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The world dissolved in a dizzying rush of vertigo. One second, Philip was staring at the door of Vanessa’s dorm room, heart in his throat, body thrumming with unspent arousal. The next, he was stumbling forward, his balance completely different, his perspective shifted.

He caught himself on a smooth, polished surface—a full-length mirror framed in dark wood. He blinked, and a stranger blinked back.

Gone was Vanessa’s youthful, heart-shaped face. The woman staring back at him was in her late forties, with the kind of beauty that spoke of good genes and better maintenance. Karen. Vanessa’s mother. He’d seen her once, dropping Vanessa off at the start of term—a stunning, confident woman who turned heads without seeming to try.

Now, he was her.

Her hair was a rich, honey-blonde cascade of soft waves that fell past her shoulders, artfully highlighted. Her face was elegantly structured, with high cheekbones, full lips painted a deep berry, and eyes a startling hazel-green, currently wide with Philip’s own shock. She—he—was taller than Vanessa, her frame more statuesque.

But it was her body that stole his breath.

He was standing in a walk-in closet that smelled of cedar and expensive perfume, and he was in the middle of getting dressed. The outfit laid out on a plush ottoman was… revealing. A little black dress, but not the conservative kind. This one was a slip of satin with a plunging V-neckline that dove daringly low, and a hem that would barely cover the tops of her thighs. Heeling beside it were a pair of strappy black stilettos.

And he was already halfway into it.

The cool satin was pooled around his waist, but the top was still unfastened, hanging open. Which meant he had an unobstructed view of Karen’s chest in the mirror.

They were… magnificent. Full, heavy breasts that curved with a ripe, natural weight, crowned with dusky pink areolas that pebbled slightly in the closet’s cool air. They were larger than Vanessa’s, a breathtaking handful and then some, and they moved with a gentle sway as he sucked in a sharp, startled breath. A delicate silver necklace with a single diamond pendant rested in the deep valley between them.

His gaze traveled down. Her waist nipped in dramatically above hips that flared with a mature, womanly curve. The satin skirt clung to the swell of her hips and the generous roundness of her ass. Everything was softer, more lush than Vanessa’s taut youth, a body that spoke of experience and confident sexuality.

“What the hell?” The voice that came out was Karen’s: lower, smoother than Vanessa’s, a husky alto that vibrated in his—her—chest. The sound of it, coming from his own mouth, was profoundly weird.

He clutched at the open edges of the dress, his—her—fingers, adorned with a tasteful diamond ring and perfectly manicured nails, fumbling against the smooth fabric. The sensations were overwhelming. The weight on his chest pulled with every movement. The brush of the satin against her nipples made them tighten further, sending jolts of sensitivity straight to his core. The empty, sensitive ache between his legs was different here too—deeper, a low, throbbing pulse rather than a sharp, needy clench.

The spell, he thought, panic rising like bile. It went wrong. It jumped. But why? And where’s Jack? Where’s… me?

He was trapped. Trapped in the elegant, sensual body of his crush’s mother, who was apparently about to go out in a dress that left very little to the imagination. The arousal that had been singing in Vanessa’s body was still a phantom echo in his nerves, now tangled up with this new, shocking reality.

From somewhere else in what was clearly a large, well-appointed house, a woman’s voice called out, warm and familiar. “Karen? You almost ready? The car will be here in ten.”

Philip’s—Karen’s—heart hammered against her ribs. That was Sarah, Karen's girlfriend. Oh, god. He was in the closet of a woman, half-dressed, and her lesbian lover was waiting.

He had to get the dress on. He had to figure out how to be Karen. But his hands were trembling, and the delicate back zipper seemed like an insurmountable engineering challenge. He stared at his reflection, at the sophisticated, beautiful woman whose life he’d violently hijacked, and felt a wave of pure, undiluted terror.

This was so much worse than a panty raid. This was a catastrophe.

Before Philip could even begin to fumble with the zipper, the closet door swung open.

Sarah stood there, leaning against the frame with a smile that was all warm familiarity and simmering heat. She was a handsome woman in her late forties, with short, stylish silver hair and sharp blue eyes. She wore a sleek navy pantsuit that contrasted with the planned frivolity of Karen’s little black dress.

“There you are,” she said, her voice a smooth contralto. “I was starting to think you’d gotten lost in all this finery.” Her gaze swept over Philip—over Karen—taking in the open dress, the flushed skin, the stunned expression.

Philip froze, his borrowed heart doing a frantic tap-dance against Karen’s ribs. “I, uh… the zipper…” he managed, Karen’s voice trembling slightly.

Sarah’s smile softened into something more intimate. She stepped into the closet, closing the door behind her with a quiet click that felt monumentally final. The space, already rich with scent, seemed to shrink, becoming intensely private.

“Let me,” she murmured, moving behind him.

Philip stood rigid as Sarah’s hands, cool and capable, brushed the sensitive skin of his lower back. He felt the slide of the zipper tab, heard the quiet shhhhk as it began its ascent. But it only went up an inch before Sarah paused. Her hands settled on his bare hips, her thumbs stroking slow circles just above the satin skirt.

“You’re tense, darling,” she whispered, her breath warm against the nape of his—her—neck. “Is everything alright?”

“Fine,” Philip squeaked, then cleared Karen’s throat, trying for a lower register. “Just… rushed.”

“Mmm.” Sarah didn’t sound convinced. Instead of zipping the dress, her hands drifted around, sliding over the satin at his hips before venturing higher, her palms skimming Karen’s bare waist, then the sensitive curves of her ribs. “The car can wait. Franklin can circle the block a few times.”

“Sarah, we really shouldn’t—” Philip began, but the protest died as Sarah’s hands cupped the heavy, full weight of Karen’s breasts from behind.

The sensation was electric. A bolt of pure, undiluted pleasure shot through him, so much more intense than anything he’d felt in Vanessa’s body. Karen’s breasts were profoundly sensitive, the nerves singing under Sarah’s expert touch. Her thumbs swept over the tightened peaks, and Philip gasped, his head falling back against Sarah’s shoulder without his consent.

“See?” Sarah murmured, her voice laced with knowing amusement. She gently squeezed, molding the soft flesh, her fingers toying with the stiffening nipples. “This is what you need. You’ve been wound tight all day. All this planning for the charity gala… you need to unwind.”

She turned Philip—Karen—in her arms, the dress gaping open completely now, baring Karen’s magnificent chest to Sarah’s hungry gaze. Sarah’s eyes darkened with desire. “God, you’re beautiful,” she breathed, not as empty praise, but as a statement of fact.

Before Philip could form a coherent thought, Sarah leaned in and kissed him.

It wasn’t like Jack’s teasing, experimental kiss in Katy’s body. This was deep, practiced, and devastatingly sure. Sarah’s mouth moved against Karen’s with a possessive confidence that left Philip’s mind utterly blank. Her tongue traced the seam of his lips, and he opened for her helplessly, a low moan vibrating in Karen’s throat.

This was nothing like kissing a girl as a boy. This was being kissed as a woman, by another woman who knew every secret of this body. Sarah’s hands were everywhere—cradling his face, sliding into his hair, then drifting down to once again claim the aching weight of his breasts. She kneaded them gently as she kissed him deeper, her thumbs circling the peaks until they were hard, aching nubs.

Philip was drowning in sensation. The soft crush of their bodies together, the slick heat of Sarah’s mouth, the relentless, perfect pressure on his nipples that sent waves of fire directly to his core. He could feel himself getting wet, a slow, hot seepage that soaked into the silk panties Karen wore. His own hands, clumsy and unfamiliar, came up to clutch at Sarah’s suit jacket.

Sarah broke the kiss, her lips glistening, her breathing slightly ragged. She looked at him, her eyes searching his dazed expression. “So responsive tonight,” she whispered, a playful smirk on her lips. “Like you’re discovering yourself all over again.”

She then leaned down, and before Philip could process it, she took one of Karen’s tight, pink nipples into her mouth.

The world went white.

A cry tore from Philip’s throat, high and desperate. The suction was exquisite, a perfect, pulling heat that seemed connected by a live wire to the throbbing nexus between his legs. Sarah swirled her tongue, flicked the tip, her hand working its twin with rhythmic pressure. Philip’s knees buckled. He would have fallen if Sarah hadn’t held him up, supported against the wall of hanging clothes.

“Sarah… oh god…” he whimpered, the words entirely Karen’s, but the overwhelming shock was all his.

Sarah released the nipple with a soft pop, trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses across the deep valley of his cleavage. “Shh, I’ve got you,” she soothed, her hands sliding down his trembling sides, over the satin clinging to his hips, and around to grasp the full, generous curves of his ass. She squeezed, pulling their pelvises together. Philip could feel the press of Sarah’s thigh against the soaked silk at his center, and he ground against it instinctively, seeking friction, his body moving on an ancient, borrowed rhythm.

“That’s it,” Sarah encouraged, her voice thick with her own arousal. She kissed his neck, licking a stripe up to his earlobe. “Let me show you how sexy you are. How every inch of you feels.” One of her hands slid from his ass, around his hip, and dipped between their bodies. Her fingertips brushed over the damp silk covering Karen’s mound.

Philip jolted as if electrocuted. A broken sob escaped him. The touch, even through the fabric, was incendiary. It was a direct line to a kind of pleasure he had no framework for—deep, resonant, and overwhelmingly powerful.

“So wet for me already,” Sarah purred, her finger tracing a slow, maddening circle. “And we haven’t even started. We could just stay here, you know. Let the gala happen without us. I could spend all night reminding you what this body is for.”

The offer, spoken against his skin with such carnal promise, short-circuited Philip’s last shred of coherent thought. He was a prisoner in a palace of flesh, and the warden was offering him the keys to his own cell. The mission, Jack, the frat, his own body—all of it melted away under the expert ministrations of Sarah’s hands and mouth. He was just sensation now, a vessel being filled to the brim with a pleasure that was terrifying and addictive.

All he could do was arch into her touch, Karen’s body singing a song of pure, unadulterated need, and pray the spell wouldn’t break before he found out where this devastating demonstration would lead.