the lab door closing, she raised her head. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the tank of slugs. A sudden rush of heat filled her body as she felt a fierce hatred towards them. Stupid fucking slugs! She wanted to get a hammer and smash the tank, crushing the pathetic little bastards.
But she restrained herself. She just glared at them, cursing their very existence. Freaks of nature. She got up from her seat, deciding that the privacy of her apartment would indeed be better than sulking in the lab. She reached over and grabbed her white lab coat. She had taken it off earlier while trying to help Logan.
Ryan stuck her left arm through its sleeve before draping it over her back and filling out the other sleeve. As she left the lab, Ryan was completely unaware of the little green hitchhiker in her lab coat’s pocket.
Recalibration
Dark…
Familiar… smell… Rough… all over…
Where…?
…
Hungry…
Move…
Need to move…
That way…
…
In the darkest hours of the night, a little green slug crawled out of a lab coat pocket thrown on top of a laundry basket. Confused and disoriented, it did the only thing that it could, follow its instincts.
Delicate slivers of moonlight leaked through the thin blinds of the bedroom. The room wasn’t particularly messy or clean, just lived-in. There were two beds opposite to each other in this small space. The plucky little slug crawled along the floor, inch by inch, towards the bed on the right.
Progress was slow, but steady. A few inches every minute. The slug finally reached the foot of the bed and began its journey upwards. It climbed against gravity, leaving a shiny trail of slime behind on the wood. After a few minutes, the unyielding green spelunker reached the top of the bed, where a sleeping beauty lay enveloped in a peaceful slumber. Her chest periodically rose and fell as silent breaths came and went.
The slug continued, crawling onto the sheets of the bed, eventually making its way onto the pillow. The slug’s small, pulsating body made the insidious last legs of its journey as it aimed for a small opening.
The slug touched the sleeping woman’s skin, feeling her warmth as it began to climb the side of her neck. She didn’t even stir. The slug climbed closer, closer, until it reached… the entrance. The slug dipped itself into her ear, pushing its head in and quickly filling the small tunnel’s width. The slug squeezed its malleable body into the small space, crawling deeper and deeper and deeper…
The woman stirred a little. A small readjustment of the body in response to mild discomfort. A light groan escaped her lips, as if she was just having a bad dream. There was no way to know that something was entering her… invading her… burrowing deep deep inside. She would undoubtedly panic if she was awake, if she knew what was happening to her, but it was just the slug’s luck that she was deep asleep, that she was defenseless.
Deep inside her head, the slug finally felt… satisfaction. It had reached its destination. Now, it could rest, just for a little. The woman’s body settled back down, returning to its restful state. Her breathing returned to a slow, rhythmic rise and fall of her chest. The only thing amiss was a small trail of dried slug fluid.
Chapter 1: Backstory
The sun hung high over the quiet suburban neighborhood of Willow Creek, casting a golden haze over manicured lawns and white picket fences that seemed frozen in time. It was the kind of place where everyone knew everyone's business, but no one ever admitted it-secrets simmered beneath the surface like the humid Texas air in mid-July. John Thompson, an 18-year-old fresh out of high school, wiped the sweat from his brow as he pushed the old lawnmower across Jessica's expansive front yard. The machine's rumble drowned out the distant chirp of cicadas, and the scent of freshly cut grass mixed with the faint floral perfume wafting from the nearby rose bushes Jessica so meticulously tended.
John had been helping out both families for years now-his own and the neighboring one headed by Jessica and her daughter Summer. It started as odd jobs to earn pocket money: mowing lawns, fixing fences, even helping with groceries when Heather, his step-mom, was swamped with her part-time job at the local boutique. Heather had married John's dad when John was just a kid, but after his dad passed away five years ago from a sudden heart attack, it had been just the three of them: Heather, John, and Amy-Heather's biological daughter from her first marriage. Amy was 20 now, home from college for the summer, and she treated John like the annoying little brother he sometimes felt he was.
But Summer, oh, Summer was different. She'd been Amy's best friend since middle school, the kind of girl who turned heads without even trying. John had nursed a crush on her for as long as he could remember-those stolen glances during family barbecues, the way her laughter echoed like music when she and Amy gossiped in the backyard. She was 20 now too, taller than most girls at 5'10", with a lithe, athletic build from years of volleyball, sun-kissed blonde hair that cascaded in waves down her back, and a bust that filled out her tops in a way that made John's heart race. Her mom, Jessica, was the stuff of local legend-the town's ultimate MILF at 46, with platinum blonde locks, a curvy figure boasting a generous D-cup bust, and legs that seemed to go on forever. She owned a small yoga studio downtown, which kept her toned and flexible, and her flirtatious smile had broken more than a few hearts.
John paused the mower to chug from his water bottle, his t-shirt clinging to his lean, teenage frame. He wasn't unattractive-tallish at 5'11", with messy brown hair and a boyish charm-but he felt invisible next to the likes of Summer. "Just finish this up," he muttered to himself, wiping his face with the hem of his shirt. That's when he heard the car pull into the driveway.
The sleek SUV doors opened, and out stepped Summer, looking every bit the college bombshell in cutoff denim shorts that hugged her firm ass and a crop top that revealed a sliver of toned midriff. Her bigger bust-easily an E-cup-strained against the fabric, bouncing slightly as she slung her duffel bag over her shoulder. "John? Is that you?" she called out, her voice bright and melodic, waving enthusiastically.
John's heart skipped a beat. He killed the mower's engine, suddenly hyper-aware of how sweaty and disheveled he looked-grass clippings stuck to his sneakers, beads of perspiration dripping down his neck. "Uh, hey, Summer! Welcome home!" He tried to play it cool, but his voice cracked just a little.
She dropped her bag and bounded over, enveloping him in a tight hug before he could protest. Her body pressed against his-soft, warm, and smelling faintly of vanilla and sunscreen. He could feel the swell of her breasts against his chest, the curve of her hips brushing his, and for a split second, his mind blanked. "It's so good to see you! You've gotten taller or something," she laughed, pulling back but keeping her hands on his arms. Her blue eyes sparkled with genuine warmth.
John's face flushed crimson. "Y-yeah, maybe. Sorry, I'm all sweaty and gross. Wasn't expecting, you know." He gestured vaguely at himself, inwardly cursing his awkwardness. God, she looks incredible, he thought. Even better than I remembered. Those lips, that smile, what I wouldn't give to just...
Summer giggled, tilting her head. "Aw, don't worry about it. You're doing us a huge favor with the lawn. Mom's been raving about how helpful you've been." She glanced back at the house, where Jessica was unloading more bags, her own figure poured into yoga pants and a tank top that accentuated her ample cleavage. Jessica caught John's eye and waved with a wink, her blonde hair catching the light like a halo.
John opened his mouth to reply, but words failed him. Summer's proximity was overwhelming-her scent, her touch, the way her top rode up just enough to show a hint of underboob. He stood there, dumbstruck, his brain short-circuiting as he imagined what it would be like to hold her, to kiss her, to explore every inch of her perfect body. "I, uh, yeah, no problem," he finally stammered, stepping back awkwardly.
Summer smiled sympathetically, picking up her bag. "Well, catch you later? Amy and I are planning a pool day soon- you should join!" With that, she sauntered off, her hips swaying in a way that made John's knees weak.
He watched her go, his mind reeling. How does she do that? Just exist and make everything else fade away? Shaking his head, he restarted the mower, but his thoughts lingered on her-the crush that had only grown stronger over the years.
Later that afternoon, after finishing up and heading home, John bumped into Amy in the kitchen. She was perched on the counter, scrolling through her phone, her brunette hair tied back in a ponytail. Amy took after Heather-modest but attractive, with a fit body from her college track team, perky C-cup breasts, and a girl-next-door vibe. At 20, she was confident and teasing, especially with her little step-brother.
"Hey, loser," she said without looking up, popping a grape into her mouth. "Heard you were over at Jessica's. See Summer yet?"
John grabbed a soda from the fridge, trying to act nonchalant. "Yeah, she just got home. Hugged me and everything." He couldn't help the grin that crept onto his face.
Amy finally glanced at him, smirking. "Ooh, a hug? Careful, John, you might actually talk to a girl for once." She hopped down, nudging him playfully. "Seriously, though, when are you gonna get a girlfriend? You're 18 now-high school's over. You can't just mope around playing video games all summer."
John rolled his eyes, but her words stung a bit. "I'm not moping. Just, busy helping out. And who says I need a girlfriend right now?"
Amy laughed, ruffling his hair. "Come on, make some friends at least. Hit up the beach, the mall-anything. Summer's single, you know. But you'd have to actually, like, speak in full sentences around her."
If only it were that easy, John thought, his mind flashing back to the hug. She's way out of my league. But god, what I wouldn't do to be closer to her... "Yeah, yeah. I'll think about it."
The conversation fizzled as Amy headed upstairs, leaving John to ponder her advice. Dinner that evening was a typical affair-Heather had whipped up a simple pasta dish, her brunette hair pulled back, her modest blouse and jeans hugging her still-fit 45-year-old figure. Heather was classically attractive: soft curves, a B-cup bust that she carried with quiet confidence, and warm brown eyes that always seemed to know more than she let on. She was the glue holding the family together, working her boutique job while keeping the house running smoothly.
They ate at the kitchen table, chatting about mundane things-Amy's college stories, John's lawn-mowing adventures, Heather's latest customer drama. "John, sweetie, thanks for helping Jessica out today," Heather said, smiling across the table. "You're turning into quite the responsible young man."
John shrugged, blushing slightly. "No big deal, Mom." The meal wrapped up normally, with everyone retreating to their own spaces: Amy to her room for a video call with friends, Heather to the living room with a book, and John upstairs to his bedroom.
He locked the door behind him, flopping onto his bed with a sigh. The room was a typical teenage haven-posters of video games and bands on the walls, a cluttered desk with his laptop, and a faint scent of Axe body spray. But tonight, his mind was fixated on Summer. That hug, her body against mine. Fuck, she's perfect. He felt a familiar stir in his pants, his cock twitching at the memory.
Unable to resist, he grabbed his laptop, dimming the lights as he settled against the pillows. A quick incognito search brought up porn sites, and he typed in descriptors that reminded him of her: "tall blonde big tits college girl." Videos popped up-women who vaguely resembled Summer, but none captured her essence. He clicked on one: a busty blonde riding a guy reverse cowgirl, her moans filling his headphones.
John's hand slipped into his boxers, wrapping around his hardening shaft. He stroked slowly at first, imagining it was Summer on top of him, her breasts bouncing, her tight pussy gripping him. God, I wish I could get closer to her, he thought, his pace quickening. Not just know her, but be intimate. Feel her from the outside, sure, but, inside too? Like, understand her completely. The fantasy spiraled-taboo thoughts of body swaps, gender bends from the weird porn he'd stumbled upon before, where guys became girls and explored forbidden desires.
His breath hitched as the orgasm built, more intense than usual. "Fuck, I wish I could be closer to Summer, inside and out," he whispered aloud, his voice hoarse. The video played on, the actress crying out in ecstasy. John's body tensed, cum erupting in hot spurts over his hand and stomach. Waves of pleasure crashed over him, stronger than ever, his vision blurring as a strange dizziness took hold. The world spun, and suddenly-blackness. He collapsed back, unconscious, the laptop still humming softly in the dim room.
Chapter 2: Freaky Morning
The first rays of dawn filtered through the sheer curtains of Heather's bedroom, casting a soft, ethereal glow over the king-sized bed with its crisp white sheets and plush comforter. The room was a sanctuary of feminine elegance-walls painted a calming lavender, a vanity table cluttered with perfumes and jewelry, and a full-length mirror propped against the far wall, reflecting the orderly chaos of a woman's life well-lived. Heather's closet stood slightly ajar, revealing rows of neatly hung blouses, dresses, and jeans, while the faint scent of lavender sachets mingled with the subtle musk of her favorite body lotion. It was a space John had only glimpsed in passing, never truly entered, let alone woken up in.
But this morning, that's exactly where he found himself-or rather, where she found herself. John's consciousness stirred groggily, his mind foggy from what felt like the deepest sleep of his life. His body felt, off. Lighter somehow, yet weighted in unfamiliar places. He blinked against the light, rubbing his eyes with hands that seemed smaller, more delicate. What a weird dream, he thought hazily, the remnants of last night's intense orgasm flickering in his memory like a half-remembered fantasy. That blackout, must've passed out hard. A pressing urge built in his lower abdomen-the need to pee-and without much thought, he swung his legs over the side of the bed.
The nightgown whispered against his skin as he stood, a silky fabric that clung in ways his boxers never did. It was Heather's favorite-a simple lavender slip that reached mid-thigh, with thin straps and a lace-trimmed neckline that dipped just enough to hint at cleavage. John didn't register the difference yet; his brain was still booting up. He padded across the plush carpet, the cool hardwood of the en suite bathroom floor sending a shiver up his spine as he entered. The bathroom was pristine: marble counters, a deep soaking tub, and a rainfall showerhead that Heather loved for its spa-like feel. He lifted the toilet seat out of habit-wait, no, that felt wrong. Instinct took over, and he hiked up the nightgown, sat down on the cool porcelain, and let go.
The stream came easily, a soft trickle that felt strangely relieving but, different. No standing, no aiming-just sitting and releasing. He reached for the toilet paper without thinking, wiping front to back in a motion that came as naturally as breathing. Flush. Stand. Wash hands. It was all autopilot, muscle memory kicking in from a body that wasn't his. Huh, that was, easy, he mused internally, still half-asleep. Usually takes forever to wake up properly.
He shuffled to the vanity sink, the mirror fogged slightly from the humidity of the night. Grabbing Heather's toothbrush-pink-handled, with soft bristles-he squeezed on a dollop of minty toothpaste and began brushing. The rhythm was familiar, but as he raised his arm, it brushed against something soft and yielding. A jolt of sensation shot through him-nipples hardening under the fabric, a subtle weight shifting on his chest. What the...? He paused, toothbrush in mouth, and glanced down. Breasts. Actual breasts, modestly sized but pert, straining slightly against the nightgown. The toothbrush clattered into the sink as awareness crashed over him like a wave.
John's eyes widened in the mirror, staring back at a face that wasn't his. Heather's face: high cheekbones, full lips painted a natural pink from last night's gloss, warm brown eyes framed by long lashes, and a cascade of brunette hair tumbling over shoulders. "Oh my God," he whispered, but the voice that emerged was soft, feminine-Heather's voice, with its gentle Texas lilt. He gasped externally, a sharp intake of breath that echoed in the tiled room. Internally, his mind screamed: What the fuck is happening? This can't be real. Am I still dreaming? Did I die? Panic bubbled up, his new heart pounding in a chest that felt both alien and intimately responsive.
He leaned closer to the mirror, hands-slender, with manicured nails-gripping the counter. Calm down, John. Breathe. Figure this out. How had this happened? Last night, the porn, the wish whispered aloud as he came. I wish I could get closer to Summer, inside and out. Was this some cosmic joke? A body swap? Like those weird stories he'd read online, the gender bender fantasies that always got him off harder than he cared to admit. But this was real-the cool air from the AC vent brushing against his skin, making goosebumps rise, and lower, a chill teasing at exposed folds he shouldn't have. Holy shit, I have a vagina.
Curiosity edged out the panic as he calmed. If this is a dream, might as well explore. He started with the face, poking and prodding gently. Heather's skin was smooth, softer than his ever was-no stubble, just the faint peach fuzz of a woman's complexion. He stuck out his tongue-pink and agile-wagging it experimentally. Then, an UwU face: cheeks puffed, eyes wide and innocent, lips pursed in a cute pout. It looked ridiculous on Heather's mature features, but oddly endearing. A sad face next-eyebrows furrowed, lower lip trembling-as if practicing for a role in a drama. She looks, kinda hot like this, he admitted to himself, a forbidden thought creeping in.
Now, the voice. "Hello?" he tested, the word coming out smooth and melodic. He cleared his throat-her throat-and tried seductive: "Come here, big boy," drawled low and husky, with a sultry emphasis that made his new nipples tingle. Angry and authoritative: "Young man, you're grounded!" barked out, stern and commanding, the kind of tone Heather used when scolding him. Curse words for fun: "Fuck, shit, damn," he whispered, giggling at how prim and proper it sounded in her voice, then louder, "Oh, fuck me," with a moan that surprised him with its authenticity. This is insane. I sound just like her. But better? Sexier?
Satisfied for now, he ventured back into the bedroom, the nightgown swishing around his thighs. The full-body mirror beckoned, a ornate antique piece Heather had inherited from her mother. John stood before it, heart racing anew. He slipped the straps off his shoulders, letting the nightgown pool at his feet. Naked now, he stared. Heather's body-his body-was stunning in a way he'd never appreciated. At 45, she was fit from yoga classes with Jessica, her skin glowing with a natural tan. Modest B-cup breasts hung with a natural heft, nipples a dusky pink and erect from the cool air. He cupped them experimentally, feeling the weight-soft yet firm, like ripe fruit. These are, heavy. But nice. Sensitive too. A gentle squeeze sent a spark straight to his core, a warmth building between his legs.
His hands roamed lower: smooth, hairless skin everywhere except a neatly trimmed patch above his new slit. No coarse body hair, just silkiness. Legs long and dainty, toned calves leading to petite feet. He turned, admiring the curve of his ass-round and perky, not as voluptuous as Jessica's but inviting. Fingernails painted a soft nude, longer than he was used to, scratching lightly over his skin. She's gorgeous. Why didn't I notice before? Taboo, I guess. But now... The thought aroused him-her. A slickness grew between his thighs, a moist heat that made him clench involuntarily. I'm getting wet. Fuck, that's hot. But not now-gotta figure this out.
Shaking it off, he headed to the closet, an instinctive pull guiding him. Muscle memory? Heather's knowledge seeped in-he knew exactly where her lingerie drawer was, tucked in the back. He pulled out a comfortable bra: beige lace, supportive underwire. Slipping it on was effortless-arms through straps, clasp in front with a twist, adjust the cups. Whoa, that was easy. Like I've done it a thousand times. It felt amazing: the lift pushing his breasts up, creating subtle cleavage, the fabric hugging like a second skin. Panties next-a thong, black and silky, something he wouldn't have pegged for Heather's modest style. Does she wear these? Kinky, Mom. He stepped in, pulling it up; the string nestled between his ass cheeks, a constant teasing pressure, while the front panel cupped his mound, the fabric brushing his slit in a way that made him gasp. Feels, exposing. But good. Like it's right there, ready.
Clothes: tight skinny jeans that hugged his hips and ass like a glove, zipping up with a satisfying snugness. A button-up blouse in soft blue, rolling the sleeves for a casual look that accentuated his figure. This outfits screams 'hot mom.' Matches perfectly.
Drawn to the makeup vanity next-a wooden table with a lighted mirror, drawers full of palettes and brushes. He sat, brushing out the long brunette locks-silky and thick, falling to mid-back. Tying it into a loose ponytail was second nature, strands framing his face. Feels lighter now. Smells like her shampoo-floral and fresh.
The makeup array was overwhelming: foundations, blushes, eyeshadows in every shade, lipsticks from nude to bold red. So much stuff. Eyeliners, mascaras, how does she choose? But again, instinct guided him. He applied a light foundation, blending seamlessly; a touch of blush for a rosy glow; eyeliner winged just so, making his eyes pop; mascara for length; and a lipstick a shade pinker than Heather's usual, with a gloss that made his lips look fuller, kissable. Cuter, slightly seductive-eyebrows arched playfully, a hint of shimmer on the lids. Not her everyday look. More, flirty. Like I'm dolling up for something special.
Stepping back, he admired the full effect in the mirror: a vision of mature allure, jeans accentuating curves, blouse hinting at cleavage, makeup enhancing natural beauty. If this is permanent, what now? Excitement mingled with fear, but a thrill coursed through him. Summer. This could be my chance to get close. Really close. With that, he headed downstairs, ready to face whatever bizarre day awaited in his step-mom's body.
Chapter 3: "Heather"'s Day
The aroma of sizzling bacon and fresh coffee wafted through the Thompson household, a cozy two-story home nestled in the heart of Willow Creek. The kitchen was Heather's domain-granite countertops gleaming under pendant lights, a farmhouse sink piled with mixing bowls, and a window overlooking the backyard where John had spent countless summers playing catch with his late dad. But this morning, it was John-or rather, "Heather"-commanding the space with an ease that surprised even him. Dressed in those tight skinny jeans that hugged his new curves like a second skin and the button-up blouse that teased just a hint of cleavage, he moved with a fluid grace, flipping pancakes and scrambling eggs as if he'd done it a thousand times. Which, in a way, he had-Heather's muscle memory was a godsend, guiding his hands through the motions without a second thought.
What the hell is going on? John pondered internally, stirring the eggs with a wooden spoon. Am I stuck like this forever? Is this some kind of freaky punishment for jerking off to Summer? Or, fulfillment of that wish? The confusion gnawed at him, but a strange exhilaration bubbled underneath. No more awkward stares from afar; he could be close now, in ways he never imagined. But first, gotta play the part. Don't freak out the family. He set the table with Heather's favorite floral plates, humming a tune he didn't even know he knew-a soft melody from one of her yoga playlists.
As the first one up, John had the house to himself for a blissful half-hour, but soon enough, footsteps thudded down the stairs. His heart-or Heather's-skipped a beat as he wondered about his old body. What if Mom's in there? Trapped, screaming? Or, what if it's empty? The question was answered when "John" shuffled into the kitchen, yawning in his rumpled pajamas, hair tousled just like always. "Morning, Mom," the body said in John's own voice, wrapping arms around "Heather" in a casual hug. The embrace felt surreal-hugging himself, essentially-but there was no hint of anything amiss. "John" pulled back, sniffing the air. "Smells awesome. You making pancakes? Sweet."
"Yeah, sweetie, your favorite," John replied in Heather's warm tone, forcing a smile while his mind raced. He's acting just like me. Saying shit I'd say, moving like I do. Is it, on autopilot? Some kind of echo? Relief washed over him; at least no one was suffering in his place. Amy joined moments later, her ponytail bouncing as she plopped into a chair, phone in hand. "Morning, everyone! Ooh, bacon-thanks, Mom."
Breakfast unfolded in a haze of normalcy that bordered on the absurd. They chatted about the weather-hot and humid, as always in Texas-the latest neighborhood gossip, and Amy's excitement about her summer classes. John, as Heather, navigated it flawlessly: laughing at "John's" dumb joke about a video game boss, passing the syrup with a maternal nod, even scolding Amy gently for scrolling too much at the table. Internally, though, it was a mindfuck. This is me, eating with my family, but I'm Mom. Watching myself chew with my mouth open. Hearing Amy call me 'Mom.' It's like a VR sim gone wrong. A flicker of arousal stirred as he caught sight of Amy's tank top riding up, revealing a sliver of her toned stomach-taboo thoughts he quickly shoved down. Focus, dude. You're her mom now.
As the meal wrapped up, plans emerged. "John" mentioned heading out to mow more lawns-my old job, John thought wryly-while Amy talked about meeting friends downtown. "Hey, Mom," Amy said, stacking plates, "you should hit the mall today. Get that new bathing suit we talked about. Remember, tomorrow's the double date at the beach spa with Jessica and Summer! It's gonna be so fun-sun, sand, massages..."
John's new body reacted instantly: a flush of heat between his legs, nipples tightening under the bra. Double date? With Jessica and Summer? Holy shit. Images flooded his mind-Summer in a bikini, water glistening on her curves, her laughter echoing over waves. This is it. The wish. Getting closer to her, even if it's as Mom. Bizarre, but, hot? He nodded enthusiastically, Heather's voice steady. "That sounds perfect, honey. I could use a little retail therapy."
Amy grinned. "Awesome! Pick something cute. Maybe something a bit, sexier? You're still got it, Mom." She winked, and "John" chuckled, oblivious.
Once they left-the door clicking shut behind them-John was alone, the house silent except for the hum of the fridge. Okay, game on. He grabbed Heather's purse from the hook by the door-a stylish leather satchel stuffed with wallet, keys, and lip gloss-and slung it over his shoulder. Stepping out, he felt a literal spring in his step: lighter on his feet, hips swaying naturally, the thong riding up just enough to remind him of his new anatomy. Feels, empowering? Like I'm strutting.
Heather's car-a reliable SUV-waited in the driveway. Sliding into the driver's seat, he adjusted the mirror, buckling up. The seatbelt nestled between his breasts, the strap pressing against the soft mounds, creating a valley of cleavage. Whoa, that's, distracting. Unable to resist, he glanced around-no nosy neighbors watching-and cupped his boobs through the blouse, squeezing gently. The sensation zinged straight to his core, a moist warmth building. These feel amazing. So sensitive. He admired his reflection: ponytail bouncing, makeup flawless, lips plump. Looking good, 'Heather.' A little crazy? Maybe. But fuck it. Starting the engine, he pulled out, heading to the mall with a mix of nerves and excitement.
The Willow Creek Mall was bustling mid-morning: families milling about, teens in clusters, the air scented with pretzels and perfume. As "Heather," John drew glances-not suspicious, but appreciative. Men stealing looks at his ass in the jeans, women nodding at his outfit. They're checking me out. Because I'm hot. Female hot. It was a power trip, boosting his confidence as he navigated to a trendy store aimed at the 18-25 crowd-think fast fashion with edgy vibes, blasting pop music and lined with racks of crop tops and mini skirts.
Browsing the swimsuit section, he blended in at first, but soon noticed the giggles from a group of college-aged girls nearby. They're laughing at me? The 'old lady' in their store? But he ignored it, fingers trailing over fabrics until he spotted a two-piece white bikini: skimpy top with padding for extra lift, high-cut bottoms that would hug and expose his ass cheeks. This is cute. Revealing, but, why not? Summer might notice. Heart pounding, he grabbed a size that felt right-Heather's instincts again-and headed to the changing rooms.
The attendant, an 18-year-old with neon hair and a judgmental smirk, eyed him up. "Uh, can I help you? These are for, like, our demographic..."
John channeled Heather's charisma-poise he'd never had as himself. He flashed a warm smile, tilting his head flirtatiously. "Oh, honey, age is just a number. But if you insist, maybe you can help me decide if this makes me look too, youthful?" He added a wink and a light laugh, funny yet charming, disarming her completely.
The girl blinked, then grinned. "Okay, fair. Room three's open. Knock yourself out."
Inside the cramped stall, mirror-lined walls reflecting every angle, John stripped slowly. Off came the blouse, jeans pooling at his feet, bra unclasped-breasts freed, nipples perking in the cool air. The thong slipped down, revealing his smooth mound, already glistening slightly from anticipation. Time to see. He stepped into the bikini bottoms, the fabric snug against his slit, riding up to accentuate his ass. The top tied on, padding pushing his B-cups into fuller, perkier cleavage. Damn, I look, fuckable.
Letting his hair down-waves cascading-he posed: hands on hips, seductive smirk, touching himself all over. Fingers traced his collarbone, down to squeeze his enhanced boobs, thumbs circling nipples until they ached. So soft, so responsive. He turned, admiring his ass-cheeks peeking out, firm and inviting. Then, cutesy mode: innocent pout, batting lashes, imagining compliments from Jessica and Summer. "Oh, Heather, you look amazing!" he'd coo in a high pitch, giggling.
But thoughts turned to Summer: her taller frame in a bikini, bigger bust spilling out, water droplets tracing her curves. God, she'd look incredible. Wet, shiny... Arousal hit hard-his pussy throbbing, slickness soaking the bottoms. Can't ignore this anymore. He slipped a hand down, rubbing his clit through the fabric-electric sparks shooting through him. Fuck, that's intense. Boldly, he pushed the bottoms aside, fingers dipping into his wet folds, one then two sliding in. The fullness, the warmth-moans escaped, soft at first, then louder: "Oh, yes..." He pumped gently, thumb on clit, imagining Summer's body against his. The attendant might have heard-the stall walls thin-but he didn't care, stopping just short of climax. Later. Save it.
Composed again, he dressed and checked out. The cashier-a young guy-rang him up, but John scratched an itch near his crotch crudely, like a guy adjusting his balls. Oops. The cashier flushed, thinking, Hot mom, but, that was weird. Kinda unladylike.
Back home, cooking dinner was effortless: Heather's recipes ingrained, whipping up lasagna with garlic bread. When Amy and "John" returned, he roleplayed perfectly-asking about their days, laughing at stories, no suspicions raised. This is trippy. Engaging with myself.
After dinner, alone time with Amy in her room: posters of bands, clothes strewn about. She changed for bed into a provocative outfit-tiny shorts and a crop top, no bra, nipples visible through thin fabric. John stared voyeuristically, heat building. She's hot. Like Mom, but younger. Amy chatted about the spa: private massages, saunas, hot tubs. "And who knows, Mom? We might spot some hot guys. You could use a fling!" She teased, winking.
John laughed, but internally: Guys? Nah. But Summer... Excited, he headed to bed, following Heather's routine: face wash, lotion, nightgown. In the nightstand, a small vibrator-pink, discreet. Mom's got toys? Kinky.
Lying back, he buzzed it to life, pressing against his clit. Oh fuck. Imagining the spa: Jessica in a thong, bust overflowing; Summer nude, legs spread; even Amy, playful and bare. They touched, kissed-taboo fantasies blending. Orgasms crashed over him, waves of pleasure making his body arch, moans muffled into the pillow. Exhausted, he drifted to sleep, dreaming of tomorrow's possibilities.
Chapter 4: Before the Outing
The alarm on Heather's nightstand buzzed softly at 7 AM, pulling John from a deep, dreamless sleep. He stretched languidly under the sheets, his body-Heather's body-responding with a supple arch that made his breasts shift and his hips roll in a way that felt both foreign and intoxicating. The vibrator from last night lay innocently on the pillow beside him, a silent reminder of the explosive orgasm that had rocked him to his core. Holy shit, that was real, he thought, a grin spreading across Heather's full lips as he sat up. I'm still here. Still her. And today, today I get to see Summer up close. In a spa. With bikinis and massages and, God, what if things get steamy? Excitement coursed through him, mingling with a low hum of arousal that made his new pussy tingle faintly.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed, the cool morning air teasing his skin through the thin nightgown. Padding to the en suite bathroom, he caught his reflection in the mirror-hair tousled from sleep, makeup smudged just enough to look sultry rather than sloppy. I look like a woman who's had a wild night. Fitting. Stripping off the nightgown, he stepped into the shower, turning the water to a steamy hot spray that cascaded over his curves like a lover's touch. The sensation was overwhelming: water beading on his breasts, trickling down his flat stomach, pooling between his thighs. He lathered up with Heather's body wash-a luxurious blend of vanilla and jasmine that made his skin slick and silky.
This feels incredible, he marveled internally, hands roaming as he washed. Fingers grazed his nipples, hardening them into peaks that sent jolts straight to his core. Lower, he soaped his pussy gently, the suds mixing with a fresh slickness as thoughts of Summer invaded his mind. Her body wet like this, blonde hair plastered to her big tits, laughing as she splashes Amy, Fuck, I can't wait. But the real star was the shampoo: a fruity, botanical concoction of mango and hibiscus that filled the steam with an exotic, heady aroma. He massaged it into his scalp, the long strands heavy and fragrant under his fingers. Smells like paradise. Like her-Summer always has that tropical vibe. Rinsing off, he lingered under the spray, one hand slipping between his legs to rub his clit in slow circles. A soft moan escaped-Heather's voice, husky with desire. Just a tease. Save the big one for later, maybe with her. He stopped before climax, toweling off with a fluffy robe that hugged his figure, still buzzing with anticipation.
Downstairs in the kitchen, the family routine kicked in. John, as Heather, whipped up a quick breakfast-avocado toast with eggs, fresh fruit on the side-while "John" and Amy trickled in. "Morning, everyone," he said brightly, plating the food. Time to probe. What's my old body been up to? He turned to "John," who was shoveling toast into his mouth just like he always did. "So, sweetie, what have you been up to these last couple days? Any fun plans while we're gone?"
"John" shrugged, mid-bite. "Eh, mostly gaming. Finally beat that level in Elden Ring- you know, the one with the fire giant? Took forever, but I cheesed it with the bleed build."
John's excitement spiked-That's my game! I was stuck on that boss for weeks!-and he leaned in, Heather's eyes lighting up. "Oh, really? The fire giant? Isn't that the one where you have to dodge those massive AOE attacks? And the bleed build-smart, using rivers of blood katana, right? Pairs great with the mimic tear summon."
"John" blinked, surprised but nodding. "Yeah, exactly! Wait, Mom, since when do you know about Elden Ring builds?"
Amy, overhearing from her seat, paused with her coffee mug halfway to her lips. "Whoa, Mom, you're a gamer now? That's, kinda cool, but random."
Panic flickered in John's mind-Shit, too much. Slipped into my own geek mode. But Heather's poise bubbled up, that effortless charisma saving the day. He laughed lightly, waving a hand dismissively. "Oh, honey, I've picked up a thing or two listening to you ramble about it. Plus, I read an article the other day-something about how video games improve reflexes. Keeps me young!" He added a wink, steering the conversation smoothly to Amy's classes, and the moment passed without suspicion. Close call. But damn, it's weird hearing about my own life from the outside.
After breakfast, with "John" heading out for more chores and Amy lingering to help clean up, John retreated upstairs to pack. The closet called to him again, and rummaging through Heather's wardrobe, his eyes landed on a sexy sun dress he'd somehow overlooked before: a vibrant red number with a deep V-neck that plunged daringly between the breasts, thin straps, and a flowy skirt that hit mid-thigh, perfect for showing off legs and a hint of cleavage. This is fire. Shows off everything-boobs, ass, the works. He slipped it on, the fabric whispering against his skin, hugging his curves before flaring out. Twirling in the mirror, he admired how it accentuated his bust, the material thin enough that his nipples poked through if he got chilled. Summer's gonna love this. Wait, no- she's straight, right? But maybe...
Packing was quick: the new white bikini folded neatly into an overnight bag, along with other fun outfits-a sheer cover-up that would tease skin, lacy lingerie just in case things heated up, and casual shorts with a crop top for lounging. Prepared for anything. Massages, saunas, who knows what could happen in private? A thrill shot through him, his pussy clenching at the possibilities.
As they got ready to leave, Amy appeared in the doorway, eyeing the dress with raised eyebrows. "Damn, Mom! That dress is hot. You're gonna turn heads at the spa. Jessica might get jealous-she's usually the MILF queen."
John flushed-Heather's cheeks warming-but played it cool with a playful spin. "Thanks, sweetie. Figured why not? Life's too short for boring clothes." Amy laughed, complimenting his makeup too-the subtle smokey eyes he'd added for extra allure. They headed out together, leaving "John" with a wave and instructions to behave, the SUV purring down the driveway toward the beach spa an hour away.
---
Meanwhile, across the neighborhood at the Summers' residence-a modern ranch-style home with a sprawling backyard pool and Jessica's yoga mats scattered on the deck-preparations were in full swing. Jessica, at 46, moved with the grace of a woman who knew her power, her platinum blonde hair tied in a high ponytail as she packed her bag in the sunlit kitchen. She wore yoga leggings and a sports bra for the drive, her generous D-cup bust straining against the fabric, curves honed from years of downward dogs and warrior poses. Summer, her 20-year-old daughter, was upstairs in her room, a feminine haven of pastel walls, volleyball trophies, and posters of indie bands.
"Summer, honey, you almost ready?" Jessica called up the stairs, zipping her bag with swimsuits, lotions, and a bottle of wine for the evening. "Heather and Amy should be meeting us soon-don't forget your sunscreen!"
"Coming, Mom!" Summer replied, her voice light but laced with a secret excitement. She stood before her mirror, adjusting a casual tank top and shorts over her bikini, her taller frame making everything look model-esque. Blonde waves framed her face, and her E-cup breasts filled out the top perfectly, a natural bounce with each movement. God, I'm buzzing, she thought, inner monologue racing as she packed. A whole day at the spa with Amy, and Heather. Heather. A flush crept up her neck at the thought. Summer had always been the popular girl-cheerful, athletic, surrounded by friends-but deep down, she harbored a secret: a growing attraction to women that she'd never voiced. College had opened her eyes-stolen glances in the dorm showers, butterflies around pretty professors-but back home, it simmered unspoken.
Heather's always been so, elegant. Fit, brunette, that quiet sexiness. And lately, I've caught myself staring. Is it a crush? She bit her lip, imagining Heather in a swimsuit, their bodies close during a massage. Women are just, softer. Curvier. More intoxicating. Amy's hot too, but Heather-mature, experienced. What if I could, explore? The thought made her nipples harden, a warmth pooling between her legs. She shook it off, grabbing her bag. "Okay, Mom, let's go!"
Downstairs, Jessica hugged her daughter, their dialogue easy and affectionate. "You excited? It's been ages since we did a girls' trip like this."
"Totally," Summer said, grinning. "Pool time, massages-perfection. And hanging with Amy and Heather will be fun."
Jessica raised an eyebrow teasingly. "Heather, huh? You've always had a soft spot for her. She's like a second mom."
Summer laughed it off, but internally: If only you knew. "Yeah, something like that."
They loaded the car, chatting about spa details-private saunas, ocean views-and headed out, the drive filled with laughter and playlists.
---
Back to John as Heather: they arrived at the beach spa first, a luxurious resort overlooking the Gulf, with palm trees swaying and the scent of salt air mingling with essential oils. Stepping out, John smoothed the sun dress, the skirt fluttering in the breeze to reveal toned thighs. Here we go. Jessica's SUV pulled up moments later, and as she emerged-looking every bit the cougar in a wrap dress that hugged her bust-John greeted her with la bise, the European cheek kisses they always did. "Jessica, darling, you look fabulous," he purred in Heather's voice, their cheeks brushing, scents mingling.
"You too, Heather- that dress! Sexy as hell," Jessica replied with a laugh.
But then Summer stepped out, and John froze. She was stunning: a floral sundress similar to his but shorter, accentuating her long legs, bigger bust spilling slightly at the neckline, blonde hair glowing in the sun. Fuck, she's a goddess. Taller, thinner, those tits, I could stare forever. His body reacted-pussy dampening, heart racing.
Summer, meanwhile, was equally awestruck. Heather looks, different. Hotter. That makeup, the dress-cleavage for days. Is she flirting with the world today? Her cheeks pinked as they locked eyes. "Hey, Heather," she said softly, moving in for a hug.
The embrace was electric: bodies pressing close, John's breasts mashing against Summer's larger ones, soft and yielding through thin fabrics. He inhaled her scent-vanilla and sunscreen-feeling the warmth of her skin, the subtle curve of her hips. Oh God, this feels amazing. Her boobs against mine, so full, so perfect. A forbidden thrill shot through him, his nipples hardening.
Summer pulled back reluctantly, blushing deeper. That hug, her body feels so good. Soft, warm. I want more. Jessica and Amy were already chatting animatedly about the itinerary, laughing as they grabbed bags. "Come on, ladies-let's check in!" Jessica goaded, leading the way.
John followed, mind spinning with possibilities, the group entering the spa's grand lobby, ready for whatever intimacies the day held.
Chapter 5: Getting Close to Summer
The Azure Waves Beach Spa Resort sprawled along the Gulf Coast like a hidden paradise, its white stucco buildings accented with turquoise trim, palm-fringed pools shimmering under the relentless Texas sun, and the distant crash of waves providing a rhythmic soundtrack to indulgence. The lobby was a haven of luxury: marble floors cooled by ocean breezes, plush seating areas dotted with tropical plants, and the faint scent of eucalyptus from the spa diffusers. As the group checked in, the receptionist-a perky young woman with a name tag reading "Mia"-handed over key cards with a smile. "Welcome, ladies! Your suites are in the Ocean Wing. Pool's open all day, and your massages are booked for 3 PM. Enjoy!"
John, still inhabiting Heather's body, clutched his key card tightly, his manicured fingers trembling slightly with a mix of nerves and exhilaration. The hug with Summer lingered in his mind-the press of her larger breasts against his, the warmth of her breath on his neck, that telltale blush coloring her cheeks as they pulled apart. She blushed. Hard. Was that because of me? Or, Heather? Does she feel something too? He wondered internally, a spark of hope igniting in his chest. This body swap thing is nuts, but if it means getting close to her like this, I'll take it. The group dispersed to their individual suites with plans to reconvene at the main pool in an hour, Amy and Jessica chattering excitedly about cocktails and sunbathing.
John's suite was a slice of opulence: a spacious room with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the beach, a king bed draped in crisp linens, and a private balcony where the sea air whispered promises of relaxation. A mini-bar stocked with chilled wines and fruits sat invitingly by the desk, and the bathroom boasted a rainfall shower and plush robes. Alone at last, he set his bag down and faced the full-length mirror, Heather's reflection staring back-sun dress hugging curves, ponytail slightly tousled from the drive. Time to change. Make it fun. A mischievous grin spread across his lips as he decided to indulge in the moment, turning the simple act of changing into a private spectacle.
He started slow, swaying his hips to an imaginary beat, fingers tracing the thin straps of the dress. Strip tease for one. Why not? This body's made for it. He slipped one strap down, then the other, letting the fabric pool at his waist, exposing Heather's lacy bra that cradled his modest B-cup breasts. Cupping them, he squeezed gently, thumbs circling nipples until they peaked, a soft gasp escaping-Heather's voice, breathy and feminine. Feels so good. Sensitive as hell. The dress fell to the floor in a whisper, leaving him in just the thong panties, the string nestled teasingly between his ass cheeks. He turned, admiring the view: smooth skin, toned legs, the curve of his hips flaring out invitingly. Hooking thumbs into the thong, he bent forward dramatically, sliding it down slowly, ass presented to the mirror as his pussy came into view-already glistening with arousal. Look at that. Wet just from thinking about her. He stepped out of the panties, fully nude now, and struck poses: one hand on hip, the other trailing down his stomach to brush his clit, eliciting a shiver.
Grabbing the white two-piece bikini from his bag, he made the donning equally erotic. First the bottoms: stepping in exaggeratedly, pulling them up so the fabric hugged his mound, the high-cut sides framing his ass like a work of art. He adjusted the front, fingers dipping briefly into his folds for a teasing rub. Mmm, tight fit. Shows off everything. The top came next-tying it behind his back with a flourish, the padding lifting his breasts into fuller, perkier cleavage that spilled slightly at the edges. He bounced on his toes, watching them jiggle. Damn, I look hot. Summer's gonna notice. Hair down in waves, a quick touch-up of lip gloss, and he wrapped a towel around his waist like a sarong, heading out with a sway in his step that felt utterly natural.
The pool area was a tropical oasis: infinity edges blending with the ocean horizon, cabanas with billowing white curtains, and lounge chairs lined up under umbrellas. Waitstaff in crisp uniforms circulated with trays of fruity cocktails. John spotted Jessica first, and his jaw nearly dropped. She lounged by the chairs like a predator in wait-a super sexy MILF cougar ready to pounce. Her one-piece swimsuit was a masterpiece of temptation: black with strategic cutouts along the sides and midriff, plunging neckline showcasing her generous D-cup bust, the fabric clinging to her curves like a second skin. It looked straight off a supermodel runway, accentuating her toned legs and the subtle sway of her hips. Blonde hair cascaded freely, sunglasses perched on her nose, a knowing smile on her lips.
Holy fuck, Jessica, John thought, a droplet of drool nearly escaping as he approached. She's always been hot, but this? Lethal. "Jessica, wow-you look incredible," he said in Heather's warm voice, eyes lingering a beat too long on her cleavage.
She laughed, standing to hug him-bodies pressing close, her bust against his making his nipples harden instantly. "Coming from you? Please, Heather, that bikini is fire. White on your tan? Chef's kiss." She pulled back, handing him a vibrant cocktail-something pink and garnished with pineapple. "Mai Tai. Figured we'd start strong." Then, with a flirtatious grin, she offered her hand. "Shall we? Chairs are this way."
John took it, their fingers intertwining, skin warm and soft. Internally, he freaked: Hand-holding with Jessica? While she looks like that? How do I even talk without staring at her tits? But as they walked, the panic ebbed, replaced by awe as his gaze shifted to the pool. There, frolicking in the water, was Summer-splashing Amy with gleeful abandon, her laughter ringing out like music. She wore a skimpy red bikini that left little to the imagination: top straining against her E-cup breasts, bottoms tied at the sides with bows that begged to be undone. Water glistened on her taller, thinner frame, droplets tracing paths down her toned abs and long legs. Amy, in a sporty blue two-piece that hugged her perky C-cups and athletic build, laughed back, but John's eyes were glued to Summer. Oh my God. She's perfection. Bouncing in the water like that, I could watch forever.
They settled into adjacent lounge chairs, cocktails in hand, the sun warming their skin. John sipped his drink-sweet and potent, rum hitting just right-while freaking out internally about small talk. What do I say? Weather? No, too lame. But Heather's essence surged forward: that natural charisma, the ease of conversation she'd always had. "So, Jess, tell me-how's the yoga studio been? Any new hot instructors catching your eye?" he asked with a teasing lilt, leaning back to mirror her relaxed pose.
Jessica chuckled, sipping her drink. "Oh, you know me-always scouting talent. There's this one guy, mid-20s, abs for days. But honestly, I've been too busy. What about you? Dating scene treating you well since, you know." Her voice softened, referencing Heather's widowhood without dwelling.
The chat flowed effortlessly: gossip about neighborhood drama (Mrs. Wilkins' latest affair scandal), shared laughs over parenting woes (Amy's college antics mirroring Summer's), and deeper tidbits-Jessica confessing her secret love for trashy romance novels, John sharing Heather's fondness for gardening mixed with his own taste in indie films. This is wild. I'm learning stuff about her I'd never know as John. All the while, his eyes darted to Summer in the pool: her lithe body diving under, emerging with hair slicked back, breasts heaving with each breath. So close. I can hear her laugh, see every curve. This is heaven.
Summer, mid-splash with Amy, glanced over occasionally, catching "Heather" watching. She's staring. At me? Curiosity bloomed in her chest, a warm flutter between her legs. Heather's always been gorgeous, but today, that bikini, those eyes on me. Does she feel it too?
Hours melted away in glorious voyeurism-John reveling in Summer's every move, the way water beaded on her skin, her playful shrieks as Amy dunked her. But Amy eventually broke the spell, swimming to the edge. "Hey, ladies! Massage time-let's go! Don't want to be late."
Summer climbed out, water cascading off her body as she approached the chairs. Up close, John drank her in: the red bikini clinging wetly, nipples faintly visible through the fabric, her taller frame towering slightly, ass cheeks peeking from the bottoms. Fuck, she's dripping. Warm and fuzzy? I'm on fire. Summer's eyes roamed Heather's body too-the white bikini enhancing cleavage, the way it hugged her slit subtly. Heather looks, edible. That lift in her boobs, her legs, God, I'm getting wet just looking.
The group toweled off and headed to the massage suite, a serene wing with dim lighting, soft instrumental music, and the scent of lavender oil. Private rooms branched off a central changing area with lockers and robes. John decided to go with the flow-Never had a massage before. Might as well enjoy. In the changing room, privacy screens offered partial cover, but glimpses were inevitable. He stripped slowly: bikini top untied, breasts freed with a bounce; bottoms slid down, exposing his smooth pussy. Sneaking peeks, he caught Jessica's nude form-voluptuous curves, shaved mound, ass like a peach. Amy's athletic body-perky tits, trimmed bush. But Summer, Jesus. Tall and lithe, her E-cups heavy and natural, pink nipples erect from the cool air, pussy with a neat landing strip. She bent to pick up her robe, ass presented, folds peeking invitingly.
Summer stole a glance back, eyes widening at Heather's body: modest but toned, breasts pert, pussy bare and glistening slightly. She's beautiful. Smooth everywhere, I want to touch. Both flushed, slipping into thin massage gowns-paper-thin fabric that hid little.
In the massage room-four tables side by side, therapists waiting with oils-John lay face-down, the gown parting to expose his back. As hands kneaded his muscles, tension melted, and conversation sparked with Summer on the next table. "This feels amazing," he sighed in Heather's voice. "First time for a pro massage?"
Summer turned her head, smiling. "Yeah, me too. Kinda nervous, but, relaxing. How's your summer been, Heather? Amy says you've been busy."
Small talk evolved: college life (Summer's volleyball team drama), favorites (John mixing his indie rock playlists with Heather's classic jazz, movies like his sci-fi faves blended with her rom-coms). "I love those mind-bendy films," he shared. "Like, ones that twist reality."
Depth crept in: dreams, fears. Then, intimacy. "Speaking of twists," Summer ventured shyly, "have you ever, experimented? With, um, relationships?"
John's heart raced-Heather's bi-curiosity surfacing in memories. "Honestly? Yes. I've always been curious about women. Experimented in college-a few flings. It's, liberating." True for her body. And hot to admit.
Summer's eyes lit up, ecstatic. Heather? Into women? Experimented? Oh my God. Internally: This could be my chance. Make a move later?
They delved deeper-Summer confessing, "I'm curious too. About my sexuality. Not sure yet, but, girls intrigue me. Not tell Amy or Mom, okay? Secret."
"I promise," John replied, mind whirling with ideas. She's a closet lesbian? Perfect. Crazy plans brewing-could I, with her? As Heather?
Topics shifted, landing on porn anecdotes for laughs. "Weirdest kink?" Summer teased.
John feigned shyness. "Oh, God, okay, MILF stuff, mom/son or mom/daughter roleplay. And, gender transformation, body swaps. Some TG/trans stuff. Plausible for me, right?" My actual kinks. Living one now.
Summer's intrigue peaked-surprised, aroused. Body swaps? Hot. I could listen to her forever. "Tell me more sometime?"
Massages ended, leading to dinner at the resort's seaside restaurant: candlelit tables, fresh seafood, wine flowing. Gossip flew-day's highlights, spa tales. Amy probed: "So, who caught your eye today? Hot guys around?"
Jessica grinned. "That lifeguard-tall, tanned. Yum." But John and Summer blushed, stammering vague answers, eyes meeting across the table with shared heat.
Back in his suite, John unwound, reflecting. Unbelievable. Staring at Summer all day, sharing secrets. She's into girls-maybe me. Even if not as John, worth it? He pondered his kinks: Living a body swap fantasy. Porn come to life.
Chapter 6: Summer Makes Her Move
The resort's restaurant lingered in Summer's mind like a hazy afterglow as she slipped back into her suite, the door clicking shut behind her with a soft finality. The room was a mirror of Heather's-ocean views framed by gauzy curtains, the bed inviting with its turned-down sheets, and the faint hum of waves crashing outside like a lullaby. But sleep was the last thing on her mind. Dinner had been electric: the way Heather's eyes had met hers across the table, that shared blush when Amy teased about crushes, the wine loosening tongues and inhibitions. Heather, into women? Experimented? And those kinks-body swaps, MILF roleplay. God, it's like she read my fantasies. Summer's skin tingled with the memory, a warmth spreading from her chest downward as she kicked off her sandals and padded to the mirror.
She stood there, illuminated by the soft glow of the bedside lamp, her red bikini swapped earlier for a simple tank top and shorts that clung to her damp skin from the evening humidity. Look at you, she thought, inner monologue swirling with a mix of nerves and desire. Twenty years old, closet lesbian, crushing on your best friend's mom. Pathetic? Or, bold? Her hands moved almost of their own accord, slipping under the hem of her tank top to lift it slowly over her head. Blonde waves tumbled free, framing her face as she tossed the top aside. Her E-cup breasts bounced gently, freed from confinement, nipples already hardening in the cool air-conditioned room. She cupped them, thumbs brushing the sensitive peaks, a soft sigh escaping her lips. So full, so sensitive. Imagine her hands on them-Heather's. Mature, knowing touch.
The shorts came next, shimmying down her long legs to reveal lacy panties that matched her earlier bikini-red and sheer, hinting at the neatly trimmed blonde patch beneath. She turned, admiring her reflection: taller frame lean and athletic from volleyball, ass firm and rounded, thighs toned from endless practices. I'm hot. She noticed me today-ogling at the pool, in the changing room. Those eyes on my body, Arousal built like a tide, her pussy aching with need. She slipped a hand into her panties, fingers finding her clit-swollen and slick already. Circling slowly, she moaned softly, imagining Heather's voice from the massage: I've experimented, curious about women. "Fuck," Summer whispered, her free hand pinching a nipple. What if I went to her room right now? Knocked, told her I can't stop thinking about her. Experimented, with me.
The fantasy spiraled: Heather pulling her inside, lips crashing, hands exploring. She's bi-curious. Shared those secrets. This could happen. Her fingers dipped lower, sliding into her wet folds, pumping gently as her knees weakened. Mentor me, like in those porn vids-the mom teaching the daughter. God, yes. Orgasm hovered close, but she stopped, breathing ragged. No. Not alone. Go to her. Now. Panties off, she grabbed a silk robe from the closet-thin and short, tying it loosely so it gaped at the front, hinting at her nudity beneath. Heart pounding, she slipped out into the dimly lit hallway, bare feet silent on the carpet, making her way to Heather's door. This is crazy. But if she turns me away, at least I tried. She knocked softly, pulse racing.
---
Back in Heather's suite, John paced the room, the nightgown whispering against his skin like a lover's promise. The silk fabric clung to his curves, nipples visible through the thin material, a constant reminder of his borrowed body. Dinner replayed in his mind: the gossip, the laughter, Summer's blush mirroring his own. She shared she's curious. About girls. And I-Heather-admitted to experimenting. Fuck, the ideas in my head, could I seduce her? As Mom? Taboo as hell, but, hot. He ran a hand through his brunette waves, arousal simmering from the day's sights-Summer's body, wet and glistening, her secret glances. Living my kink. Body swap porn come true. If only I could-
A knock shattered the silence. John's heart-or Heather's-leaped into his throat. Who the hell? At this hour? Peeking through the peephole, his breath caught: Summer, in a robe that barely contained her, blonde hair tousled, eyes wide with nervous determination. Oh shit. It's her. What does she want? Internally freaking: Calm down. Play it cool. But, what if this is it? He smoothed the nightgown, took a deep breath, and opened the door. "Summer? Is everything okay?"
She didn't answer with words. Stepping inside, she pushed the door shut behind her, locked it with a click, and surged forward. Her hands cupped Heather's face-John's face-and she kissed him fiercely, lips soft and urgent, tongue seeking entry. John gasped into the kiss, body responding instinctively: arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her close. The robe gaped, her naked breasts pressing against the nightgown, heat radiating through the fabric. Holy fuck, she's kissing me. Naked under there? This is happening. They stumbled backward, Summer guiding him toward the bed, her taller frame dominant yet gentle.
Breaking the kiss, Summer's blue eyes locked onto his, cheeks flushed. "Heather, I can't get you out of my head. All day-the pool, the changing room, the massage. You were staring. Ogling me. And what you said, about being curious, experimenting. It lit something in me."
John's mind reeled, but Heather's charisma surged: "Summer, honey, I noticed you too. Blushing, glancing back. You're beautiful. Irresistible." This is insane. My crush, making the move on me-as her. His pussy throbbed, wet and aching.
Summer's hands roamed, slipping under the nightgown to caress his hips. "I, I've never done this. With a woman. But I want to. With you." She hesitated, biting her lip. "Remember your kinks? The roleplay stuff? I have a favorite porn vid, the mom mentoring her daughter, teaching her about sex. Gentle at first, then, passionate. Will you? Roleplay that for me? Be the mom, show me?"
John's arousal spiked-One of my favorites too. The taboo mentor scene. He nodded, letting go, autopilot kicking in. Heather's sultriness blended with his knowledge, reciting lines perfectly. "Oh, sweetie," he purred in Heather's voice, seductive and maternal, "come here. Mommy's going to teach you everything. Make you feel so good." He pushed Summer gently onto the bed, climbing atop her, nightgown hiking up to reveal his thighs.
Summer moaned, robe falling open completely, exposing her nude body-breasts heaving, pussy glistening. John fondled her with grace: hands tracing her sides, cupping her E-cups softly, thumbs rolling nipples with deliberate, experienced touches. "Like this, baby? Feel how sensitive they are?" Summer arched, gasping. "Yes, Heather-Mommy-more."
But John switched to a male touch-his old instincts-groping harder, massaging her breasts roughly, pinching just enough to elicit a yelp. Summer's eyes widened. "That's, different. Rougher. Like a guy would."
He caught himself, switching back to Heather's graceful strokes, fingers trailing down her stomach. "Sorry, sweetie. Got carried away. Let Mommy show you properly." Lower now, he spread her legs, face inches from her pussy-pink and wet, scent musky and inviting. Diving in like a horny teenager-his true self-tongue lapping eagerly, sloppy and enthusiastic, sucking her clit with fervor. "Taste so good," he mumbled against her folds.
Summer writhed, hands in his hair. "Oh God, that's intense. Like a teen boy eating me out for the first time." She noticed the shift, but moaned louder. "Don't stop-switch back if you want. It's hot."
John obliged, alternating: graceful licks with Heather's precision, then teen-like enthusiasm-fingers plunging in, curling to hit her G-spot. Summer bucked, crying out. They kissed passionately next-tongues dancing, tastes mingling, bodies grinding. "Finger me," Summer begged, guiding his hand.
He did, two fingers sliding into her tightness, pumping rhythmically while his thumb worked her clit. "Like this? Feel Mommy filling you?" Summer reciprocated, hand slipping under the nightgown to find his pussy-wet and eager-fingers dipping in, exploring. "You're so wet, Heather. Taste yourself?" They ate each other out in turns: John on his back, Summer's face buried between his legs, tongue flicking his clit expertly now, drawing moans that echoed Heather's voice. "Yes, right there, baby. Lick Mommy's pussy."
Climax built, leading to scissoring: legs intertwined, pussies grinding. First position-side by side, hips rocking, clits rubbing in slick friction. "Fuck, yes," Summer gasped, breasts bouncing. They switched: Summer on top, dominant, grinding down hard; then John atop, using Heather's hips to maximize contact, juices mixing. Multiple positions-facing each other, backs arched; one on her back, the other straddling backward for deeper pressure. Orgasms crashed simultaneously: bodies shuddering, moans filling the room, waves of pleasure rippling through them.
Exhausted, they collapsed, embracing-Summer's head on Heather's chest, legs tangled, breaths syncing. "That was, incredible," Summer whispered, kissing his neck. "Thank you."
John held her, mind blissed: My dream. Intimate with Summer. Inside and out. They drifted to sleep, bodies entwined.
Morning light filtered in early, Summer stirring first. She slipped from the bed quietly, robe on, glancing back at the sleeping form. Can't get caught. But, wow. More later? She snuck out, door clicking softly.
John woke moments later, alone, sheets tangled and scented with sex. Was that, a dream? Felt so real. But the ache between his legs, the lingering taste on his lips-No. It happened. He rolled over, wondering if it was all a massive lucid fantasy, heart racing with confusion and lingering ecstasy.
Chapter 7: Back to Reality?
John's eyelids fluttered open to the familiar sight of his bedroom ceiling, the posters of video game characters and bands staring back at him like old friends. Sunlight streamed through the half-drawn blinds, casting striped patterns across his rumpled sheets. He groaned, shifting under the covers, immediately aware of the insistent throb between his legs-morning wood, tenting his boxers, and a sticky wetness that suggested a wet dream had spilled over into reality. What the hell was that? he thought, fragments of the night flashing like a fevered montage: Summer's body writhing against his-Heather's-scissoring in ecstasy, moans echoing in a spa suite. It felt so real. Too real. But, a dream? Yeah, must be. The most intense wet dream ever. Disappointment washed over him like a cold shower, his cock twitching one last time at the memory before he willed it down. Gone. All of it-the body swap, the explorations, Summer. Just my horny brain playing tricks.
He swung his legs over the bed, feet hitting the cool hardwood floor of his room-a teenage mess of discarded clothes, gaming controllers, and empty soda cans. The house felt eerily quiet, no clatter from the kitchen or Amy's music blasting from her room. Weird. Usually Mom's up making breakfast. He stripped off his sticky boxers, tossing them into the hamper, and grabbed a fresh pair from his drawer along with jeans and a t-shirt. A quick cleanup in his attached bathroom-splashing water on his face, brushing his teeth-did little to shake the lingering haze. That dream, possessing Mom's body, fucking Summer as her. Taboo as hell. Hot, though. Wish it wasn't just a subconscious jerk-off session.
Dressed now, he headed downstairs, the stairs creaking under his weight. The kitchen was empty, no coffee brewing, no note on the counter. "Mom? Amy?" he called out, voice echoing in the silence. A glance at the clock-9 AM on a Sunday-confirmed they should be home. Where is everyone? Did they go out early? His stomach rumbled, but before he could raid the fridge, a car horn blared outside, sharp and insistent.
Curiosity piqued, John peered through the front window. There, in the driveway, was Heather's SUV, doors open as four women unloaded bags: Heather, Jessica, Amy, and Summer. The spa trip. They must've just gotten back. But something felt off-Heather looked radiant, her brunette hair windswept, wearing that sexy sun dress from the dream, hugging her curves. Jessica, ever the MILF, laughed with Amy as they hauled luggage, her blonde locks catching the light. Summer, oh, Summer. She stood a bit apart, slinging a duffel over her shoulder, but her eyes were locked on Heather, scanning her up and down with an intensity that bordered on hunger. Is she, ogling Mom? Like, checking her out? Nah, can't be. John's mind spun, the dream's echoes making everything feel surreal.
The group spotted him in the window, waving him out. John stepped onto the porch, the warm Texas air hitting him like a wave. Heather was first to approach, arms open wide. "John, sweetie! There you are." She pulled him into a tight hug, her body pressing against his-soft breasts against his chest, the faint scent of jasmine shampoo and something muskier, like sex and sweat. He hugged back awkwardly, hyper-aware of how good she felt, the dream's intimacies flashing unbidden.
Pulling back, Heather's warm brown eyes met his, a playful sparkle in them that wasn't quite, her. "So, what did you get up to while we were gone? Play any good games?" She tilted her head, smiling. "That Elden Ring you mentioned-is it still as interesting as you said? The fire giant boss sounds brutal."
John froze, his brain short-circuiting. What? Mom knows about Elden Ring? The fire giant? I never told her that. He'd rambled about it to friends, sure, but Heather? She barely knew Mario from Minecraft. "Uh, yeah, it's cool. Beat it finally." His voice came out strained, confusion mounting.
Heather winked-actually winked-at him, leaning in closer so her breath tickled his ear. "Good boy. We should chat later about some, RPGs and scenarios we could try out. When we have more privacy." Her hand lingered on his arm, a subtle squeeze that sent a jolt straight to his groin. RPGs? Scenarios? Like roleplay? What the fuck is going on? Is she, flirting? With me? Her son? His mind reeled, the dream's body swap theory suddenly not so dreamlike. No way. Did it actually happen? Was I really in her body? And she, in mine?
He stammered a response-"Sure, Mom, sounds fun?"-but recovered enough to glance at the others. Jessica and Amy were busy with bags, chatting animatedly about the spa's hot tubs. Summer, though, waved from afar, her taller frame stunning in shorts and a crop top that showcased her E-cup bust and toned midriff. "Bye, John! Catch you later?" she called, blowing him a kiss with a wink. Then, when Jessica and Amy turned away, she mouthed "Thank you," her lips forming the words clearly, followed by a scissoring motion with her fingers-index and middle crossing like grinding legs.
John's jaw dropped, heat flooding his face-and his pants. Scissoring? Like, what we did in the dream? Thank you? For what? Confusion crashed over him like a tidal wave. This can't be coincidence. It happened. The swap was real. And Summer, she knows? Or thinks it was Mom? Fuck, I need answers. He waved back weakly, hoping to grill Heather later for insights.
The goodbyes wrapped up quickly-Jessica and Summer heading next door, Amy disappearing inside with her bags. Heather shot John one last knowing smile before following Amy, leaving him on the porch, mind spinning like a glitchy game.
Later that day, the living room hummed with normalcy-or what passed for it. John lounged on the couch, controller in hand but game paused, his thoughts a whirlwind. Amy sprawled nearby, scrolling her phone, while Heather sat in the armchair, flipping through a magazine but stealing glances at him. She's different. More, aware? Flirty? If the swap happened, does she remember? Did she experience my body while I was in hers? The taboo implications made his cock stir uncomfortably-imagining Heather in his teenage form, maybe even jerking off, exploring.
His phone buzzed in his pocket, jolting him. An unknown number, but the message preview showed a link and a heart emoji. He pulled it out, opening the text: "Hey John, it's Summer. Hope you enjoy these pics from the trip ;) Maybe we can meet up later to explore and have some 'fun'? as she was curious about meeting the real John," Attached was a link to a private photo album.
Summer? Texting me? With a winky face? Heart pounding, he clicked the link, the album loading in his browser. First, innocent group shots: the four women in sexy outfits at the spa-Heather in that white bikini, cleavage enhanced; Summer frolicking in the pool, water glistening on her curves; Jessica posing like a model; Amy laughing in her swimsuit. Selfies galore, all playful and hot.
But scrolling deeper, the tone shifted. Sexy solos: Summer in her robe, parted to show a nipple; Heather-Mom-in the nightgown, hand cupping her breast suggestively. Then nudes: Summer sprawled on the bed, legs spread, fingers teasing her pussy; Heather mirroring, her modest breasts bared, fingers dipped into her slit. And the foreplay shots-oh God-the two together: kissing passionately, Summer's larger tits mashed against Heather's; fingers intertwined in each other's pussies; scissoring positions, bodies grinding, faces contorted in pleasure. Explicit, unfiltered-cum-slicked thighs, moaning expressions captured in selfies.
John nearly dropped his phone, his cock instantly hard, straining against his jeans. This is, from last night. The 'dream.' But real. They did this. Summer and, Mom? Or me in Mom's body? And she's sending it to me? The message's words echoed: Curious about the real John. Did she know? Suspect the swap?
Amy glanced over. "You okay, bro? Look like you saw a ghost."
"Yeah, fine," he muttered, shoving the phone into his pants-right over his bulge, the vibration from another buzz making him twitch. Confront Mom? Text Summer back? What the hell is going on? But beneath the confusion, gratitude bloomed. Whoever-whatever-made this happen, thank you. He rejoined the conversation with a dazed smile, intrigued and aroused, the album's secrets burning in his pocket like a promise of more taboo adventures to come.
Epilogue: Revelations and Resolutions
The weeks following the spa trip blurred into a haze of normalcy laced with undercurrents of the extraordinary, like a dream that refused to fully dissipate. Willow Creek simmered under the relentless Texas sun, barbecues and pool parties filling the air with laughter and the scent of grilled burgers, but for John, every glance at Heather or text from Summer carried the weight of unspoken secrets. The photo album burned a hole in his phone's hidden folder-explicit reminders of a night he both cherished and questioned. Was it really me in her body? Or did some cosmic force just, make it happen? And Mom-why does she act like she knows more than she's letting on? He'd caught her staring at him during family dinners, a knowing smirk playing on her lips, her usual modest demeanor laced with a playful edge that mirrored his own geeky humor.
It all came to a head one humid evening, about two weeks after the trip. Amy had gone out with friends for a movie night, leaving the house quiet except for the hum of the AC and the distant chirp of crickets. John found Heather in the living room, lounging on the couch in a simple tank top and shorts that hugged her fit figure, her brunette hair loose and tousled. She was scrolling through her phone, but set it aside when he entered, her warm brown eyes lighting up with that new, intriguing sparkle. "Hey, sweetie. Come sit. We haven't had a real chat since the trip."
John's heart pounded as he sank into the armchair across from her, his mind racing. Now or never. Confront her. Figure out what the hell happened. He cleared his throat, trying to sound casual. "Mom, about that wink the day you got back. And asking about my games. You never cared about that stuff before. What's going on?"
Heather's expression softened, but there was a flush to her cheeks, a mix of guilt and something, excited? She leaned forward, her modest B-cup breasts shifting under the tank top, drawing his eye involuntarily-a taboo flicker he shoved down. "John, honey, I need to confess something. That night before the trip, when you, well, I heard you in your room. Wishing aloud about Summer. It was late, and I was passing by to check on you. I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but, it stirred something in me."
John's face burned, embarrassment mingling with shock. She heard me jerking off? Wishing to get closer to Summer? "Mom, I-"
She held up a hand, her voice steady but laced with vulnerability. "Let me finish. I've always felt responsible for you, especially after your dad. And hearing that wish, it unlocked memories of my own wilder days. College experiments, curiosities I buried. But that night, something shifted. Like a, spark. The next morning, I woke up feeling different. More alive. And during the trip," She trailed off, biting her lip, her eyes darting away as if reliving it. God, what did I do? With Summer-my daughter's best friend. It felt so right, so intense. But was it me? Or something else?
"What about the trip?" John pressed, leaning in, his pulse racing. She thinks she did it. With Summer. But it was me-in her body.
Heather sighed, running a hand through her hair-a gesture so like his own nervous tic that it sent a chill down his spine. "Summer and I, we got close. Intimate. She came to my room that night, and I, I went with it. Roleplayed, explored. It was like I was channeling something younger, hornier. Like parts of you, maybe? Your energy?" She laughed softly, but it was tinged with self-doubt. "I feel responsible. For crossing lines with her. She's Amy's friend, and I'm, well, me. But it happened, and now I can't stop thinking about it. The thrill, the taboo."
John's mind whirled. She wasn't in my body. No swap for her. But she felt it-my influence? My personality bleeding through? Internally, relief and arousal battled: So it was me, fully. But she thinks it was her own will. And now she's, changed? Showing my traits? "Mom, that's, intense. But why the game talk? The winks?"
She smiled, a playful glint in her eye that was unmistakably his own geeky charm. "Since that night, I've felt more, adventurous. Like I've got this new side. Your side? I've even looked up some of those videos you might like. Body swap stuff, gender transformations. Kinky, right?" She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper, laced with a seductive lilt he'd heard in her body. "What if we roleplayed one? Just us. I could be the son, you the mom-or swap it. Explore those scenarios. It'd be our secret. Fun, taboo, intimate."
John's cock stirred at the suggestion, the taboo heat of it overwhelming. Mom wants to roleplay a body swap? With me? Fuck, that's my kink. But she's my step-mom, He swallowed hard, nodding slowly. "I, yeah. Maybe. We can talk about it."
Heather's eyes sparkled, reaching out to squeeze his hand. "Good. I love you, John. And I'm sorry if I overstepped with Summer. But it felt, right." She pulled back, the moment heavy with unspoken possibilities, leaving John dazed as she headed upstairs. She's got my personality now. Wants to play out my fantasies. This summer's just getting weirder-and hotter.
As the days stretched into the final week of summer break, the neighborhood buzzed with back-to-school prep, but John's focus narrowed to Summer. Texts had flown between them-flirty at first, then explicit: shared memories of the album pics, teasing promises of "meeting the real John." She knows something. That 'thank you' and scissor motion-it's like she suspects I was involved. Amy headed back to college early for orientation, and Heather busied herself with work, leaving John with pockets of freedom. The climax came on a sultry Friday evening, a text from Summer lighting up his phone: "Meet me at the old park trailhead. 8 PM. Alone. Got something to show you, and do to you. ;)"
The park was a secluded spot on the edge of town-winding trails through woods, a hidden clearing by a creek where teens snuck off for privacy. John arrived as the sun dipped low, fireflies flickering in the dusk, his nerves electric. Summer waited on a picnic blanket, looking ethereal in a short sundress that hugged her taller frame, her blonde waves glowing in the fading light, E-cup breasts straining the fabric. "John," she purred, standing to hug him-bodies pressing close, her curves against his lean form. "Finally. The real you."
They sat, the air thick with tension, a bottle of wine between them. "Summer, those pics. The trip. What happened with, Mom?" He hesitated, probing.
She smiled mysteriously, sipping wine. "Oh, I know, John. You were responsible. Somehow. That night with Heather-it was you in there, wasn't it? Your energy, your kinks spilling out. The way she switched touches, knew my favorite scenes, it was too perfect. Too you." She leaned in, her hand on his thigh. "Don't ask how I know. A girl's got her secrets. But thank you. It opened my eyes. Made me want the original."
John's breath hitched, arousal surging. She knows. Doesn't care how. Wants me. "Summer, I-"
"Shh." She kissed him, soft at first, then hungry-tongues dancing, her larger body pressing him back onto the blanket. Hands roamed: hers under his shirt, nails raking his chest; his cupping her ass, squeezing the firm cheeks. "I've wanted this since that hug when I got home. But now, after tasting a piece of you, I need the full thing."
She pushed him flat, unzipping his jeans with deft fingers, freeing his hardening cock-thick and veined, already leaking pre-cum. "Look at you. Real boy parts." She licked her lips, blue eyes locked on his as she lowered her head. Her mouth enveloped him-warm, wet, tongue swirling the head, sucking gently at first, then deeper. John groaned, hands in her blonde hair, as she bobbed-taking him halfway, then all, throat relaxing around him. Fuck, her mouth, so skilled. Bigger tits bouncing as she sucks. She hummed, vibrations sending shocks through him, one hand stroking the base while the other fondled his balls.
"Summer, God, yes," he moaned, hips bucking lightly. She popped off briefly, grinning. "Taste different. Saltier. Love it." Back down, faster now-sloppy, saliva dripping, her free hand slipping under her dress to rub her pussy. The sight pushed him close, but she sensed it, pulling off with a wet pop. "Not yet. Want you inside me first."
She straddled him, dress hiked up-no panties, her wet pussy hovering over his cock. "Condom?" he gasped.
"On the pill. Clean. You?" He nodded, and she sank down-tight, hot walls gripping him inch by inch, her E-cups bouncing as she rode. "Fuck, John, feels so good. Different from scissoring, but, perfect." She ground her hips, clit rubbing against his base, moans filling the clearing. John thrust up, hands on her breasts-squeezing, pinching nipples-then flipped her onto her back, pounding deeper. Positions shifted: missionary, her legs over his shoulders for depth; doggy, ass jiggling as he slapped it lightly; cowgirl again, her taller body dominating.
Orgasms built-hers first, pussy clenching around him, crying out as she came. He followed, pulling out to cum on her stomach-hot ropes painting her skin. Breathless, they collapsed, laughing softly. "The real John's even better," she whispered, kissing him. "More this summer? And beyond?"
"Absolutely," he replied, the gender-bending whirlwind of the break culminating in this raw, real connection. As stars emerged overhead, John thanked whatever force had twisted his wish into this taboo, erotic reality-closer to Summer than ever, inside and out.
Later that night, they’re catching up on an episode of One Piece when Lucas feels a sudden impulse to press the remote’s glowing red button. Within seconds, everything blurs, and both of them are violently sucked into the TV.
When they regain consciousness, Lucas’s living room is gone. Instead, they find themselves at a bustling port, standing on a boat—and inhabiting different, yet strangely familiar, bodies. It doesn’t take long for the truth to sink in: Lucas has somehow become Nami, while Emily has become Luffy. Even stranger, the mysterious remote is tucked safely into Lucas’s pocket.
Panicked, they try to use the remote to escape, only to discover that it’s on some kind of cooldown. With no way back and no idea how long the effect will last, Emily and Lucas are forced to remain trapped in the One Piece world—living as its characters for who knows how long.
The sun beat down on the cracked asphalt of the suburban cul-de-sac, turning the Saturday morning garage sale into a shimmering mirage of discarded memories. Emily nudged Lucas with her elbow, gesturing toward a folding table buried under a tangle of old cables and yellowed electronics manuals. “See anything cool, tech wizard?”
Lucas, ever the tinkerer, was already sifting through the box. “Mostly junk. VCR manuals from 1998. A busted graphing calculator.” His hand paused, fingers closing around something sleek and black. “Whoa. Okay, this is weird.”
He pulled it out. It was a standard universal remote, but it felt significant. It was heavier than it should be, made of a cold, brushed metal, and had a simple layout: Power, Volume Up/Down, a directional pad, a button with a simple TV icon, and one solitary, ominous red button set slightly apart. A faint, almost imperceptible LED glowed near the top.
“That looks… intense,” Emily said, peering over his shoulder. “Think it works?”
“Only one way to find out,” Lucas grinned. He aimed it at a dusty old tube TV sitting on the grass with a ‘$5’ sticker on it. He pressed the power button. With a soft click and a hum, the TV flickered to life, displaying static snow. Lucas laughed, a sound of pure relief. “Holy crap, it does work. And it’s not even paired to it. Score. I do need a new remote anyway.”
“Maybe it really is universal,” Emily mused.
An elderly woman with soft silver hair pulled into a bun shuffled over, her smile warm but tinged with a deep, lingering sadness. “Oh, you found Albert’s little project,” she said, her voice like rustling paper. “My husband. He was an electrical engineer, retired. In his last few months… he became quite obsessed with fiddling with that thing. In his spare time, right up until the end.”
Lucas turned the remote over in his hands. “It’s really well-made. What was he trying to do?”
The woman’s gaze grew distant. “On his deathbed, he was delirious with the pain medication. He kept holding that remote, babbling about harmonics and dimensional frequencies. He said he’d tuned it not to channels, but to worlds. Said it was a portal device.” She gave a soft, sad laugh. “He told me I should use it when my time comes. He said the transportation takes ‘life energy’ to sustain, and that I’d have enough left for one last trip. Can you imagine? The fancies of a dying mind.”
Emily and Lucas exchanged a look, a mix of skepticism and intrigue.
“I didn’t believe him, of course,” the woman continued, wiping a speck of dust from a picture frame of a smiling couple. “I thought it was just the sickness talking. After he passed… all these gadgets, all these reminders of those final, confusing days… I couldn’t bear to look at them. So, out they came. A fresh start.” She gestured to the table. “If you want it, dear, it’s five dollars. At least it’ll be a conversation piece.”
Lucas fished a crumpled bill from his pocket. “Sold.”
Back at Lucas’s apartment that evening, the remote sat on the coffee table between them like a shrine relic while they argued over what to watch. “It’s just a remote, Em,” Lucas said, though he kept glancing at it. “A fancy one with a tragic, weird backstory.”
“A tragic weird backstory about portals,” Emily corrected, grabbing a handful of popcorn. “Your new TV remote is an interdimensional philosopher.”
“Shut up and pick something. We’re behind on One Piece.”
They settled in, the epic saga of the Straw Hat Pirates filling the screen. Luffy was mid-transformation into Gear Fifth, his rubbery body a whirling cyclone of joy and power, his infectious laughter echoing through the speakers. Nami was shouting navigational commands from the helm of the Thousand Sunny, her orange hair whipping in a stylized gale. As the episode reached its crescendo, Lucas’s hand, almost of its own volition, drifted from his lap. His fingers found the cold metal of the remote. The solitary red button was glowing now, a deep, pulsing crimson it hadn’t been before.
“Dude, what are you doing?” Emily asked, mid-chew.
“I don’t know,” Lucas said, his voice oddly hollow. A compulsion, thick and magnetic, settled in his bones. His thumb pressed down on the red button.
The world dissolved.
It wasn’t a fade—it was a violent, screaming rip. The sound of the TV became a deafening roar, and the screen didn’t just display the Thousand Sunny; it opened. A vortex of swirling color and cartoon physics yawned before them. Emily’s popcorn bowl flew from her hands as an impossible suction grabbed them both, yanking them off the couch. Lucas felt a scream tear from his throat, but no sound emerged—the air was being stolen from his lungs. He saw Emily, eyes wide with terror, her form elongating and distorting as she was pulled toward the maelstrom of light a split-second before he was. Then, everything was pain, pressure, and a sensation of being crumpled like a piece of paper and thrown across an infinite distance.
Consciousness returned in a nauseating lurch. Lucas gasped, his head throbbing. The soft, familiar fabric of his couch was gone. Beneath him was coarse, sun-warmed wood. The air smelled of salt, tar, and exotic spices. His ears were filled with a cacophony he’d only ever heard through headphones: the shouts of dockworkers, the cries of gulls, the creak of rigging and splash of waves against a hull.
He tried to sit up and immediately flailed, his center of gravity all wrong. His body felt… different. Lighter, yet strangely top-heavy. He looked down.
And saw orange.
A cascade of bright orange hair fell over his shoulders. His perspective was lower to the deck. His hands, which came up to clutch his head, were smaller, with slender fingers tipped with short, polished nails. And the shirt he was wearing… it was a low-cut, blue and white striped bikini top, barely containing a soft, generous swell of cleavage that most definitely had not been there a minute ago. A familiar, intricate tattoo—Nami’s iconic tattoo—adorning the shoulder his new hair didn’t cover.
A wave of dizzying horror washed over him. He was on the deck of the Thousand Sunny. And he was in Nami’s body.
“Whoa.” The voice that came from beside him was deeper, richer, and crackled with a boundless energy that was utterly foreign. “This is… AWESOME!”
Lucas turned his head. Sitting up, rubbing a rubbery neck with a stretchy hand, was Monkey D. Luffy. But the grin splitting that familiar face was pure, unadulterated Emily. She pounded a fist into her—his?—other palm, the smack echoing with a thwack.
“Lucas! Look! I’m made of rubber!” Emily exclaimed, and to prove it, she reeled back and punched herself in the cheek. Her face distorted, squishing inward before snapping back into place with a boing. She burst out laughing, the sound exactly like the Captain’s. “This is the coolest thing that has ever happened to anyone, ever!”
“Emily, shut up!” Lucas hissed, his voice emerging as Nami’s higher, sharper tone. Panic, cold and sharp, clawed at his throat. He scrambled to his feet, his new body moving with an unfamiliar, agile grace that felt like a betrayal. He patted himself down, and his hand—her hand—slid into the pocket of Nami’s short denim shorts. His fingers closed around cold, hard metal.
He pulled out the universal remote. The LED was dark. Desperately, he pointed it back in the vague direction from which they’d come, at the bright blue sky over the bustling port of wherever the hell they were, and mashed the power button. Nothing. He mashed the red button again and again. It was inert, just a dead piece of tech.
“It’s not working,” he whispered, the dread settling into his new bones. “It’s not working!”
Emily stopped bouncing and peered at the remote. “Maybe it needs to recharge? Like a cooldown period?”
“A cooldown? You don’t put a cooldown on a fucking universe-hopping remote!” Lucas snapped, Nami’s usual irritation coloring his panic perfectly.
“I dunno, seems reasonable. That trip probably used a lot of power,” Emily said, shrugging her massive rubbery shoulders. She looked around, her straw hat tipping back. “So. We’re in One Piece. I’m Luffy. You’re Nami.” A huge, gleaming grin spread across her face again. “This is officially a top-tier adventure. We should find Zoro! Or Sanji! Oh my god, Lucas, Sanji is going to freak out when he sees you!”
The reality of their situation crashed down on Lucas with the weight of the Grand Line. He was trapped. Trapped in the body of the Straw Hats’ navigator, in a world of pirates and Marines and sea monsters, with his best friend gleefully incarnated as a rubber maniac in his head. He clutched the useless remote, the only tether to their old life, as the bright, dangerous world of One Piece bustled around them. The cooldown, if that’s what it was, could be minutes. It could be days.
Or it could be forever. And they had no choice but to start living it.
I woke up to the smell of lavender and old books, which was the first wrong thing.
My alarm should have been the sharp ping of my phonesome upbeat synth track I’d set to “motivational asshole mode.” Instead there was silence, thick hotel-room silence, broken only by the faint ticking of a wall clock I didn’t remember owning. My body felt… heavy. Not gym-sore heavy. Not even post-night-out heavy. It felt like someone had poured concrete into my joints and then politely asked them to creak.
I opened my eyes.
The ceiling was wrong. Too high, too ornate, crown molding that belonged in a period drama. The bed was wrong toosoft in that way old mattresses are soft, like they’ve given up fighting gravity decades ago. I tried to sit up and my back immediately lodged a formal complaint. A dull ache bloomed behind my knees. My handswhen I lifted them to rub my facewere not mine.
They were smaller. Knotted at the knuckles. Liver spots scattered like spilled coffee across the backs. Thin gold wedding band on the left ring finger, worn smooth from years. Nails short, unpainted, practical.
I stared at them for what felt like ten full seconds.
Then I screamed.
It came out wrong. Higher, raspier, an older woman’s startled yelp instead of my usual baritone bark. I clapped a hand over my mouthmy new, unfamiliar mouthand tasted lipstick. Not gloss. Actual matte lipstick, the kind that feels like wax and smells faintly of roses.
I scrambled out of bed (or tried to; the knees locked halfway and I nearly face-planted into a floral rug). There was a full-length mirror on the wardrobe door. I didn’t want to look. I looked anyway.
Margaret stared back at me.
Not some random old lady. Margaret. The Margaret. Sophie’s family friend, the retired principal who once told mein front of twenty people at the engagement partythat “youth is wasted on the young and charm is wasted on the cocky.” Gray hair pulled into a neat chignon. Wire-rimmed glasses hanging from a chain around myherneck. A silk dressing gown the color of weak tea. And behind the glasses, my own wide, panicked eyes.
I whispered, “No. No no no no.”
The voice was hers. Dry, precise, faintly British even though she was born in Ohio. I hated how authoritative it sounded even when I was the one panicking.
Phone. I needed my phone.
I lurched across the roomevery step a negotiation with joints that had apparently unionized against meand found a small clutch purse on the dresser. Inside: reading glasses, tissues, a tin of mints, a hotel keycard, andthank Godmy phone. Except it wasn’t my phone. It was hers. An iPhone 8, cracked screen protector, wallpaper of a black-and-white photo of two kids who were probably her grandchildren.
I tried Face ID anyway. It didn’t work. Obviously.
Passcode. I typed my birthday.
Nothing.
Her birthday? I had no idea.
I typed 01011958 on a guess (she’d once said she was “born the year they launched Sputnik, which explains my lifelong suspicion of bright ideas”). The phone unlocked.
First thing I did: opened the camera and switched to selfie mode.
Yeah. Still Margaret.
Second thing: checked the time. 7:42 a.m. Wedding was at 4:00 p.m. Rehearsal brunch at 10:00. Sophie was probably already in the bridal suite getting her hair done, surrounded by bridesmaids and mimosas and that calming playlist she loved.
I could text her. I could call her. I could say, “Babe, something insane happened, I’m in Margaret’s body, please don’t freak out.”
And then what?
She’d think I was drunk. Or high. Or having a psychotic break forty-eight hours before our wedding. She’d call my brother. She’d call her mom. Within twenty minutes the entire wedding party would know the groom was claiming to be trapped in a sixty-seven-year-old woman’s body. The photos would leak. TwitterXwould have a field day. “Tech bro groom swaps souls with grandma, more at 11.”
No. No way.
I wasn’t telling anyone. Not Sophie. Not James. Not even Clara, who’d probably believe me and then try to livestream it.
I had to fix this quietly. Find the broochMargaret’s stupid cursed brooch that I’d laughed at last night when she’d pinned it to her lapel and muttered something about “family nonsense.” I’d touched it. I remembered touching it when I helped her with her coat. That had to be it.
I rummaged through the purse again. No brooch. Checked the nightstand, the dresser drawers, under the bed like an idiot. Nothing.
The ceremony was in eight hours. I had to get through the morning looking like Margaret, sounding like Margaret, acting like Margaret, while Margaretsomewhere in my bodywas probably waking up in the groom’s suite wondering why she suddenly had abs and could see without glasses.
I caught my reflection again. Margaret’s stern mouth was currently twisted into something like horror.
“Okay,” I said aloud in her voice. “You built a thirty-million-dollar valuation from a dorm room. You can handle one wedding in heels.”
I opened the wardrobe.
Dresses. Cardigans. Low block heels that looked like they’d been designed by someone who hated fun.
I picked the least offensive outfita navy dress with sensible sleevesand started the longest morning of my life.
First problem: pantyhose.
Second problem: I had no idea how to walk in any of these shoes without looking like a newborn giraffe.
Third problem: in about two hours I had to sit at a table with Sophie’s entire family, smile politely, and pretend I was a retired school principal who approved of their daughter marrying me.
I took a deep breath that hurt my ribs in a brand-new way.
Then I squared Margaret’s narrow shoulders, put on her glasses, and opened the hotel-room door.
Showtime.
I stepped into the hallway, Margaret's sensible flats squeaking faintly on the carpet like they were judging me with every step. The hotel was buzzing alreadymaids pushing carts, distant laughter from the lobby, the faint clink of breakfast trays. My heartor rather, her heartwas pounding in a way that felt foreign, slower but insistent, like an old engine revving up after years in storage.
First stop: the groom's suite. My suite. Where Margaret was probably freaking out in my body right now. I needed to confront her, figure out how to reverse this, and swear her to secrecy. But walking down that hall felt like a marathon. These knees weren't built for speed; every stride sent a twinge up my thighs, and I had to fight the urge to hunch forward like she always did.
A door opened ahead, and out stepped one of the groomsmenwait, no, it was the hotel concierge, a young guy in a crisp uniform. He smiled politely. "Good morning, ma'am. Can I help you with anything?"
Ma'am. God, that stung. I forced Margaret's lips into what I hoped was her signature no-nonsense smile. "No, thank you. Just heading tofamily matters."
He nodded and moved on, but not before his eyes flicked downsubtly, professionallyto my chest. Or her chest. I felt a flush creep up my neck. These breasts were substantial, heavy in a way I'd never experienced, shifting slightly under the dress with each step. It was distracting, almost sensual, the fabric brushing against skin that felt hypersensitive. I shook it off. Focus, Ethan.
By the time I reached my suite door, I was sweating. Knocked twice, sharp and principal-like. No answer. I tried the handlelocked. Shit. My keycard was probably in my real pants pocket, wherever that body was now.
"Open up," I hissed in her voice, glancing around to make sure no one was watching. "It's me. Ethan."
The door cracked open after a beat, and there I wasmy own face staring back at me, wide-eyed and pale. Except it wasn't me. It was Margaret in my skin, her expression a mix of terror and something else. Exhilaration? She yanked me inside and slammed the door.
"What in God's name" she started in my voice, deep and resonant, but with her clipped cadence. It was weird hearing my baritone sound so proper.
"Shh!" I cut her off, pushing past into the room. My room looked the same: tux hanging on the closet door, my phone charging on the nightstand, a half-empty protein shake from last night. But seeing it from this height, this angle, made everything feel off-kilter.
Margaretin my bodypaced, running my hands through my hair in a way that'd mess up the style I'd planned. "This is the brooch. I told you it was cursed! My great-aunt swore it swapped her with a cousin on her wedding day in '32. We need to find it and"
"I know," I snapped, her voice cracking a bit. "I touched it last night. But we can't tell anyone. Not Sophie, not anyone. We'll fix this before the ceremony."
She stopped pacing, turning to face me. My own eyes raked over her bodymy body now occupied by her. It was surreal, like looking in a funhouse mirror. And then something shifted. She adjusted my stance, squaring my shoulders, and I noticed how my athletic build filled out the robe she must've thrown on. Broad chest, the faint outline of abs under the fabric. I'd always been proud of that body, but seeing it from the outside, controlled by someone else it stirred something unexpected. A heat low in my bellyher bellythat I wasn't prepared for.
"Why are you staring?" she demanded, but there was a flush on my cheeks now. Her in there.
"I nothing." I averted my eyes, but they landed on the mirror across the room. There we were: an older woman and a young man, standing too close in a hotel room. The contrast was electric. Her mind in my prime physique, my energy trapped in her seasoned form. I felt a forbidden curiosity bubble up. What did this body feel like, really? Not just the achesthe pleasures?
She seemed to sense it too. Stepped closer, towering over me now in a way that made my pulse quicken. "Ethan, this is serious. But good Lord, your body. It's like being plugged into a live wire. Everything's so responsive." Her voicemy voicedropped lower, and I saw her glance down at herself, adjusting the robe where it tented slightly. Was that arousal? In my body?
I swallowed hard, Margaret's throat dry. "Yeah, well, yours isn't exactly a slouch. It's sensitive. In ways I didn't expect." My hand, almost without thinking, brushed against the side of her hipmy hip now. The skin there was softer, warmer than I'd imagined. A shiver ran through me, electric, pooling between my legs in a unfamiliar, building ache. Women's bodies, I realized with a jolt, didn't ramp up the same way it was slower, deeper, like a wave gathering.
She inhaled sharply at the touch, my eyes darkening. "We shouldn't This is madness." But she didn't pull away. Instead, her handmy strong, callused hand from rock climbingreached out and cupped my cheek, thumb tracing Margaret's jawline. The contact was intimate, charged. I leaned into it, feeling the roughness against smooth skin, and suddenly we were kissing.
It was clumsy at firstme in her body, her in mine, lips meeting in a rush of confusion and heat. My mouth was softer, more yielding; hers firmer, insistent. I tasted my own aftershave on her tongue, mixed with her surprise. Hands roamed: mine exploring the hard planes of my chest under the robe, hers sliding down to grip Margaret's waist, pulling me closer. The friction of fabric against skin sent sparks through me, her nipplesmy nipples nowtightening under the dress.
We broke apart, breathing hard. "This is wrong," I gasped in her voice, but my body betrayed me, thighs pressing together instinctively, seeking more pressure.
"Utterly," she agreed in mine, but her grin was wicked, eyes gleaming with that secret delight she'd mentioned. "But educational. Your stamina, Ethanit's intoxicating." She flexed my arms, and I felt a rush watching the muscles shift.
We didn't go furthernot then. Time was ticking, and the brunch loomed. But the air hummed with possibility, a secret shared in swapped flesh. I straightened her dressmy dressand she helped me fix the chignon, fingers lingering a second too long on my neck.
"Find the brooch," I said firmly, stepping back. "It's probably in your things. I'll play you at brunch; you play me. Act normal."
She nodded, but as I turned to leave, her voicemy voicecalled softly, "Ethan? This body of yours it wants things. Be careful."
I shivered again, that erotic undercurrent lingering as I slipped back into the hall. The wedding was hours away, and now, on top of everything, I had to navigate Margaret's form through a sea of family and friends, all while ignoring the newfound desires humming under her skin.
I slipped out of the groom’s suite with my pulse still hammering in Margaret’s narrower chest, the memory of that kiss burning behind my eyes like a live wire. Her lipsmy lips nowstill tingled from the press of my own mouth, from the rough scrape of stubble that wasn’t there anymore. I could taste the faint salt of my skin on her tongue, could still feel the hard ridge of my erection pressing against her thigh through the robe when we’d broken apart.
Focus, Ethan. Brunch. Family. Act like a retired principal who thinks you’re marrying beneath her.
The elevator ride down was torture. Every sway of the car made Margaret’s breasts shift under the navy dress, the silk lining sliding against nipples that had hardened and stayed that way since the kiss. I crossed my arms under them instinctivelysupport, modesty, whateverand immediately regretted it. The pressure only sharpened the ache, sent a slow, liquid heat curling low in her belly. I’d spent years chasing that kind of build-up in my own body: quick, focused, explosive. This was different. Deeper. Patient. Insistent. Like her body knew exactly how long it could draw the tension out before it snapped.
When the doors opened on the second floor, the private dining room was already alive with chatter and clinking silverware. Sophie’s family, my groomsmen, a few cousins milling around the buffet. And therestanding near the mimosa station in my charcoal suit, looking unfairly goodwas me. Margaret-in-my-body, hair still mussed from my fingers, tie slightly crooked in a way I never allowed. She caught my eye across the room and gave the tiniest nod, the corner of my mouth quirking in that knowing half-smile I usually saved for closing deals.
I forced Margaret’s posture straight, smoothed the dress over hips that felt too wide and too soft, and walked in.
“Margaret, darling!” EleanorSophie’s motherswooped in first, air-kissing both cheeks. “You look positively radiant this morning. Did you do something different with your makeup?”
I blinked behind the wire-rimmed glasses. “Just… slept well,” I managed in her crisp tone. “The hotel pillows are divine.”
Eleanor laughed and linked her arm through mine, steering me toward the table. Every step rubbed the lace of Margaret’s underwear against sensitive skin I’d never paid attention to before. The seam pressed right where the heat was gathering, a constant, maddening friction. I bit the inside of her cheek to keep from gasping.
Sophie was already seated, radiant in a soft white sundress, hair half-up in loose waves. When she saw “Margaret,” her face lit up.
“Aunt Margaret!” She stood and hugged mecarefully, the way you hug someone fragile. Her perfume wrapped around me, familiar and devastating. “I’m so glad you’re here early. Ethan’s been weirdly quiet this morning. Nerves, I think.”
I hugged her back, Margaret’s arms thinner than I was used to, but the embrace felt achingly real. Sophie’s breasts pressed softly against mine through the thin fabric; I could feel the warmth of her skin, the slight catch of her breath. My bodyher bodyreacted instantly: a fresh rush of wetness between my thighs, thighs that clenched without permission. I pulled back too quickly.
“He’ll be fine,” I said, patting her arm with what I hoped was maternal reassurance. “Men get peculiar before weddings. It passes.”
Sophie laughed, but her eyes searched my faceMargaret’s facea second longer than usual. “You sound so sure.”
Because I am sure, I wanted to say. Because I’m the one who’s going to marry you in eight hours and I’m currently fighting the urge to drag you into the nearest coat closet just to feel your hands on this body that suddenly wants everything.
Instead I smiled Margaret’s tight, polite smile and let Eleanor guide me to a chair.
Across the table, Margaret-in-my-body was watching. Our eyes locked again. She lifted my mimosa glass in a tiny toast, lips curving. Thendeliberatelyshe ran my tongue along the rim of the flute, slow and suggestive, before taking a sip. My stomach flipped. Her in my skin, playing with sensations I knew too well: the cold fizz on the tongue, the subtle stretch of jaw muscles, the way a single swallow could send warmth straight down.
I shifted in the seat. The chair was hard; the pressure against my clitGod, even thinking the word in her voice felt obscenewas almost too much. I pressed my thighs together under the tablecloth and tried to focus on the conversation.
Clara bounded over then, all eleven-year-old energy, clutching her tablet. “Aunt Margaret! Look, I made a TikTok edit of Uncle Ethan’s proposal video with cat filters!”
She shoved the screen in my face. There I wasmy real bodydown on one knee in the park last spring, edited so cartoon ears twitched on my head and whiskers sprouted whenever I smiled at Sophie.
“Very… creative,” I said, voice dry. Clara beamed.
Margaretacross the tableleaned forward. “Clara, sweetheart,” she said in my deeper register, “why don’t you show me how to make one of those later? I could use some modernizing.”
Clara’s eyes went wide. “You? On TikTok?”
“Desperate times,” Margaret replied, and shot me a look that said: We’re going to talk. Soon.
The brunch dragged. Every time Sophie laughed, every time her fingers brushed mine passing the fruit platter, every accidental graze of her knee against Margaret’s under the table sent another pulse of arousal through me. By the time people started drifting toward the elevators for hair and makeup appointments, I was dizzy with itwet, swollen, aching in places I’d never inhabited before. Margaret’s body didn’t rush toward release the way mine did; it simmered, built layer by layer until I felt like I might combust from sheer anticipation.
As the room emptied, Margaret caught my elbowmy arm now, strong fingers wrapping around Margaret’s thinner oneand steered me toward the quiet hallway outside the restrooms.
“Storage closet,” she muttered. “Now.”
I didn’t argue.
The door clicked shut behind us. Dim light from a single bulb. Shelves of extra linens, the faint smell of bleach and lavender.
She pushed megentlyagainst the wall. My back arched; Margaret’s breasts lifted with the motion. She loomed over me in my own body, heat radiating off skin I knew was fever-hot.
“We can’t” I started.
“We already did,” she whispered in my voice, rougher now. “And your body won’t stop thinking about it.”
Her handmy handslid up under the hem of the navy dress, callused fingertips tracing the lace edge of panties already soaked through. I gasped, hips jerking forward involuntarily.
“Tell me to stop,” she said, eyes locked on mine.
I didn’t.
Instead I reached up, tangled Margaret’s fingers in my own hair, and pulled her down into another kiss. This one was hungrier. Teeth. Tongue. The rough slide of my stubble against her softer skin. Her palm cupped me through the lacefirm, knowing pressure right where I needed itand I moaned into her mouth, the sound high and feminine and utterly foreign.
She rubbed slow circles, learning the rhythm of this body the way I’d learned mine over years. I rocked against her hand, chasing the building wave, thighs trembling.
“Ethan,” she breathed against my earmy ear now“let go. Just this once.”
The orgasm hit like a slow-rolling tide instead of the sharp snap I was used to. It started deep, radiated outward in warm pulses that left me shaking, clinging to her shoulders, biting my lip so hard I tasted blood to keep from crying out loud enough for the hallway to hear.
When it finally ebbed, I sagged against her, forehead to her collarbonemy collarbonebreathing hard.
She kissed my temple, soft now. “The brooch,” she murmured. “We still need to find it.”
I nodded, dazed. “After… after the photos. Before the ceremony.”
She helped me straighten the dress, smooth the chignon, wipe smudged lipstick with her thumb. Then she opened the door a crack, checked the hall, and slipped out first.
I waited thirty seconds, heart still thundering, body still humming.
Then I followed.
Eight hours until vows.
And I had no idea how I was going to walk down that aisle pretending I hadn’t just come undone in a storage closetwearing someone else’s skin, craving someone else’s touch, while the woman who used to be me waited in mine.
The photos were next. Outdoor portraits in the hotel garden before the ceremonygolden hour light, everyone in their finery, the kind of shots that would end up framed on mantels and mocked on group chats for decades.
I stood on the lawn in Margaret’s navy dress, sensible flats sinking slightly into the damp grass, trying to look like I belonged among the younger crowd. The photographera cheerful woman named Mara with a camera the size of a small cannonkept repositioning us.
“Margaret, darling, chin up a touch! You’ve got such elegant posture.”
Elegant. Right. I lifted Margaret’s chin, felt the unfamiliar pull of skin that had lost some of its elasticity, and smiled the tight, practiced smile I’d seen her use a hundred times. Across the grouping, Margaret-in-my-body lounged against a stone pillar in the charcoal suit, sleeves rolled to the elbows, looking effortlessly cool in a way I usually had to work for. She caught my eye and flexed my fingersslow, deliberatethen let her hand drop to rest low on my own hip. A casual gesture to anyone watching. To me, it was a promise.
Sophie was radiant between us, laughing as Clara darted in and out of frame trying to photobomb with peace signs. Every time Sophie turned to me“Aunt Margaret, come stand closer!”and slipped an arm around my waist, the contact sent fresh sparks racing under my skin. Her fingers brushed the small of my back, just above where the dress’s zipper sat, and I had to lock Margaret’s knees to keep from swaying.
The ache from the storage closet hadn’t faded. If anything, it had settled in deeper, a low, constant throb that pulsed in time with my heartbeather heartbeat. Every brush of lace against swollen flesh reminded me exactly how wet I still was, how sensitive the folds had become. I pressed my thighs together when no one was looking and nearly whimpered at the pressure.
Mara called for couple shots next. “Bride and groom first, then we’ll add family!”
Sophie tugged me forwardthinking I was Margaret, of courseand positioned me on her other side so the three of us stood together: Sophie in the middle, “Ethan” on her right, “Margaret” on her left. The irony was so thick I could taste it.
“Perfect,” Mara said. “Big smiles!”
Sophie leaned into meinto Margaret’s bodyher cheek brushing mine. Her breath was warm against my ear. “You’ve been so quiet today,” she murmured, just for me. “Everything okay?”
I turned Margaret’s head, met her eyes. So close I could see the flecks of gold in her irises, smell the faint citrus of her shampoo. “Just… savoring it,” I said in the older woman’s voice. “Watching you two. It’s beautiful.”
Sophie’s smile softened, genuine. “You always know what to say.”
Behind her, Margaret-in-my-body watched us with an expression I couldn’t quite readjealousy? Hunger? Pride? She stepped closer on Sophie’s other side, slid an arm around her waist, and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. The gesture was tender, almost reverent. Sophie melted into it.
And Itrapped in Margaret’s skinfelt a sharp, unexpected twist in my chest. Not just arousal anymore. Something softer. Hotter. The sight of my own body holding the woman I loved, touching her with a gentleness I’d always been too impatient to master… it unraveled me.
The camera clicked. Again. Again.
When Mara finally called a break, Sophie excused herself to touch up lipstick. Clara ran off to chase butterflies with one of the ring bearers. The garden emptied for a moment.
Margaret stepped up behind meclose enough that I could feel the heat rolling off my own body.
“Storage closet again?” she murmured, lips brushing the shell of my earMargaret’s ear.
“No time,” I whispered back, even as my hips shifted backward instinctively, seeking contact. “Photos resume in ten.”
“Then here.” Her handmy handslipped under the hem of the dress again, hidden by the angle of our bodies and the low stone wall at our backs. Fingers found soaked lace, pushed it aside with practiced ease. Two fingers slid inside meslow, deepand I had to clamp a hand over my own mouth to muffle the sound.
She curled them, found that spot I’d never been able to reach properly in this body, and stroked. Steady. Relentless. Her thumb circled my clit at the same time, slick and sure.
I trembled against her, back arched, breasts heaving under the navy silk. The orgasm built faster this timesharperbecause she knew exactly what this body needed now. I came with a choked sob, biting down on my own palm, thighs shaking so hard I nearly buckled.
She held me through it, steady as stone, until the aftershocks faded. Then she withdrew her fingers, brought them to her lipsmy lipsand licked them clean with slow, deliberate swipes of tongue. Watching herself do it was obscene. Intimate. Mine.
“Brooch,” she said quietly, voice rough. “I think it’s in the bridal suite. Sophie mentioned Margaret’s things were brought there this morning for ‘sentimental photos.’”
I nodded, still catching my breath. “After the first look. We’ll slip in.”
She adjusted my dress for me, smoothed a stray lock of gray hair behind my ear. “You’re doing beautifully,” she saidmy voice saying it, but her warmth behind the words. “Stronger than I ever gave you credit for.”
I looked up at herat meand felt something shift again. Not just lust. Respect. Affection. A strange, mirrored tenderness.
The photographer called us back.
We rejoined the group separately, faces composed, bodies humming with shared secrets.
Sophie reappeared, lipstick perfect, eyes bright. She took my handMargaret’s handand squeezed.
“Ready for the aisle?” she asked.
I squeezed back. “More than ever.”
However, when an old friend contacts him to steal a priceless artifact together, Kyle decides to turn back to his old ways.
Things quickly go wrong during the score, which results in him unexpectedly swapping bodies with the city's number 1 superheroine. He knows the right thing to do would be to figure out a way to swap them back, but that idea becomes increasingly difficult when he finds out just the kind of life and pleasure her body truly has to offer him.
Kyle learned early that luck was a finite resource, and whatever share he'd been allotted had been spent before he turned sixteen. He grew up in a neighborhood where police sirens were background noise and everyone knew which streets to avoid after dark - dangerous and belonging to someone. Trouble wasn't something you sought out there. It found you, it waited, and if you didn't learn fast enough, it took what it wanted.
Kyle hadn't learned fast enough. By the time he was seventeen, he'd been arrested twice - one for running lookout, once for possession he swore wasn't his. The judge hadn't cared. The system rarely did. He'd done his time in juvenile detention, learned how to keep his head down, how to read people, how to pick locks with nothing but patience and a bent piece of metal. Skills that weren't exactly résumé-friendly. Now, at twenty-eight, he stood behind a coffee counter that smelled perpetually burnt no matter how often he cleaned it and wearing a stained apron with a name tag that felt like a lie. 'Kyle.'
The bell above the café door chimed, and another customer stepped up, already frowning.
"Large oat milk latte. Extra hot. and make sure it's not bitter this time."
Kyle forced a smile.
"Sure thing."
Behind him, one of his coworkers leaned against the prep counter scrolling through their phone. His supervisor - who showed up late every shift and still somehow found the time to criticize - hovered nearby, arms crossed.
"Try not to mess it up," she muttered. "We've had complaints."
Kyle bit back the response that came to mind, he always did - Rent didn't care about pride.
When the café slowed down - mid-afternoon lull and the sunlight slanted through the windows - Kyle leaned against the counter and let his thoughts drift upward. Literally. A massive digital billboard across the street flickered with life, displaying the familiar image: Elasti-Woman, mid-leap, limbs extended impossibly as she saved a collapsing monorail car. The city's favorite heroine. Strong, confident, sexy and smiling like she belonged exactly where she stood.
Kyle watched, transfixed. She was tall, 6ft with shoulder length brown hair, blue eyes, a model-like face, and a curvaceous, athletic build that Kyle absolutely adored. Every time he thought of her, he caught himself in daydreams. She made it look effortless. Being admired, being needed. Being someone.
He imagined it sometimes - what it would feel like to be that. To matter. To have people look at you with awe instead of suspicion. To have power instead of apologies. And, he also fantasized about her. He wasn't blind, or dead. The thought of someone like Elasti-Woman even glancing his way - let along sharing a night with him - was ridiculous. He knew that. He wasn't delusional but that still didn't stop his chest from tightening every time she smiled. Reality snapped back when his supervisor cleared her throat sharply.
"Kyle. Table three's been waiting."
He nodded, moved, served, and apologized for things that weren't his fault.
That night, as he trudged back to his apartment, his phone buzzed. Unknown number. He almost ignored it, almost.
"Yeah?" he said into the device, keys jingling around his finger.
There was a pause. Then a familiar voice, rougher than he remembered, but unmistakable.
"Damn, man. You still answer like you're expecting trouble."
Kyle stopped fiddling with his keys, stopping dead in his tracks.
"Evan?"
"Still alive," The man replied, laughing. "Mostly. Heard you got out clean."
"Clean enough," Kyle said cautiously. "How'd you get this number?"
He didn't know Evan too well. But they did get into trouble with each other a few times.
"Mutual acquaintance. Relax. I'm not calling to drag you into anything."
Somehow, Kyle didn't believe that and snorted in response.
"That's new."
They talked, caught up as much as they could, shared stories that carefully avoided their worst years. Evan had bounced around - inside, outside, always skirting the edge. Eventually, Kyle sighed and realized - he wanted something.
"Alright," he said. "You didn't call me just to reminisce. I know that, but that's as much as I do know."
Evan hesitated, a little too long.
"There's a job," he explained. "Easy one. Museum slash pawn shop. I'm working security nights. They just got this artifact - private collection. Worth millions if you know the right people."
Kyle's stomach sank. "No," he said immediately. "Besides, what type of museum also runs a pawn shop? That doesn't make sense."
"Heard the guy's shady. Runs it for tax evasion or some shit," Evan dismissed his concerns and then continued. "Just one night. In and out. I'll give you the layout, the security codes. You're better with locks than me."
It was true. Kyle was better.
He knew how to read the tension in a tumbler, to feel the give of a pin. It was almost instinct.
"You know how I live," Evan pressed, "A few days. Just this."
"No," Kyle repeated. "I'm done. I like my freedom."
Evan pushed and joked, promised it was clean. That there would be no heat and no alarms.
"Come on. Besides, what dead end job do you have that can actually support you?" Evan's question struck a nerve. "I've seen you. You're good. You're wasting your talent."
Kyle could almost see the artifact. He could imagine it sitting in a velvet-lined box, protected by glass. For a few hours of risk, it'd be enough to move out of his apartment, maybe go somewhere new and actually start fresh. To pay for a night with someone like her - no. He shut that down immediately.
"I... I can't, Evan. I'm sorry." The silence on the other end stretched, heavy and disappointed. Kyle pictured Evan's face - jaw tight, eyes already turning inward, and recalculating.
"Alright," Evan said at last. "your call." The line then went dead.
Kyle stood there on the sidewalk for a long moment, the city humming around him like static. When he finally unlocked his apartment and stepped inside, the door shut with a soft click that felt louder than it should have.
The place smelled faintly of cheap detergent and he stared at the crumbling wallpaper stained yellow with old cigarette smoke. He learned the back of his head against the door and sighed. Freedom, Evan had said. What freedom was this?
Kyle huffed a quiet, humorless laugh and crossed the apartment. This wasn't freedom, this was a holding cell. A cage built out of rent, reputation, and the kind of mistakes that never quite stopped following you. That night passed, then another.
The next few days were uneventful in the most exhausting way possible - early mornings, bitter coffee, aching feet, incompetent bosses and coworkers. The call faded, dulled by routine. Kyle told himself that was it. That Evan had taken the no and moved on.
Nearly a week later, his phone buzzed while he was sitting alone in his apartment, half-watching a muted news segment about another villain sighting downtown. Evan again. Kyle frowned at the name, thumb hovering over the screen.
For a minute, he considered ignoring it, letting it go to voicemail and letting the past stay where it belonged. But curiosity got the better of him and he swiped it open where an image filled the display.
An exquisite silver chain dripped with the light of a thousand tiny rose-cut gems, their soft blush catching the light with every subtle movement. Suspended from this delicate chain is a magnificent centerpiece: a single, flawlessly faceted pink diamond, cut so deeply that its heart seems to pulse with a captured sunset and refused to let go. It didn't look fake, it looked important.
"This is it," Evan's message followed. "They think it's worthless. Owner's a drunk. Barely remembers it's there. You know this is your way out. This is something that can support you."
Kyle stared at the photo longer than he meant to - Until the edges blurred and the necklace dissolved into color and light, and something else took its place in his mind - a familiar figured stretched across the skyline, confident and untouchable. Elasti-Woman, smiling like the city belonged to her. Kyle locked his phone and set it face-down on the table.
Later that night, the temperature dropped, the chill creeping in through the thin walls. He went to his closet to grab a hoodie - nothing dramatic, something he did a thousand times before. He pulled one free and something heavier shifted on the shelf above.
A pair of gloves slid into view, worn, thin and familiar. He hadn't touched them in years. Kyle picked them up slowly, turning them over in his hands. The leather was cracked and softened by years of use. They fit perfectly still when he slipped them on - muscle memory kicking in before he could stop it. He should have thrown them out, years ago. He knew that. Told himself that he kept them because they were useful. Because you never knew when you might need them for something harmless. A stuck lock, a broken latch, pulling weeds... 'Just in case'. He took them off and set them back on the shelf, heart beating faster than it should have, then shut the closet door. He remembered the days of picking locks with them helping keep a steady hand.
The days rolled on - Coffee, complaints, the same tired routine. Kyle almost convinced himself the call had been a lapse - an old ghost rattling chains that didn't exist anymore. At least that was what it appeared as, Evan didn't push at first. Just checked in. Casual messages. An old joke he shared with Kyle and one other in the past. Then, every few days, another reminder slipped in. A comment about rising prices. A nudge about people he knew who'd 'made it out.' About how unfair it was that some people got powers and others got scraps. Once, late at night while Kyle laid in bed, another photo appeared - the necklace again and closer this time. The pink diamond caught the light differently, deeper, warmer. For a second, Kyle swore it looked like it was glowing.
He turned his phone face-down on his chest and went to bed, staring at the ceiling until morning. And then frustration did the rest - the café, the bills, the way his supervisor talked to him like he was disposable. The way customers smiled politely until they stepped away and the way the city celebrated its heroes and forgot everyone else existed. By the time he finally picked up his phone, his hands were steady. He typed one word.
"When?"
Two days later, Kyle and Evan found themselves standing before the building Evan had described. It was a strange place: half museum, half pawn shop. The sign above the entrance, written in faded gold lettering, read: The Reliquary & Loan.
The front windows displayed a jumble of antique weapons and dusty paintings, while just beyond them, in a more curated space, sat a collection of pristine artifacts under bright spotlights. The place felt... liminal. Not quite legitimate, not quite criminal. At night, the building seemed to loom taller than he remembered when they did the daytime walk-by Evan had insisted was 'all the recon they'd need.'
The outside itself was marble façade with reinforced glass for the antiques. It seemed too clean or well-lit for something that supposedly blended museum curation with pawnshop discretion. Private collection acquisitions always meant money, and money meant security. Kyle adjusted the thin gloves on his hands and exhaled slowly through his nose.
"Tell me again," he murmured, "Why the service entrance doesn't have a guard?"
Evan, crouched beside a side door and working far too confidently on a tablet that looked older than Kyle's phone shrugged.
"Because they cut costs. Owner's cheap."
Kyle didn't like that answer. He liked them to be specific - Names, timetables.
Still, the door opened cleanly under his picks, the lock giving way with a familiar, almost comforting click. For a moment, muscle memory carried him - same old dance, same steady hands.
The rush crept in anyway, uninvited. Inside, the air smelled like polish from one of those machines, freshly scrubbed of all the dirt, and the air was almost stuffy - like it was still. The floor plan Evan had given him flashed in Kyle's mind as they moved - but almost immediately, it didn't match.
Display cases sat where corridors were supposed to be. A security camera tracked lazily across a hall that should have been blind. Kyle, thankfully, stopped short and grabbed Evan's sleeve. "That camera wasn't on your map. I thought you said you fucking worked here before?!" he whispered sharply.
Evan, for the first time, looked nervous.
"They... must have updated. It's fine. It's on a loop. I saw the log myself." The excuse was thin. Too thin. But they were already inside. Backing out now felt like a bigger risk than pushing forward. Kyle hated that about himself - how easily sunk costs turned into forward momentum.
The deeper they went, the quieter Evan got. And Kyle led. He always did. But he knew how to read spaces - how sound carried, where footsteps echoed too long, how security sensors felt even when you couldn't see them.
He spotted slightly raised plates just before stepping on them, freezing, and then carefully stepping over. Evan didn't even notice until Kyle grabbed him again.
"Watch where you step," Kyle whispered. "Or this ends with both of us in cuffs."
Despite Kyle's skill, it was his partners that always let him down and it infuriated him.
"Relax," Evan muttered. "You're the pro, right?"
That only served to irk him more, none of this shit was supposed to be here. It was supposed to be easy.
The vault room sat lower than expected, tucked behind a reinforced exhibit wall disguised as a historical installation. This was the real test. Kyle knelt before the keypad, his fingers hovering over the numbers. Evan had given him the code. A sequence that supposedly cycled weekly.
"You're sure about this?" Kyle asked, his heart starting to thrum a heavy, anxious rhythm against his ribs.
"I'm sure," Evan said, though he wouldn't meet Kyle's gaze.
Kyle entered the code. The keypad beeped. ACCESS DENIED
Panic, cold and sharp, lanced through Kyle's chest. "You're an idiot," he seethed. "You gave me the wrong code."
"No, no, I... maybe I typed it wrong?" Evan stammered, fumbling with his tablet again.
"There's a master override. I just need to... Here, I got a new code. Let me enter it."
Evan moved closer, his fingers dancing across the panel, but again; ACCESS DENIED
This time the panel beeped, - just once - a warning. Kyle closed his eyes for half a second, unable to believe this.
"Move."
He knelt, rolling his eyes while pulling tools from his kit. The panel resisted him immediately - newer model, nested failsafes, the kind designed to punish impatience. Sweat prickled along his spine as he worked, fingers moving with slow, careful, practiced precision. Time stretched, every second felt loud and long. When the lock finally disengaged, Kyle nearly laughed in relief.
Inside, the safe stood under that cold white light.
It was already open - probably from the laziness of said owner, thinking that no one would even find the vault. And there it was, resting on a simple black velvet pad. The necklace. The chain was impossibly fine, the rose-cut gems glowing with a soft, internal warmth. The pink diamond at its center was huge. And it was beautiful, it shone like it wanted to be noticed.
Evan gasped, moving towards it.
"See? I told you."
But Kyle didn't move. He stood there, staring. This was it. The whole reason for this risky, half-assed plan. But something was wrong. The hairs on his arms were standing up. A low hum emanated from the necklace, almost imperceptible at the edges of his hearing. He took a step closer.
The closer he got, the more aware he became of it - it wasn't a sound, or a pull exactly, but a pressure - as if he was being hugged. His fingers hovered before touching it.
"Don't just stand there," Evan whispered. "Grab it!"
Kyle wrapped his hand around the chain. It was warm, like holding those hand-warming satchels in the dead of winter while snow drifted all around you. A shiver ran through him, sharp and inexplicable, and for a split second he thought he heard something - not words but a suggestion of a voice, distant and close at the same time. He wasn't sure if the necklace had some other attribute to it. But it certainly felt like it. Then all that focus drained away as soon as Evan swore loudly.
Kyle spun just in time to see Evan's foot catch on a cable that should not have been there. The alarm detonated, exploding outward with sound. Not just a single sound but layers - sirens, lights, automated voice warnings cascading through the building. Kyle's heart slammed into overdrive, the memories of being caught by police, time and time again flashing through his mind. "I told you to watch-!"
"I didn't see it!"
"Because you don't look!" He whispered pointedly.
Kyle swiped the necklace, the gems feeling warm in his palm as they began to run.
He took point again, cutting left where the shortest path should've been - but the corridor ended in a security gate slamming down inches from his face.
"Plan B!" Evan yelled.
"There was no fucking Plan B!"
Kyle's shoes skid as they doubled back, ducking through exhibits as emergency shutters began sealing rooms behind them, Kyle's lungs burned, grip tight around the pendant like it was the only solid thing left in the world. Halfway to the exit, Evan grabbed his arm.
"Give it to me," he shouted over the alarms. "I know a buyer-"
Kyle yanked free, spinning on him. "No. You don't touch it."
"What?! That wasn't the deal!"
"The deal didn't include you set off every alarm in the building!"
Evan's face hardened. "You think you can just take it?"
Kyle didn't answer. He didn't need to. They both knew the answer. If anyone could find a buyer, it was Kyle.
They started at each other for a moment too long - sirens screaming, lights flashing red - and in that moment they knew that they had to split up.
"Split up," Kyle ordered, "Now."
Evan hesitated, then cursed and bolted in the opposite direction. Outside, the streets were swarming with police but Kyle managed to slip past them and turned the corner at a dead run, nearly slamming straight into her. Elasti-Woman dropped from above and touched down lightly in front of him, boots barely making a sound against the pavement. She straightened with confidence, already between him and the street beyond. The glow of emergency lights reflected faintly off the red-and-silver of her suit.
"End of the line," She said, voice calm and practiced, unlike the police who would have been screaming at him to get down.
Kyle skidded to a halt, hands coming up automatically. His heart pounded so hard it made his vision pulse.
"You've got the wrong guy."
She tilted her head, clearly unconvinced.
"Funny. I hear that a lot."
Then she moved first. Her arm snapped forward, stretching impossibly, and Kyle barely managed to duck under it. He stumbled, boots slipping on loose gravel and the alley suddenly felt too narrow - like the walls were closing in. He bolted sideways as her leg elongated in a sweeping kick that cracked against brick where his head had been a second earlier. Kyle thought his best chance would be to get close, so he charged her. Her arm came out and he grabbed at her sleeve, trying to throw her off balance but she caught his wrist. For a moment they were tangled, both straining, both adjusting to the other's movement. Then the pendant slipped free from his jacket, it swung between them and they both instinctively - stupidly - reached for it. Kyle's fingers closed around the chain at the same moment hers did and then the world spun and bent.
Then Darkness swallowed him. When he came to, the first thing he registered was pain. A deep, echoing throb behind his eyes, like his skull had been rung like a bell. He groaned and tried to roll onto his side - and nearly overbalanced.
Something was wrong. His weight didn't sit where it should. His body felt... redistributed. His chest rose and fell more noticeably with each breath, warm pressure pulling differently against gravity.
A curtain of dark, brown hair brushed his jaw and neck, tickling skin that felt oversensitive, almost electric - a tingle of pleasure running through his spine. He blinked, vision swimming, and looked down as his breath caught.
The suit stretched over a shape that definitely had not been his moments ago. Breasts - unmistakable, solid, rising and falling with his labored breathing. Despite the tight suit, they jiggled almost unperceptively. His gloved hands looked narrower, wrists slimmer when he lifted them into view. A soft groan sounded beside him. Kyle turned his head - and froze.
His own body lay a few feet away, sprawled awkwardly against the alley wall. The ski mask tilted as his eyes fluttered open.
"What - what did you do?!"
His voice sounded scared and panic surged immediately, drowning out everything else. Sirens wailed closer and he reacted.
His arm snapped forward - and didn't stop. It stretched, the sensation bizarre and nauseating, like his bone had turned to rubber. His fist connected solidly with his own jaw and his old body crumpled. Kyle stared at his extended arm, then pulled it back. The limb snapped back into place as if it had never been three times his length. Police boots thundered closer and there was little time to process. Kyle played the part and acted as if he were Elasti-Woman. He wasn't sure how exactly he could mimic her movements or mannerisms but it seemed he played the part perfectly.
When the police finally cleared out and the street fell quiet, the silence hit him harder than the sirens had. He had pocketed the pendant and knew that his old body would only have a short stint in jail and that the police wouldn't believe that they've swapped bodies. She'd sound insane to them. His skin was alight as his suit hugged him in places his old clohes never had, stretching smoothly with the movement. A laugh slipped out of him before he could stop it - sharp, incredulous, almost hysterical.
"This is insane," he muttered, the voice startling him all over again.
When he brushed his knuckles against his neck, he felt the slide of loose hair, the faint scent of something clean and expensive. He loved it. He looked down again, the tight suit around his breasts poked out and it made him curious. His hands slid up his side before cupping the full breasts. He stood there, blushing to himself as he pinched the hard nubs between his index and thumb. Another jolt of electricity ran down his spine and he gasped slightly.
"Oh... I see," he said to himself.
This power was not only for fighting criminals. This was a power for himself. He had an idea, a risky one, but one that he had to do before he could think about a way to reverse the body swap. He had to see himself.
“I’ll fix it after this,” he told himself, though the words rang hollow even as he said them.
The thought of giving this back - of stepping out of this skin and returning to his old, invisible life - made something in his chest tighten uncomfortably. He pushed the feeling away, then something caught his eye. A motorcycle - hers. He approached it cautiously, heels clicking against the pavement. He expected no reaction but the moment he swung a leg over, the bike seemed to recognize him. Then he sat, feeling the plush skin of his ass press against the seat.
"Shit..." He muttered.
When the engine roared to life, the vibration traveled up through his legs and spine, through his crotch. The pleasure made him buckle over the handles. The GPS flared to life, a single destination already marked. Home. Kyle hesitated, hands tightening on the grips, then leaned forward and eased into the street, still feeling awkward - yet excited - in the stride of the world's most celebrated heroine.
The bike led him to the last place he expected. A luxurious mansion out in the countryside, set up-top a large hillside. At first, he was just going to park into the drive-way until the motorcycle lights lit up what looked like a normal cliff. A portion of the rock face shimmered, then slid silently away to reveal a dark opening. He guided the motorcycle inside, the rock closing behind him with a soft, decisive thud. The garage was vast. Cars, training equipment, and racks upon racks of weaponry he didn't have names for. In the center, a single white circle glowed on the floor. He dismounted, the bike's engine dying behind him as he stepped into the elevator. The doors closed, and the world dissolved into white light.
"Welcome home, Carmen." A robotic, almost AI-like voice echoed.
His eyes widened at the revelation, Carmen... Starr? His eyes darted down his body, his lips parted. It made sense after some thought. She was rich, prominent. She would have all the means to do something like this. But that also made his fist tighten, nails biting into his feminine hands.
Some people get all the luck... When they opened again, he was standing in her home. It wasn't what he expected. The entire back wall of the main room was a single pane of floor-to-ceiling glass, offering a breathtaking view of the city below, lights glittering like a fallen constellation. The rest was clean, minimalist, almost sterile - white walls, polished marble floors, furniture that looked more like art than something you'd actually sit on. It was a space for looking, not for living. It was beautiful, but it felt like a show home. He walked through it, footsteps echoing, feeling like an intruder in a museum dedicated to a person he was currently wearing. He wanted to find a mirror and he found one in the bedroom - a full-length slab of polished glass. When he had stepped out from the open living space and set foot into the bedroom, his heels sunk into the fine and soft carpet, giving him pause just for a moment. They no longer made a sound as he approached the large bed and mirror which shimmered with light next to the bathroom door. He honestly kind of liked the sound of heels against stone.
Elasti-Woman stared back at him from the mirror. Her face - his face - was flushed, a stray strand of brown hair clinging to her cheek. Those brilliant blue eyes, wide with a mixture of terror and something else he couldn't name yet, were fixed on him. He felt hot - both sweaty and aroused. He knew he had to see more. He licked his lips, tasting something slightly strawberry across those beautifully plump lips. He took a few steps in front of the mirror, watching the curves of his body. He raised both hands and pushed his chest out, he felt a little embarrassed but at the same time... he felt sexy. It felt worth it. A strange, tingling sensation began to grow in his core. It felt... different, compared to anything he's felt before. It felt warmer, hotter, and more... explosive.
He turned away from the mirror and || twirled to give a quick view of his new body from all angles, his head and body still buzzing with a strange new energy. The desire to see more - to feel more - was overwhelming. He had to take off the suit. His fingers fumbled at the hidden seam of her suit, the release catch resisting him for a moment before it gave way with a soft hiss. The material peeled away from his skin, clinging for a second before loosening its grip. The cool air of the room hit his bare shoulders, a stark, shocking contrast to the tight, warm embrace of the suit. He shivered, a reaction to the temperature and the sudden, jarring vulnerability. He slid the red and silver material down over his hips, letting it pool around them. The reflection was breathtaking. She was muscular, but not bulky. Athletic. The muscles in her arms and stomach were defined without being grotesque, her skin smooth and flawless. Her breasts were perfect. High and firm, topped with nipples that were currently hard. His skin shimmered with sweat, the scent was sweet and slightly tangy. "I'm... so sexy..." He muttered, "But... Carmen doesn't normally look like this. This body is much more full. The hair is longer than normal too."
As he looked down his body, he noticed that the suit was so tight that one could easily see a camel-toe and he snickered to himself. That was part of the reason why he felt so hot. He felt a bit more emboldened as he watched his sweaty skin in the mirror. Then he raised his arm and smelled underneath. He nearly gasped at how much it turned him on. He smelled incredible. He found himself craving more of this scent, more of this body, more of this feeling. He felt like he couldn't control himself. He didn't want to be some sort of gross pervert but... the temptation was too strong. His reflection watched as he raised a hand, the fingers slender and graceful. He hesitated, then slowly brought the hand to his breast, letting the pad of his thumb brush against the hard nipple. A soft gasp escaped his lips.
The pleasure was sharp, immediate, and so much more intense than he'd ever anticipated. He did it again, this time pinching the bud lightly, rolling it between his fingers. The jolt that shot through him was electric. He watched, transfixed, as the nipple hardened even more, a deep rose color against the pale skin of his breast. The other breast felt neglected, so he brought his other hand up to it, mirroring the motions. Soon, both breasts were being kneaded and teased, the twin points of pleasure sending waves of warmth down his body, coalescing in the pit of his stomach. He could feel a wetness growing between his legs, a slick heat that was both alien and utterly intoxicating.
He had to get out of this suit and pulled one of his legs free while balancing on the other, a black thong poked out, soaking wet and dripping with so much pussy-juice that it slid down his thighs. Kyle pulled at the elastic suit surrounding his hips,. He needed to see more. He needed to see everything that the masterpiece in the mirror had to offer. He kicked the soaked fabric away, leaving it lying on the carpetted floor like a discarded secret. Now, laid bare except for the heels, he fully examined her body and posture - how she stood up straight and tall despite large breasts, how her skin was a creamy and attractive shade, how her legs were smooth and long. Her thighs gapped but not too much, just to tease her camel-toe in her one-piece suit.
He lifted his breasts, seeing the sweat built up underneath. The cold air felt amazing against his skin, but he wanted to see some of his backside too. He turned, subconsciously further than any normal person could. The curve of his ass was amazing and he bounced up and down, laughing softly as the skin jiggled. His eyes traced down the black of the thong that slid between his butt-cheeks. He was getting too excited, and his breath hitched. Without much of a thought, his hand came up, out, and then smacked the jiggling flesh.
He made a sound half-way between a moan and a yelp, which surprised even himself. He liked the sting of the reddening skin though and that only made him more aroused.
He then slid a finger down across his stomach. It tickled in a way - but also elicited tingling sensations and a hitch of his breath as his fingers glided to the thong's fabric. The warmth emanated from it as he slowly pulled it down. His reflection was a study in contrasts: a powerful, athletic body flushed with arousal, a face that was both his and not his, contorted in a mask of pleasure and disbelief. He took a step back, then another - watching his reflection in the mirror until eventually, he landed on the bed. The silken sheets were cool and a very different contrast against the heat of his plush ass. He loved the way that it felt like he was sitting on a cushy yet firm pillow everytime he sat down, having experienced it once from the motorcycle. He spread his legs, giving himself an unobstructed view of his new sex. It was beautiful, a perfect pink flower glistening with moisture. He watched as he slowly reached down, the journey of his hand feeling like it took an eternity. He parted the delicate folds with his fingers, the sensation sending another shiver through him. He was so wet, so ready. He found the small, sensitive bud of his clit, and when he touched it, he saw stars.
Slowly, he inserted one finger, then two. He took a deep breath, his fingers pumping in and out faster and faster. As he got more comfortable he added a third, then fourth. Soon he was loose and comfortable. His left hand reached up, squeezing his full breast as his knuckles slipped past his entrance. His vision filled with hot static as he gasped, the sound from his mouth was like an Angel's gasp. He tried a different angle, lifting his long leg up, while the other slid across the sheets then pumped his hand a bit faster, squeezing against his knuckles. Then it happened; a sudden, intense pressure bloomed in his core. It was like a dam breaking, a wave of pure, unadulterated pleasure that crashed over him, pulling him under.
He cried out, a high, keening sound that was half-sob, half-shout of triumph. His body convulsed, the muscles in his legs and stomach clenching as he rode out the orgasm, his fingers still buried deep inside him.
When the waves finally subsided, he was left panting, his body slick with sweat and other, more intimate fluids. He leaned against the cool silk sheets of the bed, the smooth surface a welcome anchor in the sea of sensation. He looked at himself, at the woman in the mirror. She looked thoroughly fucked, her hair a mess, her face flushed, her legs trembling. And she looked… happy. Genuinely, deeply happy in a way he hadn't felt in years. Maybe ever.
A slow smile spread across his face. He looked down at the discarded suit, then at the reflection of the incredible woman he'd become. He picked up the thong, bringing it to his nose and inhaling deeply. The scent was intoxicating, a potent mix of his new arousal and something uniquely Carmen.
But he wasn't done, he hadn't even begun to use her powers. His arms stretched, coiling like snakes around his breasts, the pressure made his back arch.
"Mmmphf..."
Then they went further, moving down, around his sides and started to play with his pussy from behind. Then he stretched his neck, lowering his head to his perked and swollen nipple, sucking it into his mouth. He moaned against his own skin, the vibrations sending another jolt of pleasure through him. He could taste the salt of his sweat, the subtle sweetness of his skin. He was a closed loop of sensation, a self-contained universe of pleasure. He spent the next hour like this, exploring every inch of his new form with a hunger that bordered on desperation. He stretched and contorted, testing the limits of this incredible body, mapping every erogenous zone, cataloging every gasp and shiver. He discovered that if he stretched his torso just right, the tension in his core would build to an almost unbearable peak, and a single, well-placed touch would send him over the edge into another shuddering orgasm.
The finalé began when he pulled his rounded hips and firm buttocks up to his face. His pussy, quivering and dripping with copious amounts of fluid, sat in front of his own face. The scent was sweet, musky, and entirely too enticing. His tongue darted out and a full-body shudder crawled up his spine and straight to his brain. The sensation was unlike any other, even through all the orgasms. He could feel the slick folds on his tongue, the hard nub of his clit against the tip. He could taste himself, and it was divine. He ate himself out with a fervor he hadn't known he possessed, his tongue lapping and probing, his nose buried in the folds of his own sex.
He sucked in the lips of his labia, hot breath running over his hole and clit. His legs shook and tightened around his head, acting like a pillow.
He felt like he was melting, his mind going blank with pleasure. His body was a symphony of sensation, and he was the conductor, the orchestra, and the audience all at once. His cock would never have been able to compare, he thought to himself as he ate himself out. When the final, most intense orgasm of the night finally ripped through him, it was a white-hot nova of sensation that left him boneless and panting on the floor, a tangle of limbs and sweat and satisfaction. He lay there for a long time, just breathing, the cool air of the room caressing his sensitized skin. He felt... complete. Whole in a way he never had in his own skin. He'd spent his entire life feeling like an outsider, a ghost in his own life. But here, in this body, he felt like he finally belonged.
Eventually, he pushed himself up, his muscles protesting in the most delicious way. He caught his reflection in the floor-to-ceiling window, the city lights glittering behind him. The woman in the glass looked wild, untamed. Her hair was a mess, her lips were swollen, her eyes were dark with a satisfaction that was almost predatory. He smiled, a slow, lazy grin that was all Kyle and all Carmen at the same time. This is not how he had imagined this night to go, lest of all a night in Elasti-Woman's bed. He laid there and finally decided. He couldn't go back to his own body. Not only did this body feel so much better but it had everything he ever desired. And now the world would know this new Elasti-Woman.
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Rachel Smith came home from school exhausted. She did not want to think about going back to school for tomorrow, the tests she’d taken today alone had mentally drained her and going back tomorrow to finish the rest of them was not a pleasant thought. At least that would be their last day of testing for a while. I almost forgot Rachel thought as she plopped down onto the couch, I promised Elizabeth and Susan I'd check up on them.
Me: Hey all!
How were the tests?
Elizabeth: Ugh!
Don’t talk to me about them right now, alright?
Susan: I don’t think I did too well, honestly
Think I’m going to flunk biology at this rate…
I hope I’ll still be able to graduate though
Me: I’m not sure how the colleges will take that
You know, failing thing?
Susan: omg
Rachel, shut up.
Did you even do your tests?
Or were you doing your little “cheating”?
Rachel paused. Of course, she hadn’t cheated today, the thought hadn’t even crossed her mind to do so. Afterall, if she had, what would have been the point of all those sleepless nights studying for all this? But… I mean… for English, Matthew will be in the same class as me… Rachel swallowed, not sure if this was something she was really considering doing, then again, it would make her life a lot easier. As far as she knew, no one was able to tell what happened to them after she left, although there was the problem that she wouldn’t be able to stay inside them for too long, otherwise she might not have enough time to write down the answers on her own test.
Rachel shook her head and picked up her phone again:
Me:As if!
Unlike some people, I wouldn’t use my powers for selfish reasons!
Elizabeth: Girl,
You used them to see how large Trevor’s penis was
Me: That wasn’t selfish!
That was for science!
Anyway
I promise you girls I didn’t cheat
Well, she didn’t cheat today anyway. But tomorrow, well that was another story. Although Elizabeth and Susan didn’t need to know that. It wouldn’t be fair to them if they knew she was having an easier time just because of something like this. It’s funny how it all happened.
There were three of them, Rachel, Elizabeth, and Susan. Susan was the shortest of them, with tanned skin and dark hair. Elizabeth was the tallest, standing taller than even some of the boys at their school. Unlike Susan and Rachel, Elizabeth had lean muscles all along her body, although most people wouldn’t notice as she kept her clothes on the baggier side. And then there was Rachel who stood shorter than Elizabeth, but taller than Susan. Rachel’s red hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail and she was laughing at a joke Susan said.
They had taken a break from studying for their upcoming tests when Rachel noticed a yard sale in their neighborhood run by an old woman. When asked, the woman gave them a sad smile and told them most of these things belonged to either her late husband or her daughter, both of whom sadly passed away in a car accident a few weeks back.
While Elizabeth was consoling the woman, Rachel decided to look through some of the belongings that were up for sale. Some old clothes, a few sports equipment, and some books. Rachel paused when she noticed a box of books mostly hidden behind some golf clubs. She peered over the top, and nearly squealed when she saw they were first edition copies of Jane Smith’s Dearest Diary series. Is this the whole collection? Rachel wondered, flipping through some of the books in the box. It was indeed.
“Excuse me?” Rachel asked, “How much for the box of them?”
The old woman gave a small smile and walked closer, examining the thing that caught Rachel’s eye, “For the set, I’d say twenty dollars should do the trick,” the woman replied, “Hazel loved this when she was a kid.”
Rachel eagerly handed the woman the money and as soon as she took the box in her hands the woman piped up again, “Oh, I think my dear Tom might’ve left something in one of those books. He always liked getting into some trouble, if you find it it’s yours to keep!”
Trouble? Rachel smiled and waved for Elizabeth and Susan to follow her as they went back to her house. Once they were in his room, Rachel immediately got to work making room in her bookshelf to store those books. While she was doing so, Elizabeth and Susan were making light jokes at her expense, out of all the things in that yard sale, Rachel got books, most of which she already owned.
Of course you wouldn’t understand the pleasure of a first edition book you love Rachel thought, placing five of the twelve books in her bookcase. Something slipped out from between the pages of book six though. Rachel frowned, and bent down to pick it up, “What’s that?” Susan asked, as she and Elizabeth got closer.
“It looks like a letter,” Rachel replied, picking it up in her hands.
“Should we open it?” Susan asked.
“We probably shouldn’t,” Elizabeth replied, “it’s not ours.”
“That old lady said we could have whatever we find inside.” Rachel reminded her, getting ready to open it.
Elizabeth stepped forward and made a swipe for the letter, “What if it’s something dangerous? Like… drugs or something?”
Rachel managed to fend her off and Susan helped hold Elizabeth back, “We won’t know until we try. Besides, aren’t you two just the tiniest bit curious?”
Elizabeth swallowed, but didn’t answer. Susan, however, was nodding her head enthusiastically. That was all Rachel needed and she opened the envelope, not sure what might be inside.
To little fanfare, all that was inside was just a letter, “It looks like a simple letter,” Rachel revealed with a sigh.
“What’s it say?” Susan asked.
Rachel held the letter up, the handwriting wasn’t the greatest, and neither was the paper quality, but eventually she managed to work out the words. She read aloud:
To Hazel,
I want you to have something of mine. It’s a little trick I’ve picked up from my travels when I was younger. Maybe one day I’ll tell you where I found it, but until that day comes, I will leave with this and this alone.
Now, I don’t want to tell you much of the details of what I got up to with this little trick of mine, but just know that I know what to look for so don’t you think about causing any trouble with this, alright?
Rachel frowned when she tried to read beyond that point. She wasn’t sure if maybe the old man’s writing got particularly bad or if he was writing in another language, but she couldn’t make heads or tails of what was written after. It all just looked like a bunch of squiggly symbols.
“What’s wrong?” Susan asked.
“I can’t read anything else,” Rachel replied.
“Well maybe that’s for the best then,” Elizabeth said as Rachel stared harder at the words, “afterall, this seems like something intimate between a dad and his daughter, I don’t think it’s really our place to - OH MY GOD!”
At first, Rachel wasn’t sure what got Elizabeth so excited, and then Susan started freaking out too. They were shouting at her to drop the letter, and Rachel looked at them, not sure why they were freaking out, but then she realized the paper was burning in her hands.
She sucked in a breath, but before she could even think of letting go, the fire completely enveloped the paper, however, as the fire burned Rachel swore the strange words glowed white hot against the fire. What happened next, Rachel wasn’t exactly sure, the fire and the words flowed into her and Rachel felt something tugging at her very being. Suddenly, she felt herself lurching forward and she stumbled back until her back hit the wall.
“Ow!” Rachel cried out as the back of her head protested in pain.
“Rachel, oh my god, are you alright?” Susan cried.
Rachel, still with her eyes closed, replied, “I’m fine, just a little bump.”
“Elizabeth, this is serious!” Susan nearly shrieked.
Rachel opened her eyes, and she noticed she was taller, and her body felt stronger than it had before. She wiped some stray blonde strands from her face -- wait, blonde hair?
She looked over at Susan and saw she was crouching over Rachel’s own body. Rachel stared in horror, lifting up her hands to see they weren’t actually her hands, but were actually Elizabeth’s.
“Elizabeth!” Susan hissed, “Don’t just stand there! Get help!”
“I’m not Elizabeth!” Rachel breathed.
“What?”
“I said I’m not Elizabeth!” Rachel said, “I’m Rachel,” she pointed to her own body on the floor, “that… that’s my body… except,” she looked down at herself again, “I’m not in it.”
“Is Elizabeth in there?” Susan asked.
Hello? Rachel thought, Hello? Elizabeth! Are you there? She shook her head and crouched down beside her own body. Her body was still breathing, that was good, at least it wouldn’t die without her inside. She tried poking and prodding, but no response.
“Elizabeth isn’t in this body,” Rachel replied, “and it looks like mine’s empty.”
Before either of them could think of what happened, the door opened and Rachel’s mom came in. She was gasping for breath, “Girls! What happened? Why were you screaming?”
“O-oh! Mo-Mrs. Smith!” Rachel began, trying to think of a way out of this, “There was… a spider hiding in the books! A big one! It scared us all until we managed to kill it, but… I think Rachel fainted from the sight of it.”
Rachel’s mom sighed, “Well, that’s alright,” she frowned at the sight of Rachel’s body unconscious on the floor, “I think you should make sure Rachel didn’t hurt herself when she fell, it could be serious.”
“We will,” Susan piped up, “thanks, Mrs. Smith!”
With that, Rachel’s mom, thankfully left the room and Rachel and Susan were still trying to figure out what happened. Am I trapped here? Rachel wondered, How do I get back to my body?
“Can you get out of her?” Susan asked.
“I don’t know!” Rachel replied, running her fingers through Elizabeth’s blonde hair, “I’m-I’m trying to think!”
“Well what happened that made you go inside her?” Susuan asked.
“I-I-I don’t know!” Rachel hissed, “I just felt something pulling at me and one second I was in my body and the next I’m in Elizabeth’s!”
Susan looked around, trying to see if there were any remains of the paper left that might explain what happened. While she was doing so, Rachel was taking a few deep breaths as she looked back at her body on the floor. Alright, I’ll… see if I can’t replicate that, somehow.
Sitting down, Rachel closed her eyes and imagined herself, a ghost of herself, getting outside of Elizabeth’s body. She kept the image, concentrating harder and harder until she felt something, like a hook pulling at her. Is it working? Can I get out of here?
Rachel focused on that feeling and imagined that hook pulling her out of Elizabeth’s body. The feeling of pulling grew stronger and stronger until Elizabeth shuddered and Rachel was able to slip out. Only… she wasn’t back in her body.
She floated outside, like a ghost. From this, she was able to see her body still on the floor and Elizabeth slowly regaining consciousness. She went over towards her body, feeling a slight pull, but hesitated when she noticed Susan was still searching for any clue of what might’ve happened, crouching down to look for any remains of that strange letter.
Rachel smiled, feeling a little mischievous, it wouldn’t be fair if only Liz got possessed, afterall. She floated closer to Susan and felt a slight pull as she got closer. She plunged herself into Susuan just as she was standing up and Susan shuddered, gasped, and then Rachel opened her eyes and found herself in Susan’s body.
Elizabeth groaned, “Ow… I think I hit my head… Oh my-! Rachel! Are you-?”
“I’m fine,” Rachel replied, facing Elizabeth.
“Susan, this isn’t the time for joking around, I think Rachel’s-”
Rachel held up a hand, “Liz, relax, it’s me, Rachel. I think that letter was a spell of some kind… it put me in your body and then I was able to get out and decided to possess Susan.”
Elizabeth swallowed, frowning, “You really expect me to believe that?”
“I know it sounds far-fetched, but it’s the truth! Look, would Susan really be trying to mess with you if I was really in danger?”
The wheels were turning behind Elizabeth’s eyes, but Rachel knew she still didn’t believe this. “Prove it,” she said, “Tell me something only Rachel would know.”
Rachel thought for a moment, but decided this might be the perfect opportunity to mess with Elizabeth for a bit. “You panicked in the fifth grade when you forgot to buy a gift for Susan’s birthday and had to piggyback off my gift. In middle school you decided to tell me that you thought boys were icky and had no idea why Susan was so interested in them, going as far as calling Maxwell, her current crush at the time, a loser dweeb,” Rachel saw Elizabeth’s expression changing from skeptical to disbelief and knew she believed her, but decided to keep going, “in freshman year you came out to me as a lesbian and I assured you that Susan would accept you, too, and after a week of planning you came out as a lesbian. The day afterwards, I decided to tell you I was bisexual and then told Susan the day after…” Elizabeth was looking a bit red in the face now, “and last year, you and I shared a kiss behind the school to test things out. We didn’t tell Susan and while we fooled around, we decided it was better to stay as friends.”
Elizabeth was covering her face with her hands now, “Jeez, I believed you after the second thing, you didn’t need to keep going.”
Rachel giggled and gave Elizabeth a quick peck on the cheek. She barely had time to react before Elizabeth lashed out, swiping at her with her hand. Rachel kept laughing, although she made sure to cover her face with her arms, “Woah! Careful, Liz! This is Susan’s body, you know!”
“I know,” Elizabeth growled, “and can you please get out of her? I’m already freaking out enough now.”
Rachel smiled and prepared herself to leave again. The pull came easier now, and she was able to easily slip out of Susan’s body and entered her own. She got up, wincing as she felt where her body had hit the floor when she flew out of it. Ow! I guess I have to be careful when I leave because I’ll feel the pain when I come back in! Ow!
While Rachel was tending to the ache in her head, Susan got up and looked around, confused as to why she was no longer near the bookshelf. She noticed, however, that both Elizabeth and Rachel were up. “What happened?” Susan asked slowly, “No way, Rachel? Did you possess me?”
“I thought it was the best way to explain to Elizabeth what happened,” Rachel replied, still rubbing her head, “Don’t worry, nothing happened while you were gone.”
“Yes,” Elizabeth replied, looking at Rachel with a dark expression, “nothing happened.”
“So neither of you were aware of anything while I was inside you?” Rachel asked, starting to get to her feet.
“Last thing I remembered before coming to was freaking out because that letter was on fire,” Elizabeth replied, “after that… I woke up on the floor.”
“Same,” Susan replied, “I was just looking for anything that might tell us what was happening when everything went black and then I was on the floor.”
After that little episode, the three of them decided to test out potential limits for Rachel’s powers. As far as they can tell, there was no distance limit to how far away she can get from her body, nor did there appear to be a time limit to how long Rachel can stay outside her body, although she didn’t want to stay out of it for too long as her body still needed to eat. As a ghost, Rachel wasn’t able to travel very fast, only going about walking speed, but she was able to go through walls and fly. She didn’t test out if she could possess animals because she was scared she might not be able to leave.
The three of them had some fun for her powers, with one of the first things Rachel did was possess Susan’s crush, Trevor, and go through his phone to look for any clues about what he might be interested in. Rachel found him alone in his room studying when she came upon him. As she slipped inside, Trevor shuddered and gasped, “What the f-!” before Rachel completely took over.
So, this is what it’s like being a boy, Rachel thought, flexing her arms, I could get used to this, anyway, time to see if I can find anything he’s interested in. His phone was, thankfully, unlocked and after combing through it, she gasped when she found his gallery and the stuff that was inside it. There were numerous pictures of girls in various states of undress, Rachel recognized them as being in her same grade and covered her mouth. Oh my… I never would’ve thought Trevor got around this much!
These pictures looked like they were taken by the girls themselves too, and they usually winked or smiled at the camera, no doubt intending this as a gift for Trevor for later. I need to tell Susan, now! she quickly messaged Susan from Trevor’s phone before deleting the conversation on his end so he wouldn’t have any evidence that she had been messing around with his stuff.
Rachel sighed and was about to leave Trevor’s body when she felt something pressing hard against her pants. Don’t tell me… she looked down and gasped when she saw Trevor’s boner winking at her. She licked her lips, she shouldn’t, she really shouldn’t, but… well she was always curious about what masturbating with a penis felt like and Trevor had plenty of material on his phone to get her going.
I'm going to masturbate as a boy!
Susan: Elizabeth is saying not to, but I wanna see a dick pic!
Alright! Before she could second guess the morality of the situation, Rachel got to her feet and locked herself in the bathroom before ripping off Trevor’s pants. Trevor’s penis wasn’t anything special, a bit on the smaller and slimmer side, but it reacted quickly to Rachel’s touch. She sent a quick picture to Susan before erasing all the evidence from Trevor’s phone before she got to work.
She opened Trevor’s gallery again, scrolling through the various pictures he had, all of it was making her feel warm and she quickly discovered a rhythm to stroking his cock. Mmh, Veronica definitely has a nice body! Rachel thought, sucking in a breath through clenched teeth, as she stared at a photo of a mostly naked Veronica, And Abigail's hot! Who knew she was hiding all that under her baggy clothes? Trevor’s dick was twitched in her hand as she scrolled his gallery, the pleasure beginning to overcome her. It was much faster than masturbating as a girl, and she could feel the pressure rising within herself. With one final grunt, Rachel experienced her first orgasm as a guy and decided it would be funny to leave Trevor in his own sperm soaked mess.
Susan decided not to pursue Trevor, not because of the various pictures on his phone, but because she thought his dick was too small, but Rachel thought she was caring too much about the wrong things, it felt perfect to her, the pictures on his phone, however, that would have turned her off of him if she had even been interested.
It was crazy to think that had all only been a few days ago, and now here she was, in class once again about to use her power to help her cheat on her tests. It was easy enough getting out of her own skin, she just had to make sure to make it look like she was thinking and not passed out in class. After leaving her body, she made her way to Matthew without much trouble and got inside of him.
As usual, there was a slight struggle as her consciousness overpowered the person already in here, but thankfully all Matthew did was let out a small gasp. Alright, I’m in! Rachel quickly flipped through Matthew’s test, doing her best to memorize what answers he’d pick before she returned to her own body.
As she left Matthew though, she saw something strange when she came back out. For a moment, she thought she saw a blur of something vaguely person-shaped slip into the body of one of the girls in class, a quiet girl with big glasses named Vanessa, someone Rachel rarely spoke to, but had heard some of the boys whisper about excitedly. At first, Rachel thought she imagined it until Vanessa gave the telltale shudder and gasped. What?
A wicked smile etched itself on Vanessa’s mouth and she raised her hand and asked to leave to go to the bathroom. Rachel was curious, wanting to see what was going on before she remembered she hadn’t written down any of the answers. Quickly, she returned to her own body and copied down the answers she’d gotten from Matthew, making sure to occasionally mark a different answer so she didn’t get flagged for cheating. Although how exactly they would prove she’d cheated was beyond her, it was better not to take any chances here.
From there, Rachel waited, keeping an eye on the clock. She’d finished her own test and almost an hour passed but Vanessa still wasn’t back. I need to go check on her. Putting her head down, Rachel slipped out of her body and left the classroom. She heard Vanessa, or whoever was inside Vanessa, say she was going to the bathroom so that’s where Rachel headed.
She slipped inside and immediately heard crying, mixed in with mumblings of words. Worried, Rachel came closer, stopping when she saw a pile of clothes, Vanessa’s clothes, laying in a puddle of water in front of the sinks and Vanessa huddled naked against the wall, crying.
Vanessa made little effort to hide her body, as her hands were busy covering her face rather than anything else, leaving her small breasts exposed, as well as exposing her shaved pussy. As she got closer, Rachel noticed something leaking from Vanessa’s vagina, like she had been aroused earlier.
What happened here? Rachel thought.
She approached Vanessa, examining her to see if something was wrong. It didn’t look like someone was inside her, but Rachel had no idea what happened. Naturally she couldn’t ask Vanessa this, and even if she could Vanessa wouldn’t have any memory of what happened when she was possessed.
Rachel looked down at the clothes on the floor. They were wet, and wouldn’t look like they’d dry until after the test. I… I need to help her. Rachel went inside Vanessa. She gasped as she found herself in control of the other girl's body, and shivered from the coldness of the bathroom tile against her naked skin.
She couldn’t help but notice something else. This body felt good like it had just recently orgasmed. Rachel gulped, and stood up. She grabbed as many paper towels as she could and went to work trying to dry off Vanessa’s clothes. It wouldn’t get it all out, but that wasn’t the plan.
She slipped the clothes on, shivering intensely at how cold everything was before leaving the bathroom where one of the hall monitors noticed her and flagged her down.
“Young lady,” he began, “why on earth are you soaking wet?”
“There’s a problem with the sink,” Rachel lied, “it sprayed water all over me when I tried to wash my hands.”
The hall monitor sighed, “Well, I can’t let you return to your classroom like this, follow me, we’ll see if we can get you some dry clothes from the lost and found.”
Vanessa returned to class wearing an oversized hoodie along with a pair of sweatpants that were slightly too big for her. It didn’t help that they both smelled of sweat and body odor, but at least now Vanessa could finish her test. Feeling extra helpful, Rachel decided to fill in the answers for her that she took from Matthew, again, making sure she separated them from her own answers. Alright, I hope this goes well for her, Rachel thought as she got ready to leave her body poor girl.
With that, she returned to her own body and waited until the bell rang and class was let out to go to lunch. Is there someone else here with powers like mine? she wondered as she grabbed her belongings. Rachel glanced around the room, wondering if maybe whoever it was might’ve been in the room with her. No, she hadn’t noticed anyone else seemingly passed out like how she looks when she becomes a ghost. Someone from outside her classroom then, but staff or student? Boy or girl? As Rachel walked into the hallway and towards the cafeteria, she continued to glance around as more and more students came into the hall. Any one of them could have powers like hers.
Rachel thankfully managed to find Susan and Elizabeth during lunch. She was worried they would have different lunch schedules because of the test, but that wasn’t the case. Elizabeth and Susan were in the middle of talking about what they were going to do after the test. They almost didn’t notice Rachel sitting down next to them until she asked, “Hey, has anyone in your class acted… weird today?”
“Well hello to you, too, Rachel,” Susan replied, “anyway… no, not really. Why? Did something happen?”
Rachel lowered her voice, it wouldn’t be good if whoever was behind this overheard what she was going to tell them. No telling how this other person would react. “During the test… you know that quiet girl, Vanessa? I saw someone jump into her and, after some time had passed, I decided to follow using my powers…” she paused as she gathered herself to prepare to explain what happened next as she was still shaken by the sight of it, “when I found her in the bathroom, she was naked and all of her clothes had been soaked in the sink. When I hopped inside of her I also felt like… like she had just orgasmed.”
Susan and Elizabeth gasped and leaned back in their seats, their eyes wide with horror. “What did you do?” Elizabeth asked.
“I dried off her clothes the best I could,” Rachel explained, “afterwards, I picked up some clothes from the lost and found and finished her test for her.” After she finished, Rachel looked around the cafeteria, wondering if anyone had been listening in to their conversation. None of the students seemed to notice or care, being far more interested in their own meals or conversations. Still, Rachel felt her skin crawl at the thought that the person responsible was in this room with them.
“Should…” Susan hesitated, “should we do something about this?”
“What can we do?” Elizabeth asked, “I don’t think any member of the staff will believe us if we tell them what happened and I’m not sure if there’s anything we can do to this creep without putting ourselves in harm's way!”
“I might be able to do something.” Rachel said.
“Rachel, no-” Elizabeth began.
“I’m the only one with powers like this,” Rachel cut her off, “I’m the only one who would be able to see them, and I might be able to put a stop to all this.”
“Rachel,” Elizabeth said, “please be careful, alright? From what you said, I… don’t feel comfortable with you going to confront this guy alone.”
“Elizabeth is right,” Susan agreed, “what if he’s, I don’t know, able to turn the tables on you?”
Rachel swallowed, feeling sick, “I don’t know,” she replied honestly, “but I can’t just sit here and do nothing.”
For the rest of the day, Rachel was on high alert, keeping a close eye on any of her classmates to see if they acted off. However, nothing happened. At least, not in her class anyway. After the tests were over and everyone got their phones back, Rachel was immediately hit with several messages from both Susan and Elizabeth.
Elizabeth: Rachel, we have a problem
He struck again.
Melissa, you know, the girl in the school band with the freckles?
She left for the restroom and didn’t come back
Going to check on her now
Susan: Rachel, problem.
several girls were straight up missing when we came back
The teacher didn’t know what happened to them
Some of their friends said the girls left during lunch and then they just didn’t come back
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! Rachel took in a breath, and as calmly as she could, she looked around for anything suspicious. She almost missed it, but she saw one of the girls in the cheer leading team, a tall brunette named Victoria, suddenly gasp and shudder, stopping briefly mid walk and suddenly turning around with a slight smile on her face. Bingo.
Me:I found him. I’m going to follow him for a bit and see what happens
Elizabeth: Careful.
Susan: Stay safe
With that, Rachel put her phone away and followed Victoria, or rather the person possessing Victoria, through the hallways. She made sure to keep her distance, didn’t want whoever was inside Victoria getting suspicious about her, but she also made sure to keep Victoria in her line of sight so she wouldn’t get away.
At first, Rachel thought the possessor would take Victoria into another bathroom, but no, whoever it was was taking Victoria inside the girls locker room. No one else was inside when Victoria walked in, and Rachel was barely able to slip in herself without the door closing on her. From there, she decided to hide herself away near the entrance where, hopefully, her body wouldn’t be seen.
Alright, Rachel thought, her mouth a bit dry, I’m going in. She separated herself from her body and floated over in the direction of the lockers.
She wasn’t surprised when she saw Victoria’s body already in a state of undress. Whoever was inside her had already taken off Victoria’s shoes, socks, pants, and shirt, leaving her in just her white bra and panties. The imposter stood in front of the mirror inside Victoria’s locker, admiring Victoria’s body with a wicked grin on her face as her hands reached behind her back to unclip the bra, slipping it off her and allowing Victoria’s full breasts to come into view.
Rachel caught sight of herself in the locker mirror and froze, Oh god, does he see me? The imposter, however, didn’t look like he was able to see ghosts while he was possessing someone, much like how Rachel didn’t see him while she was inside Matthew’s body. While Rachel stood frozen, the imposter took the opportunity to slide off Victoria’s panties and was now standing completely naked in front of the mirror, admiring how Victoria looked. “Oh yeah,” she growled, “much better than that mousy little Vanessa, no idea what the other guys were seeing in her.”
Rachel continued floating over, moving agonizingly slow.
One of Victoria’s hands went to her breasts, cupping them and squeezing the nipples. “Mmm, bigger than Melissa’s,” she moaned, “but not as sensitive-OH!” Victoria arched her back as her fingers slipped inside her vagina, “Oh FUCK! Oh! I think she’s the most sensitive one so far!”
Rachel held out her hands as she got closer to Victoria. Unlike before, where she always felt a slight pull towards the body she was about to enter, here she felt a slight push and she had to force herself to get closer. Fortunately, the imposter didn’t seem to notice, lost as he was busy pleasuring himself in Victoria’s body. As he got closer to the climax, Rachel was able to make her way into Victoria’s body. Get out!
”What the? Who are you? You get out!”
Rachel jerked, causing Victoria’s leg to jerk. Her vision was darkness until she saw flashes of the locker room from Victoria’s perspective. She felt a hand closing in on her throat and wasn’t sure who was the one squeezing, if it was her or the other person. I said… GET OUT1
With a shove, Rachel pushed the other presence out of Victoria and gained control for a brief moment. She looked around and was about to leave when she felt the presence trying to come back in, Victoria’s body started shuddering and Rachel once again found herself fighting for control against this creep.
I won’t let you take advantage of anyone else! Rachel screamed, leaving Victoria’s body, but making sure she dragged the other presence out with her. Bodiless, as ghosts, they both floated in the locker room, and while they had each other’s hands around the other person’s throat, neither of them were able to feel pain, just mild discomfort.
But Rachel gasped when she saw who the other person was. It was Trevor, and he was glaring down at her, but the anger quickly melted into surprise and they both let go, floating a little bit away from each other. “Trevor?” Rachel gasped.
“Rachel?” Trevor gasped.
Rachel thought back to when she searched Trevor’s phone, some of those pictures of the girls were taken from their perspectives, at first, she had thought Trevor was flirting around with all those girls, but could he have actually been possessing them and used them to give himself those pictures?
“How… how long did you have this power?” Rachel asked.
“A month, just about,” Trevor replied, sneering, “I think you can see what I’ve been using it for. You?”
“A little over two weeks.”
Trevor thought for a moment, and his sneer deepened, “Ah, so I guess it was you I have to thank for waking up covered in my own mess that one time. Well, as you can see, you might’ve inspired me to do more with my powers than just simple pictures.”
“Why did you leave them stranded without clothes?”
Trevor shrugged, “I didn’t do that will all of them, just the ones who went out of their way to mock me, judge me, call me a creep! A pervert! Loser!”
Rachel scoffed, “I don’t think they were too far off with those claims seeing what you’ve done,”
“Really?” Trevor asked, coming closer, “You violated me, and then judge me when I do the same? Well, let’s see how you like it then! Your body must be around here, somewhere, right?”
Before she could react, Trevor shoved her aside and started floating off towards the exit of the locker room, right where her body was. Shit! Rachel thought, floating behind him. Trevor glanced behind him as he floated, “Heh, guess I’m getting close.”
Fuck! Rachel thought, I shouldn’t have followed! Now he knows where my body is! She tried going faster, using her ghostly arms and legs to try to propel herself forward, but it was no use, both her and Trevor were going the exact same speed, but Trevor was ahead of her. No.
Her body came into view, slumped over against the wall. Trevor chuckled as he got closer and slowly started to slip inside. NO! Rachel reached forward, forcing herself inside before Trevor could get in her body. She expected resistance, a fight, anything, but she gasped awake as she easily slipped inside her body.
What? Where’s-? Suddenly, she gasped, her body jerking on its own accord, she felt him then, trying to force his way inside of her. Rachel knew then that he wanted her to get inside first, so she’d be trapped while he possessed her. She needed to leave! Now!
“You’re not going anywhere.” Trevor whispered in her mind as Rachel felt the pulling turn into pushing as she forced inside her body as Trevor took control. She continued fighting, but she was quickly losing. She stopped feeling her legs, then her arms, until all she controlled was her eyes and then her vision slowly slipped away as she lost all control. no…
Trevor gasped awake, grinning as he looked down at his hands, Rachel’s hands. Okay Rachel, let’s see how you like being played with. He made his way over to the lockers again, having completely forgotten about Victoria until she finally regained consciousness and shrieked when she discovered she was naked.
“Rachel!” Victoria shrieked, grabbing Rachel’s shirt, “What happened? Why am I naked? Did you see whoever did this?”
Trevor smiled, and leaned closer, kissing Victoria on the lips, when he pulled back, Victoria was staring at him wide eyed, “I’m sorry,” he said, “I just couldn’t resist, especially seeing you like this.”
Victoria pulled away, quickly grabbing her clothes and using them to cover herself, “Rachel, what the hell? This isn’t the time for anything like that!”
Trevor held up his hands, “Easy, easy, I was just suggesting we can take advantage of the moment, you know?”
Victoria’s face went red and she quickly ran out of the locker room. Damn, Trevor thought, watching her go, I was really looking forward to trying sex as a woman. Maybe I came off too strong. Oh well, at least I still have this body.
Trevor stood in front of the mirror of Victoria’s locker. Let’s see what we’re working with here. Trevor went to work, taking off Rachel’s boots first. He was surprised to see she wasn’t wearing any socks, but that was fine, less work for him. Afterwards, her shirt came off, Oh Rachel, naughty girl, underneath, a black bra held back her freckled breasts. I can’t wait to play with those Trevor thought, but first, her pants came off next, and Trevor eagerly ripped off the matching black panties. Oh my! Trevor laughed giddily as the underwear came off, I was not expecting this! Rachel’s pussy was completely shaved, giving him a nice clean view of her mound and puffy lips.
His hands went to his bra, he shook slightly from anticipation before taking it off. Rachel’s breasts weren’t as large as Victoria’s, but they were very soft and bouncy, and the freckles dusting across her skin drew his eyes to her breasts' natural roundness. He swallowed, breathing deeply as heat gathered between Rachel’s legs.
No sense putting all this off, then Without further ado, Trevor sat down and got to work fingering Rachel. Oh! Trevor bit his lip, Rachel’s back arching of its own accord as his fingers slipped inside her warmth, Shit! She’s sensitive! He licked his lips, moaning deeply as he fingered her. He found her clitoris easily and a few flicks nearly incapacitated him from the sheer pleasure.
He grunted, his free hand cupping her breasts and rubbing her erect nipples. Finally, it came. With a loud groan, Trevor felt Rachel’s body climax and laid dazed for a moment, unable to feel his legs. Fuck, Rachel. I think… out of all the bodies I’ve possessed, yours is my favorite. Trevor was about to get up and leave Rachel laying here in her shame when he heard a ding coming from her discarded pants.
It was Rachel’s phone.
Elizabeth: Rachel, you alright?
Did you find out who did it?
Trevor grinned, maybe he might be able to have sex with a woman after all. He just needed to play his cards better this time. Sorry, Rachel, looks like I’m staying in here for a little longer.
Me: Don’t worry, I’m fine.
Wanna meet up at my house?
I’ll tell you what I found out.
Elizabeth: Sure
I’ll bring Susan with me.
Oh, this was just getting better and better.
The End?
However, instead of trying to fix things when she discovers this, Ryan sets her sights on fulfilling her all longheld ambitions with Logan's newfound abilities.
Logan is initially keen with just going along things as he possesses more bodies and pushes the extent of his capabilities. However, when a desire to be more than just her golden goose begins to stir within him, he soon finds himself starting to make plans to fulfill his own longheld desires...
Abstract
In a drab concrete parking structure, sitting inside a car that looked too small for his large frame, a sizable young man silently debated a life choice. It had occupied his mind for days, ever since a certain woman from his past had reached out for the first time in years. Even though he felt indecisive, he had a few mental tools to help him make his mind up. No matter how big the choice, the real decision was whether to start the engine back up and drive away… or open the car door and step out.
…
With a muted pop, the car door swung open.
He had already driven this far, turning back would be a waste of time and gas. Maybe the choice had already been made the very instant he got into his car earlier. Then all the worrying afterwards was just pointless emotion, the last-minute anxiety and doubt that comes with seeing “abandon all hope, ye who enter here” on the gates of hell despite knowing exactly what must be done.
The large man’s heavy footsteps made the only sound in the echoing gray maze. He was a tall mountain of a man that few would challenge physically. He was dressed nicely enough, something a little more than casual, something to wear when reuniting with an old… friend. After exiting the parking structure, he found himself a short distance away from a security booth, its red and white bar hanging guarding the street entrance and a separate pedestrian gate on the opposite side. Behind the booth’s bulletproof glass, a uniformed guard watched the man approach, asking for his ID as soon as he was close enough.
“Name and date of birth?”
“Logan Miller, February 19th. It says on my ID.”
“Reason for visiting?”
“I’m getting a tour from Ryan Everly.”
The guard returned Logan’s ID alongside a freshly printed plastic badge on a lanyard. An audible metallic click could be heard from the pedestrian gate. Logan passed through the gate and headed towards the monolithic building ahead.
As Logan walked, he inspected the plastic badge he was given. At the top, a logo for SynthraForma, followed by VISITOR in bold black letters, then his name, face, and a barcode with small numbers beneath.
Reaching the entrance, he tried the door handle and found it locked. He tried to use his badge on a nearby reader, but it beeped and showed a red light in rejection. Just as Logan was thinking of returning to the guard, the locked doors violently swung open from the inside. Barely dodging the doors, Logan suddenly stood before a stunning woman.
Beautiful red hair that instantly drew stares, captivating hazel eyes that were framed by complementary glasses, flawless skin that supermodels would envy, and a killer figure underneath a white lab coat. Ryan Everly, Logan’s high school best friend that he hadn’t seen since. She cracked a charming smile on her rosy lips, and spoke with her enchanting voice.
“Long time no see. It’s been a while hasn’t it?”
Introduction
Logan hadn’t seen Ryan since graduating high school a considerable number of years ago. In the past she was already pretty, but during the years that he hadn’t seen her, Ryan’s natural beauty was further enhanced to perfection. Judging by her current workplace, her intellect had no problems keeping pace either. Logan gave a polite smile and met Ryan’s mesmerizing eyes.
“Yeah, it sure has. How have you been?”
Ryan’s smile remained, but something subtle changed in her expression.
“Well, I wouldn’t want to lie to a friend. I’ve been a bit busy recently. Deadlines, disappointing results, and demanding superiors. You know how it can be. But anyways, I’m so glad you went out of your way to come here. I really appreciate it.”
Logan did expend quite some effort to get there. Scarce paid-time-off was spent from his job as an office clerk, not to mention the cost of a rental car and hotel. Still, it was a trip that he needed to take for his own sake, not just Ryan’s.
“It’s good to see you too. I can’t wait to see what you’ve been up to. Cured cancer or something?”
Ryan let out a little giggle that played like melodic birdsong in Logan’s ears.
“Well then, let me show you. Welcome to SynthraForma. I obviously can’t give you a full tour of the lab. In fact, even I don’t have access to everything, but I’ll show you what I can. Just a reminder, don’t breathe a word of this to anyone, okay? Not. A single. Breath.”
“Of course. My lips are sealed.”
Ryan accepted Logan’s promise and both of them entered the building. He stepped into a long hallway illuminated by harsh fluorescent lights. Before Logan could go anywhere, Ryan pointed towards a part of the wall next to the door. There was a plastic mount that held a stack of blank forms, a clipboard, and a pen on a string.
“Just a silly little NDA, for the suits and whatnot. Every visitor has to fill one out, but we don’t get that many visitors anyways.”
Logan gave it a quick skim before signing it, submitting the document in an empty slot clearly meant to receive them. Ryan then led him down the hallway. There were no windows inside, only heavy metal doors flanking them on both sides. Occasionally, there were laminated papers taped onto the walls, usually displaying some information or reminder for the employees.
Don’t hold doors open for others.
Keep your badge clearly visible at all times.
Thoroughly wash your hands before eating.
The potluck is this friday.
Finally, the two of them reached a door no different from the others. Ryan used her badge to unlock it and entered with Logan following behind. Now past three layers of security, Logan found himself in an unexpectedly mundane office. There were uniform cubicles to both sides, some with small decorations and knick knacks to add a splash of personality.
“These are our desks. It’s not glamorous, but most of our work happens here. Compiling data, writing reports, reading emails… Not very exciting, but it’s part of the job. This one is mine.”
Ryan’s desk had a computer like the others, with that addition of multiple stacks of books and papers, not to mention a couple of mugs with coffee stains. It looked like Ryan was about to say something, but someone else caught her attention. A woman was approaching them, dressed in the professional attire of a white button-up blouse and suit pants. She looked Asian, around her mid thirties, with light makeup and her hair in a bun. The authoritative click of her heels almost served as an introduction.
“Hello, you must be Ryan’s guest. I hope you don’t mind me interrupting your tour, I just need to have a little chat with Ryan if that’s okay.”
Her words were sharp and assertive, ensuring that no one would challenge them. Logan certainly didn’t want to at least.
“I don’t mind at all. I’m Logan. It’s a pleasure to meet you Miss…”
“Doctor. Doctor Li, SynthraForma research supervisor, pleased to meet you too Logan.”
“Anyways Ryan, I’ll make this quick. The deadline for your current project is coming up. I have great expectations of you, and I’ll make sure that your future assignments will reflect how well you perform here. I’m sure an incredible breakthrough is just on the horizon.”
Doctor Li left as quickly as she arrived, not waiting for Ryan to respond. Looking at Ryan, Logan could tell that she wasn’t particularly happy about her supervisor’s reminder. Her face didn’t give much away, but her silence and stiff body language gave it away. It took her a moment to compose herself, before she returned to Logan.
“I guess the tour wouldn’t be complete without an introduction to my kind and caring supervisor. Anyways, let’s get on with it.”
Ryan left her cubicle and promptly started walking again with Logan in tow. They reached another door that required Ryan’s badge. Logan noticed way more signage on this door than the ones before, being plastered with a variety of colorful symbols and labels warning about hazards of all kinds. Past the door, Logan saw a proper laboratory, filled with multitudes of complex-looking devices.
“Here on the left, high temperature superconductors.”
She carelessly gestured towards a workstation full of electronics, wires, and gas tanks of some kind.
Curiously, there was a plush of a squid on one of the workstation shelves. Ryan continued walking on without sparing a moment for Logan to really look.
“Over here on the right, artificial neural networks composed of lab-grown neurons.”
This workstation had a big microscope, with a collection of slides and plastic petri dishes next to it. Tons of papers, binders, and books filled this station out. Again, Ryan practically walked right past it, barely sparing the effort to mention it in her tour. This continued for the rest of the workstations until they reached the back of the lab.
“And here, in the back corner… my project… the slug project.”
Hypothesis
Ryan gestured to a small rectangular glass tank with some twigs and bedding. Logan had to lean in close to spot the first slug. It was an unremarkable little green thing, no different from something you’d find in somebody’s garden. Still though, being in this lab, there had to be more than met the eye. Or Ryan was pranking him.
Either way, Logan’s best choice was to play along.
“Interesting. What’s special about them?”
“These unassuming little blobs are a new species discovered in the Amazon. They were found in primate brains and initially mistaken for some sort of large parasitic worm. However, their biology and behavior is significantly different. A mature slug, ready to lay eggs, has the unique ability to enter a host’s brain without damaging the surrounding tissue, where it influences the host’s behavior. It compels the host to climb into the forest canopy, where it exits the host’s body and safely lays its eggs high up in the trees.”
Logan looked at the slugs again, watching as one lazily crawled on a leaf of lettuce. Brain slugs huh? It reminded him of something out of a sci-fi show, the image of a big green blob with a single eye coming to mind.
“The higher ups say that they’re interested in the mechanics of how it enters and exits the host's brain without damaging anything. They say that it could be a revolution in neurosurgery. But I think that we all know what really brings in all the funding. Mind control.”
Logan almost had to hold back a chuckle. It sounded more like the premise to a horror video game or movie, a cheap one at that.
Experimenting with mind control slugs? Logan was waiting for Ryan to tell the punch line at this point.
“We’ve studied their natural behavior and made significant progress. We’ve selectively bred them to trigger their ‘control’ behavior independent from their breeding cycle, and to extend that control duration. We’ve conducted limited human testing and confirmed compatibility and functionality as well.”
“Human testing?”
“Yes, of course. Given the premise of this project, it would be unavoidable, don't you think?”
Logan was able to avoid laughing out loud, but he couldn’t help a little grin. He was surprised by the matter-of-fact tone that Ryan was able to keep up. So she had tested these mind control slugs on people huh?
“Well, who’d you test this on?”
“For obvious reasons, I can’t discuss any of their identities, but they were all fully consenting individuals that were compensated for their involvement. Also, I should mention that I wasn’t working on this project during the period that these tests were conducted, so I had no direct involvement. I’ve only joined recently.”
Logan was a little confused by her response. That little fact at the end there didn’t seem to be a part of the joke, it seemed a little too realistic. The idea bothered Logan. Maybe she wasn’t joking. Maybe this was real. What kind of place was Ryan working at? Logan shifted to a more serious tone.
“Hold on. This whole slug thing. The human testing. Doesn’t that… I don’t know, concern you or something? Like, the stuff that you’re working on… this whole project seems…”
“Unethical? Inhuman? Evil? I certainly thought so too when I was first assigned, but the project’s current state is far from what it was in the past.”
Ryan picked up a spray bottle next to the tank, opened its lid, and spritzed some clear fluid around the enclosure before closing it again.
“Everything I told you about was done years ago. The project hit a wall. The slugs just couldn’t execute complex commands, only the most basic trained actions in response to verbal triggers. A far cry from mind control. Continued investments of time and resources yielded nothing, resulting in researchers and funding getting pulled. When I was assigned to this project, it was already dead and buried for a long time.”
Logan could see tints of frustration in Ryan. He had seen her get frustrated at hitches in experiments before, but this seemed like a deeper kind of frustration. She probably felt trapped with a project like this.
“Currently, most of my day-to-day is being a slug keeper. Moisturize the habitat at least twice a day, feed the slugs and replace the food before it rots, replace the soil every few weeks. I’m almost envious of Sisyphus, at least he got a boulder.”
“Sorry to hear that you’ve had it so rough. Maybe it would be a good idea to ask for a different project, or just leave all this behind and look for a different lab?”
“Oh believe me I’ve tried, but there are certain… factors… that prevent me from transfering projects. Leaving for another lab isn’t a good option either. No lab in this country can compare to SynthraForma’s. The resources and secrecy here are exactly what I need.”
Hmm… it seemed like Ryan was stuck between a rock and a hard place. Any choice would be a compromise, and a pretty lousy one at that. Watching Ryan’s expressions, Logan could tell she wasn’t happy about things, but she seemed to perk up as she continued speaking.
“It’s not all doom and gloom though, I have a plan. Imagine this. I succeed with this project out of nowhere. Why, news of such a miracle will go straight to the highest executives. They’ll hear that little ol’ me, a single researcher with no support, managed to break through an impenetrable wall that defeated the best of the best. I’ll get the recognition I deserve and free reign to work on what I want.”
Logan could see a flame burning within Ryan, a determination that pushed her forward.
Instead of admitting defeat, she was fighting harder than ever before. Logan was worried that Ryan was feeling down, maybe searching for solace or even pity, but those worries were cleared by her display of brash, unashamed confidence. He almost wanted to start applauding her.
“I’m glad that you’ve got a goal to aim for, but how’re you gonna do it?”
Ryan cracked a mischievous smile, giving Logan a look that sent a little shiver down his back. He knew that look. Oh, he knew that look. Trouble was coming.
Method
Well Logan, my good friend, that’s where you come in! I have an idea, a theory, a breakthrough! The main problem is the slugs’ lack of cognitive ability. Well it just so happens that one of my colleagues is working on a neuron growth promoter, top secret of course. Normally I wouldn’t have access, but let’s just say that I helped with his homework and he’s helping with mine.”
Ryan nodded towards a small glass vial nearby the slug tank. That must be the neuron growth stuff.
“Unfortunately, that alone would only produce slugs that are better at being slugs. Not exactly what we need. It would require far too much training to reach the levels needed for true mind control. That’s where another little gadget comes in.”
Ryan gestured towards something else near the tank. It looked like a bundle of multi-colored wires, each wire connected to a small device that had a suction cup.
“This is a prototype electroencephalogram, or EEG. It detects electrical activity within your brain, amplifies it, and sends it to the target. I’m sure you’re catching onto my idea now. We’ll be sending your brainwaves into a slug injected with the neural growth promoter. This external stimulation combined with the neuron growth will potentially create neural pathways within the slug that mirror yours.”
Logan took a moment to let things sink in. Ryan had conducted plenty of wild experiments in high school, Logan being intimately involved in most of them. All of them were attempts at something never done before, but at least they were somewhat based in reality. This experiment seemed to jump over that line and land fully into the territory of fantasy and madness. Combining all this experimental tech in an attempt to create mind controlling slugs? This had to be desperation more than anything else.
“Why’s it gotta be my brain waves? You’re the most intelligent person I know, so wouldn’t your brain waves be better?”
“Thanks, but if I could do this alone, I would have. The slugs wouldn’t just mirror the intelligence of the donor, but also their traits. I wouldn’t describe myself as particularly obedient, so it would be a big problem if the slugs mirrored me. You, on the other hand, have always been very… generous and helpful. I couldn’t think of a better person to ask.”
Logan wasn’t quite happy about being called generous and helpful in this context. He could tell that she really meant obedient, willing to make a fool of himself for her sake. In high school, Ryan always took advantage of Logan’s affection for her, and he gratefully allowed it. Anything to get the girl right? Well, it didn’t end up that way. He assisted Ryan in many of her experiments, sometimes to his detriment.
There were lots of reasons and rationalizations.
Teenage hormones, desperately avoiding loneliness, a dose of simple adolescent stupidity, all things that Logan told himself he completely left behind in the past. Reflecting on it over the years after graduation, he vowed to never allow himself to be taken advantage of like that again. Yet here he was, having his resolve put to the test.
Ryan could tell that Logan was deliberating. There was a possibility that he’d make the wrong choice. She leaned a little closer to him, looking up with a gentle expression.
“Please? I’m in a real tough spot here, and I could really use some help. Please Logan?”
Logan kept his expression stern as he gazed upon Ryan’s fragile beauty, looking into her pleading eyes. It wasn’t the first time that she’d used this trick. In high school, this was her ace-in-the-hole to convince Logan against his better judgment. And it worked every time. Logan let out a little sigh as he relaxed a little. It couldn’t hurt to get some more info right?
“What are the risks?”
Ryan broke into a smile, happy to hear that her faithful assistant was still her’s.
“None, absolutely none. You just put on the EEG’s electrodes and they’ll record everything that we need. No risks at all.”
Logan kept his expression even as he made his choice. He looked at Ryan again, searching for any indication of a lie or half-truth. She looked genuine, a real friend in need. Well, there really was no choice. To refuse at this point would be cruel. Logan hoped this wouldn’t end poorly.
“Okay, I’ll do it.”
“Thank you. This means the world to me. I’ll make it up to you later, but let’s begin the experiment as soon as possible.”
Ryan pulled up a chair for Logan, indicating to take a seat. She then grabbed a petri dish, went over to the slug tank with a pair of tongs, and carefully lifted a wiggly green critter onto the dish. She set it near Logan, and he glanced over. It almost felt like the slug was looking back at him with its little antennae.
It took a while, but eventually every single one of the numerous electrodes were attached to Logan’s head. Each electrode connected to a wire, all of which met in a braid that connected to a small device. The small metal box was connected to Ryan’s lab computer, and also had another side where a smaller braid of wires exited. Those tiny wires went over to the slug, where they connected to miniature electrodes that were placed all over the slug’s body.
“Alright, checks done, double checks done. I think we’re ready to go. Hanging in there
Logan?”
Logan had tried his best to keep still while the electrodes were put on him, as if he was getting a haircut. He also made an effort to avoid staring at Ryan as she worked. He didn’t want to creep her out or make things awkward, but for him, she was the only thing worth looking at in this lab. The way that her white lab coat contoured over her perfect figure, the way she moved around him, the view of her chest when she put the electrodes on his head…
“Yeah, I’m fine. Ready to go.”
“Okay, perfect. Then let’s begin the experiment.”
Ryan went back to the tank and took the vial of neuron growth promoter along with a syringe. Logan watched as she carefully measured out a dosage. After loading the syringe, Ryan carefully injected its contents into the slug. She then returned to her computer.
“Let’s hope for the best.”
With that, she activated the EEG. The device began to record Logan’s brain waves, sending them into the slug. Logan didn’t feel anything different on his end. The slug seemed fine too. Ryan turned a tablet screen towards Logan and started to play a video. It showed a slideshow of various things, ranging from apples to horses to people to mountains and much more. The video was supposed to help Logan’s brain stay active and somewhat direct the learning for the slug.
“Okay, everything looks good. It’ll be a few hours, but I’ll be here with you. If anything happens, let me know immediately. Again, I just want to say thanks for your help, I really appreciate it.”
“Yeah, of course. Anything for you.”
Experiment
The first ten minutes were fine. Just look at the pictures and videos on the tablet, easy right?
The next ten minutes were the toughest. Logan had to stay disciplined, forcing himself to sit still and keep watching. Every image that appeared on the tablet blended and blurred with the last. Logan even found it difficult to keep his eyes focussed.
Another ten minutes later, Logan managed to fall into a sustainable rhythm of sorts, and wasn’t struggling as much. He started playing a little mental game with the images, trying to improvise a story with each object that popped up on the tablet screen.
The man in a black suit… went to the windmill?
And in the windmill he… found a flock of sheep. Okay, so he was actually a manager for the mill, and the sheep were workers on a break. As a reward for hard work, the manager gave each of them a… butterknife? Woah, okay, so the manager was actually inciting the sheep to revolt against their oppressors. The oppressors that were forcing the sheep to work were… mongooses… mongeese?
The story unfurled itself, on and on, sometimes needing the occasional reset. Logan did his best to keep his neurons activated for this experiment. He kept going and going and going, persevering and relentless. To his credit, he managed to keep his focus most of the time, but as the process dragged on, his focus wavered more and more. The ideas were less creative, the mental image grew blurry, and the plot moved slower. Logan tried to pull himself back into the groove, but his descent was inevitable at this point. His mind grew dimmer and dimmer, a dark fog growing thicker and more impenetrable until the last candle flame of thought flickered out, and nothing remained.
…
…
…
Ryan checked up on Logan, looking over at him slightly slumped in his chair. His head was slightly tilted to the side and his eyes were closed. Must’ve dozed off. She had already noticed that Logan was struggling to stay awake for some time. Unfortunately, any stimulant like coffee could affect the experiment, so Ryan would have to wake him up everytime he nodded off.
Ryan got up and walked over to Logan, shaking him by the shoulder.
“Logan? Logan wake up.”
No response. She shook him harder. Nothing. She lightly tapped him on the cheek. Still nothing. She carefully opened his eyelid. Logan’s eye blankly stared back at her. Ryan felt a wave of dread flood through her. Logan? Logan!
…
…
…
Ryan had done everything that she could. Logan was unconscious when she found him. She had immediately called for help, and he was rushed to the hospital by paramedics. She was in shock. What happened? What caused this? Was it the experiment? Impossible. But the timing… Healthy young men like him don’t just… stop, not like this.
Ryan knew that she was screwed. Even if it somehow wasn’t her fault, there was no way that SynthraForma would overlook all the attention she was bringing in.
Ryan sat in her little corner of the lab, feeling hollowed out like an empty shell. Her eyes drifted to Logan’s empty chair. He was just there, not long ago, healthy and energetic.
The prototype EEG laid on the floor nearby, still in the same place that it landed after
Ryan had yanked it off of Logan’s head when trying to wake him. Ryan knew that the prototype EEG and neuron growth promoter would cast a lot of suspicion on the situation, but hiding or destroying evidence would practically be an admission of guilt. Ryan knew that there was a good chance that the experiment had nothing to do with Logan’s sudden decline, and that it was just a coincidence. But there was no way for her to know. She’d have to wait to hear from the hospital, or the police.
While Ryan was sitting, sorting through her thoughts, her supervisor Doctor Li showed up.
“I’m sure you’re shaken by all of this. Go home. I’ll give you a call if we need anything from you. Don’t even think about coming to work until you’ve fully recovered from this shocking incident, okay?”
Ryan didn’t want to respond, she didn’t even make eye contact. She just continued sitting with her head hung as Doctor Li promptly left. When Ryan heard the sound of the lab door closing, she raised her head. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the tank of slugs. A sudden rush of heat filled her body as she felt a fierce hatred towards them. Stupid fucking slugs! She wanted to get a hammer and smash the tank, crushing the pathetic little bastards.
But she restrained herself. She just glared at them, cursing their very existence. Freaks of nature. She got up from her seat, deciding that the privacy of her apartment would indeed be better than sulking in the lab. She reached over and grabbed her white lab coat. She had taken it off earlier while trying to help Logan.
Ryan stuck her left arm through its sleeve before draping it over her back and filling out the other sleeve. As she left the lab, Ryan was completely unaware of the little green hitchhiker in her lab coat’s pocket.
Recalibration
Dark…
Familiar… smell… Rough… all over…
Where…?
…
Hungry…
Move…
Need to move…
That way…
…
In the darkest hours of the night, a little green slug crawled out of a lab coat pocket thrown on top of a laundry basket. Confused and disoriented, it did the only thing that it could, follow its instincts.
Delicate slivers of moonlight leaked through the thin blinds of the bedroom. The room wasn’t particularly messy or clean, just lived-in. There were two beds opposite to each other in this small space. The plucky little slug crawled along the floor, inch by inch, towards the bed on the right.
Progress was slow, but steady. A few inches every minute. The slug finally reached the foot of the bed and began its journey upwards. It climbed against gravity, leaving a shiny trail of slime behind on the wood. After a few minutes, the unyielding green spelunker reached the top of the bed, where a sleeping beauty lay enveloped in a peaceful slumber. Her chest periodically rose and fell as silent breaths came and went.
The slug continued, crawling onto the sheets of the bed, eventually making its way onto the pillow. The slug’s small, pulsating body made the insidious last legs of its journey as it aimed for a small opening.
The slug touched the sleeping woman’s skin, feeling her warmth as it began to climb the side of her neck. She didn’t even stir. The slug climbed closer, closer, until it reached… the entrance. The slug dipped itself into her ear, pushing its head in and quickly filling the small tunnel’s width. The slug squeezed its malleable body into the small space, crawling deeper and deeper and deeper…
The woman stirred a little. A small readjustment of the body in response to mild discomfort. A light groan escaped her lips, as if she was just having a bad dream. There was no way to know that something was entering her… invading her… burrowing deep deep inside. She would undoubtedly panic if she was awake, if she knew what was happening to her, but it was just the slug’s luck that she was deep asleep, that she was defenseless.
Deep inside her head, the slug finally felt… satisfaction. It had reached its destination. Now, it could rest, just for a little. The woman’s body settled back down, returning to its restful state. Her breathing returned to a slow, rhythmic rise and fall of her chest. The only thing amiss was a small trail of dried slug fluid.
Chapter 1: Backstory
The sun hung high over the quiet suburban neighborhood of Willow Creek, casting a golden haze over manicured lawns and white picket fences that seemed frozen in time. It was the kind of place where everyone knew everyone's business, but no one ever admitted it-secrets simmered beneath the surface like the humid Texas air in mid-July. John Thompson, an 18-year-old fresh out of high school, wiped the sweat from his brow as he pushed the old lawnmower across Jessica's expansive front yard. The machine's rumble drowned out the distant chirp of cicadas, and the scent of freshly cut grass mixed with the faint floral perfume wafting from the nearby rose bushes Jessica so meticulously tended.
John had been helping out both families for years now-his own and the neighboring one headed by Jessica and her daughter Summer. It started as odd jobs to earn pocket money: mowing lawns, fixing fences, even helping with groceries when Heather, his step-mom, was swamped with her part-time job at the local boutique. Heather had married John's dad when John was just a kid, but after his dad passed away five years ago from a sudden heart attack, it had been just the three of them: Heather, John, and Amy-Heather's biological daughter from her first marriage. Amy was 20 now, home from college for the summer, and she treated John like the annoying little brother he sometimes felt he was.
But Summer, oh, Summer was different. She'd been Amy's best friend since middle school, the kind of girl who turned heads without even trying. John had nursed a crush on her for as long as he could remember-those stolen glances during family barbecues, the way her laughter echoed like music when she and Amy gossiped in the backyard. She was 20 now too, taller than most girls at 5'10", with a lithe, athletic build from years of volleyball, sun-kissed blonde hair that cascaded in waves down her back, and a bust that filled out her tops in a way that made John's heart race. Her mom, Jessica, was the stuff of local legend-the town's ultimate MILF at 46, with platinum blonde locks, a curvy figure boasting a generous D-cup bust, and legs that seemed to go on forever. She owned a small yoga studio downtown, which kept her toned and flexible, and her flirtatious smile had broken more than a few hearts.
John paused the mower to chug from his water bottle, his t-shirt clinging to his lean, teenage frame. He wasn't unattractive-tallish at 5'11", with messy brown hair and a boyish charm-but he felt invisible next to the likes of Summer. "Just finish this up," he muttered to himself, wiping his face with the hem of his shirt. That's when he heard the car pull into the driveway.
The sleek SUV doors opened, and out stepped Summer, looking every bit the college bombshell in cutoff denim shorts that hugged her firm ass and a crop top that revealed a sliver of toned midriff. Her bigger bust-easily an E-cup-strained against the fabric, bouncing slightly as she slung her duffel bag over her shoulder. "John? Is that you?" she called out, her voice bright and melodic, waving enthusiastically.
John's heart skipped a beat. He killed the mower's engine, suddenly hyper-aware of how sweaty and disheveled he looked-grass clippings stuck to his sneakers, beads of perspiration dripping down his neck. "Uh, hey, Summer! Welcome home!" He tried to play it cool, but his voice cracked just a little.
She dropped her bag and bounded over, enveloping him in a tight hug before he could protest. Her body pressed against his-soft, warm, and smelling faintly of vanilla and sunscreen. He could feel the swell of her breasts against his chest, the curve of her hips brushing his, and for a split second, his mind blanked. "It's so good to see you! You've gotten taller or something," she laughed, pulling back but keeping her hands on his arms. Her blue eyes sparkled with genuine warmth.
John's face flushed crimson. "Y-yeah, maybe. Sorry, I'm all sweaty and gross. Wasn't expecting, you know." He gestured vaguely at himself, inwardly cursing his awkwardness. God, she looks incredible, he thought. Even better than I remembered. Those lips, that smile, what I wouldn't give to just...
Summer giggled, tilting her head. "Aw, don't worry about it. You're doing us a huge favor with the lawn. Mom's been raving about how helpful you've been." She glanced back at the house, where Jessica was unloading more bags, her own figure poured into yoga pants and a tank top that accentuated her ample cleavage. Jessica caught John's eye and waved with a wink, her blonde hair catching the light like a halo.
John opened his mouth to reply, but words failed him. Summer's proximity was overwhelming-her scent, her touch, the way her top rode up just enough to show a hint of underboob. He stood there, dumbstruck, his brain short-circuiting as he imagined what it would be like to hold her, to kiss her, to explore every inch of her perfect body. "I, uh, yeah, no problem," he finally stammered, stepping back awkwardly.
Summer smiled sympathetically, picking up her bag. "Well, catch you later? Amy and I are planning a pool day soon- you should join!" With that, she sauntered off, her hips swaying in a way that made John's knees weak.
He watched her go, his mind reeling. How does she do that? Just exist and make everything else fade away? Shaking his head, he restarted the mower, but his thoughts lingered on her-the crush that had only grown stronger over the years.
Later that afternoon, after finishing up and heading home, John bumped into Amy in the kitchen. She was perched on the counter, scrolling through her phone, her brunette hair tied back in a ponytail. Amy took after Heather-modest but attractive, with a fit body from her college track team, perky C-cup breasts, and a girl-next-door vibe. At 20, she was confident and teasing, especially with her little step-brother.
"Hey, loser," she said without looking up, popping a grape into her mouth. "Heard you were over at Jessica's. See Summer yet?"
John grabbed a soda from the fridge, trying to act nonchalant. "Yeah, she just got home. Hugged me and everything." He couldn't help the grin that crept onto his face.
Amy finally glanced at him, smirking. "Ooh, a hug? Careful, John, you might actually talk to a girl for once." She hopped down, nudging him playfully. "Seriously, though, when are you gonna get a girlfriend? You're 18 now-high school's over. You can't just mope around playing video games all summer."
John rolled his eyes, but her words stung a bit. "I'm not moping. Just, busy helping out. And who says I need a girlfriend right now?"
Amy laughed, ruffling his hair. "Come on, make some friends at least. Hit up the beach, the mall-anything. Summer's single, you know. But you'd have to actually, like, speak in full sentences around her."
If only it were that easy, John thought, his mind flashing back to the hug. She's way out of my league. But god, what I wouldn't do to be closer to her... "Yeah, yeah. I'll think about it."
The conversation fizzled as Amy headed upstairs, leaving John to ponder her advice. Dinner that evening was a typical affair-Heather had whipped up a simple pasta dish, her brunette hair pulled back, her modest blouse and jeans hugging her still-fit 45-year-old figure. Heather was classically attractive: soft curves, a B-cup bust that she carried with quiet confidence, and warm brown eyes that always seemed to know more than she let on. She was the glue holding the family together, working her boutique job while keeping the house running smoothly.
They ate at the kitchen table, chatting about mundane things-Amy's college stories, John's lawn-mowing adventures, Heather's latest customer drama. "John, sweetie, thanks for helping Jessica out today," Heather said, smiling across the table. "You're turning into quite the responsible young man."
John shrugged, blushing slightly. "No big deal, Mom." The meal wrapped up normally, with everyone retreating to their own spaces: Amy to her room for a video call with friends, Heather to the living room with a book, and John upstairs to his bedroom.
He locked the door behind him, flopping onto his bed with a sigh. The room was a typical teenage haven-posters of video games and bands on the walls, a cluttered desk with his laptop, and a faint scent of Axe body spray. But tonight, his mind was fixated on Summer. That hug, her body against mine. Fuck, she's perfect. He felt a familiar stir in his pants, his cock twitching at the memory.
Unable to resist, he grabbed his laptop, dimming the lights as he settled against the pillows. A quick incognito search brought up porn sites, and he typed in descriptors that reminded him of her: "tall blonde big tits college girl." Videos popped up-women who vaguely resembled Summer, but none captured her essence. He clicked on one: a busty blonde riding a guy reverse cowgirl, her moans filling his headphones.
John's hand slipped into his boxers, wrapping around his hardening shaft. He stroked slowly at first, imagining it was Summer on top of him, her breasts bouncing, her tight pussy gripping him. God, I wish I could get closer to her, he thought, his pace quickening. Not just know her, but be intimate. Feel her from the outside, sure, but, inside too? Like, understand her completely. The fantasy spiraled-taboo thoughts of body swaps, gender bends from the weird porn he'd stumbled upon before, where guys became girls and explored forbidden desires.
His breath hitched as the orgasm built, more intense than usual. "Fuck, I wish I could be closer to Summer, inside and out," he whispered aloud, his voice hoarse. The video played on, the actress crying out in ecstasy. John's body tensed, cum erupting in hot spurts over his hand and stomach. Waves of pleasure crashed over him, stronger than ever, his vision blurring as a strange dizziness took hold. The world spun, and suddenly-blackness. He collapsed back, unconscious, the laptop still humming softly in the dim room.
Chapter 2: Freaky Morning
The first rays of dawn filtered through the sheer curtains of Heather's bedroom, casting a soft, ethereal glow over the king-sized bed with its crisp white sheets and plush comforter. The room was a sanctuary of feminine elegance-walls painted a calming lavender, a vanity table cluttered with perfumes and jewelry, and a full-length mirror propped against the far wall, reflecting the orderly chaos of a woman's life well-lived. Heather's closet stood slightly ajar, revealing rows of neatly hung blouses, dresses, and jeans, while the faint scent of lavender sachets mingled with the subtle musk of her favorite body lotion. It was a space John had only glimpsed in passing, never truly entered, let alone woken up in.
But this morning, that's exactly where he found himself-or rather, where she found herself. John's consciousness stirred groggily, his mind foggy from what felt like the deepest sleep of his life. His body felt, off. Lighter somehow, yet weighted in unfamiliar places. He blinked against the light, rubbing his eyes with hands that seemed smaller, more delicate. What a weird dream, he thought hazily, the remnants of last night's intense orgasm flickering in his memory like a half-remembered fantasy. That blackout, must've passed out hard. A pressing urge built in his lower abdomen-the need to pee-and without much thought, he swung his legs over the side of the bed.
The nightgown whispered against his skin as he stood, a silky fabric that clung in ways his boxers never did. It was Heather's favorite-a simple lavender slip that reached mid-thigh, with thin straps and a lace-trimmed neckline that dipped just enough to hint at cleavage. John didn't register the difference yet; his brain was still booting up. He padded across the plush carpet, the cool hardwood of the en suite bathroom floor sending a shiver up his spine as he entered. The bathroom was pristine: marble counters, a deep soaking tub, and a rainfall showerhead that Heather loved for its spa-like feel. He lifted the toilet seat out of habit-wait, no, that felt wrong. Instinct took over, and he hiked up the nightgown, sat down on the cool porcelain, and let go.
The stream came easily, a soft trickle that felt strangely relieving but, different. No standing, no aiming-just sitting and releasing. He reached for the toilet paper without thinking, wiping front to back in a motion that came as naturally as breathing. Flush. Stand. Wash hands. It was all autopilot, muscle memory kicking in from a body that wasn't his. Huh, that was, easy, he mused internally, still half-asleep. Usually takes forever to wake up properly.
He shuffled to the vanity sink, the mirror fogged slightly from the humidity of the night. Grabbing Heather's toothbrush-pink-handled, with soft bristles-he squeezed on a dollop of minty toothpaste and began brushing. The rhythm was familiar, but as he raised his arm, it brushed against something soft and yielding. A jolt of sensation shot through him-nipples hardening under the fabric, a subtle weight shifting on his chest. What the...? He paused, toothbrush in mouth, and glanced down. Breasts. Actual breasts, modestly sized but pert, straining slightly against the nightgown. The toothbrush clattered into the sink as awareness crashed over him like a wave.
John's eyes widened in the mirror, staring back at a face that wasn't his. Heather's face: high cheekbones, full lips painted a natural pink from last night's gloss, warm brown eyes framed by long lashes, and a cascade of brunette hair tumbling over shoulders. "Oh my God," he whispered, but the voice that emerged was soft, feminine-Heather's voice, with its gentle Texas lilt. He gasped externally, a sharp intake of breath that echoed in the tiled room. Internally, his mind screamed: What the fuck is happening? This can't be real. Am I still dreaming? Did I die? Panic bubbled up, his new heart pounding in a chest that felt both alien and intimately responsive.
He leaned closer to the mirror, hands-slender, with manicured nails-gripping the counter. Calm down, John. Breathe. Figure this out. How had this happened? Last night, the porn, the wish whispered aloud as he came. I wish I could get closer to Summer, inside and out. Was this some cosmic joke? A body swap? Like those weird stories he'd read online, the gender bender fantasies that always got him off harder than he cared to admit. But this was real-the cool air from the AC vent brushing against his skin, making goosebumps rise, and lower, a chill teasing at exposed folds he shouldn't have. Holy shit, I have a vagina.
Curiosity edged out the panic as he calmed. If this is a dream, might as well explore. He started with the face, poking and prodding gently. Heather's skin was smooth, softer than his ever was-no stubble, just the faint peach fuzz of a woman's complexion. He stuck out his tongue-pink and agile-wagging it experimentally. Then, an UwU face: cheeks puffed, eyes wide and innocent, lips pursed in a cute pout. It looked ridiculous on Heather's mature features, but oddly endearing. A sad face next-eyebrows furrowed, lower lip trembling-as if practicing for a role in a drama. She looks, kinda hot like this, he admitted to himself, a forbidden thought creeping in.
Now, the voice. "Hello?" he tested, the word coming out smooth and melodic. He cleared his throat-her throat-and tried seductive: "Come here, big boy," drawled low and husky, with a sultry emphasis that made his new nipples tingle. Angry and authoritative: "Young man, you're grounded!" barked out, stern and commanding, the kind of tone Heather used when scolding him. Curse words for fun: "Fuck, shit, damn," he whispered, giggling at how prim and proper it sounded in her voice, then louder, "Oh, fuck me," with a moan that surprised him with its authenticity. This is insane. I sound just like her. But better? Sexier?
Satisfied for now, he ventured back into the bedroom, the nightgown swishing around his thighs. The full-body mirror beckoned, a ornate antique piece Heather had inherited from her mother. John stood before it, heart racing anew. He slipped the straps off his shoulders, letting the nightgown pool at his feet. Naked now, he stared. Heather's body-his body-was stunning in a way he'd never appreciated. At 45, she was fit from yoga classes with Jessica, her skin glowing with a natural tan. Modest B-cup breasts hung with a natural heft, nipples a dusky pink and erect from the cool air. He cupped them experimentally, feeling the weight-soft yet firm, like ripe fruit. These are, heavy. But nice. Sensitive too. A gentle squeeze sent a spark straight to his core, a warmth building between his legs.
His hands roamed lower: smooth, hairless skin everywhere except a neatly trimmed patch above his new slit. No coarse body hair, just silkiness. Legs long and dainty, toned calves leading to petite feet. He turned, admiring the curve of his ass-round and perky, not as voluptuous as Jessica's but inviting. Fingernails painted a soft nude, longer than he was used to, scratching lightly over his skin. She's gorgeous. Why didn't I notice before? Taboo, I guess. But now... The thought aroused him-her. A slickness grew between his thighs, a moist heat that made him clench involuntarily. I'm getting wet. Fuck, that's hot. But not now-gotta figure this out.
Shaking it off, he headed to the closet, an instinctive pull guiding him. Muscle memory? Heather's knowledge seeped in-he knew exactly where her lingerie drawer was, tucked in the back. He pulled out a comfortable bra: beige lace, supportive underwire. Slipping it on was effortless-arms through straps, clasp in front with a twist, adjust the cups. Whoa, that was easy. Like I've done it a thousand times. It felt amazing: the lift pushing his breasts up, creating subtle cleavage, the fabric hugging like a second skin. Panties next-a thong, black and silky, something he wouldn't have pegged for Heather's modest style. Does she wear these? Kinky, Mom. He stepped in, pulling it up; the string nestled between his ass cheeks, a constant teasing pressure, while the front panel cupped his mound, the fabric brushing his slit in a way that made him gasp. Feels, exposing. But good. Like it's right there, ready.
Clothes: tight skinny jeans that hugged his hips and ass like a glove, zipping up with a satisfying snugness. A button-up blouse in soft blue, rolling the sleeves for a casual look that accentuated his figure. This outfits screams 'hot mom.' Matches perfectly.
Drawn to the makeup vanity next-a wooden table with a lighted mirror, drawers full of palettes and brushes. He sat, brushing out the long brunette locks-silky and thick, falling to mid-back. Tying it into a loose ponytail was second nature, strands framing his face. Feels lighter now. Smells like her shampoo-floral and fresh.
The makeup array was overwhelming: foundations, blushes, eyeshadows in every shade, lipsticks from nude to bold red. So much stuff. Eyeliners, mascaras, how does she choose? But again, instinct guided him. He applied a light foundation, blending seamlessly; a touch of blush for a rosy glow; eyeliner winged just so, making his eyes pop; mascara for length; and a lipstick a shade pinker than Heather's usual, with a gloss that made his lips look fuller, kissable. Cuter, slightly seductive-eyebrows arched playfully, a hint of shimmer on the lids. Not her everyday look. More, flirty. Like I'm dolling up for something special.
Stepping back, he admired the full effect in the mirror: a vision of mature allure, jeans accentuating curves, blouse hinting at cleavage, makeup enhancing natural beauty. If this is permanent, what now? Excitement mingled with fear, but a thrill coursed through him. Summer. This could be my chance to get close. Really close. With that, he headed downstairs, ready to face whatever bizarre day awaited in his step-mom's body.
Chapter 3: "Heather"'s Day
The aroma of sizzling bacon and fresh coffee wafted through the Thompson household, a cozy two-story home nestled in the heart of Willow Creek. The kitchen was Heather's domain-granite countertops gleaming under pendant lights, a farmhouse sink piled with mixing bowls, and a window overlooking the backyard where John had spent countless summers playing catch with his late dad. But this morning, it was John-or rather, "Heather"-commanding the space with an ease that surprised even him. Dressed in those tight skinny jeans that hugged his new curves like a second skin and the button-up blouse that teased just a hint of cleavage, he moved with a fluid grace, flipping pancakes and scrambling eggs as if he'd done it a thousand times. Which, in a way, he had-Heather's muscle memory was a godsend, guiding his hands through the motions without a second thought.
What the hell is going on? John pondered internally, stirring the eggs with a wooden spoon. Am I stuck like this forever? Is this some kind of freaky punishment for jerking off to Summer? Or, fulfillment of that wish? The confusion gnawed at him, but a strange exhilaration bubbled underneath. No more awkward stares from afar; he could be close now, in ways he never imagined. But first, gotta play the part. Don't freak out the family. He set the table with Heather's favorite floral plates, humming a tune he didn't even know he knew-a soft melody from one of her yoga playlists.
As the first one up, John had the house to himself for a blissful half-hour, but soon enough, footsteps thudded down the stairs. His heart-or Heather's-skipped a beat as he wondered about his old body. What if Mom's in there? Trapped, screaming? Or, what if it's empty? The question was answered when "John" shuffled into the kitchen, yawning in his rumpled pajamas, hair tousled just like always. "Morning, Mom," the body said in John's own voice, wrapping arms around "Heather" in a casual hug. The embrace felt surreal-hugging himself, essentially-but there was no hint of anything amiss. "John" pulled back, sniffing the air. "Smells awesome. You making pancakes? Sweet."
"Yeah, sweetie, your favorite," John replied in Heather's warm tone, forcing a smile while his mind raced. He's acting just like me. Saying shit I'd say, moving like I do. Is it, on autopilot? Some kind of echo? Relief washed over him; at least no one was suffering in his place. Amy joined moments later, her ponytail bouncing as she plopped into a chair, phone in hand. "Morning, everyone! Ooh, bacon-thanks, Mom."
Breakfast unfolded in a haze of normalcy that bordered on the absurd. They chatted about the weather-hot and humid, as always in Texas-the latest neighborhood gossip, and Amy's excitement about her summer classes. John, as Heather, navigated it flawlessly: laughing at "John's" dumb joke about a video game boss, passing the syrup with a maternal nod, even scolding Amy gently for scrolling too much at the table. Internally, though, it was a mindfuck. This is me, eating with my family, but I'm Mom. Watching myself chew with my mouth open. Hearing Amy call me 'Mom.' It's like a VR sim gone wrong. A flicker of arousal stirred as he caught sight of Amy's tank top riding up, revealing a sliver of her toned stomach-taboo thoughts he quickly shoved down. Focus, dude. You're her mom now.
As the meal wrapped up, plans emerged. "John" mentioned heading out to mow more lawns-my old job, John thought wryly-while Amy talked about meeting friends downtown. "Hey, Mom," Amy said, stacking plates, "you should hit the mall today. Get that new bathing suit we talked about. Remember, tomorrow's the double date at the beach spa with Jessica and Summer! It's gonna be so fun-sun, sand, massages..."
John's new body reacted instantly: a flush of heat between his legs, nipples tightening under the bra. Double date? With Jessica and Summer? Holy shit. Images flooded his mind-Summer in a bikini, water glistening on her curves, her laughter echoing over waves. This is it. The wish. Getting closer to her, even if it's as Mom. Bizarre, but, hot? He nodded enthusiastically, Heather's voice steady. "That sounds perfect, honey. I could use a little retail therapy."
Amy grinned. "Awesome! Pick something cute. Maybe something a bit, sexier? You're still got it, Mom." She winked, and "John" chuckled, oblivious.
Once they left-the door clicking shut behind them-John was alone, the house silent except for the hum of the fridge. Okay, game on. He grabbed Heather's purse from the hook by the door-a stylish leather satchel stuffed with wallet, keys, and lip gloss-and slung it over his shoulder. Stepping out, he felt a literal spring in his step: lighter on his feet, hips swaying naturally, the thong riding up just enough to remind him of his new anatomy. Feels, empowering? Like I'm strutting.
Heather's car-a reliable SUV-waited in the driveway. Sliding into the driver's seat, he adjusted the mirror, buckling up. The seatbelt nestled between his breasts, the strap pressing against the soft mounds, creating a valley of cleavage. Whoa, that's, distracting. Unable to resist, he glanced around-no nosy neighbors watching-and cupped his boobs through the blouse, squeezing gently. The sensation zinged straight to his core, a moist warmth building. These feel amazing. So sensitive. He admired his reflection: ponytail bouncing, makeup flawless, lips plump. Looking good, 'Heather.' A little crazy? Maybe. But fuck it. Starting the engine, he pulled out, heading to the mall with a mix of nerves and excitement.
The Willow Creek Mall was bustling mid-morning: families milling about, teens in clusters, the air scented with pretzels and perfume. As "Heather," John drew glances-not suspicious, but appreciative. Men stealing looks at his ass in the jeans, women nodding at his outfit. They're checking me out. Because I'm hot. Female hot. It was a power trip, boosting his confidence as he navigated to a trendy store aimed at the 18-25 crowd-think fast fashion with edgy vibes, blasting pop music and lined with racks of crop tops and mini skirts.
Browsing the swimsuit section, he blended in at first, but soon noticed the giggles from a group of college-aged girls nearby. They're laughing at me? The 'old lady' in their store? But he ignored it, fingers trailing over fabrics until he spotted a two-piece white bikini: skimpy top with padding for extra lift, high-cut bottoms that would hug and expose his ass cheeks. This is cute. Revealing, but, why not? Summer might notice. Heart pounding, he grabbed a size that felt right-Heather's instincts again-and headed to the changing rooms.
The attendant, an 18-year-old with neon hair and a judgmental smirk, eyed him up. "Uh, can I help you? These are for, like, our demographic..."
John channeled Heather's charisma-poise he'd never had as himself. He flashed a warm smile, tilting his head flirtatiously. "Oh, honey, age is just a number. But if you insist, maybe you can help me decide if this makes me look too, youthful?" He added a wink and a light laugh, funny yet charming, disarming her completely.
The girl blinked, then grinned. "Okay, fair. Room three's open. Knock yourself out."
Inside the cramped stall, mirror-lined walls reflecting every angle, John stripped slowly. Off came the blouse, jeans pooling at his feet, bra unclasped-breasts freed, nipples perking in the cool air. The thong slipped down, revealing his smooth mound, already glistening slightly from anticipation. Time to see. He stepped into the bikini bottoms, the fabric snug against his slit, riding up to accentuate his ass. The top tied on, padding pushing his B-cups into fuller, perkier cleavage. Damn, I look, fuckable.
Letting his hair down-waves cascading-he posed: hands on hips, seductive smirk, touching himself all over. Fingers traced his collarbone, down to squeeze his enhanced boobs, thumbs circling nipples until they ached. So soft, so responsive. He turned, admiring his ass-cheeks peeking out, firm and inviting. Then, cutesy mode: innocent pout, batting lashes, imagining compliments from Jessica and Summer. "Oh, Heather, you look amazing!" he'd coo in a high pitch, giggling.
But thoughts turned to Summer: her taller frame in a bikini, bigger bust spilling out, water droplets tracing her curves. God, she'd look incredible. Wet, shiny... Arousal hit hard-his pussy throbbing, slickness soaking the bottoms. Can't ignore this anymore. He slipped a hand down, rubbing his clit through the fabric-electric sparks shooting through him. Fuck, that's intense. Boldly, he pushed the bottoms aside, fingers dipping into his wet folds, one then two sliding in. The fullness, the warmth-moans escaped, soft at first, then louder: "Oh, yes..." He pumped gently, thumb on clit, imagining Summer's body against his. The attendant might have heard-the stall walls thin-but he didn't care, stopping just short of climax. Later. Save it.
Composed again, he dressed and checked out. The cashier-a young guy-rang him up, but John scratched an itch near his crotch crudely, like a guy adjusting his balls. Oops. The cashier flushed, thinking, Hot mom, but, that was weird. Kinda unladylike.
Back home, cooking dinner was effortless: Heather's recipes ingrained, whipping up lasagna with garlic bread. When Amy and "John" returned, he roleplayed perfectly-asking about their days, laughing at stories, no suspicions raised. This is trippy. Engaging with myself.
After dinner, alone time with Amy in her room: posters of bands, clothes strewn about. She changed for bed into a provocative outfit-tiny shorts and a crop top, no bra, nipples visible through thin fabric. John stared voyeuristically, heat building. She's hot. Like Mom, but younger. Amy chatted about the spa: private massages, saunas, hot tubs. "And who knows, Mom? We might spot some hot guys. You could use a fling!" She teased, winking.
John laughed, but internally: Guys? Nah. But Summer... Excited, he headed to bed, following Heather's routine: face wash, lotion, nightgown. In the nightstand, a small vibrator-pink, discreet. Mom's got toys? Kinky.
Lying back, he buzzed it to life, pressing against his clit. Oh fuck. Imagining the spa: Jessica in a thong, bust overflowing; Summer nude, legs spread; even Amy, playful and bare. They touched, kissed-taboo fantasies blending. Orgasms crashed over him, waves of pleasure making his body arch, moans muffled into the pillow. Exhausted, he drifted to sleep, dreaming of tomorrow's possibilities.
Chapter 4: Before the Outing
The alarm on Heather's nightstand buzzed softly at 7 AM, pulling John from a deep, dreamless sleep. He stretched languidly under the sheets, his body-Heather's body-responding with a supple arch that made his breasts shift and his hips roll in a way that felt both foreign and intoxicating. The vibrator from last night lay innocently on the pillow beside him, a silent reminder of the explosive orgasm that had rocked him to his core. Holy shit, that was real, he thought, a grin spreading across Heather's full lips as he sat up. I'm still here. Still her. And today, today I get to see Summer up close. In a spa. With bikinis and massages and, God, what if things get steamy? Excitement coursed through him, mingling with a low hum of arousal that made his new pussy tingle faintly.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed, the cool morning air teasing his skin through the thin nightgown. Padding to the en suite bathroom, he caught his reflection in the mirror-hair tousled from sleep, makeup smudged just enough to look sultry rather than sloppy. I look like a woman who's had a wild night. Fitting. Stripping off the nightgown, he stepped into the shower, turning the water to a steamy hot spray that cascaded over his curves like a lover's touch. The sensation was overwhelming: water beading on his breasts, trickling down his flat stomach, pooling between his thighs. He lathered up with Heather's body wash-a luxurious blend of vanilla and jasmine that made his skin slick and silky.
This feels incredible, he marveled internally, hands roaming as he washed. Fingers grazed his nipples, hardening them into peaks that sent jolts straight to his core. Lower, he soaped his pussy gently, the suds mixing with a fresh slickness as thoughts of Summer invaded his mind. Her body wet like this, blonde hair plastered to her big tits, laughing as she splashes Amy, Fuck, I can't wait. But the real star was the shampoo: a fruity, botanical concoction of mango and hibiscus that filled the steam with an exotic, heady aroma. He massaged it into his scalp, the long strands heavy and fragrant under his fingers. Smells like paradise. Like her-Summer always has that tropical vibe. Rinsing off, he lingered under the spray, one hand slipping between his legs to rub his clit in slow circles. A soft moan escaped-Heather's voice, husky with desire. Just a tease. Save the big one for later, maybe with her. He stopped before climax, toweling off with a fluffy robe that hugged his figure, still buzzing with anticipation.
Downstairs in the kitchen, the family routine kicked in. John, as Heather, whipped up a quick breakfast-avocado toast with eggs, fresh fruit on the side-while "John" and Amy trickled in. "Morning, everyone," he said brightly, plating the food. Time to probe. What's my old body been up to? He turned to "John," who was shoveling toast into his mouth just like he always did. "So, sweetie, what have you been up to these last couple days? Any fun plans while we're gone?"
"John" shrugged, mid-bite. "Eh, mostly gaming. Finally beat that level in Elden Ring- you know, the one with the fire giant? Took forever, but I cheesed it with the bleed build."
John's excitement spiked-That's my game! I was stuck on that boss for weeks!-and he leaned in, Heather's eyes lighting up. "Oh, really? The fire giant? Isn't that the one where you have to dodge those massive AOE attacks? And the bleed build-smart, using rivers of blood katana, right? Pairs great with the mimic tear summon."
"John" blinked, surprised but nodding. "Yeah, exactly! Wait, Mom, since when do you know about Elden Ring builds?"
Amy, overhearing from her seat, paused with her coffee mug halfway to her lips. "Whoa, Mom, you're a gamer now? That's, kinda cool, but random."
Panic flickered in John's mind-Shit, too much. Slipped into my own geek mode. But Heather's poise bubbled up, that effortless charisma saving the day. He laughed lightly, waving a hand dismissively. "Oh, honey, I've picked up a thing or two listening to you ramble about it. Plus, I read an article the other day-something about how video games improve reflexes. Keeps me young!" He added a wink, steering the conversation smoothly to Amy's classes, and the moment passed without suspicion. Close call. But damn, it's weird hearing about my own life from the outside.
After breakfast, with "John" heading out for more chores and Amy lingering to help clean up, John retreated upstairs to pack. The closet called to him again, and rummaging through Heather's wardrobe, his eyes landed on a sexy sun dress he'd somehow overlooked before: a vibrant red number with a deep V-neck that plunged daringly between the breasts, thin straps, and a flowy skirt that hit mid-thigh, perfect for showing off legs and a hint of cleavage. This is fire. Shows off everything-boobs, ass, the works. He slipped it on, the fabric whispering against his skin, hugging his curves before flaring out. Twirling in the mirror, he admired how it accentuated his bust, the material thin enough that his nipples poked through if he got chilled. Summer's gonna love this. Wait, no- she's straight, right? But maybe...
Packing was quick: the new white bikini folded neatly into an overnight bag, along with other fun outfits-a sheer cover-up that would tease skin, lacy lingerie just in case things heated up, and casual shorts with a crop top for lounging. Prepared for anything. Massages, saunas, who knows what could happen in private? A thrill shot through him, his pussy clenching at the possibilities.
As they got ready to leave, Amy appeared in the doorway, eyeing the dress with raised eyebrows. "Damn, Mom! That dress is hot. You're gonna turn heads at the spa. Jessica might get jealous-she's usually the MILF queen."
John flushed-Heather's cheeks warming-but played it cool with a playful spin. "Thanks, sweetie. Figured why not? Life's too short for boring clothes." Amy laughed, complimenting his makeup too-the subtle smokey eyes he'd added for extra allure. They headed out together, leaving "John" with a wave and instructions to behave, the SUV purring down the driveway toward the beach spa an hour away.
---
Meanwhile, across the neighborhood at the Summers' residence-a modern ranch-style home with a sprawling backyard pool and Jessica's yoga mats scattered on the deck-preparations were in full swing. Jessica, at 46, moved with the grace of a woman who knew her power, her platinum blonde hair tied in a high ponytail as she packed her bag in the sunlit kitchen. She wore yoga leggings and a sports bra for the drive, her generous D-cup bust straining against the fabric, curves honed from years of downward dogs and warrior poses. Summer, her 20-year-old daughter, was upstairs in her room, a feminine haven of pastel walls, volleyball trophies, and posters of indie bands.
"Summer, honey, you almost ready?" Jessica called up the stairs, zipping her bag with swimsuits, lotions, and a bottle of wine for the evening. "Heather and Amy should be meeting us soon-don't forget your sunscreen!"
"Coming, Mom!" Summer replied, her voice light but laced with a secret excitement. She stood before her mirror, adjusting a casual tank top and shorts over her bikini, her taller frame making everything look model-esque. Blonde waves framed her face, and her E-cup breasts filled out the top perfectly, a natural bounce with each movement. God, I'm buzzing, she thought, inner monologue racing as she packed. A whole day at the spa with Amy, and Heather. Heather. A flush crept up her neck at the thought. Summer had always been the popular girl-cheerful, athletic, surrounded by friends-but deep down, she harbored a secret: a growing attraction to women that she'd never voiced. College had opened her eyes-stolen glances in the dorm showers, butterflies around pretty professors-but back home, it simmered unspoken.
Heather's always been so, elegant. Fit, brunette, that quiet sexiness. And lately, I've caught myself staring. Is it a crush? She bit her lip, imagining Heather in a swimsuit, their bodies close during a massage. Women are just, softer. Curvier. More intoxicating. Amy's hot too, but Heather-mature, experienced. What if I could, explore? The thought made her nipples harden, a warmth pooling between her legs. She shook it off, grabbing her bag. "Okay, Mom, let's go!"
Downstairs, Jessica hugged her daughter, their dialogue easy and affectionate. "You excited? It's been ages since we did a girls' trip like this."
"Totally," Summer said, grinning. "Pool time, massages-perfection. And hanging with Amy and Heather will be fun."
Jessica raised an eyebrow teasingly. "Heather, huh? You've always had a soft spot for her. She's like a second mom."
Summer laughed it off, but internally: If only you knew. "Yeah, something like that."
They loaded the car, chatting about spa details-private saunas, ocean views-and headed out, the drive filled with laughter and playlists.
---
Back to John as Heather: they arrived at the beach spa first, a luxurious resort overlooking the Gulf, with palm trees swaying and the scent of salt air mingling with essential oils. Stepping out, John smoothed the sun dress, the skirt fluttering in the breeze to reveal toned thighs. Here we go. Jessica's SUV pulled up moments later, and as she emerged-looking every bit the cougar in a wrap dress that hugged her bust-John greeted her with la bise, the European cheek kisses they always did. "Jessica, darling, you look fabulous," he purred in Heather's voice, their cheeks brushing, scents mingling.
"You too, Heather- that dress! Sexy as hell," Jessica replied with a laugh.
But then Summer stepped out, and John froze. She was stunning: a floral sundress similar to his but shorter, accentuating her long legs, bigger bust spilling slightly at the neckline, blonde hair glowing in the sun. Fuck, she's a goddess. Taller, thinner, those tits, I could stare forever. His body reacted-pussy dampening, heart racing.
Summer, meanwhile, was equally awestruck. Heather looks, different. Hotter. That makeup, the dress-cleavage for days. Is she flirting with the world today? Her cheeks pinked as they locked eyes. "Hey, Heather," she said softly, moving in for a hug.
The embrace was electric: bodies pressing close, John's breasts mashing against Summer's larger ones, soft and yielding through thin fabrics. He inhaled her scent-vanilla and sunscreen-feeling the warmth of her skin, the subtle curve of her hips. Oh God, this feels amazing. Her boobs against mine, so full, so perfect. A forbidden thrill shot through him, his nipples hardening.
Summer pulled back reluctantly, blushing deeper. That hug, her body feels so good. Soft, warm. I want more. Jessica and Amy were already chatting animatedly about the itinerary, laughing as they grabbed bags. "Come on, ladies-let's check in!" Jessica goaded, leading the way.
John followed, mind spinning with possibilities, the group entering the spa's grand lobby, ready for whatever intimacies the day held.
Chapter 5: Getting Close to Summer
The Azure Waves Beach Spa Resort sprawled along the Gulf Coast like a hidden paradise, its white stucco buildings accented with turquoise trim, palm-fringed pools shimmering under the relentless Texas sun, and the distant crash of waves providing a rhythmic soundtrack to indulgence. The lobby was a haven of luxury: marble floors cooled by ocean breezes, plush seating areas dotted with tropical plants, and the faint scent of eucalyptus from the spa diffusers. As the group checked in, the receptionist-a perky young woman with a name tag reading "Mia"-handed over key cards with a smile. "Welcome, ladies! Your suites are in the Ocean Wing. Pool's open all day, and your massages are booked for 3 PM. Enjoy!"
John, still inhabiting Heather's body, clutched his key card tightly, his manicured fingers trembling slightly with a mix of nerves and exhilaration. The hug with Summer lingered in his mind-the press of her larger breasts against his, the warmth of her breath on his neck, that telltale blush coloring her cheeks as they pulled apart. She blushed. Hard. Was that because of me? Or, Heather? Does she feel something too? He wondered internally, a spark of hope igniting in his chest. This body swap thing is nuts, but if it means getting close to her like this, I'll take it. The group dispersed to their individual suites with plans to reconvene at the main pool in an hour, Amy and Jessica chattering excitedly about cocktails and sunbathing.
John's suite was a slice of opulence: a spacious room with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the beach, a king bed draped in crisp linens, and a private balcony where the sea air whispered promises of relaxation. A mini-bar stocked with chilled wines and fruits sat invitingly by the desk, and the bathroom boasted a rainfall shower and plush robes. Alone at last, he set his bag down and faced the full-length mirror, Heather's reflection staring back-sun dress hugging curves, ponytail slightly tousled from the drive. Time to change. Make it fun. A mischievous grin spread across his lips as he decided to indulge in the moment, turning the simple act of changing into a private spectacle.
He started slow, swaying his hips to an imaginary beat, fingers tracing the thin straps of the dress. Strip tease for one. Why not? This body's made for it. He slipped one strap down, then the other, letting the fabric pool at his waist, exposing Heather's lacy bra that cradled his modest B-cup breasts. Cupping them, he squeezed gently, thumbs circling nipples until they peaked, a soft gasp escaping-Heather's voice, breathy and feminine. Feels so good. Sensitive as hell. The dress fell to the floor in a whisper, leaving him in just the thong panties, the string nestled teasingly between his ass cheeks. He turned, admiring the view: smooth skin, toned legs, the curve of his hips flaring out invitingly. Hooking thumbs into the thong, he bent forward dramatically, sliding it down slowly, ass presented to the mirror as his pussy came into view-already glistening with arousal. Look at that. Wet just from thinking about her. He stepped out of the panties, fully nude now, and struck poses: one hand on hip, the other trailing down his stomach to brush his clit, eliciting a shiver.
Grabbing the white two-piece bikini from his bag, he made the donning equally erotic. First the bottoms: stepping in exaggeratedly, pulling them up so the fabric hugged his mound, the high-cut sides framing his ass like a work of art. He adjusted the front, fingers dipping briefly into his folds for a teasing rub. Mmm, tight fit. Shows off everything. The top came next-tying it behind his back with a flourish, the padding lifting his breasts into fuller, perkier cleavage that spilled slightly at the edges. He bounced on his toes, watching them jiggle. Damn, I look hot. Summer's gonna notice. Hair down in waves, a quick touch-up of lip gloss, and he wrapped a towel around his waist like a sarong, heading out with a sway in his step that felt utterly natural.
The pool area was a tropical oasis: infinity edges blending with the ocean horizon, cabanas with billowing white curtains, and lounge chairs lined up under umbrellas. Waitstaff in crisp uniforms circulated with trays of fruity cocktails. John spotted Jessica first, and his jaw nearly dropped. She lounged by the chairs like a predator in wait-a super sexy MILF cougar ready to pounce. Her one-piece swimsuit was a masterpiece of temptation: black with strategic cutouts along the sides and midriff, plunging neckline showcasing her generous D-cup bust, the fabric clinging to her curves like a second skin. It looked straight off a supermodel runway, accentuating her toned legs and the subtle sway of her hips. Blonde hair cascaded freely, sunglasses perched on her nose, a knowing smile on her lips.
Holy fuck, Jessica, John thought, a droplet of drool nearly escaping as he approached. She's always been hot, but this? Lethal. "Jessica, wow-you look incredible," he said in Heather's warm voice, eyes lingering a beat too long on her cleavage.
She laughed, standing to hug him-bodies pressing close, her bust against his making his nipples harden instantly. "Coming from you? Please, Heather, that bikini is fire. White on your tan? Chef's kiss." She pulled back, handing him a vibrant cocktail-something pink and garnished with pineapple. "Mai Tai. Figured we'd start strong." Then, with a flirtatious grin, she offered her hand. "Shall we? Chairs are this way."
John took it, their fingers intertwining, skin warm and soft. Internally, he freaked: Hand-holding with Jessica? While she looks like that? How do I even talk without staring at her tits? But as they walked, the panic ebbed, replaced by awe as his gaze shifted to the pool. There, frolicking in the water, was Summer-splashing Amy with gleeful abandon, her laughter ringing out like music. She wore a skimpy red bikini that left little to the imagination: top straining against her E-cup breasts, bottoms tied at the sides with bows that begged to be undone. Water glistened on her taller, thinner frame, droplets tracing paths down her toned abs and long legs. Amy, in a sporty blue two-piece that hugged her perky C-cups and athletic build, laughed back, but John's eyes were glued to Summer. Oh my God. She's perfection. Bouncing in the water like that, I could watch forever.
They settled into adjacent lounge chairs, cocktails in hand, the sun warming their skin. John sipped his drink-sweet and potent, rum hitting just right-while freaking out internally about small talk. What do I say? Weather? No, too lame. But Heather's essence surged forward: that natural charisma, the ease of conversation she'd always had. "So, Jess, tell me-how's the yoga studio been? Any new hot instructors catching your eye?" he asked with a teasing lilt, leaning back to mirror her relaxed pose.
Jessica chuckled, sipping her drink. "Oh, you know me-always scouting talent. There's this one guy, mid-20s, abs for days. But honestly, I've been too busy. What about you? Dating scene treating you well since, you know." Her voice softened, referencing Heather's widowhood without dwelling.
The chat flowed effortlessly: gossip about neighborhood drama (Mrs. Wilkins' latest affair scandal), shared laughs over parenting woes (Amy's college antics mirroring Summer's), and deeper tidbits-Jessica confessing her secret love for trashy romance novels, John sharing Heather's fondness for gardening mixed with his own taste in indie films. This is wild. I'm learning stuff about her I'd never know as John. All the while, his eyes darted to Summer in the pool: her lithe body diving under, emerging with hair slicked back, breasts heaving with each breath. So close. I can hear her laugh, see every curve. This is heaven.
Summer, mid-splash with Amy, glanced over occasionally, catching "Heather" watching. She's staring. At me? Curiosity bloomed in her chest, a warm flutter between her legs. Heather's always been gorgeous, but today, that bikini, those eyes on me. Does she feel it too?
Hours melted away in glorious voyeurism-John reveling in Summer's every move, the way water beaded on her skin, her playful shrieks as Amy dunked her. But Amy eventually broke the spell, swimming to the edge. "Hey, ladies! Massage time-let's go! Don't want to be late."
Summer climbed out, water cascading off her body as she approached the chairs. Up close, John drank her in: the red bikini clinging wetly, nipples faintly visible through the fabric, her taller frame towering slightly, ass cheeks peeking from the bottoms. Fuck, she's dripping. Warm and fuzzy? I'm on fire. Summer's eyes roamed Heather's body too-the white bikini enhancing cleavage, the way it hugged her slit subtly. Heather looks, edible. That lift in her boobs, her legs, God, I'm getting wet just looking.
The group toweled off and headed to the massage suite, a serene wing with dim lighting, soft instrumental music, and the scent of lavender oil. Private rooms branched off a central changing area with lockers and robes. John decided to go with the flow-Never had a massage before. Might as well enjoy. In the changing room, privacy screens offered partial cover, but glimpses were inevitable. He stripped slowly: bikini top untied, breasts freed with a bounce; bottoms slid down, exposing his smooth pussy. Sneaking peeks, he caught Jessica's nude form-voluptuous curves, shaved mound, ass like a peach. Amy's athletic body-perky tits, trimmed bush. But Summer, Jesus. Tall and lithe, her E-cups heavy and natural, pink nipples erect from the cool air, pussy with a neat landing strip. She bent to pick up her robe, ass presented, folds peeking invitingly.
Summer stole a glance back, eyes widening at Heather's body: modest but toned, breasts pert, pussy bare and glistening slightly. She's beautiful. Smooth everywhere, I want to touch. Both flushed, slipping into thin massage gowns-paper-thin fabric that hid little.
In the massage room-four tables side by side, therapists waiting with oils-John lay face-down, the gown parting to expose his back. As hands kneaded his muscles, tension melted, and conversation sparked with Summer on the next table. "This feels amazing," he sighed in Heather's voice. "First time for a pro massage?"
Summer turned her head, smiling. "Yeah, me too. Kinda nervous, but, relaxing. How's your summer been, Heather? Amy says you've been busy."
Small talk evolved: college life (Summer's volleyball team drama), favorites (John mixing his indie rock playlists with Heather's classic jazz, movies like his sci-fi faves blended with her rom-coms). "I love those mind-bendy films," he shared. "Like, ones that twist reality."
Depth crept in: dreams, fears. Then, intimacy. "Speaking of twists," Summer ventured shyly, "have you ever, experimented? With, um, relationships?"
John's heart raced-Heather's bi-curiosity surfacing in memories. "Honestly? Yes. I've always been curious about women. Experimented in college-a few flings. It's, liberating." True for her body. And hot to admit.
Summer's eyes lit up, ecstatic. Heather? Into women? Experimented? Oh my God. Internally: This could be my chance. Make a move later?
They delved deeper-Summer confessing, "I'm curious too. About my sexuality. Not sure yet, but, girls intrigue me. Not tell Amy or Mom, okay? Secret."
"I promise," John replied, mind whirling with ideas. She's a closet lesbian? Perfect. Crazy plans brewing-could I, with her? As Heather?
Topics shifted, landing on porn anecdotes for laughs. "Weirdest kink?" Summer teased.
John feigned shyness. "Oh, God, okay, MILF stuff, mom/son or mom/daughter roleplay. And, gender transformation, body swaps. Some TG/trans stuff. Plausible for me, right?" My actual kinks. Living one now.
Summer's intrigue peaked-surprised, aroused. Body swaps? Hot. I could listen to her forever. "Tell me more sometime?"
Massages ended, leading to dinner at the resort's seaside restaurant: candlelit tables, fresh seafood, wine flowing. Gossip flew-day's highlights, spa tales. Amy probed: "So, who caught your eye today? Hot guys around?"
Jessica grinned. "That lifeguard-tall, tanned. Yum." But John and Summer blushed, stammering vague answers, eyes meeting across the table with shared heat.
Back in his suite, John unwound, reflecting. Unbelievable. Staring at Summer all day, sharing secrets. She's into girls-maybe me. Even if not as John, worth it? He pondered his kinks: Living a body swap fantasy. Porn come to life.
Chapter 6: Summer Makes Her Move
The resort's restaurant lingered in Summer's mind like a hazy afterglow as she slipped back into her suite, the door clicking shut behind her with a soft finality. The room was a mirror of Heather's-ocean views framed by gauzy curtains, the bed inviting with its turned-down sheets, and the faint hum of waves crashing outside like a lullaby. But sleep was the last thing on her mind. Dinner had been electric: the way Heather's eyes had met hers across the table, that shared blush when Amy teased about crushes, the wine loosening tongues and inhibitions. Heather, into women? Experimented? And those kinks-body swaps, MILF roleplay. God, it's like she read my fantasies. Summer's skin tingled with the memory, a warmth spreading from her chest downward as she kicked off her sandals and padded to the mirror.
She stood there, illuminated by the soft glow of the bedside lamp, her red bikini swapped earlier for a simple tank top and shorts that clung to her damp skin from the evening humidity. Look at you, she thought, inner monologue swirling with a mix of nerves and desire. Twenty years old, closet lesbian, crushing on your best friend's mom. Pathetic? Or, bold? Her hands moved almost of their own accord, slipping under the hem of her tank top to lift it slowly over her head. Blonde waves tumbled free, framing her face as she tossed the top aside. Her E-cup breasts bounced gently, freed from confinement, nipples already hardening in the cool air-conditioned room. She cupped them, thumbs brushing the sensitive peaks, a soft sigh escaping her lips. So full, so sensitive. Imagine her hands on them-Heather's. Mature, knowing touch.
The shorts came next, shimmying down her long legs to reveal lacy panties that matched her earlier bikini-red and sheer, hinting at the neatly trimmed blonde patch beneath. She turned, admiring her reflection: taller frame lean and athletic from volleyball, ass firm and rounded, thighs toned from endless practices. I'm hot. She noticed me today-ogling at the pool, in the changing room. Those eyes on my body, Arousal built like a tide, her pussy aching with need. She slipped a hand into her panties, fingers finding her clit-swollen and slick already. Circling slowly, she moaned softly, imagining Heather's voice from the massage: I've experimented, curious about women. "Fuck," Summer whispered, her free hand pinching a nipple. What if I went to her room right now? Knocked, told her I can't stop thinking about her. Experimented, with me.
The fantasy spiraled: Heather pulling her inside, lips crashing, hands exploring. She's bi-curious. Shared those secrets. This could happen. Her fingers dipped lower, sliding into her wet folds, pumping gently as her knees weakened. Mentor me, like in those porn vids-the mom teaching the daughter. God, yes. Orgasm hovered close, but she stopped, breathing ragged. No. Not alone. Go to her. Now. Panties off, she grabbed a silk robe from the closet-thin and short, tying it loosely so it gaped at the front, hinting at her nudity beneath. Heart pounding, she slipped out into the dimly lit hallway, bare feet silent on the carpet, making her way to Heather's door. This is crazy. But if she turns me away, at least I tried. She knocked softly, pulse racing.
---
Back in Heather's suite, John paced the room, the nightgown whispering against his skin like a lover's promise. The silk fabric clung to his curves, nipples visible through the thin material, a constant reminder of his borrowed body. Dinner replayed in his mind: the gossip, the laughter, Summer's blush mirroring his own. She shared she's curious. About girls. And I-Heather-admitted to experimenting. Fuck, the ideas in my head, could I seduce her? As Mom? Taboo as hell, but, hot. He ran a hand through his brunette waves, arousal simmering from the day's sights-Summer's body, wet and glistening, her secret glances. Living my kink. Body swap porn come true. If only I could-
A knock shattered the silence. John's heart-or Heather's-leaped into his throat. Who the hell? At this hour? Peeking through the peephole, his breath caught: Summer, in a robe that barely contained her, blonde hair tousled, eyes wide with nervous determination. Oh shit. It's her. What does she want? Internally freaking: Calm down. Play it cool. But, what if this is it? He smoothed the nightgown, took a deep breath, and opened the door. "Summer? Is everything okay?"
She didn't answer with words. Stepping inside, she pushed the door shut behind her, locked it with a click, and surged forward. Her hands cupped Heather's face-John's face-and she kissed him fiercely, lips soft and urgent, tongue seeking entry. John gasped into the kiss, body responding instinctively: arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her close. The robe gaped, her naked breasts pressing against the nightgown, heat radiating through the fabric. Holy fuck, she's kissing me. Naked under there? This is happening. They stumbled backward, Summer guiding him toward the bed, her taller frame dominant yet gentle.
Breaking the kiss, Summer's blue eyes locked onto his, cheeks flushed. "Heather, I can't get you out of my head. All day-the pool, the changing room, the massage. You were staring. Ogling me. And what you said, about being curious, experimenting. It lit something in me."
John's mind reeled, but Heather's charisma surged: "Summer, honey, I noticed you too. Blushing, glancing back. You're beautiful. Irresistible." This is insane. My crush, making the move on me-as her. His pussy throbbed, wet and aching.
Summer's hands roamed, slipping under the nightgown to caress his hips. "I, I've never done this. With a woman. But I want to. With you." She hesitated, biting her lip. "Remember your kinks? The roleplay stuff? I have a favorite porn vid, the mom mentoring her daughter, teaching her about sex. Gentle at first, then, passionate. Will you? Roleplay that for me? Be the mom, show me?"
John's arousal spiked-One of my favorites too. The taboo mentor scene. He nodded, letting go, autopilot kicking in. Heather's sultriness blended with his knowledge, reciting lines perfectly. "Oh, sweetie," he purred in Heather's voice, seductive and maternal, "come here. Mommy's going to teach you everything. Make you feel so good." He pushed Summer gently onto the bed, climbing atop her, nightgown hiking up to reveal his thighs.
Summer moaned, robe falling open completely, exposing her nude body-breasts heaving, pussy glistening. John fondled her with grace: hands tracing her sides, cupping her E-cups softly, thumbs rolling nipples with deliberate, experienced touches. "Like this, baby? Feel how sensitive they are?" Summer arched, gasping. "Yes, Heather-Mommy-more."
But John switched to a male touch-his old instincts-groping harder, massaging her breasts roughly, pinching just enough to elicit a yelp. Summer's eyes widened. "That's, different. Rougher. Like a guy would."
He caught himself, switching back to Heather's graceful strokes, fingers trailing down her stomach. "Sorry, sweetie. Got carried away. Let Mommy show you properly." Lower now, he spread her legs, face inches from her pussy-pink and wet, scent musky and inviting. Diving in like a horny teenager-his true self-tongue lapping eagerly, sloppy and enthusiastic, sucking her clit with fervor. "Taste so good," he mumbled against her folds.
Summer writhed, hands in his hair. "Oh God, that's intense. Like a teen boy eating me out for the first time." She noticed the shift, but moaned louder. "Don't stop-switch back if you want. It's hot."
John obliged, alternating: graceful licks with Heather's precision, then teen-like enthusiasm-fingers plunging in, curling to hit her G-spot. Summer bucked, crying out. They kissed passionately next-tongues dancing, tastes mingling, bodies grinding. "Finger me," Summer begged, guiding his hand.
He did, two fingers sliding into her tightness, pumping rhythmically while his thumb worked her clit. "Like this? Feel Mommy filling you?" Summer reciprocated, hand slipping under the nightgown to find his pussy-wet and eager-fingers dipping in, exploring. "You're so wet, Heather. Taste yourself?" They ate each other out in turns: John on his back, Summer's face buried between his legs, tongue flicking his clit expertly now, drawing moans that echoed Heather's voice. "Yes, right there, baby. Lick Mommy's pussy."
Climax built, leading to scissoring: legs intertwined, pussies grinding. First position-side by side, hips rocking, clits rubbing in slick friction. "Fuck, yes," Summer gasped, breasts bouncing. They switched: Summer on top, dominant, grinding down hard; then John atop, using Heather's hips to maximize contact, juices mixing. Multiple positions-facing each other, backs arched; one on her back, the other straddling backward for deeper pressure. Orgasms crashed simultaneously: bodies shuddering, moans filling the room, waves of pleasure rippling through them.
Exhausted, they collapsed, embracing-Summer's head on Heather's chest, legs tangled, breaths syncing. "That was, incredible," Summer whispered, kissing his neck. "Thank you."
John held her, mind blissed: My dream. Intimate with Summer. Inside and out. They drifted to sleep, bodies entwined.
Morning light filtered in early, Summer stirring first. She slipped from the bed quietly, robe on, glancing back at the sleeping form. Can't get caught. But, wow. More later? She snuck out, door clicking softly.
John woke moments later, alone, sheets tangled and scented with sex. Was that, a dream? Felt so real. But the ache between his legs, the lingering taste on his lips-No. It happened. He rolled over, wondering if it was all a massive lucid fantasy, heart racing with confusion and lingering ecstasy.
Chapter 7: Back to Reality?
John's eyelids fluttered open to the familiar sight of his bedroom ceiling, the posters of video game characters and bands staring back at him like old friends. Sunlight streamed through the half-drawn blinds, casting striped patterns across his rumpled sheets. He groaned, shifting under the covers, immediately aware of the insistent throb between his legs-morning wood, tenting his boxers, and a sticky wetness that suggested a wet dream had spilled over into reality. What the hell was that? he thought, fragments of the night flashing like a fevered montage: Summer's body writhing against his-Heather's-scissoring in ecstasy, moans echoing in a spa suite. It felt so real. Too real. But, a dream? Yeah, must be. The most intense wet dream ever. Disappointment washed over him like a cold shower, his cock twitching one last time at the memory before he willed it down. Gone. All of it-the body swap, the explorations, Summer. Just my horny brain playing tricks.
He swung his legs over the bed, feet hitting the cool hardwood floor of his room-a teenage mess of discarded clothes, gaming controllers, and empty soda cans. The house felt eerily quiet, no clatter from the kitchen or Amy's music blasting from her room. Weird. Usually Mom's up making breakfast. He stripped off his sticky boxers, tossing them into the hamper, and grabbed a fresh pair from his drawer along with jeans and a t-shirt. A quick cleanup in his attached bathroom-splashing water on his face, brushing his teeth-did little to shake the lingering haze. That dream, possessing Mom's body, fucking Summer as her. Taboo as hell. Hot, though. Wish it wasn't just a subconscious jerk-off session.
Dressed now, he headed downstairs, the stairs creaking under his weight. The kitchen was empty, no coffee brewing, no note on the counter. "Mom? Amy?" he called out, voice echoing in the silence. A glance at the clock-9 AM on a Sunday-confirmed they should be home. Where is everyone? Did they go out early? His stomach rumbled, but before he could raid the fridge, a car horn blared outside, sharp and insistent.
Curiosity piqued, John peered through the front window. There, in the driveway, was Heather's SUV, doors open as four women unloaded bags: Heather, Jessica, Amy, and Summer. The spa trip. They must've just gotten back. But something felt off-Heather looked radiant, her brunette hair windswept, wearing that sexy sun dress from the dream, hugging her curves. Jessica, ever the MILF, laughed with Amy as they hauled luggage, her blonde locks catching the light. Summer, oh, Summer. She stood a bit apart, slinging a duffel over her shoulder, but her eyes were locked on Heather, scanning her up and down with an intensity that bordered on hunger. Is she, ogling Mom? Like, checking her out? Nah, can't be. John's mind spun, the dream's echoes making everything feel surreal.
The group spotted him in the window, waving him out. John stepped onto the porch, the warm Texas air hitting him like a wave. Heather was first to approach, arms open wide. "John, sweetie! There you are." She pulled him into a tight hug, her body pressing against his-soft breasts against his chest, the faint scent of jasmine shampoo and something muskier, like sex and sweat. He hugged back awkwardly, hyper-aware of how good she felt, the dream's intimacies flashing unbidden.
Pulling back, Heather's warm brown eyes met his, a playful sparkle in them that wasn't quite, her. "So, what did you get up to while we were gone? Play any good games?" She tilted her head, smiling. "That Elden Ring you mentioned-is it still as interesting as you said? The fire giant boss sounds brutal."
John froze, his brain short-circuiting. What? Mom knows about Elden Ring? The fire giant? I never told her that. He'd rambled about it to friends, sure, but Heather? She barely knew Mario from Minecraft. "Uh, yeah, it's cool. Beat it finally." His voice came out strained, confusion mounting.
Heather winked-actually winked-at him, leaning in closer so her breath tickled his ear. "Good boy. We should chat later about some, RPGs and scenarios we could try out. When we have more privacy." Her hand lingered on his arm, a subtle squeeze that sent a jolt straight to his groin. RPGs? Scenarios? Like roleplay? What the fuck is going on? Is she, flirting? With me? Her son? His mind reeled, the dream's body swap theory suddenly not so dreamlike. No way. Did it actually happen? Was I really in her body? And she, in mine?
He stammered a response-"Sure, Mom, sounds fun?"-but recovered enough to glance at the others. Jessica and Amy were busy with bags, chatting animatedly about the spa's hot tubs. Summer, though, waved from afar, her taller frame stunning in shorts and a crop top that showcased her E-cup bust and toned midriff. "Bye, John! Catch you later?" she called, blowing him a kiss with a wink. Then, when Jessica and Amy turned away, she mouthed "Thank you," her lips forming the words clearly, followed by a scissoring motion with her fingers-index and middle crossing like grinding legs.
John's jaw dropped, heat flooding his face-and his pants. Scissoring? Like, what we did in the dream? Thank you? For what? Confusion crashed over him like a tidal wave. This can't be coincidence. It happened. The swap was real. And Summer, she knows? Or thinks it was Mom? Fuck, I need answers. He waved back weakly, hoping to grill Heather later for insights.
The goodbyes wrapped up quickly-Jessica and Summer heading next door, Amy disappearing inside with her bags. Heather shot John one last knowing smile before following Amy, leaving him on the porch, mind spinning like a glitchy game.
Later that day, the living room hummed with normalcy-or what passed for it. John lounged on the couch, controller in hand but game paused, his thoughts a whirlwind. Amy sprawled nearby, scrolling her phone, while Heather sat in the armchair, flipping through a magazine but stealing glances at him. She's different. More, aware? Flirty? If the swap happened, does she remember? Did she experience my body while I was in hers? The taboo implications made his cock stir uncomfortably-imagining Heather in his teenage form, maybe even jerking off, exploring.
His phone buzzed in his pocket, jolting him. An unknown number, but the message preview showed a link and a heart emoji. He pulled it out, opening the text: "Hey John, it's Summer. Hope you enjoy these pics from the trip ;) Maybe we can meet up later to explore and have some 'fun'? as she was curious about meeting the real John," Attached was a link to a private photo album.
Summer? Texting me? With a winky face? Heart pounding, he clicked the link, the album loading in his browser. First, innocent group shots: the four women in sexy outfits at the spa-Heather in that white bikini, cleavage enhanced; Summer frolicking in the pool, water glistening on her curves; Jessica posing like a model; Amy laughing in her swimsuit. Selfies galore, all playful and hot.
But scrolling deeper, the tone shifted. Sexy solos: Summer in her robe, parted to show a nipple; Heather-Mom-in the nightgown, hand cupping her breast suggestively. Then nudes: Summer sprawled on the bed, legs spread, fingers teasing her pussy; Heather mirroring, her modest breasts bared, fingers dipped into her slit. And the foreplay shots-oh God-the two together: kissing passionately, Summer's larger tits mashed against Heather's; fingers intertwined in each other's pussies; scissoring positions, bodies grinding, faces contorted in pleasure. Explicit, unfiltered-cum-slicked thighs, moaning expressions captured in selfies.
John nearly dropped his phone, his cock instantly hard, straining against his jeans. This is, from last night. The 'dream.' But real. They did this. Summer and, Mom? Or me in Mom's body? And she's sending it to me? The message's words echoed: Curious about the real John. Did she know? Suspect the swap?
Amy glanced over. "You okay, bro? Look like you saw a ghost."
"Yeah, fine," he muttered, shoving the phone into his pants-right over his bulge, the vibration from another buzz making him twitch. Confront Mom? Text Summer back? What the hell is going on? But beneath the confusion, gratitude bloomed. Whoever-whatever-made this happen, thank you. He rejoined the conversation with a dazed smile, intrigued and aroused, the album's secrets burning in his pocket like a promise of more taboo adventures to come.
Epilogue: Revelations and Resolutions
The weeks following the spa trip blurred into a haze of normalcy laced with undercurrents of the extraordinary, like a dream that refused to fully dissipate. Willow Creek simmered under the relentless Texas sun, barbecues and pool parties filling the air with laughter and the scent of grilled burgers, but for John, every glance at Heather or text from Summer carried the weight of unspoken secrets. The photo album burned a hole in his phone's hidden folder-explicit reminders of a night he both cherished and questioned. Was it really me in her body? Or did some cosmic force just, make it happen? And Mom-why does she act like she knows more than she's letting on? He'd caught her staring at him during family dinners, a knowing smirk playing on her lips, her usual modest demeanor laced with a playful edge that mirrored his own geeky humor.
It all came to a head one humid evening, about two weeks after the trip. Amy had gone out with friends for a movie night, leaving the house quiet except for the hum of the AC and the distant chirp of crickets. John found Heather in the living room, lounging on the couch in a simple tank top and shorts that hugged her fit figure, her brunette hair loose and tousled. She was scrolling through her phone, but set it aside when he entered, her warm brown eyes lighting up with that new, intriguing sparkle. "Hey, sweetie. Come sit. We haven't had a real chat since the trip."
John's heart pounded as he sank into the armchair across from her, his mind racing. Now or never. Confront her. Figure out what the hell happened. He cleared his throat, trying to sound casual. "Mom, about that wink the day you got back. And asking about my games. You never cared about that stuff before. What's going on?"
Heather's expression softened, but there was a flush to her cheeks, a mix of guilt and something, excited? She leaned forward, her modest B-cup breasts shifting under the tank top, drawing his eye involuntarily-a taboo flicker he shoved down. "John, honey, I need to confess something. That night before the trip, when you, well, I heard you in your room. Wishing aloud about Summer. It was late, and I was passing by to check on you. I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but, it stirred something in me."
John's face burned, embarrassment mingling with shock. She heard me jerking off? Wishing to get closer to Summer? "Mom, I-"
She held up a hand, her voice steady but laced with vulnerability. "Let me finish. I've always felt responsible for you, especially after your dad. And hearing that wish, it unlocked memories of my own wilder days. College experiments, curiosities I buried. But that night, something shifted. Like a, spark. The next morning, I woke up feeling different. More alive. And during the trip," She trailed off, biting her lip, her eyes darting away as if reliving it. God, what did I do? With Summer-my daughter's best friend. It felt so right, so intense. But was it me? Or something else?
"What about the trip?" John pressed, leaning in, his pulse racing. She thinks she did it. With Summer. But it was me-in her body.
Heather sighed, running a hand through her hair-a gesture so like his own nervous tic that it sent a chill down his spine. "Summer and I, we got close. Intimate. She came to my room that night, and I, I went with it. Roleplayed, explored. It was like I was channeling something younger, hornier. Like parts of you, maybe? Your energy?" She laughed softly, but it was tinged with self-doubt. "I feel responsible. For crossing lines with her. She's Amy's friend, and I'm, well, me. But it happened, and now I can't stop thinking about it. The thrill, the taboo."
John's mind whirled. She wasn't in my body. No swap for her. But she felt it-my influence? My personality bleeding through? Internally, relief and arousal battled: So it was me, fully. But she thinks it was her own will. And now she's, changed? Showing my traits? "Mom, that's, intense. But why the game talk? The winks?"
She smiled, a playful glint in her eye that was unmistakably his own geeky charm. "Since that night, I've felt more, adventurous. Like I've got this new side. Your side? I've even looked up some of those videos you might like. Body swap stuff, gender transformations. Kinky, right?" She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper, laced with a seductive lilt he'd heard in her body. "What if we roleplayed one? Just us. I could be the son, you the mom-or swap it. Explore those scenarios. It'd be our secret. Fun, taboo, intimate."
John's cock stirred at the suggestion, the taboo heat of it overwhelming. Mom wants to roleplay a body swap? With me? Fuck, that's my kink. But she's my step-mom, He swallowed hard, nodding slowly. "I, yeah. Maybe. We can talk about it."
Heather's eyes sparkled, reaching out to squeeze his hand. "Good. I love you, John. And I'm sorry if I overstepped with Summer. But it felt, right." She pulled back, the moment heavy with unspoken possibilities, leaving John dazed as she headed upstairs. She's got my personality now. Wants to play out my fantasies. This summer's just getting weirder-and hotter.
As the days stretched into the final week of summer break, the neighborhood buzzed with back-to-school prep, but John's focus narrowed to Summer. Texts had flown between them-flirty at first, then explicit: shared memories of the album pics, teasing promises of "meeting the real John." She knows something. That 'thank you' and scissor motion-it's like she suspects I was involved. Amy headed back to college early for orientation, and Heather busied herself with work, leaving John with pockets of freedom. The climax came on a sultry Friday evening, a text from Summer lighting up his phone: "Meet me at the old park trailhead. 8 PM. Alone. Got something to show you, and do to you. ;)"
The park was a secluded spot on the edge of town-winding trails through woods, a hidden clearing by a creek where teens snuck off for privacy. John arrived as the sun dipped low, fireflies flickering in the dusk, his nerves electric. Summer waited on a picnic blanket, looking ethereal in a short sundress that hugged her taller frame, her blonde waves glowing in the fading light, E-cup breasts straining the fabric. "John," she purred, standing to hug him-bodies pressing close, her curves against his lean form. "Finally. The real you."
They sat, the air thick with tension, a bottle of wine between them. "Summer, those pics. The trip. What happened with, Mom?" He hesitated, probing.
She smiled mysteriously, sipping wine. "Oh, I know, John. You were responsible. Somehow. That night with Heather-it was you in there, wasn't it? Your energy, your kinks spilling out. The way she switched touches, knew my favorite scenes, it was too perfect. Too you." She leaned in, her hand on his thigh. "Don't ask how I know. A girl's got her secrets. But thank you. It opened my eyes. Made me want the original."
John's breath hitched, arousal surging. She knows. Doesn't care how. Wants me. "Summer, I-"
"Shh." She kissed him, soft at first, then hungry-tongues dancing, her larger body pressing him back onto the blanket. Hands roamed: hers under his shirt, nails raking his chest; his cupping her ass, squeezing the firm cheeks. "I've wanted this since that hug when I got home. But now, after tasting a piece of you, I need the full thing."
She pushed him flat, unzipping his jeans with deft fingers, freeing his hardening cock-thick and veined, already leaking pre-cum. "Look at you. Real boy parts." She licked her lips, blue eyes locked on his as she lowered her head. Her mouth enveloped him-warm, wet, tongue swirling the head, sucking gently at first, then deeper. John groaned, hands in her blonde hair, as she bobbed-taking him halfway, then all, throat relaxing around him. Fuck, her mouth, so skilled. Bigger tits bouncing as she sucks. She hummed, vibrations sending shocks through him, one hand stroking the base while the other fondled his balls.
"Summer, God, yes," he moaned, hips bucking lightly. She popped off briefly, grinning. "Taste different. Saltier. Love it." Back down, faster now-sloppy, saliva dripping, her free hand slipping under her dress to rub her pussy. The sight pushed him close, but she sensed it, pulling off with a wet pop. "Not yet. Want you inside me first."
She straddled him, dress hiked up-no panties, her wet pussy hovering over his cock. "Condom?" he gasped.
"On the pill. Clean. You?" He nodded, and she sank down-tight, hot walls gripping him inch by inch, her E-cups bouncing as she rode. "Fuck, John, feels so good. Different from scissoring, but, perfect." She ground her hips, clit rubbing against his base, moans filling the clearing. John thrust up, hands on her breasts-squeezing, pinching nipples-then flipped her onto her back, pounding deeper. Positions shifted: missionary, her legs over his shoulders for depth; doggy, ass jiggling as he slapped it lightly; cowgirl again, her taller body dominating.
Orgasms built-hers first, pussy clenching around him, crying out as she came. He followed, pulling out to cum on her stomach-hot ropes painting her skin. Breathless, they collapsed, laughing softly. "The real John's even better," she whispered, kissing him. "More this summer? And beyond?"
"Absolutely," he replied, the gender-bending whirlwind of the break culminating in this raw, real connection. As stars emerged overhead, John thanked whatever force had twisted his wish into this taboo, erotic reality-closer to Summer than ever, inside and out.
Later that night, they’re catching up on an episode of One Piece when Lucas feels a sudden impulse to press the remote’s glowing red button. Within seconds, everything blurs, and both of them are violently sucked into the TV.
When they regain consciousness, Lucas’s living room is gone. Instead, they find themselves at a bustling port, standing on a boat—and inhabiting different, yet strangely familiar, bodies. It doesn’t take long for the truth to sink in: Lucas has somehow become Nami, while Emily has become Luffy. Even stranger, the mysterious remote is tucked safely into Lucas’s pocket.
Panicked, they try to use the remote to escape, only to discover that it’s on some kind of cooldown. With no way back and no idea how long the effect will last, Emily and Lucas are forced to remain trapped in the One Piece world—living as its characters for who knows how long.
The sun beat down on the cracked asphalt of the suburban cul-de-sac, turning the Saturday morning garage sale into a shimmering mirage of discarded memories. Emily nudged Lucas with her elbow, gesturing toward a folding table buried under a tangle of old cables and yellowed electronics manuals. “See anything cool, tech wizard?”
Lucas, ever the tinkerer, was already sifting through the box. “Mostly junk. VCR manuals from 1998. A busted graphing calculator.” His hand paused, fingers closing around something sleek and black. “Whoa. Okay, this is weird.”
He pulled it out. It was a standard universal remote, but it felt significant. It was heavier than it should be, made of a cold, brushed metal, and had a simple layout: Power, Volume Up/Down, a directional pad, a button with a simple TV icon, and one solitary, ominous red button set slightly apart. A faint, almost imperceptible LED glowed near the top.
“That looks… intense,” Emily said, peering over his shoulder. “Think it works?”
“Only one way to find out,” Lucas grinned. He aimed it at a dusty old tube TV sitting on the grass with a ‘$5’ sticker on it. He pressed the power button. With a soft click and a hum, the TV flickered to life, displaying static snow. Lucas laughed, a sound of pure relief. “Holy crap, it does work. And it’s not even paired to it. Score. I do need a new remote anyway.”
“Maybe it really is universal,” Emily mused.
An elderly woman with soft silver hair pulled into a bun shuffled over, her smile warm but tinged with a deep, lingering sadness. “Oh, you found Albert’s little project,” she said, her voice like rustling paper. “My husband. He was an electrical engineer, retired. In his last few months… he became quite obsessed with fiddling with that thing. In his spare time, right up until the end.”
Lucas turned the remote over in his hands. “It’s really well-made. What was he trying to do?”
The woman’s gaze grew distant. “On his deathbed, he was delirious with the pain medication. He kept holding that remote, babbling about harmonics and dimensional frequencies. He said he’d tuned it not to channels, but to worlds. Said it was a portal device.” She gave a soft, sad laugh. “He told me I should use it when my time comes. He said the transportation takes ‘life energy’ to sustain, and that I’d have enough left for one last trip. Can you imagine? The fancies of a dying mind.”
Emily and Lucas exchanged a look, a mix of skepticism and intrigue.
“I didn’t believe him, of course,” the woman continued, wiping a speck of dust from a picture frame of a smiling couple. “I thought it was just the sickness talking. After he passed… all these gadgets, all these reminders of those final, confusing days… I couldn’t bear to look at them. So, out they came. A fresh start.” She gestured to the table. “If you want it, dear, it’s five dollars. At least it’ll be a conversation piece.”
Lucas fished a crumpled bill from his pocket. “Sold.”
Back at Lucas’s apartment that evening, the remote sat on the coffee table between them like a shrine relic while they argued over what to watch. “It’s just a remote, Em,” Lucas said, though he kept glancing at it. “A fancy one with a tragic, weird backstory.”
“A tragic weird backstory about portals,” Emily corrected, grabbing a handful of popcorn. “Your new TV remote is an interdimensional philosopher.”
“Shut up and pick something. We’re behind on One Piece.”
They settled in, the epic saga of the Straw Hat Pirates filling the screen. Luffy was mid-transformation into Gear Fifth, his rubbery body a whirling cyclone of joy and power, his infectious laughter echoing through the speakers. Nami was shouting navigational commands from the helm of the Thousand Sunny, her orange hair whipping in a stylized gale. As the episode reached its crescendo, Lucas’s hand, almost of its own volition, drifted from his lap. His fingers found the cold metal of the remote. The solitary red button was glowing now, a deep, pulsing crimson it hadn’t been before.
“Dude, what are you doing?” Emily asked, mid-chew.
“I don’t know,” Lucas said, his voice oddly hollow. A compulsion, thick and magnetic, settled in his bones. His thumb pressed down on the red button.
The world dissolved.
It wasn’t a fade—it was a violent, screaming rip. The sound of the TV became a deafening roar, and the screen didn’t just display the Thousand Sunny; it opened. A vortex of swirling color and cartoon physics yawned before them. Emily’s popcorn bowl flew from her hands as an impossible suction grabbed them both, yanking them off the couch. Lucas felt a scream tear from his throat, but no sound emerged—the air was being stolen from his lungs. He saw Emily, eyes wide with terror, her form elongating and distorting as she was pulled toward the maelstrom of light a split-second before he was. Then, everything was pain, pressure, and a sensation of being crumpled like a piece of paper and thrown across an infinite distance.
Consciousness returned in a nauseating lurch. Lucas gasped, his head throbbing. The soft, familiar fabric of his couch was gone. Beneath him was coarse, sun-warmed wood. The air smelled of salt, tar, and exotic spices. His ears were filled with a cacophony he’d only ever heard through headphones: the shouts of dockworkers, the cries of gulls, the creak of rigging and splash of waves against a hull.
He tried to sit up and immediately flailed, his center of gravity all wrong. His body felt… different. Lighter, yet strangely top-heavy. He looked down.
And saw orange.
A cascade of bright orange hair fell over his shoulders. His perspective was lower to the deck. His hands, which came up to clutch his head, were smaller, with slender fingers tipped with short, polished nails. And the shirt he was wearing… it was a low-cut, blue and white striped bikini top, barely containing a soft, generous swell of cleavage that most definitely had not been there a minute ago. A familiar, intricate tattoo—Nami’s iconic tattoo—adorning the shoulder his new hair didn’t cover.
A wave of dizzying horror washed over him. He was on the deck of the Thousand Sunny. And he was in Nami’s body.
“Whoa.” The voice that came from beside him was deeper, richer, and crackled with a boundless energy that was utterly foreign. “This is… AWESOME!”
Lucas turned his head. Sitting up, rubbing a rubbery neck with a stretchy hand, was Monkey D. Luffy. But the grin splitting that familiar face was pure, unadulterated Emily. She pounded a fist into her—his?—other palm, the smack echoing with a thwack.
“Lucas! Look! I’m made of rubber!” Emily exclaimed, and to prove it, she reeled back and punched herself in the cheek. Her face distorted, squishing inward before snapping back into place with a boing. She burst out laughing, the sound exactly like the Captain’s. “This is the coolest thing that has ever happened to anyone, ever!”
“Emily, shut up!” Lucas hissed, his voice emerging as Nami’s higher, sharper tone. Panic, cold and sharp, clawed at his throat. He scrambled to his feet, his new body moving with an unfamiliar, agile grace that felt like a betrayal. He patted himself down, and his hand—her hand—slid into the pocket of Nami’s short denim shorts. His fingers closed around cold, hard metal.
He pulled out the universal remote. The LED was dark. Desperately, he pointed it back in the vague direction from which they’d come, at the bright blue sky over the bustling port of wherever the hell they were, and mashed the power button. Nothing. He mashed the red button again and again. It was inert, just a dead piece of tech.
“It’s not working,” he whispered, the dread settling into his new bones. “It’s not working!”
Emily stopped bouncing and peered at the remote. “Maybe it needs to recharge? Like a cooldown period?”
“A cooldown? You don’t put a cooldown on a fucking universe-hopping remote!” Lucas snapped, Nami’s usual irritation coloring his panic perfectly.
“I dunno, seems reasonable. That trip probably used a lot of power,” Emily said, shrugging her massive rubbery shoulders. She looked around, her straw hat tipping back. “So. We’re in One Piece. I’m Luffy. You’re Nami.” A huge, gleaming grin spread across her face again. “This is officially a top-tier adventure. We should find Zoro! Or Sanji! Oh my god, Lucas, Sanji is going to freak out when he sees you!”
The reality of their situation crashed down on Lucas with the weight of the Grand Line. He was trapped. Trapped in the body of the Straw Hats’ navigator, in a world of pirates and Marines and sea monsters, with his best friend gleefully incarnated as a rubber maniac in his head. He clutched the useless remote, the only tether to their old life, as the bright, dangerous world of One Piece bustled around them. The cooldown, if that’s what it was, could be minutes. It could be days.
Or it could be forever. And they had no choice but to start living it.
I woke up to the smell of lavender and old books, which was the first wrong thing.
My alarm should have been the sharp ping of my phonesome upbeat synth track I’d set to “motivational asshole mode.” Instead there was silence, thick hotel-room silence, broken only by the faint ticking of a wall clock I didn’t remember owning. My body felt… heavy. Not gym-sore heavy. Not even post-night-out heavy. It felt like someone had poured concrete into my joints and then politely asked them to creak.
I opened my eyes.
The ceiling was wrong. Too high, too ornate, crown molding that belonged in a period drama. The bed was wrong toosoft in that way old mattresses are soft, like they’ve given up fighting gravity decades ago. I tried to sit up and my back immediately lodged a formal complaint. A dull ache bloomed behind my knees. My handswhen I lifted them to rub my facewere not mine.
They were smaller. Knotted at the knuckles. Liver spots scattered like spilled coffee across the backs. Thin gold wedding band on the left ring finger, worn smooth from years. Nails short, unpainted, practical.
I stared at them for what felt like ten full seconds.
Then I screamed.
It came out wrong. Higher, raspier, an older woman’s startled yelp instead of my usual baritone bark. I clapped a hand over my mouthmy new, unfamiliar mouthand tasted lipstick. Not gloss. Actual matte lipstick, the kind that feels like wax and smells faintly of roses.
I scrambled out of bed (or tried to; the knees locked halfway and I nearly face-planted into a floral rug). There was a full-length mirror on the wardrobe door. I didn’t want to look. I looked anyway.
Margaret stared back at me.
Not some random old lady. Margaret. The Margaret. Sophie’s family friend, the retired principal who once told mein front of twenty people at the engagement partythat “youth is wasted on the young and charm is wasted on the cocky.” Gray hair pulled into a neat chignon. Wire-rimmed glasses hanging from a chain around myherneck. A silk dressing gown the color of weak tea. And behind the glasses, my own wide, panicked eyes.
I whispered, “No. No no no no.”
The voice was hers. Dry, precise, faintly British even though she was born in Ohio. I hated how authoritative it sounded even when I was the one panicking.
Phone. I needed my phone.
I lurched across the roomevery step a negotiation with joints that had apparently unionized against meand found a small clutch purse on the dresser. Inside: reading glasses, tissues, a tin of mints, a hotel keycard, andthank Godmy phone. Except it wasn’t my phone. It was hers. An iPhone 8, cracked screen protector, wallpaper of a black-and-white photo of two kids who were probably her grandchildren.
I tried Face ID anyway. It didn’t work. Obviously.
Passcode. I typed my birthday.
Nothing.
Her birthday? I had no idea.
I typed 01011958 on a guess (she’d once said she was “born the year they launched Sputnik, which explains my lifelong suspicion of bright ideas”). The phone unlocked.
First thing I did: opened the camera and switched to selfie mode.
Yeah. Still Margaret.
Second thing: checked the time. 7:42 a.m. Wedding was at 4:00 p.m. Rehearsal brunch at 10:00. Sophie was probably already in the bridal suite getting her hair done, surrounded by bridesmaids and mimosas and that calming playlist she loved.
I could text her. I could call her. I could say, “Babe, something insane happened, I’m in Margaret’s body, please don’t freak out.”
And then what?
She’d think I was drunk. Or high. Or having a psychotic break forty-eight hours before our wedding. She’d call my brother. She’d call her mom. Within twenty minutes the entire wedding party would know the groom was claiming to be trapped in a sixty-seven-year-old woman’s body. The photos would leak. TwitterXwould have a field day. “Tech bro groom swaps souls with grandma, more at 11.”
No. No way.
I wasn’t telling anyone. Not Sophie. Not James. Not even Clara, who’d probably believe me and then try to livestream it.
I had to fix this quietly. Find the broochMargaret’s stupid cursed brooch that I’d laughed at last night when she’d pinned it to her lapel and muttered something about “family nonsense.” I’d touched it. I remembered touching it when I helped her with her coat. That had to be it.
I rummaged through the purse again. No brooch. Checked the nightstand, the dresser drawers, under the bed like an idiot. Nothing.
The ceremony was in eight hours. I had to get through the morning looking like Margaret, sounding like Margaret, acting like Margaret, while Margaretsomewhere in my bodywas probably waking up in the groom’s suite wondering why she suddenly had abs and could see without glasses.
I caught my reflection again. Margaret’s stern mouth was currently twisted into something like horror.
“Okay,” I said aloud in her voice. “You built a thirty-million-dollar valuation from a dorm room. You can handle one wedding in heels.”
I opened the wardrobe.
Dresses. Cardigans. Low block heels that looked like they’d been designed by someone who hated fun.
I picked the least offensive outfita navy dress with sensible sleevesand started the longest morning of my life.
First problem: pantyhose.
Second problem: I had no idea how to walk in any of these shoes without looking like a newborn giraffe.
Third problem: in about two hours I had to sit at a table with Sophie’s entire family, smile politely, and pretend I was a retired school principal who approved of their daughter marrying me.
I took a deep breath that hurt my ribs in a brand-new way.
Then I squared Margaret’s narrow shoulders, put on her glasses, and opened the hotel-room door.
Showtime.
I stepped into the hallway, Margaret's sensible flats squeaking faintly on the carpet like they were judging me with every step. The hotel was buzzing alreadymaids pushing carts, distant laughter from the lobby, the faint clink of breakfast trays. My heartor rather, her heartwas pounding in a way that felt foreign, slower but insistent, like an old engine revving up after years in storage.
First stop: the groom's suite. My suite. Where Margaret was probably freaking out in my body right now. I needed to confront her, figure out how to reverse this, and swear her to secrecy. But walking down that hall felt like a marathon. These knees weren't built for speed; every stride sent a twinge up my thighs, and I had to fight the urge to hunch forward like she always did.
A door opened ahead, and out stepped one of the groomsmenwait, no, it was the hotel concierge, a young guy in a crisp uniform. He smiled politely. "Good morning, ma'am. Can I help you with anything?"
Ma'am. God, that stung. I forced Margaret's lips into what I hoped was her signature no-nonsense smile. "No, thank you. Just heading tofamily matters."
He nodded and moved on, but not before his eyes flicked downsubtly, professionallyto my chest. Or her chest. I felt a flush creep up my neck. These breasts were substantial, heavy in a way I'd never experienced, shifting slightly under the dress with each step. It was distracting, almost sensual, the fabric brushing against skin that felt hypersensitive. I shook it off. Focus, Ethan.
By the time I reached my suite door, I was sweating. Knocked twice, sharp and principal-like. No answer. I tried the handlelocked. Shit. My keycard was probably in my real pants pocket, wherever that body was now.
"Open up," I hissed in her voice, glancing around to make sure no one was watching. "It's me. Ethan."
The door cracked open after a beat, and there I wasmy own face staring back at me, wide-eyed and pale. Except it wasn't me. It was Margaret in my skin, her expression a mix of terror and something else. Exhilaration? She yanked me inside and slammed the door.
"What in God's name" she started in my voice, deep and resonant, but with her clipped cadence. It was weird hearing my baritone sound so proper.
"Shh!" I cut her off, pushing past into the room. My room looked the same: tux hanging on the closet door, my phone charging on the nightstand, a half-empty protein shake from last night. But seeing it from this height, this angle, made everything feel off-kilter.
Margaretin my bodypaced, running my hands through my hair in a way that'd mess up the style I'd planned. "This is the brooch. I told you it was cursed! My great-aunt swore it swapped her with a cousin on her wedding day in '32. We need to find it and"
"I know," I snapped, her voice cracking a bit. "I touched it last night. But we can't tell anyone. Not Sophie, not anyone. We'll fix this before the ceremony."
She stopped pacing, turning to face me. My own eyes raked over her bodymy body now occupied by her. It was surreal, like looking in a funhouse mirror. And then something shifted. She adjusted my stance, squaring my shoulders, and I noticed how my athletic build filled out the robe she must've thrown on. Broad chest, the faint outline of abs under the fabric. I'd always been proud of that body, but seeing it from the outside, controlled by someone else it stirred something unexpected. A heat low in my bellyher bellythat I wasn't prepared for.
"Why are you staring?" she demanded, but there was a flush on my cheeks now. Her in there.
"I nothing." I averted my eyes, but they landed on the mirror across the room. There we were: an older woman and a young man, standing too close in a hotel room. The contrast was electric. Her mind in my prime physique, my energy trapped in her seasoned form. I felt a forbidden curiosity bubble up. What did this body feel like, really? Not just the achesthe pleasures?
She seemed to sense it too. Stepped closer, towering over me now in a way that made my pulse quicken. "Ethan, this is serious. But good Lord, your body. It's like being plugged into a live wire. Everything's so responsive." Her voicemy voicedropped lower, and I saw her glance down at herself, adjusting the robe where it tented slightly. Was that arousal? In my body?
I swallowed hard, Margaret's throat dry. "Yeah, well, yours isn't exactly a slouch. It's sensitive. In ways I didn't expect." My hand, almost without thinking, brushed against the side of her hipmy hip now. The skin there was softer, warmer than I'd imagined. A shiver ran through me, electric, pooling between my legs in a unfamiliar, building ache. Women's bodies, I realized with a jolt, didn't ramp up the same way it was slower, deeper, like a wave gathering.
She inhaled sharply at the touch, my eyes darkening. "We shouldn't This is madness." But she didn't pull away. Instead, her handmy strong, callused hand from rock climbingreached out and cupped my cheek, thumb tracing Margaret's jawline. The contact was intimate, charged. I leaned into it, feeling the roughness against smooth skin, and suddenly we were kissing.
It was clumsy at firstme in her body, her in mine, lips meeting in a rush of confusion and heat. My mouth was softer, more yielding; hers firmer, insistent. I tasted my own aftershave on her tongue, mixed with her surprise. Hands roamed: mine exploring the hard planes of my chest under the robe, hers sliding down to grip Margaret's waist, pulling me closer. The friction of fabric against skin sent sparks through me, her nipplesmy nipples nowtightening under the dress.
We broke apart, breathing hard. "This is wrong," I gasped in her voice, but my body betrayed me, thighs pressing together instinctively, seeking more pressure.
"Utterly," she agreed in mine, but her grin was wicked, eyes gleaming with that secret delight she'd mentioned. "But educational. Your stamina, Ethanit's intoxicating." She flexed my arms, and I felt a rush watching the muscles shift.
We didn't go furthernot then. Time was ticking, and the brunch loomed. But the air hummed with possibility, a secret shared in swapped flesh. I straightened her dressmy dressand she helped me fix the chignon, fingers lingering a second too long on my neck.
"Find the brooch," I said firmly, stepping back. "It's probably in your things. I'll play you at brunch; you play me. Act normal."
She nodded, but as I turned to leave, her voicemy voicecalled softly, "Ethan? This body of yours it wants things. Be careful."
I shivered again, that erotic undercurrent lingering as I slipped back into the hall. The wedding was hours away, and now, on top of everything, I had to navigate Margaret's form through a sea of family and friends, all while ignoring the newfound desires humming under her skin.
I slipped out of the groom’s suite with my pulse still hammering in Margaret’s narrower chest, the memory of that kiss burning behind my eyes like a live wire. Her lipsmy lips nowstill tingled from the press of my own mouth, from the rough scrape of stubble that wasn’t there anymore. I could taste the faint salt of my skin on her tongue, could still feel the hard ridge of my erection pressing against her thigh through the robe when we’d broken apart.
Focus, Ethan. Brunch. Family. Act like a retired principal who thinks you’re marrying beneath her.
The elevator ride down was torture. Every sway of the car made Margaret’s breasts shift under the navy dress, the silk lining sliding against nipples that had hardened and stayed that way since the kiss. I crossed my arms under them instinctivelysupport, modesty, whateverand immediately regretted it. The pressure only sharpened the ache, sent a slow, liquid heat curling low in her belly. I’d spent years chasing that kind of build-up in my own body: quick, focused, explosive. This was different. Deeper. Patient. Insistent. Like her body knew exactly how long it could draw the tension out before it snapped.
When the doors opened on the second floor, the private dining room was already alive with chatter and clinking silverware. Sophie’s family, my groomsmen, a few cousins milling around the buffet. And therestanding near the mimosa station in my charcoal suit, looking unfairly goodwas me. Margaret-in-my-body, hair still mussed from my fingers, tie slightly crooked in a way I never allowed. She caught my eye across the room and gave the tiniest nod, the corner of my mouth quirking in that knowing half-smile I usually saved for closing deals.
I forced Margaret’s posture straight, smoothed the dress over hips that felt too wide and too soft, and walked in.
“Margaret, darling!” EleanorSophie’s motherswooped in first, air-kissing both cheeks. “You look positively radiant this morning. Did you do something different with your makeup?”
I blinked behind the wire-rimmed glasses. “Just… slept well,” I managed in her crisp tone. “The hotel pillows are divine.”
Eleanor laughed and linked her arm through mine, steering me toward the table. Every step rubbed the lace of Margaret’s underwear against sensitive skin I’d never paid attention to before. The seam pressed right where the heat was gathering, a constant, maddening friction. I bit the inside of her cheek to keep from gasping.
Sophie was already seated, radiant in a soft white sundress, hair half-up in loose waves. When she saw “Margaret,” her face lit up.
“Aunt Margaret!” She stood and hugged mecarefully, the way you hug someone fragile. Her perfume wrapped around me, familiar and devastating. “I’m so glad you’re here early. Ethan’s been weirdly quiet this morning. Nerves, I think.”
I hugged her back, Margaret’s arms thinner than I was used to, but the embrace felt achingly real. Sophie’s breasts pressed softly against mine through the thin fabric; I could feel the warmth of her skin, the slight catch of her breath. My bodyher bodyreacted instantly: a fresh rush of wetness between my thighs, thighs that clenched without permission. I pulled back too quickly.
“He’ll be fine,” I said, patting her arm with what I hoped was maternal reassurance. “Men get peculiar before weddings. It passes.”
Sophie laughed, but her eyes searched my faceMargaret’s facea second longer than usual. “You sound so sure.”
Because I am sure, I wanted to say. Because I’m the one who’s going to marry you in eight hours and I’m currently fighting the urge to drag you into the nearest coat closet just to feel your hands on this body that suddenly wants everything.
Instead I smiled Margaret’s tight, polite smile and let Eleanor guide me to a chair.
Across the table, Margaret-in-my-body was watching. Our eyes locked again. She lifted my mimosa glass in a tiny toast, lips curving. Thendeliberatelyshe ran my tongue along the rim of the flute, slow and suggestive, before taking a sip. My stomach flipped. Her in my skin, playing with sensations I knew too well: the cold fizz on the tongue, the subtle stretch of jaw muscles, the way a single swallow could send warmth straight down.
I shifted in the seat. The chair was hard; the pressure against my clitGod, even thinking the word in her voice felt obscenewas almost too much. I pressed my thighs together under the tablecloth and tried to focus on the conversation.
Clara bounded over then, all eleven-year-old energy, clutching her tablet. “Aunt Margaret! Look, I made a TikTok edit of Uncle Ethan’s proposal video with cat filters!”
She shoved the screen in my face. There I wasmy real bodydown on one knee in the park last spring, edited so cartoon ears twitched on my head and whiskers sprouted whenever I smiled at Sophie.
“Very… creative,” I said, voice dry. Clara beamed.
Margaretacross the tableleaned forward. “Clara, sweetheart,” she said in my deeper register, “why don’t you show me how to make one of those later? I could use some modernizing.”
Clara’s eyes went wide. “You? On TikTok?”
“Desperate times,” Margaret replied, and shot me a look that said: We’re going to talk. Soon.
The brunch dragged. Every time Sophie laughed, every time her fingers brushed mine passing the fruit platter, every accidental graze of her knee against Margaret’s under the table sent another pulse of arousal through me. By the time people started drifting toward the elevators for hair and makeup appointments, I was dizzy with itwet, swollen, aching in places I’d never inhabited before. Margaret’s body didn’t rush toward release the way mine did; it simmered, built layer by layer until I felt like I might combust from sheer anticipation.
As the room emptied, Margaret caught my elbowmy arm now, strong fingers wrapping around Margaret’s thinner oneand steered me toward the quiet hallway outside the restrooms.
“Storage closet,” she muttered. “Now.”
I didn’t argue.
The door clicked shut behind us. Dim light from a single bulb. Shelves of extra linens, the faint smell of bleach and lavender.
She pushed megentlyagainst the wall. My back arched; Margaret’s breasts lifted with the motion. She loomed over me in my own body, heat radiating off skin I knew was fever-hot.
“We can’t” I started.
“We already did,” she whispered in my voice, rougher now. “And your body won’t stop thinking about it.”
Her handmy handslid up under the hem of the navy dress, callused fingertips tracing the lace edge of panties already soaked through. I gasped, hips jerking forward involuntarily.
“Tell me to stop,” she said, eyes locked on mine.
I didn’t.
Instead I reached up, tangled Margaret’s fingers in my own hair, and pulled her down into another kiss. This one was hungrier. Teeth. Tongue. The rough slide of my stubble against her softer skin. Her palm cupped me through the lacefirm, knowing pressure right where I needed itand I moaned into her mouth, the sound high and feminine and utterly foreign.
She rubbed slow circles, learning the rhythm of this body the way I’d learned mine over years. I rocked against her hand, chasing the building wave, thighs trembling.
“Ethan,” she breathed against my earmy ear now“let go. Just this once.”
The orgasm hit like a slow-rolling tide instead of the sharp snap I was used to. It started deep, radiated outward in warm pulses that left me shaking, clinging to her shoulders, biting my lip so hard I tasted blood to keep from crying out loud enough for the hallway to hear.
When it finally ebbed, I sagged against her, forehead to her collarbonemy collarbonebreathing hard.
She kissed my temple, soft now. “The brooch,” she murmured. “We still need to find it.”
I nodded, dazed. “After… after the photos. Before the ceremony.”
She helped me straighten the dress, smooth the chignon, wipe smudged lipstick with her thumb. Then she opened the door a crack, checked the hall, and slipped out first.
I waited thirty seconds, heart still thundering, body still humming.
Then I followed.
Eight hours until vows.
And I had no idea how I was going to walk down that aisle pretending I hadn’t just come undone in a storage closetwearing someone else’s skin, craving someone else’s touch, while the woman who used to be me waited in mine.
The photos were next. Outdoor portraits in the hotel garden before the ceremonygolden hour light, everyone in their finery, the kind of shots that would end up framed on mantels and mocked on group chats for decades.
I stood on the lawn in Margaret’s navy dress, sensible flats sinking slightly into the damp grass, trying to look like I belonged among the younger crowd. The photographera cheerful woman named Mara with a camera the size of a small cannonkept repositioning us.
“Margaret, darling, chin up a touch! You’ve got such elegant posture.”
Elegant. Right. I lifted Margaret’s chin, felt the unfamiliar pull of skin that had lost some of its elasticity, and smiled the tight, practiced smile I’d seen her use a hundred times. Across the grouping, Margaret-in-my-body lounged against a stone pillar in the charcoal suit, sleeves rolled to the elbows, looking effortlessly cool in a way I usually had to work for. She caught my eye and flexed my fingersslow, deliberatethen let her hand drop to rest low on my own hip. A casual gesture to anyone watching. To me, it was a promise.
Sophie was radiant between us, laughing as Clara darted in and out of frame trying to photobomb with peace signs. Every time Sophie turned to me“Aunt Margaret, come stand closer!”and slipped an arm around my waist, the contact sent fresh sparks racing under my skin. Her fingers brushed the small of my back, just above where the dress’s zipper sat, and I had to lock Margaret’s knees to keep from swaying.
The ache from the storage closet hadn’t faded. If anything, it had settled in deeper, a low, constant throb that pulsed in time with my heartbeather heartbeat. Every brush of lace against swollen flesh reminded me exactly how wet I still was, how sensitive the folds had become. I pressed my thighs together when no one was looking and nearly whimpered at the pressure.
Mara called for couple shots next. “Bride and groom first, then we’ll add family!”
Sophie tugged me forwardthinking I was Margaret, of courseand positioned me on her other side so the three of us stood together: Sophie in the middle, “Ethan” on her right, “Margaret” on her left. The irony was so thick I could taste it.
“Perfect,” Mara said. “Big smiles!”
Sophie leaned into meinto Margaret’s bodyher cheek brushing mine. Her breath was warm against my ear. “You’ve been so quiet today,” she murmured, just for me. “Everything okay?”
I turned Margaret’s head, met her eyes. So close I could see the flecks of gold in her irises, smell the faint citrus of her shampoo. “Just… savoring it,” I said in the older woman’s voice. “Watching you two. It’s beautiful.”
Sophie’s smile softened, genuine. “You always know what to say.”
Behind her, Margaret-in-my-body watched us with an expression I couldn’t quite readjealousy? Hunger? Pride? She stepped closer on Sophie’s other side, slid an arm around her waist, and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. The gesture was tender, almost reverent. Sophie melted into it.
And Itrapped in Margaret’s skinfelt a sharp, unexpected twist in my chest. Not just arousal anymore. Something softer. Hotter. The sight of my own body holding the woman I loved, touching her with a gentleness I’d always been too impatient to master… it unraveled me.
The camera clicked. Again. Again.
When Mara finally called a break, Sophie excused herself to touch up lipstick. Clara ran off to chase butterflies with one of the ring bearers. The garden emptied for a moment.
Margaret stepped up behind meclose enough that I could feel the heat rolling off my own body.
“Storage closet again?” she murmured, lips brushing the shell of my earMargaret’s ear.
“No time,” I whispered back, even as my hips shifted backward instinctively, seeking contact. “Photos resume in ten.”
“Then here.” Her handmy handslipped under the hem of the dress again, hidden by the angle of our bodies and the low stone wall at our backs. Fingers found soaked lace, pushed it aside with practiced ease. Two fingers slid inside meslow, deepand I had to clamp a hand over my own mouth to muffle the sound.
She curled them, found that spot I’d never been able to reach properly in this body, and stroked. Steady. Relentless. Her thumb circled my clit at the same time, slick and sure.
I trembled against her, back arched, breasts heaving under the navy silk. The orgasm built faster this timesharperbecause she knew exactly what this body needed now. I came with a choked sob, biting down on my own palm, thighs shaking so hard I nearly buckled.
She held me through it, steady as stone, until the aftershocks faded. Then she withdrew her fingers, brought them to her lipsmy lipsand licked them clean with slow, deliberate swipes of tongue. Watching herself do it was obscene. Intimate. Mine.
“Brooch,” she said quietly, voice rough. “I think it’s in the bridal suite. Sophie mentioned Margaret’s things were brought there this morning for ‘sentimental photos.’”
I nodded, still catching my breath. “After the first look. We’ll slip in.”
She adjusted my dress for me, smoothed a stray lock of gray hair behind my ear. “You’re doing beautifully,” she saidmy voice saying it, but her warmth behind the words. “Stronger than I ever gave you credit for.”
I looked up at herat meand felt something shift again. Not just lust. Respect. Affection. A strange, mirrored tenderness.
The photographer called us back.
We rejoined the group separately, faces composed, bodies humming with shared secrets.
Sophie reappeared, lipstick perfect, eyes bright. She took my handMargaret’s handand squeezed.
“Ready for the aisle?” she asked.
I squeezed back. “More than ever.”
However, when an old friend contacts him to steal a priceless artifact together, Kyle decides to turn back to his old ways.
Things quickly go wrong during the score, which results in him unexpectedly swapping bodies with the city's number 1 superheroine. He knows the right thing to do would be to figure out a way to swap them back, but that idea becomes increasingly difficult when he finds out just the kind of life and pleasure her body truly has to offer him.
Kyle learned early that luck was a finite resource, and whatever share he'd been allotted had been spent before he turned sixteen. He grew up in a neighborhood where police sirens were background noise and everyone knew which streets to avoid after dark - dangerous and belonging to someone. Trouble wasn't something you sought out there. It found you, it waited, and if you didn't learn fast enough, it took what it wanted.
Kyle hadn't learned fast enough. By the time he was seventeen, he'd been arrested twice - one for running lookout, once for possession he swore wasn't his. The judge hadn't cared. The system rarely did. He'd done his time in juvenile detention, learned how to keep his head down, how to read people, how to pick locks with nothing but patience and a bent piece of metal. Skills that weren't exactly résumé-friendly. Now, at twenty-eight, he stood behind a coffee counter that smelled perpetually burnt no matter how often he cleaned it and wearing a stained apron with a name tag that felt like a lie. 'Kyle.'
The bell above the café door chimed, and another customer stepped up, already frowning.
"Large oat milk latte. Extra hot. and make sure it's not bitter this time."
Kyle forced a smile.
"Sure thing."
Behind him, one of his coworkers leaned against the prep counter scrolling through their phone. His supervisor - who showed up late every shift and still somehow found the time to criticize - hovered nearby, arms crossed.
"Try not to mess it up," she muttered. "We've had complaints."
Kyle bit back the response that came to mind, he always did - Rent didn't care about pride.
When the café slowed down - mid-afternoon lull and the sunlight slanted through the windows - Kyle leaned against the counter and let his thoughts drift upward. Literally. A massive digital billboard across the street flickered with life, displaying the familiar image: Elasti-Woman, mid-leap, limbs extended impossibly as she saved a collapsing monorail car. The city's favorite heroine. Strong, confident, sexy and smiling like she belonged exactly where she stood.
Kyle watched, transfixed. She was tall, 6ft with shoulder length brown hair, blue eyes, a model-like face, and a curvaceous, athletic build that Kyle absolutely adored. Every time he thought of her, he caught himself in daydreams. She made it look effortless. Being admired, being needed. Being someone.
He imagined it sometimes - what it would feel like to be that. To matter. To have people look at you with awe instead of suspicion. To have power instead of apologies. And, he also fantasized about her. He wasn't blind, or dead. The thought of someone like Elasti-Woman even glancing his way - let along sharing a night with him - was ridiculous. He knew that. He wasn't delusional but that still didn't stop his chest from tightening every time she smiled. Reality snapped back when his supervisor cleared her throat sharply.
"Kyle. Table three's been waiting."
He nodded, moved, served, and apologized for things that weren't his fault.
That night, as he trudged back to his apartment, his phone buzzed. Unknown number. He almost ignored it, almost.
"Yeah?" he said into the device, keys jingling around his finger.
There was a pause. Then a familiar voice, rougher than he remembered, but unmistakable.
"Damn, man. You still answer like you're expecting trouble."
Kyle stopped fiddling with his keys, stopping dead in his tracks.
"Evan?"
"Still alive," The man replied, laughing. "Mostly. Heard you got out clean."
"Clean enough," Kyle said cautiously. "How'd you get this number?"
He didn't know Evan too well. But they did get into trouble with each other a few times.
"Mutual acquaintance. Relax. I'm not calling to drag you into anything."
Somehow, Kyle didn't believe that and snorted in response.
"That's new."
They talked, caught up as much as they could, shared stories that carefully avoided their worst years. Evan had bounced around - inside, outside, always skirting the edge. Eventually, Kyle sighed and realized - he wanted something.
"Alright," he said. "You didn't call me just to reminisce. I know that, but that's as much as I do know."
Evan hesitated, a little too long.
"There's a job," he explained. "Easy one. Museum slash pawn shop. I'm working security nights. They just got this artifact - private collection. Worth millions if you know the right people."
Kyle's stomach sank. "No," he said immediately. "Besides, what type of museum also runs a pawn shop? That doesn't make sense."
"Heard the guy's shady. Runs it for tax evasion or some shit," Evan dismissed his concerns and then continued. "Just one night. In and out. I'll give you the layout, the security codes. You're better with locks than me."
It was true. Kyle was better.
He knew how to read the tension in a tumbler, to feel the give of a pin. It was almost instinct.
"You know how I live," Evan pressed, "A few days. Just this."
"No," Kyle repeated. "I'm done. I like my freedom."
Evan pushed and joked, promised it was clean. That there would be no heat and no alarms.
"Come on. Besides, what dead end job do you have that can actually support you?" Evan's question struck a nerve. "I've seen you. You're good. You're wasting your talent."
Kyle could almost see the artifact. He could imagine it sitting in a velvet-lined box, protected by glass. For a few hours of risk, it'd be enough to move out of his apartment, maybe go somewhere new and actually start fresh. To pay for a night with someone like her - no. He shut that down immediately.
"I... I can't, Evan. I'm sorry." The silence on the other end stretched, heavy and disappointed. Kyle pictured Evan's face - jaw tight, eyes already turning inward, and recalculating.
"Alright," Evan said at last. "your call." The line then went dead.
Kyle stood there on the sidewalk for a long moment, the city humming around him like static. When he finally unlocked his apartment and stepped inside, the door shut with a soft click that felt louder than it should have.
The place smelled faintly of cheap detergent and he stared at the crumbling wallpaper stained yellow with old cigarette smoke. He learned the back of his head against the door and sighed. Freedom, Evan had said. What freedom was this?
Kyle huffed a quiet, humorless laugh and crossed the apartment. This wasn't freedom, this was a holding cell. A cage built out of rent, reputation, and the kind of mistakes that never quite stopped following you. That night passed, then another.
The next few days were uneventful in the most exhausting way possible - early mornings, bitter coffee, aching feet, incompetent bosses and coworkers. The call faded, dulled by routine. Kyle told himself that was it. That Evan had taken the no and moved on.
Nearly a week later, his phone buzzed while he was sitting alone in his apartment, half-watching a muted news segment about another villain sighting downtown. Evan again. Kyle frowned at the name, thumb hovering over the screen.
For a minute, he considered ignoring it, letting it go to voicemail and letting the past stay where it belonged. But curiosity got the better of him and he swiped it open where an image filled the display.
An exquisite silver chain dripped with the light of a thousand tiny rose-cut gems, their soft blush catching the light with every subtle movement. Suspended from this delicate chain is a magnificent centerpiece: a single, flawlessly faceted pink diamond, cut so deeply that its heart seems to pulse with a captured sunset and refused to let go. It didn't look fake, it looked important.
"This is it," Evan's message followed. "They think it's worthless. Owner's a drunk. Barely remembers it's there. You know this is your way out. This is something that can support you."
Kyle stared at the photo longer than he meant to - Until the edges blurred and the necklace dissolved into color and light, and something else took its place in his mind - a familiar figured stretched across the skyline, confident and untouchable. Elasti-Woman, smiling like the city belonged to her. Kyle locked his phone and set it face-down on the table.
Later that night, the temperature dropped, the chill creeping in through the thin walls. He went to his closet to grab a hoodie - nothing dramatic, something he did a thousand times before. He pulled one free and something heavier shifted on the shelf above.
A pair of gloves slid into view, worn, thin and familiar. He hadn't touched them in years. Kyle picked them up slowly, turning them over in his hands. The leather was cracked and softened by years of use. They fit perfectly still when he slipped them on - muscle memory kicking in before he could stop it. He should have thrown them out, years ago. He knew that. Told himself that he kept them because they were useful. Because you never knew when you might need them for something harmless. A stuck lock, a broken latch, pulling weeds... 'Just in case'. He took them off and set them back on the shelf, heart beating faster than it should have, then shut the closet door. He remembered the days of picking locks with them helping keep a steady hand.
The days rolled on - Coffee, complaints, the same tired routine. Kyle almost convinced himself the call had been a lapse - an old ghost rattling chains that didn't exist anymore. At least that was what it appeared as, Evan didn't push at first. Just checked in. Casual messages. An old joke he shared with Kyle and one other in the past. Then, every few days, another reminder slipped in. A comment about rising prices. A nudge about people he knew who'd 'made it out.' About how unfair it was that some people got powers and others got scraps. Once, late at night while Kyle laid in bed, another photo appeared - the necklace again and closer this time. The pink diamond caught the light differently, deeper, warmer. For a second, Kyle swore it looked like it was glowing.
He turned his phone face-down on his chest and went to bed, staring at the ceiling until morning. And then frustration did the rest - the café, the bills, the way his supervisor talked to him like he was disposable. The way customers smiled politely until they stepped away and the way the city celebrated its heroes and forgot everyone else existed. By the time he finally picked up his phone, his hands were steady. He typed one word.
"When?"
Two days later, Kyle and Evan found themselves standing before the building Evan had described. It was a strange place: half museum, half pawn shop. The sign above the entrance, written in faded gold lettering, read: The Reliquary & Loan.
The front windows displayed a jumble of antique weapons and dusty paintings, while just beyond them, in a more curated space, sat a collection of pristine artifacts under bright spotlights. The place felt... liminal. Not quite legitimate, not quite criminal. At night, the building seemed to loom taller than he remembered when they did the daytime walk-by Evan had insisted was 'all the recon they'd need.'
The outside itself was marble façade with reinforced glass for the antiques. It seemed too clean or well-lit for something that supposedly blended museum curation with pawnshop discretion. Private collection acquisitions always meant money, and money meant security. Kyle adjusted the thin gloves on his hands and exhaled slowly through his nose.
"Tell me again," he murmured, "Why the service entrance doesn't have a guard?"
Evan, crouched beside a side door and working far too confidently on a tablet that looked older than Kyle's phone shrugged.
"Because they cut costs. Owner's cheap."
Kyle didn't like that answer. He liked them to be specific - Names, timetables.
Still, the door opened cleanly under his picks, the lock giving way with a familiar, almost comforting click. For a moment, muscle memory carried him - same old dance, same steady hands.
The rush crept in anyway, uninvited. Inside, the air smelled like polish from one of those machines, freshly scrubbed of all the dirt, and the air was almost stuffy - like it was still. The floor plan Evan had given him flashed in Kyle's mind as they moved - but almost immediately, it didn't match.
Display cases sat where corridors were supposed to be. A security camera tracked lazily across a hall that should have been blind. Kyle, thankfully, stopped short and grabbed Evan's sleeve. "That camera wasn't on your map. I thought you said you fucking worked here before?!" he whispered sharply.
Evan, for the first time, looked nervous.
"They... must have updated. It's fine. It's on a loop. I saw the log myself." The excuse was thin. Too thin. But they were already inside. Backing out now felt like a bigger risk than pushing forward. Kyle hated that about himself - how easily sunk costs turned into forward momentum.
The deeper they went, the quieter Evan got. And Kyle led. He always did. But he knew how to read spaces - how sound carried, where footsteps echoed too long, how security sensors felt even when you couldn't see them.
He spotted slightly raised plates just before stepping on them, freezing, and then carefully stepping over. Evan didn't even notice until Kyle grabbed him again.
"Watch where you step," Kyle whispered. "Or this ends with both of us in cuffs."
Despite Kyle's skill, it was his partners that always let him down and it infuriated him.
"Relax," Evan muttered. "You're the pro, right?"
That only served to irk him more, none of this shit was supposed to be here. It was supposed to be easy.
The vault room sat lower than expected, tucked behind a reinforced exhibit wall disguised as a historical installation. This was the real test. Kyle knelt before the keypad, his fingers hovering over the numbers. Evan had given him the code. A sequence that supposedly cycled weekly.
"You're sure about this?" Kyle asked, his heart starting to thrum a heavy, anxious rhythm against his ribs.
"I'm sure," Evan said, though he wouldn't meet Kyle's gaze.
Kyle entered the code. The keypad beeped. ACCESS DENIED
Panic, cold and sharp, lanced through Kyle's chest. "You're an idiot," he seethed. "You gave me the wrong code."
"No, no, I... maybe I typed it wrong?" Evan stammered, fumbling with his tablet again.
"There's a master override. I just need to... Here, I got a new code. Let me enter it."
Evan moved closer, his fingers dancing across the panel, but again; ACCESS DENIED
This time the panel beeped, - just once - a warning. Kyle closed his eyes for half a second, unable to believe this.
"Move."
He knelt, rolling his eyes while pulling tools from his kit. The panel resisted him immediately - newer model, nested failsafes, the kind designed to punish impatience. Sweat prickled along his spine as he worked, fingers moving with slow, careful, practiced precision. Time stretched, every second felt loud and long. When the lock finally disengaged, Kyle nearly laughed in relief.
Inside, the safe stood under that cold white light.
It was already open - probably from the laziness of said owner, thinking that no one would even find the vault. And there it was, resting on a simple black velvet pad. The necklace. The chain was impossibly fine, the rose-cut gems glowing with a soft, internal warmth. The pink diamond at its center was huge. And it was beautiful, it shone like it wanted to be noticed.
Evan gasped, moving towards it.
"See? I told you."
But Kyle didn't move. He stood there, staring. This was it. The whole reason for this risky, half-assed plan. But something was wrong. The hairs on his arms were standing up. A low hum emanated from the necklace, almost imperceptible at the edges of his hearing. He took a step closer.
The closer he got, the more aware he became of it - it wasn't a sound, or a pull exactly, but a pressure - as if he was being hugged. His fingers hovered before touching it.
"Don't just stand there," Evan whispered. "Grab it!"
Kyle wrapped his hand around the chain. It was warm, like holding those hand-warming satchels in the dead of winter while snow drifted all around you. A shiver ran through him, sharp and inexplicable, and for a split second he thought he heard something - not words but a suggestion of a voice, distant and close at the same time. He wasn't sure if the necklace had some other attribute to it. But it certainly felt like it. Then all that focus drained away as soon as Evan swore loudly.
Kyle spun just in time to see Evan's foot catch on a cable that should not have been there. The alarm detonated, exploding outward with sound. Not just a single sound but layers - sirens, lights, automated voice warnings cascading through the building. Kyle's heart slammed into overdrive, the memories of being caught by police, time and time again flashing through his mind. "I told you to watch-!"
"I didn't see it!"
"Because you don't look!" He whispered pointedly.
Kyle swiped the necklace, the gems feeling warm in his palm as they began to run.
He took point again, cutting left where the shortest path should've been - but the corridor ended in a security gate slamming down inches from his face.
"Plan B!" Evan yelled.
"There was no fucking Plan B!"
Kyle's shoes skid as they doubled back, ducking through exhibits as emergency shutters began sealing rooms behind them, Kyle's lungs burned, grip tight around the pendant like it was the only solid thing left in the world. Halfway to the exit, Evan grabbed his arm.
"Give it to me," he shouted over the alarms. "I know a buyer-"
Kyle yanked free, spinning on him. "No. You don't touch it."
"What?! That wasn't the deal!"
"The deal didn't include you set off every alarm in the building!"
Evan's face hardened. "You think you can just take it?"
Kyle didn't answer. He didn't need to. They both knew the answer. If anyone could find a buyer, it was Kyle.
They started at each other for a moment too long - sirens screaming, lights flashing red - and in that moment they knew that they had to split up.
"Split up," Kyle ordered, "Now."
Evan hesitated, then cursed and bolted in the opposite direction. Outside, the streets were swarming with police but Kyle managed to slip past them and turned the corner at a dead run, nearly slamming straight into her. Elasti-Woman dropped from above and touched down lightly in front of him, boots barely making a sound against the pavement. She straightened with confidence, already between him and the street beyond. The glow of emergency lights reflected faintly off the red-and-silver of her suit.
"End of the line," She said, voice calm and practiced, unlike the police who would have been screaming at him to get down.
Kyle skidded to a halt, hands coming up automatically. His heart pounded so hard it made his vision pulse.
"You've got the wrong guy."
She tilted her head, clearly unconvinced.
"Funny. I hear that a lot."
Then she moved first. Her arm snapped forward, stretching impossibly, and Kyle barely managed to duck under it. He stumbled, boots slipping on loose gravel and the alley suddenly felt too narrow - like the walls were closing in. He bolted sideways as her leg elongated in a sweeping kick that cracked against brick where his head had been a second earlier. Kyle thought his best chance would be to get close, so he charged her. Her arm came out and he grabbed at her sleeve, trying to throw her off balance but she caught his wrist. For a moment they were tangled, both straining, both adjusting to the other's movement. Then the pendant slipped free from his jacket, it swung between them and they both instinctively - stupidly - reached for it. Kyle's fingers closed around the chain at the same moment hers did and then the world spun and bent.
Then Darkness swallowed him. When he came to, the first thing he registered was pain. A deep, echoing throb behind his eyes, like his skull had been rung like a bell. He groaned and tried to roll onto his side - and nearly overbalanced.
Something was wrong. His weight didn't sit where it should. His body felt... redistributed. His chest rose and fell more noticeably with each breath, warm pressure pulling differently against gravity.
A curtain of dark, brown hair brushed his jaw and neck, tickling skin that felt oversensitive, almost electric - a tingle of pleasure running through his spine. He blinked, vision swimming, and looked down as his breath caught.
The suit stretched over a shape that definitely had not been his moments ago. Breasts - unmistakable, solid, rising and falling with his labored breathing. Despite the tight suit, they jiggled almost unperceptively. His gloved hands looked narrower, wrists slimmer when he lifted them into view. A soft groan sounded beside him. Kyle turned his head - and froze.
His own body lay a few feet away, sprawled awkwardly against the alley wall. The ski mask tilted as his eyes fluttered open.
"What - what did you do?!"
His voice sounded scared and panic surged immediately, drowning out everything else. Sirens wailed closer and he reacted.
His arm snapped forward - and didn't stop. It stretched, the sensation bizarre and nauseating, like his bone had turned to rubber. His fist connected solidly with his own jaw and his old body crumpled. Kyle stared at his extended arm, then pulled it back. The limb snapped back into place as if it had never been three times his length. Police boots thundered closer and there was little time to process. Kyle played the part and acted as if he were Elasti-Woman. He wasn't sure how exactly he could mimic her movements or mannerisms but it seemed he played the part perfectly.
When the police finally cleared out and the street fell quiet, the silence hit him harder than the sirens had. He had pocketed the pendant and knew that his old body would only have a short stint in jail and that the police wouldn't believe that they've swapped bodies. She'd sound insane to them. His skin was alight as his suit hugged him in places his old clohes never had, stretching smoothly with the movement. A laugh slipped out of him before he could stop it - sharp, incredulous, almost hysterical.
"This is insane," he muttered, the voice startling him all over again.
When he brushed his knuckles against his neck, he felt the slide of loose hair, the faint scent of something clean and expensive. He loved it. He looked down again, the tight suit around his breasts poked out and it made him curious. His hands slid up his side before cupping the full breasts. He stood there, blushing to himself as he pinched the hard nubs between his index and thumb. Another jolt of electricity ran down his spine and he gasped slightly.
"Oh... I see," he said to himself.
This power was not only for fighting criminals. This was a power for himself. He had an idea, a risky one, but one that he had to do before he could think about a way to reverse the body swap. He had to see himself.
“I’ll fix it after this,” he told himself, though the words rang hollow even as he said them.
The thought of giving this back - of stepping out of this skin and returning to his old, invisible life - made something in his chest tighten uncomfortably. He pushed the feeling away, then something caught his eye. A motorcycle - hers. He approached it cautiously, heels clicking against the pavement. He expected no reaction but the moment he swung a leg over, the bike seemed to recognize him. Then he sat, feeling the plush skin of his ass press against the seat.
"Shit..." He muttered.
When the engine roared to life, the vibration traveled up through his legs and spine, through his crotch. The pleasure made him buckle over the handles. The GPS flared to life, a single destination already marked. Home. Kyle hesitated, hands tightening on the grips, then leaned forward and eased into the street, still feeling awkward - yet excited - in the stride of the world's most celebrated heroine.
The bike led him to the last place he expected. A luxurious mansion out in the countryside, set up-top a large hillside. At first, he was just going to park into the drive-way until the motorcycle lights lit up what looked like a normal cliff. A portion of the rock face shimmered, then slid silently away to reveal a dark opening. He guided the motorcycle inside, the rock closing behind him with a soft, decisive thud. The garage was vast. Cars, training equipment, and racks upon racks of weaponry he didn't have names for. In the center, a single white circle glowed on the floor. He dismounted, the bike's engine dying behind him as he stepped into the elevator. The doors closed, and the world dissolved into white light.
"Welcome home, Carmen." A robotic, almost AI-like voice echoed.
His eyes widened at the revelation, Carmen... Starr? His eyes darted down his body, his lips parted. It made sense after some thought. She was rich, prominent. She would have all the means to do something like this. But that also made his fist tighten, nails biting into his feminine hands.
Some people get all the luck... When they opened again, he was standing in her home. It wasn't what he expected. The entire back wall of the main room was a single pane of floor-to-ceiling glass, offering a breathtaking view of the city below, lights glittering like a fallen constellation. The rest was clean, minimalist, almost sterile - white walls, polished marble floors, furniture that looked more like art than something you'd actually sit on. It was a space for looking, not for living. It was beautiful, but it felt like a show home. He walked through it, footsteps echoing, feeling like an intruder in a museum dedicated to a person he was currently wearing. He wanted to find a mirror and he found one in the bedroom - a full-length slab of polished glass. When he had stepped out from the open living space and set foot into the bedroom, his heels sunk into the fine and soft carpet, giving him pause just for a moment. They no longer made a sound as he approached the large bed and mirror which shimmered with light next to the bathroom door. He honestly kind of liked the sound of heels against stone.
Elasti-Woman stared back at him from the mirror. Her face - his face - was flushed, a stray strand of brown hair clinging to her cheek. Those brilliant blue eyes, wide with a mixture of terror and something else he couldn't name yet, were fixed on him. He felt hot - both sweaty and aroused. He knew he had to see more. He licked his lips, tasting something slightly strawberry across those beautifully plump lips. He took a few steps in front of the mirror, watching the curves of his body. He raised both hands and pushed his chest out, he felt a little embarrassed but at the same time... he felt sexy. It felt worth it. A strange, tingling sensation began to grow in his core. It felt... different, compared to anything he's felt before. It felt warmer, hotter, and more... explosive.
He turned away from the mirror and || twirled to give a quick view of his new body from all angles, his head and body still buzzing with a strange new energy. The desire to see more - to feel more - was overwhelming. He had to take off the suit. His fingers fumbled at the hidden seam of her suit, the release catch resisting him for a moment before it gave way with a soft hiss. The material peeled away from his skin, clinging for a second before loosening its grip. The cool air of the room hit his bare shoulders, a stark, shocking contrast to the tight, warm embrace of the suit. He shivered, a reaction to the temperature and the sudden, jarring vulnerability. He slid the red and silver material down over his hips, letting it pool around them. The reflection was breathtaking. She was muscular, but not bulky. Athletic. The muscles in her arms and stomach were defined without being grotesque, her skin smooth and flawless. Her breasts were perfect. High and firm, topped with nipples that were currently hard. His skin shimmered with sweat, the scent was sweet and slightly tangy. "I'm... so sexy..." He muttered, "But... Carmen doesn't normally look like this. This body is much more full. The hair is longer than normal too."
As he looked down his body, he noticed that the suit was so tight that one could easily see a camel-toe and he snickered to himself. That was part of the reason why he felt so hot. He felt a bit more emboldened as he watched his sweaty skin in the mirror. Then he raised his arm and smelled underneath. He nearly gasped at how much it turned him on. He smelled incredible. He found himself craving more of this scent, more of this body, more of this feeling. He felt like he couldn't control himself. He didn't want to be some sort of gross pervert but... the temptation was too strong. His reflection watched as he raised a hand, the fingers slender and graceful. He hesitated, then slowly brought the hand to his breast, letting the pad of his thumb brush against the hard nipple. A soft gasp escaped his lips.
The pleasure was sharp, immediate, and so much more intense than he'd ever anticipated. He did it again, this time pinching the bud lightly, rolling it between his fingers. The jolt that shot through him was electric. He watched, transfixed, as the nipple hardened even more, a deep rose color against the pale skin of his breast. The other breast felt neglected, so he brought his other hand up to it, mirroring the motions. Soon, both breasts were being kneaded and teased, the twin points of pleasure sending waves of warmth down his body, coalescing in the pit of his stomach. He could feel a wetness growing between his legs, a slick heat that was both alien and utterly intoxicating.
He had to get out of this suit and pulled one of his legs free while balancing on the other, a black thong poked out, soaking wet and dripping with so much pussy-juice that it slid down his thighs. Kyle pulled at the elastic suit surrounding his hips,. He needed to see more. He needed to see everything that the masterpiece in the mirror had to offer. He kicked the soaked fabric away, leaving it lying on the carpetted floor like a discarded secret. Now, laid bare except for the heels, he fully examined her body and posture - how she stood up straight and tall despite large breasts, how her skin was a creamy and attractive shade, how her legs were smooth and long. Her thighs gapped but not too much, just to tease her camel-toe in her one-piece suit.
He lifted his breasts, seeing the sweat built up underneath. The cold air felt amazing against his skin, but he wanted to see some of his backside too. He turned, subconsciously further than any normal person could. The curve of his ass was amazing and he bounced up and down, laughing softly as the skin jiggled. His eyes traced down the black of the thong that slid between his butt-cheeks. He was getting too excited, and his breath hitched. Without much of a thought, his hand came up, out, and then smacked the jiggling flesh.
He made a sound half-way between a moan and a yelp, which surprised even himself. He liked the sting of the reddening skin though and that only made him more aroused.
He then slid a finger down across his stomach. It tickled in a way - but also elicited tingling sensations and a hitch of his breath as his fingers glided to the thong's fabric. The warmth emanated from it as he slowly pulled it down. His reflection was a study in contrasts: a powerful, athletic body flushed with arousal, a face that was both his and not his, contorted in a mask of pleasure and disbelief. He took a step back, then another - watching his reflection in the mirror until eventually, he landed on the bed. The silken sheets were cool and a very different contrast against the heat of his plush ass. He loved the way that it felt like he was sitting on a cushy yet firm pillow everytime he sat down, having experienced it once from the motorcycle. He spread his legs, giving himself an unobstructed view of his new sex. It was beautiful, a perfect pink flower glistening with moisture. He watched as he slowly reached down, the journey of his hand feeling like it took an eternity. He parted the delicate folds with his fingers, the sensation sending another shiver through him. He was so wet, so ready. He found the small, sensitive bud of his clit, and when he touched it, he saw stars.
Slowly, he inserted one finger, then two. He took a deep breath, his fingers pumping in and out faster and faster. As he got more comfortable he added a third, then fourth. Soon he was loose and comfortable. His left hand reached up, squeezing his full breast as his knuckles slipped past his entrance. His vision filled with hot static as he gasped, the sound from his mouth was like an Angel's gasp. He tried a different angle, lifting his long leg up, while the other slid across the sheets then pumped his hand a bit faster, squeezing against his knuckles. Then it happened; a sudden, intense pressure bloomed in his core. It was like a dam breaking, a wave of pure, unadulterated pleasure that crashed over him, pulling him under.
He cried out, a high, keening sound that was half-sob, half-shout of triumph. His body convulsed, the muscles in his legs and stomach clenching as he rode out the orgasm, his fingers still buried deep inside him.
When the waves finally subsided, he was left panting, his body slick with sweat and other, more intimate fluids. He leaned against the cool silk sheets of the bed, the smooth surface a welcome anchor in the sea of sensation. He looked at himself, at the woman in the mirror. She looked thoroughly fucked, her hair a mess, her face flushed, her legs trembling. And she looked… happy. Genuinely, deeply happy in a way he hadn't felt in years. Maybe ever.
A slow smile spread across his face. He looked down at the discarded suit, then at the reflection of the incredible woman he'd become. He picked up the thong, bringing it to his nose and inhaling deeply. The scent was intoxicating, a potent mix of his new arousal and something uniquely Carmen.
But he wasn't done, he hadn't even begun to use her powers. His arms stretched, coiling like snakes around his breasts, the pressure made his back arch.
"Mmmphf..."
Then they went further, moving down, around his sides and started to play with his pussy from behind. Then he stretched his neck, lowering his head to his perked and swollen nipple, sucking it into his mouth. He moaned against his own skin, the vibrations sending another jolt of pleasure through him. He could taste the salt of his sweat, the subtle sweetness of his skin. He was a closed loop of sensation, a self-contained universe of pleasure. He spent the next hour like this, exploring every inch of his new form with a hunger that bordered on desperation. He stretched and contorted, testing the limits of this incredible body, mapping every erogenous zone, cataloging every gasp and shiver. He discovered that if he stretched his torso just right, the tension in his core would build to an almost unbearable peak, and a single, well-placed touch would send him over the edge into another shuddering orgasm.
The finalé began when he pulled his rounded hips and firm buttocks up to his face. His pussy, quivering and dripping with copious amounts of fluid, sat in front of his own face. The scent was sweet, musky, and entirely too enticing. His tongue darted out and a full-body shudder crawled up his spine and straight to his brain. The sensation was unlike any other, even through all the orgasms. He could feel the slick folds on his tongue, the hard nub of his clit against the tip. He could taste himself, and it was divine. He ate himself out with a fervor he hadn't known he possessed, his tongue lapping and probing, his nose buried in the folds of his own sex.
He sucked in the lips of his labia, hot breath running over his hole and clit. His legs shook and tightened around his head, acting like a pillow.
He felt like he was melting, his mind going blank with pleasure. His body was a symphony of sensation, and he was the conductor, the orchestra, and the audience all at once. His cock would never have been able to compare, he thought to himself as he ate himself out. When the final, most intense orgasm of the night finally ripped through him, it was a white-hot nova of sensation that left him boneless and panting on the floor, a tangle of limbs and sweat and satisfaction. He lay there for a long time, just breathing, the cool air of the room caressing his sensitized skin. He felt... complete. Whole in a way he never had in his own skin. He'd spent his entire life feeling like an outsider, a ghost in his own life. But here, in this body, he felt like he finally belonged.
Eventually, he pushed himself up, his muscles protesting in the most delicious way. He caught his reflection in the floor-to-ceiling window, the city lights glittering behind him. The woman in the glass looked wild, untamed. Her hair was a mess, her lips were swollen, her eyes were dark with a satisfaction that was almost predatory. He smiled, a slow, lazy grin that was all Kyle and all Carmen at the same time. This is not how he had imagined this night to go, lest of all a night in Elasti-Woman's bed. He laid there and finally decided. He couldn't go back to his own body. Not only did this body feel so much better but it had everything he ever desired. And now the world would know this new Elasti-Woman.
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Chapter by
vipy26 · 18 Nov 2024 -
Sean and Ann are going to their friend's house for one last hot summer afternoon.
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***
Prologue
One day, Humanity shared a common dream. Every person on Earth, as they slept, dreamt the same vision. In it, they could see themselves and others pulled toward someone of the other sex. As their two bodies collided, they were becoming one single being. One body of two minds. As people woke up, they could feel it: a deep knowledge that it wasn’t only a dream, but some kind of prophecy.
The pragmatics thought of it as Mother Nature fighting against human overpopulation. The poets preferred to think it was a restitution to our primal form where men and women were only the two halves of the same entities.
Sure, there were a few deniers, like there’s always some for Climate Change, but most people knew this day would soon come, the day of an event they soon started to call The Great Merge.
***
Sean
My name, at that time in that place, was Sean. In a few days, I was officially starting college there in my hometown, while my girlfriend Ann was moving away for her studies. I wasn’t particularly worried about it: our relationship had started as early as middle school and was so strong I knew it could even survive years and years of distance. But still, we wouldn’t be able to spend each day together like we did until now, so I wasn’t looking forward to it. To add to the injury, Ann was going to pursue a brilliant career in the medical field thanks to her perfect grades while my medium scores and not-so-wealthy family confined me to a local community college. I couldn’t say I wasn’t jealous.
“Don’t worry, honey. It’s just a matter of time anyway. We’ll be one in no time, so we’ll enjoy my new university together soon enough!”
That’s what Ann was always telling me when I shared my mixed feelings towards our future. We were often seen as the perfect couple. I believed in her love for me as much as mine for her. So when the Dream occurred, it was only natural for us to conclude we would fuse with one another. Even if the idea of losing their identity was scary for everyone, Ann and I felt like it was the most romantic thing that could happen to us. There was excitement mixed in the fear. But what if the Great Merge happened while she was away? Would it still work? Would it make her merge with a random dude from her school? Nobody knew for sure, but I didn’t want to leave it to chance, that’s why I was making sure to be with her as much as I could since the Dream.
Enjoying our last moments of summer, we were spending the afternoon at my friend Jason’s place. Jason's family was quite wealthy and owned a big house with a pool, so it was often him inviting us over and during summer vacation, we almost spent more time there than in our own houses. I stared dreamily at Ann as she got out of the bathroom in her newly brought red bikini. “Wow…” I was the luckiest man on earth. She was wearing her wavy brown hair in a ponytail and her usual fair skin had taken a golden hue from all our time here. An angel. Not only was she the smartest girl I knew with her already mentioned unparalleled academic prowess, she was the most beautiful in the whole world. Sure, I don’t claim I was the most objective, but still. Those green eyes, that cute little nose, and that damn smile… An embarrassed smile that, at that moment, was asking me why I was still looking at her like the first day we met.
“I swear next time I’m going in a diving suit.” she joked.
“Pretty sure you’d still rock it anyway.” I replied.
I loved how humble she managed to stay despite her perfect hourglass figure. She always had this shyness when it came to our desires for one another. I knew she had a kinky side that she was always too embarrassed to show me, like those erotic comics she hid in her room, or the way she blushed when watching a sex scene in a movie. Her modesty was probably the only thing I could see as a default about her personality. She could be a bit passive during our intimacy, but really it was nit-picking. Because yes, having the brain and the looks wasn’t enough for her, she also had to be the most kind-hearted person, making her popular not only with the teachers but every student in our old school.
“Come on, love birds. there’s only a few hours of sun left already!” called out Jason.
He was a great friend. Very sporty, outgoing, and full of confidence. I wasn't especially lacking in that department myself –how could I with Ann at my side– but I've always been a lot more reserved. He had sandy blond hair and a radiant smile that felt very inviting, making him the target of lots of girls' attention.
"Carrie's not here?" I asked him.
"Nah, we split yesterday," he answered casually.
Nothing to be surprised about, it was bound to happen. Jason's adventures never lasted long, as he could be very frivolous. He liked girls but not much commitment, and they often felt insecure in their relationship with him because of his popularity. He never cheated on them, but never reassured them much either. That was the same story with his previous girlfriend.
"Aww, too bad. I really liked Carrie, she was sweet," said Ann who was holding my hand as we walked to the pool area.
A big sliding door was opening directly on the bluest pool, taking much of the space. On our right was a neatly mown lawn and on our left was a stone wall matching the pool’s tiles. At the far end was a big modern pergola shading the lounge chairs under it. There, a familiar silhouette greeted us: “Hey, guys!”
The squeaky voice belonged to Jason's little sister Sheril. The little goblin was always clinging to us like a tick. I cringed at the harsh thought. She wasn't THAT bad. Sheril was a sophomore in our old high school. My guess was that, like most girls from her grade, she saw Ann as a role model or something, and because of that, she spent as much time as she could with us. She was nice, but often tried to monopolize our attention, talking loudly and frequently interrupting us. At the beginning of the vacation, Jason had tried to get rid of her multiple times but quickly forfeited as he often did with her relentless stubbornness. Ann didn't seem to mind her as much as I did as she always seemed impossible to annoy. For that reason, I had to also give up, just trying to ignore her as much as I could.
"How are you today? Do you want to play a game of tag or something? Hey, Ann! Have you seen my new ribbons? I bought them yesterday with Mom. She says they match with my eyes, what do you think?" She started rumbling as she jumped out of the chair and skipped around like a pestering fly.
Despite soon starting her last year of high school, Sheril was quite short for her age, not very developed, and wore her blonde hair in characteristic long and curly pigtails. Because of that, she could almost fool people into thinking she was still a child. Her current swimsuit, a white one-piece with pink flowers, was not helping her case. Despite that, she was definitely cute in her own way. She had big and very light blue eyes. Her button nose and rosy cheeks were covered in freckles and her overall facial features were free of imperfections. She had great potential if she started acting and dressing like her age, but for now, it was difficult to see more in her than a pesky kid.
I gave Ann a knowing smile and let her tank Sheril's attention for the moment. She didn't seem to mind and patiently responded to her endless chatting. I dived into the water with Jason for a few laps.
"So... What's your plan for the Great Merge now?" I asked Jason as we chilled on the other side of the pool. It was an obvious question to ask after his breakup with Carrie.
"Dunno, man. Guess I have to find a new girl soon, heh?" He answered, clearly not too worried.
"I mean, I would if I were you. You don't want to merge with your sister, I presume." I smirked.
He splashed water on my face. "Ugh! Please, no. But we have time, right? I mean everyone says it will happen on New Year's Eve.”
It was a popular rumor. There was no way to know for sure, but since the dream happened a few months prior, people were starting to relax to the idea it wouldn't happen right away.
"Maybe, yeah. But you can't be too cautious about that. Plus it's not like you lack the choice of partner. Half the girls in school want to fuck you, man."
He chuckled. "You really think I'm some kind of sex god or something? If you were not already in your perfect little couple, I'd think you have a crush on me, bro."
It was my turn to splash water at him.
"No but seriously, it must be so cool to have no doubts. You're going to spend your life stuck with your soulmate... You're one lucky dude, man." He said with more seriousness than usual.
"Yeah, I guess I am..." I answered, looking at my reflection in the pool. I couldn't mutter the strength to admit I also had doubts. Sure, being the other half of your half, it seemed like destiny, I couldn't deny that. And even if most of my mind was happy with this perspective, another, deeper part was sad. Who would we be in love with once we'd be one single being?
My thoughts were cut short by the sound of Sheril jumping in the pool. She quickly joined us, with Ann more gracefully following behind her.
"Let's play Chicken Fight!" yelled Sheril, a bit too enthusiastically.
"Again?" complained Jason. I shared the feeling: we played Chicken Fight every time we went to their pool. Well, at least it was a good excuse to caress Ann's smooth legs...
"Yes, but let's switch this time! I want to go on Sean's back!" said his sister in her bratty tone.
It took me by surprise. "Huh? Why?"
"Being on Jason is boring. He's, like, the worst horse. I just want to try out, pleaaaase!" she begged.
I wasn't keen on the idea at all, for obvious reasons. I was ready to rebuke the idea when Ann intervened: "Come on, guys. Try to be good sports, it's only for a few rounds."
Of course. Ann, the voice of reason. How could I say no to those eyes? I sighed and accepted. Seeing Jason take Ann on his back raised in me a pinch of jealousy, but I knew it was unfounded since I had complete trust in both of them. I crouched in the shallow water to let Sheril put her scrawny legs around my shoulders. Lifting her was the easiest thing in the world, and that was when I realized how underbalanced our two teams were: generally, Jason's bulk made up for Sheril's weak arms, which could then compete with our more standard duo. Me and Sheril had no chance.
Jason seemed to have done the same math. He grinned at me with his dashing smile, and charged.
"You okay up there?" I asked Sheril when we rose back from the depth, disoriented.
"Uh-huh. Let's try again." She said, sounding less convincing than she probably wanted.
We brawled for a bit, trying to make the most of our only asset: swiftness. Sheril's light weight allowed me to move around as we spared and I could see Jason starting to tire faster than me. Sheril was laughing loudly, apparently enjoying being tossed in multiple directions. I had to admit that I was starting to have fun too as I saw a thin chance of a possible win.
That's when I saw it. I stopped in my tracks, trying to discern what I was witnessing.
Jason rushed to us when he saw me stop, and I had to stop him loudly: "WAIT!" I screamed. It seemed to work as attended. "W-what's going on with your hands?"
Jason's hands were holding firmly on Ann's thighs, but I couldn't seem to find any gaps between their skins. It looked like they were... fused. My heart sank at this thought. No, no, no, no.
Jason, noticing he couldn't move his hands off Ann, was slowly joining me in the realization. He jerked them violently. Instinctively, I tried to do the same, only to understand I was in the same predicament. My head was boiling with fear. Not now, not now, not now…
The girls took a few more seconds to notice, both screaming in horror. I joined sight with Ann. In the middle of her shock, I could see resignation and sadness starting to rise while her eyes were filling with tears. On my back, Sheril was thrusting and swinging like a mad girl, trying desperately to free herself from my hands that were slowly but surely disappearing into her legs. I tried to lift my head to her face, but it was now firmly glued to her crotch, locking my neck in place.
My eyes locked on Jason in front of me, whose hands had already entirely entered Ann. His head had started entering her abdomen. He looked at me with desperation. He said something to me. I couldn't hear anything behind the screams coming from the top, but I managed to read his lips: "I'm so sorry." After that, he walked towards the edge of the pool as his head completely disappeared inside Ann.
I stayed paralyzed for a few more seconds before my survival instinct kicked in. I tried walking too, but Sheril's hysterical tantrum made it impossible as we stumbled into the water more and more. My vision finally blackened. I fought a little more before I was unable to breathe, either because of water or Sheril's body, I couldn't say. My consciousness quickly-
***
Sheril
My name, at that moment in that place, was Sheril. I lived in the Sunny Hills, a calm suburb above the city, with my parents and my big brother Jason. In a few days, I was starting my last year of high school. It was cool in a way: seniors are the ones all the freshmen are looking up to, but who was I kidding? Nobody was looking up to me, figuratively and literally.
I was the scrawniest girl possible. Only Holly was worse in that category, but she had an illness or something, so she didn't count. I had no breasts to speak of, the flattest ass imaginable. Sure I wasn't ugly, but a cute face doesn't make up for the absence of a body.
My friend Sasha always told me I should wear sexier clothes, but she didn't know what she was talking about. She had tits for days, a bit too much even. What does revealing clothes do when you have nothing to reveal, really? Nothing, you just look stupid. I had to play with the cards in my hand, and my only card was cuteness. So I wore cutesy clothes. Not like my mom would have accepted anything more. If I listened to her, I'd go to school in a space suit. I preferred to be called a child than a nun, personally. At least I had a few guys looking at me. Not the right one, though.
Sean had been my big crush since I entered high school. Tall, half-Asian, jet-black hair hiding his deep black eyes... He was just my dream type, like right from a K-pop band. And it wasn't just his looks. He had that aura of mystery. That low and soothing voice. That shy side-smile that let you wonder what he was thinking about... and he was so romantic. The way he cared for his girlfriend was obvious and intense. Because, yes, Sean had a girlfriend. Not only did he have a girl, he had THE girl. Ann was, like, probably in the top 3 most popular girls in the whole school last year. She was so smart and beautiful, it was just unfair. And the worst part is that I couldn't hate the bitch for how nice she was. I was so jealous of her, it hurt. I couldn't help but compare myself all the time.
I was waiting on the lounging chairs, covered in solar cream. Last summer, I had ended up red as a beet, so I didn't want to risk it this time. I lifted a brace from my swimsuit and took a pick: almost no tan lines. I was just not made for summer. Sasha had invited me to join her at the mall, but I had told her I couldn't today. Because as usual, Sean was coming to the house.
“Ah, I hear them,” said Jason as he came out of the pool. “They prolly want to enjoy their last pool day in peace, Sheril, so don’t start pestering them like usual, huh?”
I stuck my tongue out. Gosh, Jason was the worst brother. He always treated me like I was 5 and I was so sick of it. That goof probably thought he was some sort of womanizer with how many girlfriends he had over the years. I knew the truth though: they broke up each time they realized how fucking dumb he was. His friendship with Sean was a mystery I never managed to crack, but I wasn’t complaining: at least my stupid brother was useful for one thing.
I rolled my eyes watching Jason walk back into the house. I pity the girl who’s going to merge with him…, I thought.
On the day of the Dream, I had first hoped I would merge with Ann so I could be with him. But I quickly understood it would only work with a guy. I of course imagined merging with him. It would be quite romantic in a way, but I realized it meant also killing all hopes of going out with him. But hearing them talk about it, I knew Sean and Ann wanted to merge together. It wouldn’t be so bad, actually: if they merged, they wouldn't be a couple anymore, it would be my chance! I just needed the right partner. I knew of a guy in school who had a crush on Ann (like half of them really). He wasn't too shabby so I told him about my plan. He seemed to be on board. Now I only needed to get closer to Sean before the merge, so he could see me as the next best thing!
At that moment, the door from the patio opened and Jason came out with his friends beside him. "Okay, Sheril, stay cool this time," I repeated to myself.
I beamed and greeted them as they arrived, showing them the new ribbons. Sadly, Sean didn't seem to care much and quickly went into the pool with Jason. Of course, I should have guessed ribbons were not the appropriate subject of conversation... stupid. Ann seemed a bit more interested though, and we talked a bit about our recent outfits. Ann has a great sense of fashion, sexy while keeping it modest enough. I wanted to master that, but I had hesitated to go too far in that direction. I didn't want people to see me as a tasteless copycat. Plus, it would hint a bit too much that I was trying to get Sean's intention by mimicking his girlfriend's style.
"Hum, Sheril?" she interrupted my train of thought. "How about we join the boys in the pool? I'm drying up with that sun."
"Oh, yeah! Sorry!" I said, hoping I wasn't bothering her. "Oh! We should go for a game of Chicken Fight! Do you think we can mix up the teams this time?"
I've been waiting to team up with Sean for once, but it was difficult breaking those two up. I hoped that, by asking Ann first, it wouldn't sound too desperate.
She took a second to answer. "Sure, why not? If the guys are okay."
After a bit more convincing, the guys accepted as well. Sweet! The idea of climbing on Sean's shoulders was already making my heart flutter. He lifted me with ease as I took the opportunity to caress his thick dark mane. What a treat! I was thankful to be in a pool at the time, as my face reddened like a tomato... I was soon put out of my daydreaming as the others shoved us into the water without warning. Jason was his usual brute, of course.
As I climbed back, Sean asked me if everything was alright. I felt like his personal little princess, it was magical! The second round went better. Sean was moving me around so much that I couldn't help myself laughing. Suddenly, he stopped in his tracks and yelled. "WAIT!"
I was surprised by the abruptness. "What's going on?" I asked, but Sean didn't react. Instead, he addressed Jason, asking him about his hands. I didn't understand, but I could feel my partner's body tensing underneath me. My brother started shaking around violently, and I finally saw it: his hands were stuck to Ann's legs. Not just stuck: fused, like tin on a circuit board. I screamed in horror and tried to get off Sean. No dice. "WHAT'S GOING ON!? WHAT'S GOING ON!?"
They couldn't answer me, too focused on their own thoughts and feelings. My mind was too alarmed to think straight, but as much as I tried to pull myself off his shoulder, I only felt like I was sinking deeper inside him. I finally understood as I saw my brother's face completely disappear inside Ann. The Merge, it was happening. I was merging with Sean! I didn't want to, I wasn't ready to die. I wasn't ready to become someone else. I cried and cried and pulled harder. In the end, Sean fell into the water. I couldn't break free. We were about to drown and I couldn't break free. My last sensation was his head moving inside my belly. How odd...
***
The Wake
Air pulling inside my lungs woke me in shock and pain. A mouth was on mine. I jerked away and coughed out a bunch of chlorine-filled water, the chemical smell stinking up my nose. My lungs were on fire, and it took me a few minutes of coughing to start breathing somewhat regularly again. Even more painful was my head. My brain felt like a throbbing core and my memories were in shambles. I couldn't think of anything before my wake without it burning my frontal lobe.
I focused on my environment. The sun was beating hard on my skin. The pool, yes. I know this place. I must have drowned. My chest felt compressed by a very tight fabric. A silhouette was shielding the beams from my eyes. I could only discern a vague shape. I should know them... my brother? I called the name that came to my mind: "J-jason? Is that... you?" my voice was weak in my biting throat.
The silhouette didn't respond, and got out of my sight, blinding me with the light. Jason... my brother? He's not, though. I don't have siblings... or do I? I decided to sit up to collect my thoughts. Keeping my eyes low to restore my sight, it was then that I saw my body for the first time. I wasn't sure what I expected to see, but I was certain without a doubt that it wasn't that. Something seemed wrong. I was bigger... or smaller? Definitely bigger in some areas, at least. I was wearing a loose swimming trunk over a constricting flowery one-piece. Both gears felt weird and familiar at the same time. What didn't feel familiar was the breasts on my chest. It was a lot bigger than what I was used to. It made sense since I wasn't used to anything at all... right?
My creamy white skin was sticky with solar protection. A reassuring fact since the sun was beating me for who knows how long. I crawled to the shady part of the patio, under the pergola. My mind was slowly but surely coming back to me. I was in my house. I was spending time with my friend and his sister, my girlfriend and my brother... and his friends. The number didn't seem right. Most of the common knowledge was still here, the hazy part was about my daily life. Too many incoherences.
As I sat back on my strangely ample bosom, on the darker side, I could see more clearly. Someone else was here, curled up against the decorative brick wall. They were holding their knees, staring into space. A girl, at first glance, though fairly muscular, with a boyish haircut. Her face... she looked like my girlfriend Ann. Ann... There was no doubt Ann was my girlfriend. For the first time, I was certain of someone's relationship with me. This girl's face looked so much like hers it was uncanny. Like a big sister, maybe. "She has a wider mouth", I thought. Her body was bigger though.
"Who...?" I tried to talk to her, but I wasn't sure what to ask. There was too much to sort out anyway, and she seemed also to have a lot on her mind. The sound of my voice was also new. Deeper... no, higher. Different, for sure. I took a long breath. The swimsuit was too damn tight. Despite not wanting to undress in front of a stranger, I couldn't bear it any longer. I took the strips down my shoulders, freeing my new chest and keeping the swimsuit hanging around my torso. I was weirded out by the unfamiliar appendages, but also proud in a deep part of my brain.
Hogging them for a few seconds, I wondered what was between my legs, for some reason. As expected, it was the usual set of female genitalia, an equipment I should have been familiar with, having clear memories of possessing one. However, as my hand patted my crotch, I was struck by a feeling of vertigo. Something was supposed to be there. I was supposed to have a penis, I remembered having a penis. Again, those opposing memories.
I decided to concentrate on finding out the meaning of all this, rather than exploring my body further. Two sets of memories... What kind of phenomenon could cause that? And like that, the lightning that cleared the fog I was in since my waking illuminated my whole being: The Big Merge. The dream. The Merge happened and I was the result of it. I was two people.
Finally realizing that fact, everything made sense and it was so much easier to sort my memories in respective mental shelves. Names: Sean / Sheril; gender: Male / Female; age: 19 / 18... After a few minutes, I had a pretty clear idea of my two identities. As I was still in this tiring process, the girl interrupted me.
"Hey. Are you there? Are you okay?" She said in a low voice like she was imitating a man. She sounded rough but concerned.
I look back at her. It wasn't hard now to guess who she was. Who they were. My brother... my friend was now merged with my role model... my girlfriend. They had a fit body, a middle ground between Jason's brawny physique and Ann's slender silhouette. Their hair, while a bit longer, was similar in style to Jason's. The color though, was neither blonde nor brown, but something in between: a light auburn, almost reddish. Their face was a lot more similar to Ann's than Jason's. A bit squarer, maybe, but still extremely beautiful. Their chest seemed a bit smaller than Ann used to be, but I inferred it might just be because of the bigger frame.
They were still wearing Ann's bikini top and probably the bottom too under Jason's trunks.
A sad realization finally set in as I diverted my gaze. Ann... I was supposed to be with her, with my soulmate. My brother had taken her from me. And now I was stuck, stuck with... myself. I instinctively put a hand on my mouth, as if I expected to throw up. I felt grossed out by my Sheril half. A punny, stupid, and bratty little girl. A loud mouth incapable of self-reflection, that's who I was. In reality, Sean didn't have such a low esteem of Sheril, but the sensation of losing my loved one was angering me, which in turn activated my Sheril insecurity. My two identities were bringing out the worst of each other and a wave of self-hatred swept me away. I started sobbing loudly, making me hate even more my girly and immature side.
"Wow, hey! It's alright, it's alright." My brother/girlfriend said, surprised by my sudden reaction. She took me in her arms, enveloping me like a mother would do to her child. It felt good, as much as I didn't want to admit. Ann was still there, she was still there with me even if she looked a bit different. It calmed me to think that, and I quickly reciprocated the embrace, hugging her tight around her firm waist. I was definitely smaller now. I finished sniffing like that for a few minutes as she caressed my hair (which I noticed was still styled as pigtails).
I finally managed to get a hold of myself and sat back straight. "S-sorry about that. I guess it's hard dealing with those new emotions..."
"I get what you mean, sis. Don't sweat it." She replied with a signature Jason wide grin.
I recoiled in horror. "SIS?!" I screeched, louder than was my intention.
They gave me a quizzical look. "Well, yeah. I know I look a bit different now, but it's me, Jason. You still haven't figured it out?"
I frowned. "I know who you are in there. I just expected you to be Ann."
They (or maybe he) laughed. "Okay, you're still not fully getting it yet, Sheril. It's alright. I'm actually both me AND Ann. We merged."
I winced at the name. His little smug tone was a premiere for me. Or at least my Sean part. It was fairly common for Sheril though, and annoying as hell. I pinched my nose in frustration, in a typical Sean fashion. "I know who you are. Both of you." I said in a low and slow manner. "You are as much Ann as you are Jason, so why are you talking about her in the third person?"
He looked at me with a dumb expression. "I dunno. It just feels more natural. I feel more like Jason than Ann. What's the big deal, sis?"
My face was slowly decomposing. I stood up in disarray. "What do you mean by that? How can you be more one than the other? AND STOP CALLING ME SIS, I'M SEAN!"
It took me a few seconds to register the irony of my comment. And a few more to think about that. I wasn't more Sean than Sheril, not really. I remembered equally growing up as a boy and a girl, their lives, their feelings, their hopes and dreams. But something felt a bit wrong when I thought of myself as Sheril. My Sean personality was too strong maybe? Not really. Sheril was a lot more vocal, usually. No, the difference was a matter of Ego, of confidence, I realized. Sheril had a major lack of self-esteem, now reinforced by the image Sean's mind was reflecting of herself. And while I, Sean, wasn't particularly the most confident individual of all time, it never had been a big problem in my life either. Plus, reciprocally, Sheril's love was boosting my Ego big time, which was kinda sad. She just preferred to see herself as me rather than I preferred to see myself as her, and as long as I believed it like that, I could more or less function.
Jason lifted himself up. The new girl was towering me big time, my eyes ending up at the level of her breasts. Jason had always been taller than me, but not by much. I had been decently tall -much more than Ann at least- and even if their fusion had taken more of his height than her, it made me realize how small I had become. I was only a few inches taller than Sheril was, which didn't mean much.
"If you want me to call you Sean, it's fine with me, si- huh... man." He chuckled. "Sorry, it's a bit hard though, you look so much more... girly," He said and pointed to my bare chest.
I turned red from embarrassment. I had completely forgotten that part. I quickly ran to the lounge chairs to take my Sheril's towel from one of them, rolling it around my torso. My perky breasts kept it tucked neatly.
"Okay, let's start again," I said as I walked back to them. "Can you please concentrate on Ann? I understand it comes easier for you to act like Jason, but I need to talk with my girlfriend right now..."
They winced at that and looked away. "I... I don't think I can do that."
"I'll be Sheril if you want afterward!" I pleaded. "I just need to witness she's still here somehow... That you're still alive, Ann. Please."
I took a step towards them, and they took a step back. They were still avoiding eye contact. I let them think in silence for a few minutes. They were pacing around, looking at their hands.
Finally, they spoke: "She's in here, Sean. Don't worry about that..."
"Then talk to me! As Ann! I know it's possible, I'm in the same situation as you, remember?" Even if it wasn't natural to think of myself as Sheril, she was still me. I knew I could summon her personality if necessary, like standing on one leg rather than the other. But right now, I was too focused on my bond with the love of my life, a powerful feeling that Sheril had never felt until now.
"I just can't do that right now. I need to stay Jason."
"Give me at least an explanation!" Bits of Sheril's stubbornness were leaking into my mind.
They sighed. "She's not feeling right, okay? It would hurt too much..." Their voice sounded tighter and tighter. I could see it, she was struggling not to come out, shielding herself behind Jason's big personality. But Jason had probably never felt that either, he must have been lost to this strange new pain.
I very slowly took a step forward, as if I was trying not to scare a frightened animal. "Baby," I said in the calmest voice I could mutter. "I know I look very different right now, but it's me. I'm here, okay? We're still together-"
She pushed me away with her two giant arms. The strength and speed were enough to throw me away on several feet. I wouldn't have been able to stay standing if not for the wall behind me.
"WE'RE NOT TOGETHER!" she cried in a much more feminine voice than it had been. Tears started rolling from her eyes. "It's over, don't you get it? It was our only chance and we blew it. We were supposed to be together forever, it was our destiny, our dream and now it's gooone..."
She wailed like I had never heard her wail, and certainly not Jason. My eyes were feeling up again at the sight. I knew her feelings, and I wanted to curse the world too, but I was also so relieved to hear her back. Ann, my only true love, was still here at my side, behind it all.
I hugged her again, this time trying to comfort her. She was so tall it didn't feel right, but she took me in and bent down to put her wet face on my shoulder. I stood there, caressing her back and letting her take it all out.
After a moment, I led her to a lounging chair so we could sit next to one another. "Do you remember the last time you felt sad like that? I guess it was when Jumbo died. We did a Viking funeral..." I said in a weak voice.
She gave me a weak smile. "You made the tiny boat yourself. It was very sweet of you to take so much time for my stupid frog."
"Jumbo was not stupid, he was just special! And I couldn't let you flush him in the toilet." I snarled.
She chuckled, still sniffing. Taking a trip down memory lane wasn't without reasons. I wanted her to focus on herself, on us, and help her understand that the small girl in front of her was still her boyfriend. It seemed to work as intended because she looked me in the eyes with a sad smile. Her deep dark eyes, reddened by the tears, were still hers.
"If I look closely, I can still see you in there..." she said meekly. It made me realize I hadn't seen my face yet.
"I am. Still here. Still by your side." I answered.
She looked back at her feet, biting her lips. "Except you're my sister now..."
It fell on me like a brick, waking back my Sheril part. Even if Jason was hard to discern under this girl's traits, I knew it was really my brother I was looking at. I was in love with him, indirectly, and the idea was quite nauseating. I kept silent for a moment, wondering. Was Sean's love strong enough to make me do something so revulsing like incest? I just have to forget about Jason. He's not relevant anymore, I thought. As much as I knew how immoral it was, I wanted to hold on to this love. I wanted to forget myself in it.
I looked back at her, and with the most quiet voice, I uttered: "I don't... care."
Her eyes widened back at me in surprise. Apparently, she was going through the same fight. But I knew her. I knew our mutual feelings could win any challenges. Slowly, like she was about to touch a flame with her bare hands, she approached her face to mine. We were both red like the day of our first kiss. As I could feel her hot breath hitting my nostrils, I closed my eyes and ended the gap myself.
Our lips met with intensity. Her tongue was first to enter my mouth, taking the entire space. She wasn't kissing like we used to at all, but I didn't care: at this moment, I was like a maiden experiencing her first kiss ever. Our size difference made it natural for me to assume a new, more supporting role. We kissed passionately for an unknown amount of time, completely lost in bliss.
As we finally broke it, we knew our love was indestructible. It had survived the biggest challenge we had ever met, and we smiled at each other, truly happy.
"I would have missed that." She finally said. "If we had fused together I mean. We wouldn't be able to make out, I guess."
As we cuddled, my eyes met with her crotch. I gulped when I caught on the suspicious bulge it sported. "Huuh... D-do you have..." I started saying, not daring to finish my sentence.
"A dick? Yeah, I still have one. Or have one now, I guess. You don't?"
I shook my head, taken aback by their bluntness.
"Weird. I wonder what are the rules about that... Maybe I was just packing more than you." They said with a grin.
The fact Jason's personality reappeared while we were still cuddling made me wince. I broke the hug. "Of course talking about that would make you Jason again..."
They laughed. "Don't worry, I'm still Ann too. I think I'm slowly finding a balance between them both."
My curiosity for male genitals coming exclusively from Sheril, it was also canceled by the reminder it was Jason's pickle between their legs. I made a disgusted face when he tried to cuddle back.
"Oh, I see Sheril is here." He mocked.
I pulled out my tongue, either sarcastically or instinctively, I couldn't say. He guffawed and stood up, stretching their chiseled body.
"Maybe we should go inside now that we're feeling better. I'm curious to know more about the global situation."
I followed at their side as we walked back. "By the way, isn't it too quiet around here? You would expect chaos, people screaming... Are we the only ones merged?"
"Naaah, we all had the dream," they said with leisure. "It's a very calm residential neighborhood. The few old couples around must be lost sorting all their memories, but I'm sure it's a lot more chaotic downtown."
That made sense, but I still had lots of questions in my mind. What about people driving? Or in planes? It must have caused accidents all over. What about people with no opposite gender nearby?
"What about Mom and Dad?" I decided to ask.
"Which ones?"
"The ones we share, dummy," I answered back, very Sheril-like.
"I'm your boyfriend now, you shouldn't call me like that." They joked.
I winced at the insinuation. "Girlfriend. As Ann." I snarled.
"Sure, but I'm still the one with a cock here..." She answered, pinching my bubbly butt with one hand.
"Yeek!" I screamed with a jump and they laughed loudly. I slapped the hand with a mean gaze. The cocky attitude coming from Jason was very new in a flirt setting and I was scared to find out how this relationship was going to play out. Each time Jason's personality was acting out, my Sheril instincts were brought back too, which was slowly setting up a weird chasing game between us and the immoral aspect of our bond.
***
The Shower
We walked past the sliding doors inside the cool interior. Our house. I chuckled at the fact I was now officially living with my girlfriend. I guess we had two addresses now, but this house was a lot nicer than Sean's old one. My parents might not like it, though..., I wondered. Come to think of it, I should try and contact them as soon as possible.
"Well, first thing I wanna do is see my face," I said out loud.
"Oh yeah, same. I tried to see my reflection in the pool but I couldn't catch much."
A wide mirror was hanging in the hall near the stairs. I held my breath and I stood in front of it.
It was one thing to not recognize the body you're in, it was another level to see a new face in the mirror. And what a face. I was hella cute. Sheril's pretty face had blossomed under some of Sean's more mature traits. My eyes were still blue, but instead of big round balls, they had taken Sean's almond shape. The whole face was more vixen while keeping some of Sheril's original innocence. My hair was jet black had kept the pigtails, reminding me of some Asian cosplayers. I looked a lot closer to my actual age. Who would have thought that merging with a guy would have made me so feminine?
"Woow. I look a lot more like Ann than Jason, heh? No wonder you were expecting me to act like her at first." My partner said as they made all kinds of weird faces.
"Well, I certainly don't look like Sean," I added.
"You do in some ways. At least you don't look as much like Sheril as I do Ann. That's a relief."
"I bet..."
They looked at me through the mirror. "For Ann, the simple fact that Sean is inside is enough, but for Jason, I have to try and trick my mind into thinking you're just an unknown gorgeous girl who happened to share some similarity with my sister."
I blushed at the compliment. Being called gorgeous was raising some of Sheril's ego. I took off the ribbons from my hair, letting it flow on the back of my neck. "Does that help?" I asked.
"Thank god, yes." They sighed and bent down for a kiss.
I reciprocated, but more timidly, not able to shake the feeling I was kissing Jason this time. As we broke, I cleared my voice. "I really need a shower, my skin is still sticky from the solar cream..."
"Oh, okay." They said, sounding a bit disappointed.
I gave them a peck on the cheek as an apology. "I'll be back soon, I just need to freshen up."
I entered the spacious bathroom on the second floor. It was interesting to compare the quality of life of my two families. Sheril had never realized how good she had it before. Spoiled brat, I scowled myself.
I finally had the chance to put off my mixed swimwear. Looking at myself again in the mirror, unclad with my dark mane untied, a strong feeling of vanity and pride enveloped me. I gave a cocky smile at my reflection. I was fully female and had no explanation for that. My biggest wonder was my new perky breasts that I had estimated to be a C cup. Far from Sasha's utters, but still a very big improvement on my previous sizes. Where could they come from?
I took a deeper examination at my crotch. I could feel a mourning coming from Sean's loss of his manhood. As my Sheril part was more accustomed to the female anatomy, it was taking the lead in this investigation. I looked back at my reflection's gaze while running my fingers around my slit. How strange, I thought, to be aroused by my reflection. The taste for girls was new to me as Sheril, and it wasn't unpleasant. I bit my lips as I pushed a finger inside, it was already wet. My own muffled moan was raising the flow even more.
Not wanting to be caught by my brother, I turned on the shower, to better resume my exploration behind the sound of falling water. The wide shower was also equipped with a mirror on one side, so I could still peek at myself. Taking advantage of my Sheril mind under the wheel, I decided to partake in a little fantasy. I started imagining Sean going down on my new self.
"Sean... keep going..." It was a weird revelation for Sean, who was now also experimenting self-arousal, by his old male self. As cringed as he was deep inside of me, I for once felt even more pleasure. My love for him was drowning him, forcing him to watch in disarray.
"We are one now, Sean. You're inside me. I'm inside you... We're moan together forever."
I was slowly speeding up the pace, feeling a climax already climbing its way. "Sean! I love you, Sean! I'm closer to you than Ann would ever be!"
Here it was, my first orgasm in my new home. "You're mine! You're mine! You're miiiiine!" I screamed at my reflection, as the powerful wave of pleasure engulfed me.
Catching my breath, I chuckled: "Who's the brat now, huh?"
knock, knock, knock
"Sean? Is everything okay? I heard you scream."
The call of my other half's name was enough to flip me back. Shame quickly replaced my earlier demeanor. I felt like I had cheated Ann with myself.
Not hearing a response, she opened the unlocked door. Shit.
"I... knocked a toe in the corner!" I improvised weakly.
The sliding doors were filled with steam, so I couldn't see her. I only heard the sound of rubbing clothes. A few seconds later, the doors opened.
"I thought it would be quicker if we shared a shower," she said. "Or it might take longer if we knocked another toe."
She smiled mischievously. My eyes went instinctively to the odd member attached to her otherwise feminine body. Neither Sheril nor Sean could attest to its resemblance to Jason's old one, but it was certainly sizeable. Its length was not what made me stare longer than I should have: the lack of visible testicles was my first surprise. The skin around it was also making some kind of fold.
"Yeah I know, it doesn't look exactly like your classic male anatomy." They chuckled.
It seemed to work fine though, as the already half-erected penis rose slowly to a full stand. I became crimson and looked away, my stare certainly responsible for the change of elevation.
They closed the distance, gently lifting my chin with their fingers, and kissed me once more. Never had Ann been so assertive before. Jason's personality had completely changed our dynamic. I was now the submissive one. I didn't know what to think of it yet, still figuring out where this relationship was going. The hard hot rod poking at my belly made me flinch back.
"I-I don't know if I'm ready for that yet..." I said, a bit guilty for my earlier session.
"If not for the full act... would you mind helping me with that thing? You know... with your... mouth?" She muttered. The shyness at the request made it typically Ann. She always had a coy demeanor when she felt kinky, which was quite often.
"You want me to give you a blowjob?!" I gulped. For some reason, I had even more apprehension for oral than actual regular sex.
She went on the defensive: "Oh come on! I've done it all the time for you, what's the big deal?"
"The big deal is that I've never done it, for once..." I answered.
"Not even Sheril?" She asked.
I shook my head. Sheril was a virgin, actually. I had a few boyfriends, but never went farther than kissing.
"Well, I won't force you, of course." She said reassuringly, clearly fighting against her male urge. "Let me take care of it myself."
I sighed. If I wanted to continue my relationship with Ann fully, I'd have to do it sooner or later. "No, it's okay. I'll try."
"You're sure? I don't want you to feel obliged..." She said with utmost seriousness.
I smile at her caution and nod. "I guess part of me is kinda curious."
"Don't tell me which part, please." She said, wincing a bit.
Right... I was about to commit incest. Jason was probably trying his best to forget I was also his sister. I crouched awkwardly, not wanting to hurt my knees on the tiling. The pulsing dick was a few inches from my face. Closing my eyes, I tried to make the mixing between my two personalities. Putting Sheril away while keeping her interest in the male appendage was difficult, but I was slowly coming to it. I'm a girl, a heterosexual girl who's about to give a blowjob to my lover, Ann…
I put my lips on the tip. The smell wasn't as potent as I thought, even enjoyable. Then I took a grip at the base of the shaft with one of my dainty hands, the other one holding her firm leg to keep balance.
"Oh boy..." said my partner, holding onto the wall with anticipation.
Slowly, I pushed the head to my mouth, parting my lips. As it went in, I realized the girth was a lot harder to fit in than I expected. I had to almost dislocate my jaw like I was trying to take a bite of a giant burger.
"T-try not to put your teeth on it..." complained Ann.
"Hmm mmHmm!" I replied.
"What?"
"I'm trying," I repeated after putting it out. "You're just too big."
She laughed, a bit embarrassed. "Never had that problem with you..."
I gave her a dark look. "Shut up if you want me to resume."
"Yes ma'am."
I put myself back in character. That time, I curled my lips around my teeth so as to limit their contact with the shaft. I then started giving it a back-and-forth motion. It wasn't a very practical experience, but looking up, I saw my partner looking at me in fascination. It was an odd angle, her face shielding me from the water pouring around, her wet short hair leaking thin flows on my head. Her chest was covering part of her chin and in her eyes shined a lust I never saw in her.
The blow was not very pleasurable in itself from my perspective, but her desire for me was enough to stir my own arousal. I felt happy to give, I felt sexy and I felt love. I started putting more sensuality in my work and kept eye contact. I broke the pace with licks and kisses in between strokes. Her only reaction was small grunts, enough to comfort me that I was doing something good.
Playing a lot on my feminine charms was somewhat dangerous as I was close to waking too much of Sheril's mind. I'm sucking my brother's cock! was the last thing I wanted to think about, but if I went too much on the other side, Sean would be noticing he had another guy's cock in his mouth. It was a true rope-dancer act, but as long as I kept my poise, the experience was outstanding. My hand wanted nothing more than play with my clit, but I couldn't risk it in my shaky stance.
The frustration sped up my back and forth, and without warning, her pulsing dick spurted hot semen into my mouth. Through pure motion reflex, I swallowed the bitter and slimy liquid, only to fall down and gag into the faucet. I spat what was left in my mouth, cleaning it with hot water, but what had been gulped stayed inside.
"Didn't you teach me to warn you when I was about to cum?" I snarled, the unpleasant taste still lingering in my mouth.
"S-sorry... I guess I was too focused on the feeling..." she answered not so apologetically.
I finally stood back up. Looking back in the mirror, I was slowly catching on to what I had just done. I sucked a dick. I sucked a dick as a girl and swallowed. My mind was fully back to Sean, which made me feel extremely ashamed as if a new level of my masculinity had been ripped from me. Is there still some left in me?
"God, that was... so intense. Even as Jason, I don't remember experiencing a head like that. Are you sure it was your first time?" They said, a bit too genuinely.
Well, now it's definitely gone... My face was already too red from the act to show any more of my shame. I gave my reflection a knowing smile. That being said, I'd also have loved a blow from that girl. Too bad she's me.
At last, I could have an actual wash.
"I don't know if any of my clothes will fit me," I said as we got out.
"Eventually we'll have to go shopping, but for now you can steal something from Mom's closet. I'm sure she won't mind." Jason answered as he played a bit with his breasts in the mirror. Yep, that's him in there right now. Probably all that male lusting summoning him back.
"Why do you say that?"
"I had a quick call from them while you were busy knocking your toe." He grinned.
I coughed to hide my embarrassment. I was relieved by the news. "Oh, they're alright? Who did they-"
"They merged together, as they wanted." He cut me, predicting my following question. "They're still at Auntie's house. She merged with one of her neighbor's sons, apparently. It's a bit of a mess out there, so they told me they won't be home tonight."
"What the plan for us, now?" I asked as I finished tying up a towel around my hair.
"Let's take the time to get news from our other families and friends for now. We'll decide what to do when we know more." They answered, pragmatically.
***
Phone Calls
As suggested by Jason, I looked into our mother, Elisa's closet. Her wardrobe was neither to any of my identities' tastes, but she fitted my new build fairly well. I was very sad at the fact none of my cutesy dresses would ever fit me now, at least half of me was. The other had not much to add in the matter of women's clothing except that Sheril's "cutesy clothes" were childish and it was past time for her to upgrade her style.
I skimmed out for something that wasn't screaming "old woman's outfit". The best I ended up finding was a yellow and blue floral dress that was SO old-fashioned that it was coming back to style. Her underwear options were a tad too small but worked fine for now. I added white tights to complete the look.
Walking back to the bathroom, I brushed my new silky hair and decided to style it in two low-braided pigtails, ending them with my precious ribbons. Maybe not the most mature hairstyle, but there was progress, and it just fitted the dress perfectly. Very Cottagecore. I'm so cute like this! I thought, smiling happily at my vintage look. I was ready to shoot an episode of Little House on the Prairie. Without thinking, I finished up by putting on some makeup: rosing my cheeks and enhancing my new eyes.
When some of my Sean's mind reappeared, I felt like I'd been bamboozled by myself. I'm doomed to be a girly girl now, am I? Well, I have to admit it does suit me.
As I went back downstairs, Jason/Ann was sitting on the couch, looking at their phone.
"That's what you're wearing, huh." I said not without contempt at their choice of outfit. They went for some of Jason's clothes, which were of course very loose on their new frame. The tank top they chose, which was probably the tightest Jason owned, was so wide it showed a big deal of their braless cleavage, while the elastic shorts, maintained to their waist by a makeshift belt out of some rope, were looking almost like a two-legged skirt.
They raised an eye to me at my comment. I proudly gave them a little swirl, posing. "Not too shabby, huh?"
After a few seconds of silence, they guffawed loudly. I made a pout to their reaction, hands on my hips.
"What."
"Oh nothing, nothing." they managed to catch their breath. "I guess you're back to Sheril, is all. I might have forgotten she was in there."
"Yeah, well, she's half of me, yes." I retorted "You know, I was hoping being with Ann would make you less of a jerk, Jason. Guess I was wrong."
"Oh come on, sis. Don't be upset. It's not a bad look, it's just really... you, I guess."
"Not more than your choice is really you, bro. You know you're not a guy anymore, huh? What's up with your outfit?" I interjected.
He shrugged. "Ann's slim jeans don't fit me anymore, as you might expect. I don't have much choice for now."
"Well, I hope it won't be your new style from now on..." I sulked as I sat in the armchair on the other side. I was too Sheril and he was too Jason to cuddle right now.
I reached for Sean's phone which had been sitting on the coffee table until now. There was a few missed calls from Mom's number. "Shit."
"What's up?" They asked.
"My mom. She's been trying to reach me. I should have done that sooner." I said, worried.
"You're right, I haven't tried to contact my other family either yet. Let's take care of that now." They looked for Ann's phone in her bag and went outside so we could each have some space.
I first tried to unlock my phone with my fingerprint, which of course didn't work. Thankfully, I still remembered my password. It took a pretty long time for the phone to pick up.
"Yes, who's this?" said a mysterious croaky voice. It didn't sound like my mother at all.
"Huh, Hi? I'm looking for Sandra. Sandra Wang?" I asked.
"Listen, girl. I'm having a hard time here, like everybody else, and I don't have much time. Can you start by introducing yourself?"
I was quite baffled by the unfamiliarity of the tone. Of course, I was expecting my parents to be merged, but the rude voice was completely unknown.
"I'm Sean, her son. Is my mother here? Is everything alright?" I started worrying.
It took them a few seconds to answer: "Oh, Sean! It's good to finally hear from you. Sorry, I didn't notice your name on the phone."
"Huh, Mom? Is that you?" I asked, still unsure.
"Well, yeah in part. That's my number, what did you expect?" She answered dryly. Her pitch, while still feminine, was very coarse, like a long-life smoker. It didn't make sense for a fusion of both my parents.
"Who are you with?" I asked the next logical question.
"Richard." I had no idea who that was. "Richard Dickinson? My coach from the swimming club. I guess I wasn't talking to you about it much, huh."
That was troubling, but it made sense. At this time of the day, my father might have still been at work.
"And what about Dad? Do you have news from him?"
"No." She said icily.
"Aren't you worried?" I asked, a bit surprised by the apparent indifference.
"Listen, kid. I have bigger fish to fry here. I tried to call the guy a few times already. I have a wife to take care of. The situation is enough of a mess as it is."
I was shocked by the tone. My mother had always been a polite and caring woman. Clearly, the other mind was leading at the moment.
"Can I actually talk to my mother, Richard?" I raised my voice.
I wasn't used to talking so boldly to one of my parents, but the tone they used on me since the beginning of the call was making it difficult for me to treat them as such. It seemed to be effective, as the silence following was telling.
"Ugh, alright. Sorry, Sean. I'm sure you know how it feels to share a mind with someone. It's easy to get lost. But I'm still here, sweetie." She said. The tone had changed drastically.
"Yeah, I understand," I answered, relieved.
"Did you merge with your girlfriend? Are you at her house?" She asked, a lot more concerned.
"No, I'm at the Sanders. I ended up with Jason's little sister..." I replied, a bit ashamed for some reason.
"Oh, I see. Sorry it didn't go like you wanted. At least you're in a nice home. Listen, it's probably better if you stay with them, at least for the time being. I have many things to get straight in Richard's life, and with your dad not answering my calls..."
"I'll try to call him. I'm sure he's alright." I said, trying to comfort her.
"I don't know much about the Sanders’ daughter, but she seemed to have a good effect on you, you sound more mature!" She teased. The irony made me chuckle with embarrassment. "Anyway, I really need to get going. I'll explain things to you later. Let's keep in touch, okay?"
"Sure, Mom. Good luck."
"I love you, son. No matter what, I'm still your mom."
I couldn't refrain my eyes from watering as I hung up. The reality of my family life being completely in shambles hit me like a rock. At the same time, I was relieved to hear she could still be herself. I took a few minutes to calm down. I could see Ann outside through the sliding doors, walking in a circle as she talked on the phone. What a fucking mess we're in…
I tried to call my dad, no dice. I tried to rationalize the fact he was probably still figuring things out. After all, it had taken me all this time to think about reaching out to them. But I couldn't stop thinking about what could have happened. At this hour, he could have been driving home when it hit him, pulling him in some kind of traffic accident... Did people have to touch each other for it to start? I didn't think about asking my mom how it happened to her, that would have been an obvious question…
I decided to search on the internet for information. Most news outlets were still bare of any news. I imagined most companies weren't in any state of running properly. The internet was still working at least, that was good. On social media, there were plenty of posts. Mostly it was people showing off their new appearance to the world: "Wow, I'm so freaking cute!", "My boyfriend and I merged. Look at the result, OMG I can't.", "So guys, smash or pass?", etc.
As I continued scrolling through the posts, I realized something interesting. The resulting appearances went from androgynous women to very feminine ones. There were no boys in sight, at least not apparent ones. Probably some of them had male genitalia (some seemed to confirm that), but no real masculine bodies anywhere.
Chewing this thought, I suddenly received an incoming call. I didn't know the number, but I answered anyway.
"Huh, hello?"
"H-hi. I'm trying to contact Sean?" the voice answered. It sounded very sultry and feminine.
"I'm Sean. Who is it?"
"Oh, thank god. I wasn't sure I remembered your number. It's me, dad." The woman said.
A wave of relief washed me. "Dad! I was worried. I tried to call you..."
"I'm so sorry, Sean! I lost my phone in the panic... It's a long story. Memories took some time to settle. Where are you? Are you alright? Did you merge with Ann?" His voice sounded quavering, he was visibly stressed out.
"I'm not with Ann no... I merged with Sheril. She's Jason's sister. We were at their house when it happened." I explained.
"Oh, okay! I guess you must be sad not to be with Ann, but that's still a good place to end up."
"What do you mean?" I asked, perplexed by his reaction.
"Well, the Sanders are quite the wealthy family. Now that you're their daughter, I guess it means you're inheriting it."
I was dumbfounded. He was right, sure, but the pragmatic calculation sounded very out of place in such circumstances. The Sheril in me couldn't help but find it offensive, like some kind of arranged marriage for money. Still, I let it slide, not wanting to start an argument.
"Sure, I guess. Who did you merge with, Dad? Mom tried to join you too, you know."
"Oh, huh. Just an unknown woman, I don't know." He said like he was trying to avoid the subject.
"You don't know? Wait, you don't have her memories?" I tried to clarify.
"Oh, yes. Yes, I do. I meant I didn't know her before. I've seen her before, actually. She works at the company, but only from far away..." His speech was messy. I guessed it was his new "mindmate" personality altering his usual calmer demeanor.
"Okay. How did you two merge? Were you still in the office?" I asked, this time curious to know more about how it happened for people not in direct contact. A weird silence followed my question. "Dad?"
"Yes, I'm here, sorry. We were leaving the building at the same time. It happened in the parking lot. That's how I lost my phone and..." He started to explain.
My mind drifted away when I saw Ann walk inside. She passed the living room, gave me a quick glance with a stoic expression, and went upstairs. I could easily tell something was up.
"Anyway, Dad," I interrupted his incoherent rumbling." I need to go. You should call Mom as soon as possible. She was very worried about you."
"Oh, okay Sean. Actually, I have a lot to take care of here, myself. Can you text your mom for me? I'll call her soon, I promise but... it's complicated. Stay safe at the Saunders, I'm sure you'll be fine there for now." He wrapped up the conversation.
"Hm, sure. Keep me updated, okay? Bye, Dad." I terminated the call.
I couldn't help feeling spite at the way my parents could so quickly hand me over to another family. Was our bond so brittle? At least I knew I had a solid home here now. Mom and Dad would never get rid of me like that... The other ones, I mean.
I walked back upstairs and knocked on Jason's bedroom door. I entered to find Ann sitting on the bed, looking at her feet. "Is everything alright?" I asked with concern.
"I guess... Everybody's safe." She answered, still looking down.
I sat next to her. "What's up?"
She sighed. "It's Mia. She... she merged with Dad."
Mia was Ann's little sister. She was only 10, and Ann had always been very protective of her. I didn't get the full picture of what it meant right away.
"I can imagine being merged with a parent is not ideal..." I risked.
She looked at me with a serious gaze. "It's not just that, Sean. She's only 10 while Dad is 46." Her voice was heavy, trying to contain her sob, and failing. "Now they're apparently looking like a woman in her late twenties. It's so unfair, she skipped her whole youth!"
I took her on the shoulder, patting her back. I didn't know what to say to make her feel better. "H-how did she sound like? Sadden?"
"No, that's the worst part... My dad said he couldn't manage to let her out. He can't stop being in the lead. We... we think he has so much more life experience, he's completely overshadowing her, or something." She said out between her weeping.
As I let her tears soak my dress, I looked out the window. The sun was slowly approaching the horizon.
"You know how old we are right now?" I said after a while. She only sniffed in reply. "We're all really, what? 3 hours old, right now? 4, top."
She raised her head, looking at me with confused red eyes.
"It's only been a few hours since we woke up to our new lives. I know it's hard to believe with everything that happened, but that's the truth." I explained to her. "Don't you think it's a bit early to set things in stone? Your sister might take a longer time to come back to the surface than we did but don't give up on her so quickly. I bet if we put them in front of a My Little Pony episode, your dad won't stand a chance."
She chuckled a bit at my joke and dried her face with her tank top. "Thank you. You might be right actually."
"Of course I am! This all Merge-thing is fucking crazy. We don't know anything about how it works and we can't say how it'll play out tomorrow. I say let's wait a bit before drawing any conclusions, okay?" I reassured her.
She nodded, smiling faintly.
"You should probably go back to them tonight," I said, hiding my pain at the idea.
She, thankfully, shook her head. "It won't be necessary. Mom is with them, she merged with a random guy when she was grocery shopping. Apparently, he doesn't have much of a family of his own. She said it's probably safer not to go out until things settled in, anyway... What about your family?"
I recounted how my calls went.
"Well... you said it best: let's wait before drawing any conclusions. In any case, that settles the fact we shouldn't split. We have responsibilities here too, after all." She noted, before kissing me gently.
I was relieved to hear her say that. Not only was she also my brother, but Ann was above all my only anchor to my Sean life at this point.
***
Evening
"I'm tired of all those emotions. Since we woke up, it has been worry after worry." She said as she stood up. "And I don't know about you, but I'm starving."
I hadn't noticed until now, but the mention of food was enough to give me stomach cramps. On that note, we went to the kitchen. I first tried calling pizzerias, but as expected: everything was closed. It made me wonder how society was going to organize itself now that the world population had been reduced by half. Some structures had already been thought of: we knew our government would soon distribute new identity cards displaying our two old selves. Most accommodations were still unclear though, as too little time separated us from the day of the Dream.
Thankfully the fridge was pretty much full, and Ann was an amazing cook. She surprised me with sautéed bell peppers, something she never did before because of my loathing for the vegetable. She knew from Jason's memories that Sheril, however, loved it. It was quite a weird experience to have half of my brain horrified by something I found so tasty. I ended up winning this fight against Sean and taught him all about the sweetness and crunchiness of bell peppers.
"You're such a great upgrade on my brother, Ann," I said between mouthfuls.
I laughed, their face indicating they didn't seem to know how to react to both a compliment and a jibe.
When the night finally came, we decided to go to bed early, as we were both feeling emotionally drained. Feeling awkward at the idea of sleeping together in either Sheril or Jason's beds, we settled on stealing the master bedroom, taking advantage of tonight's lack of parents.
Our nightly cuddles soon transformed into a make-out session. I blushed, feeling Ann's infamous new member hard against my soft leg. Looking into each others' eyes, we silently agreed to succumb to our curiosity. We both knew what it induced, and how wrong it would be to partake in it without the proper protection, but we both pretended to forget about it. After all, we were used to raw sex in our former bodies… She slowly took down my panties. My heart was pumping like crazy, and it didn't take long for my inside to produce the now-familiar wetness.
Ann was deep inside me. Completely absorbed into the female experience, I had managed to keep Sheril at bay thanks to her lack of sexual experience. Having a dick thrusting into our womb was as new for her as it was for me, and the mostly Ann face that was grunting and gazing into me right now was holding the balance in my favor. With so little of my female self to guide me though, the feeling of the receiving end was truly alien. The sheer discovery of my depth was blowing my mind. I couldn't help myself from moaning anymore, and showing such a feminine side to Ann was embarrassing me greatly. The shame itself also seemed to nourish some kind of twisted arousal. Did I always have a fetish like that? It didn't seem right.
"I'm inside you... Oh boy, I'm inside you..." Ann was whimpering between each push, apparently playing some newly discovered kink of her own. Ann who, before the merge, had always been so passive and shy during our sexual intercourses. But now, she was in the lead and I was wondering what was going through her head. She was living a similar shift in our dynamic after all… well the exact opposite really.
Her movement was increasing, and my moans were more and more audible.
In the middle of it all, Ann's lips let out a terrible truth: "Oh god! I'm really fucking my little sister..."
"What?! What did you... say??" My mind shattered at the statement.
My reaction didn't stop them. "I-I'm so sorry, Sheril. I'm sorry!"
Hearing my other name was flipping me back. I panicked. "Stop it! Stop saying that, you idiot!"
"Oh god! I'm doing it! I'm inside you, sis! We're having sex!" Like me earlier, the shame seemed only to fuel them more. He pushed with added vigor.
"Jason, no! Shut up! You're ruining it!" I whined, but it was too late. I was now fully myself again. Sean couldn't shield me from the truth anymore. I was having my first time, and despite his feminine traits, I could only see my brother's face above mine.
Despite my tremendous disgust, my body was not fighting it. It wanted more, and I was powerless to stop it.
"You're so sexy, Sheril! You're so cute! I can't stop myself!" He yelled, possessed by pure lust for his own sister. Since when did my brother have such awful thoughts? I wanted Ann back! I wanted to be Sean again! But despite my best efforts, I couldn't.
"I'm close, sis. Your freaky brother is gonna cum inside you!" He howled.
"Get out, you moron! At least don't cum inside me!" But instinctively, my legs and arms locked on him, betraying my reason. I moaned and cried at the same time, feeling my climax building up at the same time as his.
We reached it in unison.
"I love you, Sheril!" He screamed when the defilement spread inside of me. I was too absorbed in my own spike to register it, though. My mind was melting in pleasure. Sweet oblivion, take me. I wanted to stay in this state forever.
He collapsed on my side, spent. I stayed frozen in place as hot cum was dripping from my pussy. Slowly, I dug a little hole in the corner of my mind, refusing to face reality at this point.
"Ann? Are you there?" I asked quietly as I was forced into myself again.
"Yeah..." She answered in a whisper.
"What... was that?" I asked, truly more surprised than grossed out now.
"Sorry... I think that's my fault." She said. I didn't know what she meant.
"I mean Ann's fault. I think some of my personal kinks mixed into my Jason persona," she explained, visibly ashamed.
"What do you mean?" I said, intrigued.
"I never talked much about it with you but... I kinda have a fetish for sibling relationships. You know, from my private manga stash?" She looked at me with an awkward smile.
"So that's what those are, huh..." I said, finally solving that mystery. "Guess you don't have many secrets left now, do you?"
She only chortled disturbingly. "Are you going to be okay?"
"I think so. I needed to face the truth of our relationship sooner or later... I guess it was just sharper than I wished it to be..." I answered honestly.
She caressed my hand. "Sorry... again."
"Don't be, I know it's hard to control all of this... Fuck, we're really siblings now. This is going to be a challenge." I understood.
"The world is in such chaos right now. I'm sure our situation is far from being the weirdest one." She said.
"And what about... Mom and Dad?" I winced a bit as calling them like that was calling in my other half.
They gulped. "They must never find out, or we're truly fucked."
The Saunders were a pretty traditional family. Not that a lot of parents would accept their kids to fuck each other, anyway.
"It might spice things up, in a way. Doing it behind their back..." I said.
They raised an eyebrow in my direction. "Is someone warming up at this incestuous kink?"
"I wouldn't say that." I snarled. "I just need to play with this new hand of cards if I want to keep our relationship working."
"Good thinking... sis." They smirked.
"Ugh, that will take time to get used to, though..."
***
Epilogue
“Coming!” I shouted at the doorbell as I ran for the door, ecstatic.
The first year had been quite chaotic, but now that school had finally resumed, a semblance of normalcy had returned. The Great Merge Cabinet, also known as GMC, had managed to sort things out with more or less success, but it worked out in the end. For fusions like us who were just students, the protocol was actually quite simple: we all had to choose to resume one of our old curricula. Jason’s old prestigious college approval was only due to his basketball sponsorship, which was a bit flimsy to begin with, so it was logical for them to pursue Ann’s plans. As for me, Sheril had pretty good grades, so I had decided to go back to high school, this time determined to join them for the next year.
I opened the door to a delivery girl holding a package. Finally, it had arrived! I took the box to my room, eager to open it. Inside was a bunch of new clothes I had bought online. With people worldwide in dire need of outfits for their new shapes, finding something had been a trial at first. It took me the last two months to finally have this package. Before that, I had managed to gather a few clothes by trading my old one. Male outfits were harder to get rid of, but some resilient minds were still trying to clutch to their lost manhood. Others more crafty used discarded male clothes to fashion makeshift attires. I myself used some of Sean’s old t-shirts to make not-too-shabby tops. Really, trends were all over the place.
“Haha, there you are!” I said out loud as I found the dress I was looking for. Since none of Sheril’s old clothes were fitting me anymore, I had to give them all away. So I was glad I had found a similar one she had, only a few sizes bigger. I smiled at it with mischief.
I didn’t call myself Sean or Sheril anymore. With time, the frontier between our two old identities had blurred, and we all started to choose new names for ourselves. Ann and Jason had chosen the very creative name of Jane. It fitted them well, though. For my part, I had chosen a more distinctive one: Naomi. It was a name both Sean and Sheril liked a lot, and I cherished each time my two personalities would agree on something.
I didn’t wait long before putting on the light blue dress and modeling in front of my mirror. As Naomi, I was now used to more mature outfits that Sean found sexy on girls: hand-cut denim shorts, blazers, crop tops… urban streetwear styles, generally. But today I wasn’t dressing for Sean.
Since Sean’s mother found out that his dad had fused with his mistress, my other family had basically broken apart. I still saw them regularly, but separately, and I lived exclusively at the Saunders. Jane on the other hand had still a functioning family from their other half and was going back and forth between the two households. Between that and college, we were seeing each other only once every two weekends. It was hard, especially having to deal with our parent alone most of the time, but knowing it was just a matter of a year helped me pull through with it. They were coming home today, and I had missed them so much I wanted to treat them with something special…
Earlier in the day, I had gone to the stylist to dye my hair. As Naomi, I usually kept my hair loose or tied down, but today I was styling them in very familiar pigtails. I took a final look in the mirror. In front of me stood Sheril, wearing her favorite summer dress, her blonde hair tied in her signature style with her favorite ribbons. Thanks to some clever makeup, I had hidden most of Sean’s traits and enhanced hers. What betrayed me the most was my much more voluptuous curves, which I had no intention of hiding anyway.
“I’m home!” I heard a familiar voice call from downstairs. “Naomi? Are you home?”
“Upstairs!” I answered as I quickly climbed on my bed. Waiting for them to arrive, I lay on my stomach, propped on elbows, my feet swinging in the air and facing the doorway innocently.
“Hey babe-” Jane quickly stopped as she saw me. “S-Sheril!?”
I sat back, slowly pulling off a strip from my shoulder. “Hey, Jason. Mommy’s not home yet. Wanna play with your little sister?”
FIN
Amazing start to finish!
@Denojab Thank you ! It means a lot to me :)
I just discovered this story, and holy shit, it was amazing, LOVE the fusion/merging concept! I hope to see more, or if you found any that are like this!