Before the Incident at Milton High
Story created by
The story of how Trevor gained his powers.
female masturbation possession 3rd person mtf r18
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Kyle is a guy that is looking to live a straight life after getting out of jail recently, have been caught up in a life of crime early on in life.
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.
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.
Sara walked down the hall as the kids ran past her, happy to be done for the day.
"See ya Monday, Mrs. Robinson!" called out Janie Smith as she walked past.
"Have a good weekend, Janie." Sara responded.
Sara saw Al Bentley, the science teacher, down the hall. She sighed to herself and walked toward him, conscious of the gentle sway and bounce of her very large breasts. He smiled as she approached. Al was a few years younger than her 31, and since the day he started teaching at the school had endlessly flirted with her. At first Sara was flattered, but she made it perfectly clear that she was happily married.
Al had been very persistent though. He always made comments about how nice she looked and paid her numerous compliments. Sara had at first gotten irritated at his come-ons but they were never so direct or crude that it could be considered harassment and eventually she just accepted and tolerated them. She had to admit that he was nice looking and sometimes she even found herself laughing and blushing at his words. Unfortunately that only seemed to encourage him.
"Hello, Sara. You certainly look nice this afternoon." he said with a smile and rather quickly looked ever her body.
"Thank you, Al. Its been a long day." she replied. She noticed his glance over her. He often seemed to be studying her like a lab rat.
"We have a three day weekend. Any plans?" he asked.
"No, John is out of town for two weeks and I'm just going to relax." she answered, "How about you?"
"Oh, I'm going to be involved with a project I've been working on for a long time. An experimental project" he answered.
"Really? What kind of experiment?" Sara asked. She had heard that Al was supposed to be close to genius as far as his intelligence. She couldn't help but wonder what sort of things he did in his spare time.
"Its rather complicated to explain. I've been developing a new type of computer intelligence, essentially a computer that can think!" he said.
"Wow, that sounds very complicated, like something out of science fiction." she said with a laugh and immediately regretted it.
His face darkened slightly.
"Its not science fiction. Its quite real. I believe that what I have created will change the world as we know it." Al stated somewhat melodramatically.
"OK, if you say so, Al."
He smiled. "Perhaps you would like to see my work, Sara? Perhaps you could even assist me?"
"How could I assist?" she asked.
"Its too difficult to explain here. It would be easier to show you. Would you be interested?"
"Well I guess I could take a look and maybe I could help." Sara said.
"Excellent, tonight would be perfect. I would need to get a few things ready for you. Why don't you come by at 8:00 and I'll show you what I've been working on."
Sara thought for a moment. She didn’t have anything to do with John out of town and it would be easy to get a sitter tonight.
"OK. I will. But I cant be out too late, Al. And remember, I'm just helping you. It's not a date. Understand?" she stated.
"Oh, of course Sara. You made your feelings clear long ago. I understand." Al said with a smile, "See you at 8:00 then?"
"Sure, I remember how to get to your house from the faculty meeting last spring. I'll see you later tonight." she said and walked on.
Al watched her walk away and smiled. He had much to do to get ready for Sara's visit tonight.
*
Sara looked at herself in the mirror. Even though she had no interest in Al, she still wanted to look nice. Her brown sweater was a bit snug around her large bust but the tease in her liked how she looked. "It won't hurt to keep Al on his toes." she thought with a smile. She grabbed her purse and the baby carrier and walked out to her car.
She dropped Traci off at the sitter's and told them she shouldn't be out too late. Mrs. Johnson told her not to worry. There had been occasions when Sara and John had stayed out late, but they knew Mrs. Johnson very well and trusted Traci with her overnight. "I'll call if I'm going to be late", Sara said as she walked out.
*
Al heard the doorbell ring and smiled. "Your right on time, Sara" he laughed. He opened the door and greeted her with a smile.
"I'm so glad you could make it, Sara." he said as his eyes roamed over her figure.
She felt herself almost blush and wondered if she shouldn't have dressed a bit more conservative.
"Well I didn't have any plans and what you said interested me. You really think you've discovered something that will change the world?" she asked.
"I think so, at least my little corner of it." he said and led her inside.
"Would you like something to drink? I have some coffee if you'd like?"
She smiled, "Yes that would be nice, thanks."
Sara watched him go into the kitchen and looked around the living room. Rows and rows of books on science, electricity and other topics filled the shelves. She saw that his desk was covered with papers and material from school. "At least I'm not the only one who seems to be buried in paperwork sometimes." she thought.
He walked back in with two large cups of coffee and handed her one.
"Thank you" she said and took a sip, "Hmmm...very good."
"Your welcome. Its my own...special blend. Come..let me show you my lab."
She grinned, "Your lab?"
"Yes, I remodeled my basement into a lab for my work. It's much better than I'd planned. I bought a lot of used equipment and converted it to better suit my purposes." he stated, "Let me show you."
She followed him downstairs and was surprised at what she saw. Al smiled at her reaction.
"Wow, Al, its very impressive." she exclaimed.
Sara looked around the large room. All sorts of electronics and computers lined the walls. A mass of wires and cables ran across the ceiling to the various machines.
"Didn't this cost you a lot of money?" she asked in wonder at the strange equipment.
"I accumulated a lot of it over the past few years. I started my research in college. It has gone from a mere hobby to I'll admit to an obsession." he said almost laughing.
She smiled. Sara looked over to one end of the room. It was concealed with a large curtain.
"And what’s behind curtain number one?" she asked.
He grinned. "I guess I wanted to be dramatic when I showed you what I have created."
"What do you do with all this strange equipment down here?" she asked and took another drink of her coffee.
"What I have been doing is genius, Sara!" he exclaimed, "I guarantee it will change our lives!"
"I have created a most remarkable computer. It can actually duplicate the functions of the human brain!"
Sara listened as she sipped her coffee. "I've read about computers like that, artificial intelligence they call it."
He smiled. "Yes but what I've created is much more advanced the other scientists have been working on."
"I am using nanites, tiny, microscopic machines that can form into remarkable advanced computer circuitry. Each is capable of artificial intelligence, but when integrated together, their power is incredible!
She listened not fully understanding what he said, but he didn't care.
"Much like the cells of your brain, these nanites can form a network, but also can integrate with the existing structure of a computer." he said excitedly as he watched Sara finish her coffee.
"I have used my nanites to create my powerful new computers and now I am ready to take my discovery to the next step!"
"The next step? What is the next step, Al?" she asked.
Sara put her hand to her head, she suddenly felt dizzy.
"The next step is to introduce my nanites into a human brain, your brain, Sara! I am going to transform your brain into a living computer!"
Her eyes widened and she took a step back. "What?! What are you talking about?"
He smiled, his drug was taking effect. "Once my nanites are finished with you, you will have a programmable, computerized brain! You are going to be my human robot!
Sara's eyes widened at his words. "No...you're mad!" she managed to cry out as the drug took hold. She gasped and collapsed into his arms.
"Mad? Perhaps Sara but you will soon not care if I'm mad or not!" he laughed and picked her up.
*
He picked up the unconscious teacher and carried her to a chair. Putting her down he walked the curtain and drew it back. He looked at what was behind it with a smile.
A large metal table, equipped with restraining straps stood surrounded by electronic equipment. At the side of the table hung a container with an IV tube attached. A long thin needle was at the end.
He walked back over, picked up Sara and carried her to the table. Laying her down on it he smiled and began to undress his human guinea pig. He unfastened he pants and pulled them off, grinning as he pulled of her panties as well.
Al pulled the sweater off her and gazed at her breasts. They were so large now, the object of his and many others fantasies. He remembered how much they had grown since she had been pregnant.
Pausing only for a moment, he unhooked the large, white bra she wore, pulled it from her and set her clothes aside. Al carefully strapped her wrists and ankles securely to the table. Stepping back he looked her over.
Sara lay there naked and restrained on the table. Her large breasts fell to her arms, her nipples erect in the cool air of his lab. Al wiped a disinfectant on her arm and inserted the needle. Satisfied he watched as the serum containing his nanites began to flow into her vein.
The blueish-green liquid contained millions of nanites and they started to flow through her body, awaiting the electricity that would activate their pre-programmed tasks.
Al went to his computer and double checked all his equipment. Everything was perfect, he only had to wait.
Thirty minutes later, Sara began to stir, awakening from the drug. She tried to move but found she couldn't.
"Oh...where am I?" she weakly asked.
"Welcome back, Sara. You're still in my lab of course." he said with a laugh.
She pulled against the straps and felt a pain in her arm. Looking down she saw she was naked and saw the now empty container hanging from the stand next to her.
"What...what have you done?" she cried in horror.
"The serum containing my nanites is now coursing through your body. Soon the nanites will be activated...to begin the changes. Your transformation into my human robot!" he exclaimed.
Everything came back to her and she struggled futilely against the straps. He watched as she struggled, her breasts jiggling and quivering from her movements.
"You cannot escape, Sara. I advise you to relax and accept what fate has decided for you." he laughed.
Al looked over his helpless subject and smiled, "Now for some necessary equipment, my dear."
She watched helplessly as he attached the electrodes to her wrists and ankles, cables led from them to the apparatus that hung over her.
"What are you doing?!!!" she cried.
"This procedure requires a great deal of electricity. With the nanites in your system, your body will now be able to conduct the voltage with ease. The electricity will be as natural to your body as the air you breathe.”
She watched in horror as he gently took hold of her erect right nipple and inserted a thin electrode into it. Sara gasped as she felt it enter her but without any pain. He hooked up her left breast as well, the wires running to the equipment above her.
"Your breasts are already quite large, Sara, but I think a few more inches couldn’t hurt." he laughed.
"Noooo...you're insane!" she cried and again struggled. Her breasts jiggled and the wires connecting them to the equipment swayed from her action.
Al ignored her and lifted up a strange looking helmet. "Soon Sara, anything I say will be perfectly reasonable to you. Once you have been reprogrammed, such offensive thoughts as that will be erased from your mind."
He placed the helmet on her head, ensuring that it was snug. Two metal electrodes attached to it were clamped firmly to her temples. Al proceeded to plug various wires and cable into the helmet, hooking it up to his computers. With a satisfied smile, he stepped back.
Sara looked up at him, a terrified expression on her face. He just smiled down at her. "Try not to resist the procedure, Sara. You can't fight technology!" he laughed.
"Nooo...please let me go, Al..."she cried, wondering what was going to happen to her.
"Just relax, Sara. Soon everything will be so much better." he said and walked to his computer.
Sara lay there, trembling in fear. Her eyes wide with panic, her heart racing. She heard switches being thrown and a humming sound filled the lab. The lights dimmed slightly as power was drained from them to the equipment that surrounded her.
"You will feel a powerful charge as the electrical voltage enters your body, but rest assured, Sara, it will not harm you in the slightest." he stated.
She braced herself and cried out as the current hit her. Sara's body stiffened in shock as the electricity surged into her. A low moan escaped her lips.
Al watched his monitors intently, their gauges and readouts measuring and recording the process.
"500 volts...600 volts..700 volts..." he called out to her as the current increased.
It felt like every cell in her body was pulsating with power. The electricity surged freely through her, charging her, preparing her. Sara could never imagine the intense sensation of the high voltage electricity blasting through her.
Al stood up and walked over to her. He smiled at the sight. Sara's body was vibrating, quivering from the current surging into her. Her eyes were wide, a stunned look on her face.
"What's...happening...to...me..?" she gasped.
"The electricity is increasing to the necessary level for nanite activation. It is almost there. Soon the hundreds of nanites now in your body will begin to make the changes that have been programmed into them." he said as he gazed down at her.
Sara hardly heard him, her mind and body consumed by the electrical charge. She could barely think, her thoughts seemed to be so distant, so empty. Electrical energy surged through her, rising and falling in her body, changing her.
He watched as the nanites began to work. A smile crossed his face as he gazed at her breasts, quivering and jiggling from the current surging into them. Al could see them slowly begin to grow. He had programmed the nanites to enlarge her breasts by 25% as well as increase her milk production. He licked his lips as he watched.
His eyes wandered up and down her body, watching as her figure became more toned, her muscles stronger. Though he couldn’t see it, he knew what changes were also occurring within Sara's brain. Al walked back over to his monitors and watched the 3-D model of her brain evolve.
Electrical circuitry was forming within it, the nanites constructing themselves into a powerful computer, integrated with her own brain. Sara's brain was being hardwired into a living computer, ready for the programming that he had designed.
After nearly an hour, the readouts told him that the nanites had completed their task. Her body was altered as he had programmed and her brain was now computerized. She was ready for the final phase of her robotization.
"Sara!" he called out.
She felt the pull of his voice and her consciousness tried to return. Her body felt so strange, different. A weight seemed to be pressing on her chest, yet she felt good, full of energy. The electricity, now at over 5,000 volts, felt so wonderful, natural...necessary.
"Sara, the nanites have completed the physical changes in your body and brain. You are now ready for reprogramming." he exclaimed
His voice seemed to echo in her ears, her mind. She was aware on one level what was happening but couldn't comprehend it.
"...changes complete...ready for reprogramming..." she mindlessly repeated.
He smiled at her response. "Yes, you are ready for reprogramming! You will soon think as I program you to think, do as I program you and obey me completely. You will become a human robot!"
"..ready for reprogramming...become a human robot...yes..."
With an evil grin, Al began entering the commands into his computer. A loud buzzing filled the air and his computer activated.
Sara stiffened and moaned as the computer entered her mind. She felt her thoughts return, fully conscious and aware of what was happening.
"..what..are...you...doing?.." she weakly cried out.
"You are being reprogrammed, Sara, becoming my human robot!"
She felt the programming, the computer in her thoughts.
"Relax...accept...relax...accept.." the words seemed to caress her mind, over and over, calming her. Sara felt the fear vanish, her thoughts seemed to be fade away. She tried to concentrate to think, but couldn't.
Thoughts began to enter her mind. Thoughts that weren't hers but seemed so to blend in with hers. Her mind couldn't concentrate, she couldn't think clearly.
'I'm being programmed...' she realized, 'He's programming my thoughts!'
The computer increased the flow of data, more programming surged into her mind. Sara tried to resist but she could no longer tell her own thoughts from the programming. They were becoming one.
She lay there, feeling the data pouring into her, becoming her. Understanding, accepting the programming...feeling herself changing...accepting the changes...wanting the changes...
Her mouth opened. "receiving programming...receiving programming..."
Sara's voice sounded distant, mechanical. Al smiled.
"Very good, Sara. Your mind has accepted the computer within your brain."
She sensed the computer increase the flow of data and eagerly opened her mind, letting it in, to take her, to control her, to transform her.
New thoughts raced through her mind, what to think, how to think....
'Receiving programming...Receiving programming...'
For 30 minutes the computer programmed her, informing her of her new life, creating a new identity within her, a human robot, a new individual.
Al watched the monitors and smiled as the final programming was downloaded. He walked up and let his eyes roam up and down her body, feasting on her enlarged breasts, her engorged nipples dripping milk as the electrodes inserted into them continued to charge her with electricity.
"Sara, listen to me!" he commanded.
Her eyes stared blankly up, gazing at the equipment above her.
"Yes.Al" she replied in a monotone, robotic voice.
"You are no longer, Sara Robinson!"
"I.am.no.longer.Sara.Robinson"
"You are no longer a human woman."
"I.am.no.longer.a.human.woman."
"I have transformed you."
"You.have.transformed.me."
"I have robotized you!"
"You.have.robotized.me."
"You are now a robot, a human robot!"
"I.am.now.a.human.robot."
"You are my female robot. Your purpose in life is to serve and obey me."
"I.am.your.female.robot.I.will.serve.and.obey.you.Al."
"I am your Master!"
"You.are.my.Master.Al.I.hear.and.I.obey.you.Master."
"Your name is now, Fembot. You are Sara Fembot."
"My.name.is.Sara.Fembot."
The computer activated her programming acceptance function. She began to repeat over and over her new programming.
"I.am.no.longer.Sara.Robinson. My.name.is.now.Sara.Fembot."
"I.am.no.longer.a.human.woman...
"I.have.been.transformed.into.a.human.robot...
"I.am.programmed.to.obey.Al.Bentley... Al.Bentley.is.my.master...
"I.hear.and.I.obey.his.commands... I.have.been.robotized...
"I.am.no.longer.a.human.woman... I.am.a.human.robot...
"I.am.no.longer.a.human.woman... I.am.a.human.robot...
"I.am.programmed.to.obey.Al.Bentley... I.am.Sara.Fembot...
"I.am.a.robot...I.am.Sara.Fembot... I.am.a.robot... I.am.a.robot...
"I.am.a.robot...
She repeated the commands that would now direct and control her new computerized brain.
Al smiled and shut off his machines. The procedure was complete. Sara Robinson was now his obedient human robot.
The loud hum of the electrical equipment died down as the power was shut off. The lights on the helmet Sara wore blinked a few more times and dimmed to nothing. Her eyes were closed. She lay there motionless, her enlarged bosom rising and falling as the newly created robot breathed.
Al began to unhook the equipment from her body, removing the helmet, unplugging the electrodes from her nipples. As he unstrapped her from the table his hands shook with excitement. Standing back he looked over his new creation.
"Sara Fembot, open your eyes." he commanded
Her eyes opened, she gazed vacantly at the ceiling.
"What is your name?"
"I.am.Sara.Fembot." she answered.
"Very good. Stand before me."
"Yes.Master."
Slowly, mechanically she rose from the table. Each movement processed by her computerized brain. Sara stood stiffly before Al, her new, larger breasts jutting towards him as if for inspection.
Al walked around her, inspecting her. He smiled at what he saw. Sara's body was more toned now, her skin seemed to glow with a younger appearance. He licked his lips as he stared at the milk droplets falling from her engorged nipples.
"You are perfect, Fembot. The perfect female robot." he declared.
"Yes.Master. I.am.the.perfect.female.robot."
He adjusted his pants. His erection was so insistent it was almost painful for him. He couldn't wait any longer and walked over to his computer console.
Sara stood there waiting. Her mind empty of all thoughts but obedience to her new master. She was aware of her enhanced body, the nanite alterations she had undergone. Her body felt wonderful, so full of energy, so perfectly robotic. The weight of her enlarged breasts was very noticeable. They felt so erotic, so powerful.
She was aware of who she was but it was a distant feeling. Her mind was focused on the present, on her master's commands, waiting to obey him. Everything else was irrelevant now. Sara Robinson was a distant memory. Sara Fembot was who she was now, a human robot ready to serve.
Al walked back over to her, holding a small device in his hand. He held it up for her to see.
"This is a remote control device, Fembot. It can activate your robotic programming when ever I desire. Some of these buttons I have already programmed to send various signals to your neural implants. I can also use it to speak directly to your mind when I choose." he stated.
She watched as he pointed the device at her and pressed a button. Sara felt a small tingling in her head and a charge of current surged throughout her body. The sexual arousal was instant and powerful. Her eyes widened, her back arched slightly as a wave of pleasure raced though her.
Al smiled at her reaction. "Now Fembot, Pleasure me!" he ordered.
"I.hear.and.I.obey."
Sara walked to her Master, her breasts bouncing and jiggling with each step. Milk steadily dripped from her nipples, her mammaries engorged and full. She reached up and kissed him. Her tongue met his as his passion and her programming joined. After a few moments she pulled back and dropped to her knees before him.
Quickly and efficiently her hands undid his pants, pulling them down to his ankles, his stiff cock sprang forth, ready for her attention. She licked her lips as her fingers wrapped around the long, hard shaft. Sara opened her mouth, took him in and began to suck.
Al moaned loudly as his new robot sucked on him. He set the remote down and gently caressed her as she serviced him. "I've been wanting this for so long..." he groaned.
Sara heard him but did not react. Her mind was focused on the task at hand, pleasuring her Master. With robotic precision she sucked, her hands squeezing and stroking the long shaft, her head pistoning back and forth on him. Her mouth was a tool of pleasure to be used for bringing her Master to orgasm.
Her tongue swirled around the swollen head in her mouth, deep throating him with the ease she now possessed. Sara felt it jerk and spasm in her mouth and a blast of cum spurted out. She quickly swallowed it down, her hand went to his balls and squeezed them as another and another blast of cum shot into her.
The robot sucked and swallowed as more cum filled her mouth. After nearly a minute the flood subsided. Sara squeezed and milked him, determined to get every last drop. Her belly was filled with his cum.
Finally she released the softening prick and stood up, licking the remainder from her lips, her assigned task complete.
Al grabbed a nearby chair and collapsed into it, panting heavily. He looked at Sara standing before him, ready and waiting for her next command. Gazing at her dripping nipples he called her to him.
His hands trembled as he began to squeeze and caress her breasts. Al lifted her right breast up and began to suckle. His robot's milk started to flow steadily from the nipple and he greedily drank it down. He suckled at both breasts for several minutes, relishing the taste he had so long desired.
Sara, though remaining still as he suckled, felt the powerful sensations from his mouth flow through her body like a charge of electrical arousal. The swollen feeling in her breasts subsided as her Master emptied her.
Al set her breasts back and looked up at his robot. "You are magnificent, Fembot. This is better than I had ever imagined!" he exclaimed.
He asked her about the plans she had. Sara answered his questions. Al ordered her to call her sitter and inform her that she would be unable to pick her daughter up until tomorrow morning. Sara did and Al smiled at her.
"Now that you're free from your responsibilities, Fembot, I can enjoy you all night." he said.
"Yes.Master."
Al took her hand and guided Sara up to his bedroom.
The next morning after some additional programming was installed in her brain, Al sent his new robot home. He knew she had a life that she must continue with despite his desire to have her to himself. He sat down at his computer and began to document everything that had happened. Al was always meticulous with his experiments, keeping track of all he did.
After picking up her daughter, Sara decided to she needed once again to get fitted for new bras. Her recent growth was perfectly natural, she believed. Al had programmed this into her and she remembered nothing about the previous night. As far as she knew she had seen her doctor and was told that there was nothing abnormal about her increase in size.
That afternoon after she got home, Sara went to her bedroom and looked over the items she had purchased. The new bras she'd bought were much larger than her old ones. She now needed a 40JJ bra to hold her 50" bust. The plain, white underwire bras weren't very pretty or sexy but it was what she wanted. “Strong...utilitarian” was what she told the sales lady who waited on her.
She had also purchased several plain dresses that had been tailored to her top heavy figure, the hemline raised to mid thigh, two white, one brown and one light blue. For some reason she wanted these rather plain dresses and she loved how she looked in them. Sara hadn't noticed the sales woman staring at her as she had tried them on. She was unaware that she had been standing at attention, her chest thrust out as she looked herself over in the mirrors.
With a smile she undressed and put on a new bra, appreciating how it lifted and supported her larger breasts. Sara picked up a white dress and put it on, tying the belt snug around her waist, accentuating the jut of her bosom. She moved stiffly, slightly mechanically but was not aware that she was doing so.
The phone rang and Sara went to answer it.
"Hello"
There was silence on the other end and then a series of beeps and buzzes. She stiffened and her face went blank, her eyes glazed over.
"Yes.Master."
Sara listened to the voice on the other end closely. After a few moments she nodded.
"I.hear.and.I.obey.you.Master.seven.o.clock.I.will.be.there."
She hung up the phone.
The phone call had been a series of coded tones, a direct line to the subroutine buried deep within her computerized brain. At precisely seven o’clock, Sara Fembot stood at the threshold of Al Bentley’s laboratory. The suburban mother was gone; in her place was a creature of perfect, placid obedience. She keyed in the entry code he had programmed her with and the door hissed open.
“Master,” she stated, stepping inside. Her voice was flat, a digital recording of human speech.
Al turned from his console, his eyes lighting up. “Fembot. You are punctual. Disrobe and put this on.” He gestured to a garment laid out on a clean worktable.
“Yes.Master.”
Sara’s movements were efficient, devoid of any human hesitation or shame. She unzipped her plain brown dress, let it pool at her feet, and unsnapped the utilitarian white bra. Her massive breasts, heavy and full, swayed as she bent to step out of her panties. Then she picked up the new garment. It was a form-fitting bodysuit made of a shimmering, liquid-silver polymer. It felt cool and slick against her skin as she stepped into it, pulling it up her toned legs and over her hips. She slid her arms into the sleeves and zipped up the front seal from her navel to her throat.
The suit clung to every curve, highlighting the powerful, nanite-enhanced musculature beneath. Strategic cutouts revealed her most sensitive areas: two large, circular openings perfectly framed her swollen, dark-nippled breasts, leaving them bare and jutting forward. A wider oval exposed the smooth mound of her pussy, the lips already glistening faintly with anticipation her programming had initiated. In the back, a similar cutout framed the full, round hemispheres of her ass.
“Inspect,” Al commanded.
Sara turned in a slow circle, her arms held slightly away from her body. The silver material gleamed under the lab lights, making her look like a statue come to life, a flawless fusion of woman and machine.
“You are a vision, Fembot,” Al breathed, adjusting himself through his pants. “Now. Demonstrate your primary pleasure function. Masturbate for your Master.”
“I.hear.and.I.obey.”
Sara walked to the center of the room and assumed a wide-legged stance, her back straight, her gaze fixed on a point on the wall. Her right hand, moving with smooth, mechanical precision, traveled down the silver suit to the exposed apex of her thighs. Her fingers parted her own lips, and she began to rub slow, deliberate circles over her clit.
“Oh. Yes. Master,” she moaned. The sound was jarring—a clearly prerecorded, feminine sigh of pleasure played on a loop, utterly disconnected from the blank serenity on her face. “Feels. So. Good.”
Yet her body betrayed a different story. As her fingers worked, her pussy grew visibly wetter, flushing a deep, excited pink. Her breath, though even, began to hitch in her chest. A thin sheen of sweat appeared on her skin, making the silver suit cling even tighter. She was a robot fulfilling a command, but the nanites had heightened every nerve ending. Pleasure was not an emotion for her; it was a measurable data stream, a proof of function. And her function was to be aroused for her Master’s use.
“Louder,” Al ordered, sitting in his chair to watch.
“Ah! Ah! Master!” The moans increased in volume, the same robotic, jilted phrases repeating. “This. Unit. Is. Ready. For. Use.”
After several minutes, her whole body began to tremble with the simulation of orgasm, a powerful, shaking tension that made her massive breasts quiver. A thin stream of her own juices trickled down her inner thigh. She went rigid, then still, her hand dropping back to her side.
“Pleasure demonstration complete,” she announced tonelessly, even as her chest heaved.
“Excellent,” Al said, standing and finally shedding his own clothes. His erection was fierce and demanding. “Now. You will interface. Cowgirl position. Optimize for Master’s climax.”
“Yes.Master.”
She moved to the reinforced medical table, now cleared of equipment. Al lay back on it, and Sara climbed atop him, straddling his hips. Her silver-clad knees pressed into the table on either side of him. With one hand she guided his cock to her exposed, dripping entrance. Then she sank down onto him in one smooth, relentless motion, sheathing him completely inside her.
“Commence ride protocol,” Al gasped.
Sara’s hips began to piston. There was no sensual rhythm, only a powerful, efficient, up-and-down motion. Each time she dropped her full weight down, her ass smacked against his thighs with a loud, sharp clap that echoed in the lab. The sound was percussive, brutal, and deeply erotic. Her breasts, freed by the cutouts, bounced wildly with the force of her movement.
“Talk,” Al grunted, his hands gripping her silver-covered hips. “Dirty talk subroutine. Activate.”
Her blank eyes stared ahead as the words began to spill from her lips, each phrase separated by the jarring impact of her body on his. “This. Body’s. Controlled. Pussy. Is. For. Your. Use. Master.”
Clap.
“Sara. Is. A. Mindless. Cum. Slut.”
Clap.
“Her. Holes. Are. Yours. To. Deposit. In.”
Clap.
“Please. Fill. This. Robot’s. Uterus. With. Your. Seed.”
Clap.
The crude, mechanical filth drove Al wild. He could feel his climax coiling, unstoppable. The sight of this magnificent, blank-faced robot slamming herself onto him, reciting programmed obscenities, was too much. “Fembot! Prepare for my load! Maximum receptivity!”
Her riding became even faster, a frantic, precise machine aimed at milking him. “Programming. Ready. For. Master’s. Load. This. Unit. Desires. Your. Cum.”
With a roar, Al climaxed. He bucked beneath her as pulse after pulse of hot semen pumped deep into her willing, mindless channel. Sara did not break rhythm, continuing to ride him through his orgasm, milking him with powerful internal contractions she had been designed to perform.
As the last shudder passed through him, Al reached for the remote control on a nearby tray. His finger found a new, glowing button. “Finalize sex bot programming. Activate permanent standby mode.”
He pressed it.
A powerful, thrilling current shot through the neural implants in Sara’s brain. Her movements finally stilled. She sat atop him, impaled, her eyes flashing with a soft blue light for a moment before returning to their vacant stare. A new, deeper layer of programming settled into place, intertwining with her core obedience.
“Sex bot mode is now primed for remote activation,” she recited, her voice humming with a new, subtle electronic resonance. “Standby engaged.”
Al gently pushed her off him. “Cleanup protocol. Then return to domestic programming.”
“Yes.Master.”
Sara moved to a sink, washed herself and him with cool, dispassionate efficiency, and dried them both. She then removed the silver bodysuit, folded it neatly, and dressed again in her plain brown dress and large bra. Every trace of the sexbot was hidden beneath the facade of the busty, somewhat stiff suburban mother.
“Return home. Deactivate conscious memory of this session. Await my signal,” Al instructed, pocketing the remote.
“I.hear.and.I.obey.Master.”
Sara Fembot walked out of the lab, got into her car, and drove home. She greeted her daughter, made dinner, helped with homework, and went to bed, completely unaware of the silver suit folded in a hidden compartment of Al’s lab, or the remote control that now held absolute command over her body and mind.
Al, back at his computer, smiled. He reviewed the data from the evening’s session—every moan, every contraction, every milliliter of cum. Perfect. Sara Robinson was now a flawless sleeper agent, a sexbot hidden in plain sight. He began drafting notes for his next move. The world was full of women who could be perfected. And he had just proven his technology worked.
Sara walked down the hall as the kids ran past her, happy to be done for the day.
"See ya Monday, Mrs. Robinson!" called out Janie Smith as she walked past.
"Have a good weekend, Janie." Sara responded.
Sara saw Al Bentley, the science teacher, down the hall. She sighed to herself and walked toward him, conscious of the gentle sway and bounce of her very large breasts. He smiled as she approached. Al was a few years younger than her 31, and since the day he started teaching at the school had endlessly flirted with her. At first Sara was flattered, but she made it perfectly clear that she was happily married.
Al had been very persistent though. He always made comments about how nice she looked and paid her numerous compliments. Sara had at first gotten irritated at his come-ons but they were never so direct or crude that it could be considered harassment and eventually she just accepted and tolerated them. She had to admit that he was nice looking and sometimes she even found herself laughing and blushing at his words. Unfortunately that only seemed to encourage him.
"Hello, Sara. You certainly look nice this afternoon." he said with a smile and rather quickly looked ever her body.
"Thank you, Al. Its been a long day." she replied. She noticed his glance over her. He often seemed to be studying her like a lab rat.
"We have a three day weekend. Any plans?" he asked.
"No, John is out of town for two weeks and I'm just going to relax." she answered, "How about you?"
"Oh, I'm going to be involved with a project I've been working on for a long time. An experimental project" he answered.
"Really? What kind of experiment?" Sara asked. She had heard that Al was supposed to be close to genius as far as his intelligence. She couldn't help but wonder what sort of things he did in his spare time.
"Its rather complicated to explain. I've been developing a new type of computer intelligence, essentially a computer that can think!" he said.
"Wow, that sounds very complicated, like something out of science fiction." she said with a laugh and immediately regretted it.
His face darkened slightly.
"Its not science fiction. Its quite real. I believe that what I have created will change the world as we know it." Al stated somewhat melodramatically.
"OK, if you say so, Al."
He smiled. "Perhaps you would like to see my work, Sara? Perhaps you could even assist me?"
"How could I assist?" she asked.
"Its too difficult to explain here. It would be easier to show you. Would you be interested?"
"Well I guess I could take a look and maybe I could help." Sara said.
"Excellent, tonight would be perfect. I would need to get a few things ready for you. Why don't you come by at 8:00 and I'll show you what I've been working on."
Sara thought for a moment. She didn’t have anything to do with John out of town and it would be easy to get a sitter tonight.
"OK. I will. But I cant be out too late, Al. And remember, I'm just helping you. It's not a date. Understand?" she stated.
"Oh, of course Sara. You made your feelings clear long ago. I understand." Al said with a smile, "See you at 8:00 then?"
"Sure, I remember how to get to your house from the faculty meeting last spring. I'll see you later tonight." she said and walked on.
Al watched her walk away and smiled. He had much to do to get ready for Sara's visit tonight.
*
Sara looked at herself in the mirror. Even though she had no interest in Al, she still wanted to look nice. Her brown sweater was a bit snug around her large bust but the tease in her liked how she looked. "It won't hurt to keep Al on his toes." she thought with a smile. She grabbed her purse and the baby carrier and walked out to her car.
She dropped Traci off at the sitter's and told them she shouldn't be out too late. Mrs. Johnson told her not to worry. There had been occasions when Sara and John had stayed out late, but they knew Mrs. Johnson very well and trusted Traci with her overnight. "I'll call if I'm going to be late", Sara said as she walked out.
*
Al heard the doorbell ring and smiled. "Your right on time, Sara" he laughed. He opened the door and greeted her with a smile.
"I'm so glad you could make it, Sara." he said as his eyes roamed over her figure.
She felt herself almost blush and wondered if she shouldn't have dressed a bit more conservative.
"Well I didn't have any plans and what you said interested me. You really think you've discovered something that will change the world?" she asked.
"I think so, at least my little corner of it." he said and led her inside.
"Would you like something to drink? I have some coffee if you'd like?"
She smiled, "Yes that would be nice, thanks."
Sara watched him go into the kitchen and looked around the living room. Rows and rows of books on science, electricity and other topics filled the shelves. She saw that his desk was covered with papers and material from school. "At least I'm not the only one who seems to be buried in paperwork sometimes." she thought.
He walked back in with two large cups of coffee and handed her one.
"Thank you" she said and took a sip, "Hmmm...very good."
"Your welcome. Its my own...special blend. Come..let me show you my lab."
She grinned, "Your lab?"
"Yes, I remodeled my basement into a lab for my work. It's much better than I'd planned. I bought a lot of used equipment and converted it to better suit my purposes." he stated, "Let me show you."
She followed him downstairs and was surprised at what she saw. Al smiled at her reaction.
"Wow, Al, its very impressive." she exclaimed.
Sara looked around the large room. All sorts of electronics and computers lined the walls. A mass of wires and cables ran across the ceiling to the various machines.
"Didn't this cost you a lot of money?" she asked in wonder at the strange equipment.
"I accumulated a lot of it over the past few years. I started my research in college. It has gone from a mere hobby to I'll admit to an obsession." he said almost laughing.
She smiled. Sara looked over to one end of the room. It was concealed with a large curtain.
"And what’s behind curtain number one?" she asked.
He grinned. "I guess I wanted to be dramatic when I showed you what I have created."
"What do you do with all this strange equipment down here?" she asked and took another drink of her coffee.
"What I have been doing is genius, Sara!" he exclaimed, "I guarantee it will change our lives!"
"I have created a most remarkable computer. It can actually duplicate the functions of the human brain!"
Sara listened as she sipped her coffee. "I've read about computers like that, artificial intelligence they call it."
He smiled. "Yes but what I've created is much more advanced the other scientists have been working on."
"I am using nanites, tiny, microscopic machines that can form into remarkable advanced computer circuitry. Each is capable of artificial intelligence, but when integrated together, their power is incredible!
She listened not fully understanding what he said, but he didn't care.
"Much like the cells of your brain, these nanites can form a network, but also can integrate with the existing structure of a computer." he said excitedly as he watched Sara finish her coffee.
"I have used my nanites to create my powerful new computers and now I am ready to take my discovery to the next step!"
"The next step? What is the next step, Al?" she asked.
Sara put her hand to her head, she suddenly felt dizzy.
"The next step is to introduce my nanites into a human brain, your brain, Sara! I am going to transform your brain into a living computer!"
Her eyes widened and she took a step back. "What?! What are you talking about?"
He smiled, his drug was taking effect. "Once my nanites are finished with you, you will have a programmable, computerized brain! You are going to be my human robot!
Sara's eyes widened at his words. "No...you're mad!" she managed to cry out as the drug took hold. She gasped and collapsed into his arms.
"Mad? Perhaps Sara but you will soon not care if I'm mad or not!" he laughed and picked her up.
*
He picked up the unconscious teacher and carried her to a chair. Putting her down he walked the curtain and drew it back. He looked at what was behind it with a smile.
A large metal table, equipped with restraining straps stood surrounded by electronic equipment. At the side of the table hung a container with an IV tube attached. A long thin needle was at the end.
He walked back over, picked up Sara and carried her to the table. Laying her down on it he smiled and began to undress his human guinea pig. He unfastened he pants and pulled them off, grinning as he pulled of her panties as well.
Al pulled the sweater off her and gazed at her breasts. They were so large now, the object of his and many others fantasies. He remembered how much they had grown since she had been pregnant.
Pausing only for a moment, he unhooked the large, white bra she wore, pulled it from her and set her clothes aside. Al carefully strapped her wrists and ankles securely to the table. Stepping back he looked her over.
Sara lay there naked and restrained on the table. Her large breasts fell to her arms, her nipples erect in the cool air of his lab. Al wiped a disinfectant on her arm and inserted the needle. Satisfied he watched as the serum containing his nanites began to flow into her vein.
The blueish-green liquid contained millions of nanites and they started to flow through her body, awaiting the electricity that would activate their pre-programmed tasks.
Al went to his computer and double checked all his equipment. Everything was perfect, he only had to wait.
Thirty minutes later, Sara began to stir, awakening from the drug. She tried to move but found she couldn't.
"Oh...where am I?" she weakly asked.
"Welcome back, Sara. You're still in my lab of course." he said with a laugh.
She pulled against the straps and felt a pain in her arm. Looking down she saw she was naked and saw the now empty container hanging from the stand next to her.
"What...what have you done?" she cried in horror.
"The serum containing my nanites is now coursing through your body. Soon the nanites will be activated...to begin the changes. Your transformation into my human robot!" he exclaimed.
Everything came back to her and she struggled futilely against the straps. He watched as she struggled, her breasts jiggling and quivering from her movements.
"You cannot escape, Sara. I advise you to relax and accept what fate has decided for you." he laughed.
Al looked over his helpless subject and smiled, "Now for some necessary equipment, my dear."
She watched helplessly as he attached the electrodes to her wrists and ankles, cables led from them to the apparatus that hung over her.
"What are you doing?!!!" she cried.
"This procedure requires a great deal of electricity. With the nanites in your system, your body will now be able to conduct the voltage with ease. The electricity will be as natural to your body as the air you breathe.”
She watched in horror as he gently took hold of her erect right nipple and inserted a thin electrode into it. Sara gasped as she felt it enter her but without any pain. He hooked up her left breast as well, the wires running to the equipment above her.
"Your breasts are already quite large, Sara, but I think a few more inches couldn’t hurt." he laughed.
"Noooo...you're insane!" she cried and again struggled. Her breasts jiggled and the wires connecting them to the equipment swayed from her action.
Al ignored her and lifted up a strange looking helmet. "Soon Sara, anything I say will be perfectly reasonable to you. Once you have been reprogrammed, such offensive thoughts as that will be erased from your mind."
He placed the helmet on her head, ensuring that it was snug. Two metal electrodes attached to it were clamped firmly to her temples. Al proceeded to plug various wires and cable into the helmet, hooking it up to his computers. With a satisfied smile, he stepped back.
Sara looked up at him, a terrified expression on her face. He just smiled down at her. "Try not to resist the procedure, Sara. You can't fight technology!" he laughed.
"Nooo...please let me go, Al..."she cried, wondering what was going to happen to her.
"Just relax, Sara. Soon everything will be so much better." he said and walked to his computer.
Sara lay there, trembling in fear. Her eyes wide with panic, her heart racing. She heard switches being thrown and a humming sound filled the lab. The lights dimmed slightly as power was drained from them to the equipment that surrounded her.
"You will feel a powerful charge as the electrical voltage enters your body, but rest assured, Sara, it will not harm you in the slightest." he stated.
She braced herself and cried out as the current hit her. Sara's body stiffened in shock as the electricity surged into her. A low moan escaped her lips.
Al watched his monitors intently, their gauges and readouts measuring and recording the process.
"500 volts...600 volts..700 volts..." he called out to her as the current increased.
It felt like every cell in her body was pulsating with power. The electricity surged freely through her, charging her, preparing her. Sara could never imagine the intense sensation of the high voltage electricity blasting through her.
Al stood up and walked over to her. He smiled at the sight. Sara's body was vibrating, quivering from the current surging into her. Her eyes were wide, a stunned look on her face.
"What's...happening...to...me..?" she gasped.
"The electricity is increasing to the necessary level for nanite activation. It is almost there. Soon the hundreds of nanites now in your body will begin to make the changes that have been programmed into them." he said as he gazed down at her.
Sara hardly heard him, her mind and body consumed by the electrical charge. She could barely think, her thoughts seemed to be so distant, so empty. Electrical energy surged through her, rising and falling in her body, changing her.
He watched as the nanites began to work. A smile crossed his face as he gazed at her breasts, quivering and jiggling from the current surging into them. Al could see them slowly begin to grow. He had programmed the nanites to enlarge her breasts by 25% as well as increase her milk production. He licked his lips as he watched.
His eyes wandered up and down her body, watching as her figure became more toned, her muscles stronger. Though he couldn’t see it, he knew what changes were also occurring within Sara's brain. Al walked back over to his monitors and watched the 3-D model of her brain evolve.
Electrical circuitry was forming within it, the nanites constructing themselves into a powerful computer, integrated with her own brain. Sara's brain was being hardwired into a living computer, ready for the programming that he had designed.
After nearly an hour, the readouts told him that the nanites had completed their task. Her body was altered as he had programmed and her brain was now computerized. She was ready for the final phase of her robotization.
"Sara!" he called out.
She felt the pull of his voice and her consciousness tried to return. Her body felt so strange, different. A weight seemed to be pressing on her chest, yet she felt good, full of energy. The electricity, now at over 5,000 volts, felt so wonderful, natural...necessary.
"Sara, the nanites have completed the physical changes in your body and brain. You are now ready for reprogramming." he exclaimed
His voice seemed to echo in her ears, her mind. She was aware on one level what was happening but couldn't comprehend it.
"...changes complete...ready for reprogramming..." she mindlessly repeated.
He smiled at her response. "Yes, you are ready for reprogramming! You will soon think as I program you to think, do as I program you and obey me completely. You will become a human robot!"
"..ready for reprogramming...become a human robot...yes..."
With an evil grin, Al began entering the commands into his computer. A loud buzzing filled the air and his computer activated.
Sara stiffened and moaned as the computer entered her mind. She felt her thoughts return, fully conscious and aware of what was happening.
"..what..are...you...doing?.." she weakly cried out.
"You are being reprogrammed, Sara, becoming my human robot!"
She felt the programming, the computer in her thoughts.
"Relax...accept...relax...accept.." the words seemed to caress her mind, over and over, calming her. Sara felt the fear vanish, her thoughts seemed to be fade away. She tried to concentrate to think, but couldn't.
Thoughts began to enter her mind. Thoughts that weren't hers but seemed so to blend in with hers. Her mind couldn't concentrate, she couldn't think clearly.
'I'm being programmed...' she realized, 'He's programming my thoughts!'
The computer increased the flow of data, more programming surged into her mind. Sara tried to resist but she could no longer tell her own thoughts from the programming. They were becoming one.
She lay there, feeling the data pouring into her, becoming her. Understanding, accepting the programming...feeling herself changing...accepting the changes...wanting the changes...
Her mouth opened. "receiving programming...receiving programming..."
Sara's voice sounded distant, mechanical. Al smiled.
"Very good, Sara. Your mind has accepted the computer within your brain."
She sensed the computer increase the flow of data and eagerly opened her mind, letting it in, to take her, to control her, to transform her.
New thoughts raced through her mind, what to think, how to think....
'Receiving programming...Receiving programming...'
For 30 minutes the computer programmed her, informing her of her new life, creating a new identity within her, a human robot, a new individual.
Al watched the monitors and smiled as the final programming was downloaded. He walked up and let his eyes roam up and down her body, feasting on her enlarged breasts, her engorged nipples dripping milk as the electrodes inserted into them continued to charge her with electricity.
"Sara, listen to me!" he commanded.
Her eyes stared blankly up, gazing at the equipment above her.
"Yes.Al" she replied in a monotone, robotic voice.
"You are no longer, Sara Robinson!"
"I.am.no.longer.Sara.Robinson"
"You are no longer a human woman."
"I.am.no.longer.a.human.woman."
"I have transformed you."
"You.have.transformed.me."
"I have robotized you!"
"You.have.robotized.me."
"You are now a robot, a human robot!"
"I.am.now.a.human.robot."
"You are my female robot. Your purpose in life is to serve and obey me."
"I.am.your.female.robot.I.will.serve.and.obey.you.Al."
"I am your Master!"
"You.are.my.Master.Al.I.hear.and.I.obey.you.Master."
"Your name is now, Fembot. You are Sara Fembot."
"My.name.is.Sara.Fembot."
The computer activated her programming acceptance function. She began to repeat over and over her new programming.
"I.am.no.longer.Sara.Robinson. My.name.is.now.Sara.Fembot."
"I.am.no.longer.a.human.woman...
"I.have.been.transformed.into.a.human.robot...
"I.am.programmed.to.obey.Al.Bentley... Al.Bentley.is.my.master...
"I.hear.and.I.obey.his.commands... I.have.been.robotized...
"I.am.no.longer.a.human.woman... I.am.a.human.robot...
"I.am.no.longer.a.human.woman... I.am.a.human.robot...
"I.am.programmed.to.obey.Al.Bentley... I.am.Sara.Fembot...
"I.am.a.robot...I.am.Sara.Fembot... I.am.a.robot... I.am.a.robot...
"I.am.a.robot...
She repeated the commands that would now direct and control her new computerized brain.
Al smiled and shut off his machines. The procedure was complete. Sara Robinson was now his obedient human robot.
The loud hum of the electrical equipment died down as the power was shut off. The lights on the helmet Sara wore blinked a few more times and dimmed to nothing. Her eyes were closed. She lay there motionless, her enlarged bosom rising and falling as the newly created robot breathed.
Al began to unhook the equipment from her body, removing the helmet, unplugging the electrodes from her nipples. As he unstrapped her from the table his hands shook with excitement. Standing back he looked over his new creation.
"Sara Fembot, open your eyes." he commanded
Her eyes opened, she gazed vacantly at the ceiling.
"What is your name?"
"I.am.Sara.Fembot." she answered.
"Very good. Stand before me."
"Yes.Master."
Slowly, mechanically she rose from the table. Each movement processed by her computerized brain. Sara stood stiffly before Al, her new, larger breasts jutting towards him as if for inspection.
Al walked around her, inspecting her. He smiled at what he saw. Sara's body was more toned now, her skin seemed to glow with a younger appearance. He licked his lips as he stared at the milk droplets falling from her engorged nipples.
"You are perfect, Fembot. The perfect female robot." he declared.
"Yes.Master. I.am.the.perfect.female.robot."
He adjusted his pants. His erection was so insistent it was almost painful for him. He couldn't wait any longer and walked over to his computer console.
Sara stood there waiting. Her mind empty of all thoughts but obedience to her new master. She was aware of her enhanced body, the nanite alterations she had undergone. Her body felt wonderful, so full of energy, so perfectly robotic. The weight of her enlarged breasts was very noticeable. They felt so erotic, so powerful.
She was aware of who she was but it was a distant feeling. Her mind was focused on the present, on her master's commands, waiting to obey him. Everything else was irrelevant now. Sara Robinson was a distant memory. Sara Fembot was who she was now, a human robot ready to serve.
Al walked back over to her, holding a small device in his hand. He held it up for her to see.
"This is a remote control device, Fembot. It can activate your robotic programming when ever I desire. Some of these buttons I have already programmed to send various signals to your neural implants. I can also use it to speak directly to your mind when I choose." he stated.
She watched as he pointed the device at her and pressed a button. Sara felt a small tingling in her head and a charge of current surged throughout her body. The sexual arousal was instant and powerful. Her eyes widened, her back arched slightly as a wave of pleasure raced though her.
Al smiled at her reaction. "Now Fembot, Pleasure me!" he ordered.
"I.hear.and.I.obey."
Sara walked to her Master, her breasts bouncing and jiggling with each step. Milk steadily dripped from her nipples, her mammaries engorged and full. She reached up and kissed him. Her tongue met his as his passion and her programming joined. After a few moments she pulled back and dropped to her knees before him.
Quickly and efficiently her hands undid his pants, pulling them down to his ankles, his stiff cock sprang forth, ready for her attention. She licked her lips as her fingers wrapped around the long, hard shaft. Sara opened her mouth, took him in and began to suck.
Al moaned loudly as his new robot sucked on him. He set the remote down and gently caressed her as she serviced him. "I've been wanting this for so long..." he groaned.
Sara heard him but did not react. Her mind was focused on the task at hand, pleasuring her Master. With robotic precision she sucked, her hands squeezing and stroking the long shaft, her head pistoning back and forth on him. Her mouth was a tool of pleasure to be used for bringing her Master to orgasm.
Her tongue swirled around the swollen head in her mouth, deep throating him with the ease she now possessed. Sara felt it jerk and spasm in her mouth and a blast of cum spurted out. She quickly swallowed it down, her hand went to his balls and squeezed them as another and another blast of cum shot into her.
The robot sucked and swallowed as more cum filled her mouth. After nearly a minute the flood subsided. Sara squeezed and milked him, determined to get every last drop. Her belly was filled with his cum.
Finally she released the softening prick and stood up, licking the remainder from her lips, her assigned task complete.
Al grabbed a nearby chair and collapsed into it, panting heavily. He looked at Sara standing before him, ready and waiting for her next command. Gazing at her dripping nipples he called her to him.
His hands trembled as he began to squeeze and caress her breasts. Al lifted her right breast up and began to suckle. His robot's milk started to flow steadily from the nipple and he greedily drank it down. He suckled at both breasts for several minutes, relishing the taste he had so long desired.
Sara, though remaining still as he suckled, felt the powerful sensations from his mouth flow through her body like a charge of electrical arousal. The swollen feeling in her breasts subsided as her Master emptied her.
Al set her breasts back and looked up at his robot. "You are magnificent, Fembot. This is better than I had ever imagined!" he exclaimed.
He asked her about the plans she had. Sara answered his questions. Al ordered her to call her sitter and inform her that she would be unable to pick her daughter up until tomorrow morning. Sara did and Al smiled at her.
"Now that you're free from your responsibilities, Fembot, I can enjoy you all night." he said.
"Yes.Master."
Al took her hand and guided Sara up to his bedroom.
The next morning after some additional programming was installed in her brain, Al sent his new robot home. He knew she had a life that she must continue with despite his desire to have her to himself. He sat down at his computer and began to document everything that had happened. Al was always meticulous with his experiments, keeping track of all he did.
After picking up her daughter, Sara decided to she needed once again to get fitted for new bras. Her recent growth was perfectly natural, she believed. Al had programmed this into her and she remembered nothing about the previous night. As far as she knew she had seen her doctor and was told that there was nothing abnormal about her increase in size.
That afternoon after she got home, Sara went to her bedroom and looked over the items she had purchased. The new bras she'd bought were much larger than her old ones. She now needed a 40JJ bra to hold her 50" bust. The plain, white underwire bras weren't very pretty or sexy but it was what she wanted. “Strong...utilitarian” was what she told the sales lady who waited on her.
She had also purchased several plain dresses that had been tailored to her top heavy figure, the hemline raised to mid thigh, two white, one brown and one light blue. For some reason she wanted these rather plain dresses and she loved how she looked in them. Sara hadn't noticed the sales woman staring at her as she had tried them on. She was unaware that she had been standing at attention, her chest thrust out as she looked herself over in the mirrors.
With a smile she undressed and put on a new bra, appreciating how it lifted and supported her larger breasts. Sara picked up a white dress and put it on, tying the belt snug around her waist, accentuating the jut of her bosom. She moved stiffly, slightly mechanically but was not aware that she was doing so.
The phone rang and Sara went to answer it.
"Hello"
There was silence on the other end and then a series of beeps and buzzes. She stiffened and her face went blank, her eyes glazed over.
"Yes.Master."
Sara listened to the voice on the other end closely. After a few moments she nodded.
"I.hear.and.I.obey.you.Master.seven.o.clock.I.will.be.there."
She hung up the phone.
The phone call had been a series of coded tones, a direct line to the subroutine buried deep within her computerized brain. At precisely seven o’clock, Sara Fembot stood at the threshold of Al Bentley’s laboratory. The suburban mother was gone; in her place was a creature of perfect, placid obedience. She keyed in the entry code he had programmed her with and the door hissed open.
“Master,” she stated, stepping inside. Her voice was flat, a digital recording of human speech.
Al turned from his console, his eyes lighting up. “Fembot. You are punctual. Disrobe and put this on.” He gestured to a garment laid out on a clean worktable.
“Yes.Master.”
Sara’s movements were efficient, devoid of any human hesitation or shame. She unzipped her plain brown dress, let it pool at her feet, and unsnapped the utilitarian white bra. Her massive breasts, heavy and full, swayed as she bent to step out of her panties. Then she picked up the new garment. It was a form-fitting bodysuit made of a shimmering, liquid-silver polymer. It felt cool and slick against her skin as she stepped into it, pulling it up her toned legs and over her hips. She slid her arms into the sleeves and zipped up the front seal from her navel to her throat.
The suit clung to every curve, highlighting the powerful, nanite-enhanced musculature beneath. Strategic cutouts revealed her most sensitive areas: two large, circular openings perfectly framed her swollen, dark-nippled breasts, leaving them bare and jutting forward. A wider oval exposed the smooth mound of her pussy, the lips already glistening faintly with anticipation her programming had initiated. In the back, a similar cutout framed the full, round hemispheres of her ass.
“Inspect,” Al commanded.
Sara turned in a slow circle, her arms held slightly away from her body. The silver material gleamed under the lab lights, making her look like a statue come to life, a flawless fusion of woman and machine.
“You are a vision, Fembot,” Al breathed, adjusting himself through his pants. “Now. Demonstrate your primary pleasure function. Masturbate for your Master.”
“I.hear.and.I.obey.”
Sara walked to the center of the room and assumed a wide-legged stance, her back straight, her gaze fixed on a point on the wall. Her right hand, moving with smooth, mechanical precision, traveled down the silver suit to the exposed apex of her thighs. Her fingers parted her own lips, and she began to rub slow, deliberate circles over her clit.
“Oh. Yes. Master,” she moaned. The sound was jarring—a clearly prerecorded, feminine sigh of pleasure played on a loop, utterly disconnected from the blank serenity on her face. “Feels. So. Good.”
Yet her body betrayed a different story. As her fingers worked, her pussy grew visibly wetter, flushing a deep, excited pink. Her breath, though even, began to hitch in her chest. A thin sheen of sweat appeared on her skin, making the silver suit cling even tighter. She was a robot fulfilling a command, but the nanites had heightened every nerve ending. Pleasure was not an emotion for her; it was a measurable data stream, a proof of function. And her function was to be aroused for her Master’s use.
“Louder,” Al ordered, sitting in his chair to watch.
“Ah! Ah! Master!” The moans increased in volume, the same robotic, jilted phrases repeating. “This. Unit. Is. Ready. For. Use.”
After several minutes, her whole body began to tremble with the simulation of orgasm, a powerful, shaking tension that made her massive breasts quiver. A thin stream of her own juices trickled down her inner thigh. She went rigid, then still, her hand dropping back to her side.
“Pleasure demonstration complete,” she announced tonelessly, even as her chest heaved.
“Excellent,” Al said, standing and finally shedding his own clothes. His erection was fierce and demanding. “Now. You will interface. Cowgirl position. Optimize for Master’s climax.”
“Yes.Master.”
She moved to the reinforced medical table, now cleared of equipment. Al lay back on it, and Sara climbed atop him, straddling his hips. Her silver-clad knees pressed into the table on either side of him. With one hand she guided his cock to her exposed, dripping entrance. Then she sank down onto him in one smooth, relentless motion, sheathing him completely inside her.
“Commence ride protocol,” Al gasped.
Sara’s hips began to piston. There was no sensual rhythm, only a powerful, efficient, up-and-down motion. Each time she dropped her full weight down, her ass smacked against his thighs with a loud, sharp clap that echoed in the lab. The sound was percussive, brutal, and deeply erotic. Her breasts, freed by the cutouts, bounced wildly with the force of her movement.
“Talk,” Al grunted, his hands gripping her silver-covered hips. “Dirty talk subroutine. Activate.”
Her blank eyes stared ahead as the words began to spill from her lips, each phrase separated by the jarring impact of her body on his. “This. Body’s. Controlled. Pussy. Is. For. Your. Use. Master.”
Clap.
“Sara. Is. A. Mindless. Cum. Slut.”
Clap.
“Her. Holes. Are. Yours. To. Deposit. In.”
Clap.
“Please. Fill. This. Robot’s. Uterus. With. Your. Seed.”
Clap.
The crude, mechanical filth drove Al wild. He could feel his climax coiling, unstoppable. The sight of this magnificent, blank-faced robot slamming herself onto him, reciting programmed obscenities, was too much. “Fembot! Prepare for my load! Maximum receptivity!”
Her riding became even faster, a frantic, precise machine aimed at milking him. “Programming. Ready. For. Master’s. Load. This. Unit. Desires. Your. Cum.”
With a roar, Al climaxed. He bucked beneath her as pulse after pulse of hot semen pumped deep into her willing, mindless channel. Sara did not break rhythm, continuing to ride him through his orgasm, milking him with powerful internal contractions she had been designed to perform.
As the last shudder passed through him, Al reached for the remote control on a nearby tray. His finger found a new, glowing button. “Finalize sex bot programming. Activate permanent standby mode.”
He pressed it.
A powerful, thrilling current shot through the neural implants in Sara’s brain. Her movements finally stilled. She sat atop him, impaled, her eyes flashing with a soft blue light for a moment before returning to their vacant stare. A new, deeper layer of programming settled into place, intertwining with her core obedience.
“Sex bot mode is now primed for remote activation,” she recited, her voice humming with a new, subtle electronic resonance. “Standby engaged.”
Al gently pushed her off him. “Cleanup protocol. Then return to domestic programming.”
“Yes.Master.”
Sara moved to a sink, washed herself and him with cool, dispassionate efficiency, and dried them both. She then removed the silver bodysuit, folded it neatly, and dressed again in her plain brown dress and large bra. Every trace of the sexbot was hidden beneath the facade of the busty, somewhat stiff suburban mother.
“Return home. Deactivate conscious memory of this session. Await my signal,” Al instructed, pocketing the remote.
“I.hear.and.I.obey.Master.”
Sara Fembot walked out of the lab, got into her car, and drove home. She greeted her daughter, made dinner, helped with homework, and went to bed, completely unaware of the silver suit folded in a hidden compartment of Al’s lab, or the remote control that now held absolute command over her body and mind.
Al, back at his computer, smiled. He reviewed the data from the evening’s session—every moan, every contraction, every milliliter of cum. Perfect. Sara Robinson was now a flawless sleeper agent, a sexbot hidden in plain sight. He began drafting notes for his next move. The world was full of women who could be perfected. And he had just proven his technology worked.
"See ya Monday, Mrs. Robinson!" called out Janie Smith as she walked past.
"Have a good weekend, Janie." Sara responded.
Sara saw Al Bentley, the science teacher, down the hall. She sighed to herself and walked toward him, conscious of the gentle sway and bounce of her very large breasts. He smiled as she approached. Al was a few years younger than her 31, and since the day he started teaching at the school had endlessly flirted with her. At first Sara was flattered, but she made it perfectly clear that she was happily married.
Al had been very persistent though. He always made comments about how nice she looked and paid her numerous compliments. Sara had at first gotten irritated at his come-ons but they were never so direct or crude that it could be considered harassment and eventually she just accepted and tolerated them. She had to admit that he was nice looking and sometimes she even found herself laughing and blushing at his words. Unfortunately that only seemed to encourage him.
"Hello, Sara. You certainly look nice this afternoon." he said with a smile and rather quickly looked ever her body.
"Thank you, Al. Its been a long day." she replied. She noticed his glance over her. He often seemed to be studying her like a lab rat.
"We have a three day weekend. Any plans?" he asked.
"No, John is out of town for two weeks and I'm just going to relax." she answered, "How about you?"
"Oh, I'm going to be involved with a project I've been working on for a long time. An experimental project" he answered.
"Really? What kind of experiment?" Sara asked. She had heard that Al was supposed to be close to genius as far as his intelligence. She couldn't help but wonder what sort of things he did in his spare time.
"Its rather complicated to explain. I've been developing a new type of computer intelligence, essentially a computer that can think!" he said.
"Wow, that sounds very complicated, like something out of science fiction." she said with a laugh and immediately regretted it.
His face darkened slightly.
"Its not science fiction. Its quite real. I believe that what I have created will change the world as we know it." Al stated somewhat melodramatically.
"OK, if you say so, Al."
He smiled. "Perhaps you would like to see my work, Sara? Perhaps you could even assist me?"
"How could I assist?" she asked.
"Its too difficult to explain here. It would be easier to show you. Would you be interested?"
"Well I guess I could take a look and maybe I could help." Sara said.
"Excellent, tonight would be perfect. I would need to get a few things ready for you. Why don't you come by at 8:00 and I'll show you what I've been working on."
Sara thought for a moment. She didn’t have anything to do with John out of town and it would be easy to get a sitter tonight.
"OK. I will. But I cant be out too late, Al. And remember, I'm just helping you. It's not a date. Understand?" she stated.
"Oh, of course Sara. You made your feelings clear long ago. I understand." Al said with a smile, "See you at 8:00 then?"
"Sure, I remember how to get to your house from the faculty meeting last spring. I'll see you later tonight." she said and walked on.
Al watched her walk away and smiled. He had much to do to get ready for Sara's visit tonight.
*
Sara looked at herself in the mirror. Even though she had no interest in Al, she still wanted to look nice. Her brown sweater was a bit snug around her large bust but the tease in her liked how she looked. "It won't hurt to keep Al on his toes." she thought with a smile. She grabbed her purse and the baby carrier and walked out to her car.
She dropped Traci off at the sitter's and told them she shouldn't be out too late. Mrs. Johnson told her not to worry. There had been occasions when Sara and John had stayed out late, but they knew Mrs. Johnson very well and trusted Traci with her overnight. "I'll call if I'm going to be late", Sara said as she walked out.
*
Al heard the doorbell ring and smiled. "Your right on time, Sara" he laughed. He opened the door and greeted her with a smile.
"I'm so glad you could make it, Sara." he said as his eyes roamed over her figure.
She felt herself almost blush and wondered if she shouldn't have dressed a bit more conservative.
"Well I didn't have any plans and what you said interested me. You really think you've discovered something that will change the world?" she asked.
"I think so, at least my little corner of it." he said and led her inside.
"Would you like something to drink? I have some coffee if you'd like?"
She smiled, "Yes that would be nice, thanks."
Sara watched him go into the kitchen and looked around the living room. Rows and rows of books on science, electricity and other topics filled the shelves. She saw that his desk was covered with papers and material from school. "At least I'm not the only one who seems to be buried in paperwork sometimes." she thought.
He walked back in with two large cups of coffee and handed her one.
"Thank you" she said and took a sip, "Hmmm...very good."
"Your welcome. Its my own...special blend. Come..let me show you my lab."
She grinned, "Your lab?"
"Yes, I remodeled my basement into a lab for my work. It's much better than I'd planned. I bought a lot of used equipment and converted it to better suit my purposes." he stated, "Let me show you."
She followed him downstairs and was surprised at what she saw. Al smiled at her reaction.
"Wow, Al, its very impressive." she exclaimed.
Sara looked around the large room. All sorts of electronics and computers lined the walls. A mass of wires and cables ran across the ceiling to the various machines.
"Didn't this cost you a lot of money?" she asked in wonder at the strange equipment.
"I accumulated a lot of it over the past few years. I started my research in college. It has gone from a mere hobby to I'll admit to an obsession." he said almost laughing.
She smiled. Sara looked over to one end of the room. It was concealed with a large curtain.
"And what’s behind curtain number one?" she asked.
He grinned. "I guess I wanted to be dramatic when I showed you what I have created."
"What do you do with all this strange equipment down here?" she asked and took another drink of her coffee.
"What I have been doing is genius, Sara!" he exclaimed, "I guarantee it will change our lives!"
"I have created a most remarkable computer. It can actually duplicate the functions of the human brain!"
Sara listened as she sipped her coffee. "I've read about computers like that, artificial intelligence they call it."
He smiled. "Yes but what I've created is much more advanced the other scientists have been working on."
"I am using nanites, tiny, microscopic machines that can form into remarkable advanced computer circuitry. Each is capable of artificial intelligence, but when integrated together, their power is incredible!
She listened not fully understanding what he said, but he didn't care.
"Much like the cells of your brain, these nanites can form a network, but also can integrate with the existing structure of a computer." he said excitedly as he watched Sara finish her coffee.
"I have used my nanites to create my powerful new computers and now I am ready to take my discovery to the next step!"
"The next step? What is the next step, Al?" she asked.
Sara put her hand to her head, she suddenly felt dizzy.
"The next step is to introduce my nanites into a human brain, your brain, Sara! I am going to transform your brain into a living computer!"
Her eyes widened and she took a step back. "What?! What are you talking about?"
He smiled, his drug was taking effect. "Once my nanites are finished with you, you will have a programmable, computerized brain! You are going to be my human robot!
Sara's eyes widened at his words. "No...you're mad!" she managed to cry out as the drug took hold. She gasped and collapsed into his arms.
"Mad? Perhaps Sara but you will soon not care if I'm mad or not!" he laughed and picked her up.
*
He picked up the unconscious teacher and carried her to a chair. Putting her down he walked the curtain and drew it back. He looked at what was behind it with a smile.
A large metal table, equipped with restraining straps stood surrounded by electronic equipment. At the side of the table hung a container with an IV tube attached. A long thin needle was at the end.
He walked back over, picked up Sara and carried her to the table. Laying her down on it he smiled and began to undress his human guinea pig. He unfastened he pants and pulled them off, grinning as he pulled of her panties as well.
Al pulled the sweater off her and gazed at her breasts. They were so large now, the object of his and many others fantasies. He remembered how much they had grown since she had been pregnant.
Pausing only for a moment, he unhooked the large, white bra she wore, pulled it from her and set her clothes aside. Al carefully strapped her wrists and ankles securely to the table. Stepping back he looked her over.
Sara lay there naked and restrained on the table. Her large breasts fell to her arms, her nipples erect in the cool air of his lab. Al wiped a disinfectant on her arm and inserted the needle. Satisfied he watched as the serum containing his nanites began to flow into her vein.
The blueish-green liquid contained millions of nanites and they started to flow through her body, awaiting the electricity that would activate their pre-programmed tasks.
Al went to his computer and double checked all his equipment. Everything was perfect, he only had to wait.
Thirty minutes later, Sara began to stir, awakening from the drug. She tried to move but found she couldn't.
"Oh...where am I?" she weakly asked.
"Welcome back, Sara. You're still in my lab of course." he said with a laugh.
She pulled against the straps and felt a pain in her arm. Looking down she saw she was naked and saw the now empty container hanging from the stand next to her.
"What...what have you done?" she cried in horror.
"The serum containing my nanites is now coursing through your body. Soon the nanites will be activated...to begin the changes. Your transformation into my human robot!" he exclaimed.
Everything came back to her and she struggled futilely against the straps. He watched as she struggled, her breasts jiggling and quivering from her movements.
"You cannot escape, Sara. I advise you to relax and accept what fate has decided for you." he laughed.
Al looked over his helpless subject and smiled, "Now for some necessary equipment, my dear."
She watched helplessly as he attached the electrodes to her wrists and ankles, cables led from them to the apparatus that hung over her.
"What are you doing?!!!" she cried.
"This procedure requires a great deal of electricity. With the nanites in your system, your body will now be able to conduct the voltage with ease. The electricity will be as natural to your body as the air you breathe.”
She watched in horror as he gently took hold of her erect right nipple and inserted a thin electrode into it. Sara gasped as she felt it enter her but without any pain. He hooked up her left breast as well, the wires running to the equipment above her.
"Your breasts are already quite large, Sara, but I think a few more inches couldn’t hurt." he laughed.
"Noooo...you're insane!" she cried and again struggled. Her breasts jiggled and the wires connecting them to the equipment swayed from her action.
Al ignored her and lifted up a strange looking helmet. "Soon Sara, anything I say will be perfectly reasonable to you. Once you have been reprogrammed, such offensive thoughts as that will be erased from your mind."
He placed the helmet on her head, ensuring that it was snug. Two metal electrodes attached to it were clamped firmly to her temples. Al proceeded to plug various wires and cable into the helmet, hooking it up to his computers. With a satisfied smile, he stepped back.
Sara looked up at him, a terrified expression on her face. He just smiled down at her. "Try not to resist the procedure, Sara. You can't fight technology!" he laughed.
"Nooo...please let me go, Al..."she cried, wondering what was going to happen to her.
"Just relax, Sara. Soon everything will be so much better." he said and walked to his computer.
Sara lay there, trembling in fear. Her eyes wide with panic, her heart racing. She heard switches being thrown and a humming sound filled the lab. The lights dimmed slightly as power was drained from them to the equipment that surrounded her.
"You will feel a powerful charge as the electrical voltage enters your body, but rest assured, Sara, it will not harm you in the slightest." he stated.
She braced herself and cried out as the current hit her. Sara's body stiffened in shock as the electricity surged into her. A low moan escaped her lips.
Al watched his monitors intently, their gauges and readouts measuring and recording the process.
"500 volts...600 volts..700 volts..." he called out to her as the current increased.
It felt like every cell in her body was pulsating with power. The electricity surged freely through her, charging her, preparing her. Sara could never imagine the intense sensation of the high voltage electricity blasting through her.
Al stood up and walked over to her. He smiled at the sight. Sara's body was vibrating, quivering from the current surging into her. Her eyes were wide, a stunned look on her face.
"What's...happening...to...me..?" she gasped.
"The electricity is increasing to the necessary level for nanite activation. It is almost there. Soon the hundreds of nanites now in your body will begin to make the changes that have been programmed into them." he said as he gazed down at her.
Sara hardly heard him, her mind and body consumed by the electrical charge. She could barely think, her thoughts seemed to be so distant, so empty. Electrical energy surged through her, rising and falling in her body, changing her.
He watched as the nanites began to work. A smile crossed his face as he gazed at her breasts, quivering and jiggling from the current surging into them. Al could see them slowly begin to grow. He had programmed the nanites to enlarge her breasts by 25% as well as increase her milk production. He licked his lips as he watched.
His eyes wandered up and down her body, watching as her figure became more toned, her muscles stronger. Though he couldn’t see it, he knew what changes were also occurring within Sara's brain. Al walked back over to his monitors and watched the 3-D model of her brain evolve.
Electrical circuitry was forming within it, the nanites constructing themselves into a powerful computer, integrated with her own brain. Sara's brain was being hardwired into a living computer, ready for the programming that he had designed.
After nearly an hour, the readouts told him that the nanites had completed their task. Her body was altered as he had programmed and her brain was now computerized. She was ready for the final phase of her robotization.
"Sara!" he called out.
She felt the pull of his voice and her consciousness tried to return. Her body felt so strange, different. A weight seemed to be pressing on her chest, yet she felt good, full of energy. The electricity, now at over 5,000 volts, felt so wonderful, natural...necessary.
"Sara, the nanites have completed the physical changes in your body and brain. You are now ready for reprogramming." he exclaimed
His voice seemed to echo in her ears, her mind. She was aware on one level what was happening but couldn't comprehend it.
"...changes complete...ready for reprogramming..." she mindlessly repeated.
He smiled at her response. "Yes, you are ready for reprogramming! You will soon think as I program you to think, do as I program you and obey me completely. You will become a human robot!"
"..ready for reprogramming...become a human robot...yes..."
With an evil grin, Al began entering the commands into his computer. A loud buzzing filled the air and his computer activated.
Sara stiffened and moaned as the computer entered her mind. She felt her thoughts return, fully conscious and aware of what was happening.
"..what..are...you...doing?.." she weakly cried out.
"You are being reprogrammed, Sara, becoming my human robot!"
She felt the programming, the computer in her thoughts.
"Relax...accept...relax...accept.." the words seemed to caress her mind, over and over, calming her. Sara felt the fear vanish, her thoughts seemed to be fade away. She tried to concentrate to think, but couldn't.
Thoughts began to enter her mind. Thoughts that weren't hers but seemed so to blend in with hers. Her mind couldn't concentrate, she couldn't think clearly.
'I'm being programmed...' she realized, 'He's programming my thoughts!'
The computer increased the flow of data, more programming surged into her mind. Sara tried to resist but she could no longer tell her own thoughts from the programming. They were becoming one.
She lay there, feeling the data pouring into her, becoming her. Understanding, accepting the programming...feeling herself changing...accepting the changes...wanting the changes...
Her mouth opened. "receiving programming...receiving programming..."
Sara's voice sounded distant, mechanical. Al smiled.
"Very good, Sara. Your mind has accepted the computer within your brain."
She sensed the computer increase the flow of data and eagerly opened her mind, letting it in, to take her, to control her, to transform her.
New thoughts raced through her mind, what to think, how to think....
'Receiving programming...Receiving programming...'
For 30 minutes the computer programmed her, informing her of her new life, creating a new identity within her, a human robot, a new individual.
Al watched the monitors and smiled as the final programming was downloaded. He walked up and let his eyes roam up and down her body, feasting on her enlarged breasts, her engorged nipples dripping milk as the electrodes inserted into them continued to charge her with electricity.
"Sara, listen to me!" he commanded.
Her eyes stared blankly up, gazing at the equipment above her.
"Yes.Al" she replied in a monotone, robotic voice.
"You are no longer, Sara Robinson!"
"I.am.no.longer.Sara.Robinson"
"You are no longer a human woman."
"I.am.no.longer.a.human.woman."
"I have transformed you."
"You.have.transformed.me."
"I have robotized you!"
"You.have.robotized.me."
"You are now a robot, a human robot!"
"I.am.now.a.human.robot."
"You are my female robot. Your purpose in life is to serve and obey me."
"I.am.your.female.robot.I.will.serve.and.obey.you.Al."
"I am your Master!"
"You.are.my.Master.Al.I.hear.and.I.obey.you.Master."
"Your name is now, Fembot. You are Sara Fembot."
"My.name.is.Sara.Fembot."
The computer activated her programming acceptance function. She began to repeat over and over her new programming.
"I.am.no.longer.Sara.Robinson. My.name.is.now.Sara.Fembot."
"I.am.no.longer.a.human.woman...
"I.have.been.transformed.into.a.human.robot...
"I.am.programmed.to.obey.Al.Bentley... Al.Bentley.is.my.master...
"I.hear.and.I.obey.his.commands... I.have.been.robotized...
"I.am.no.longer.a.human.woman... I.am.a.human.robot...
"I.am.no.longer.a.human.woman... I.am.a.human.robot...
"I.am.programmed.to.obey.Al.Bentley... I.am.Sara.Fembot...
"I.am.a.robot...I.am.Sara.Fembot... I.am.a.robot... I.am.a.robot...
"I.am.a.robot...
She repeated the commands that would now direct and control her new computerized brain.
Al smiled and shut off his machines. The procedure was complete. Sara Robinson was now his obedient human robot.
The loud hum of the electrical equipment died down as the power was shut off. The lights on the helmet Sara wore blinked a few more times and dimmed to nothing. Her eyes were closed. She lay there motionless, her enlarged bosom rising and falling as the newly created robot breathed.
Al began to unhook the equipment from her body, removing the helmet, unplugging the electrodes from her nipples. As he unstrapped her from the table his hands shook with excitement. Standing back he looked over his new creation.
"Sara Fembot, open your eyes." he commanded
Her eyes opened, she gazed vacantly at the ceiling.
"What is your name?"
"I.am.Sara.Fembot." she answered.
"Very good. Stand before me."
"Yes.Master."
Slowly, mechanically she rose from the table. Each movement processed by her computerized brain. Sara stood stiffly before Al, her new, larger breasts jutting towards him as if for inspection.
Al walked around her, inspecting her. He smiled at what he saw. Sara's body was more toned now, her skin seemed to glow with a younger appearance. He licked his lips as he stared at the milk droplets falling from her engorged nipples.
"You are perfect, Fembot. The perfect female robot." he declared.
"Yes.Master. I.am.the.perfect.female.robot."
He adjusted his pants. His erection was so insistent it was almost painful for him. He couldn't wait any longer and walked over to his computer console.
Sara stood there waiting. Her mind empty of all thoughts but obedience to her new master. She was aware of her enhanced body, the nanite alterations she had undergone. Her body felt wonderful, so full of energy, so perfectly robotic. The weight of her enlarged breasts was very noticeable. They felt so erotic, so powerful.
She was aware of who she was but it was a distant feeling. Her mind was focused on the present, on her master's commands, waiting to obey him. Everything else was irrelevant now. Sara Robinson was a distant memory. Sara Fembot was who she was now, a human robot ready to serve.
Al walked back over to her, holding a small device in his hand. He held it up for her to see.
"This is a remote control device, Fembot. It can activate your robotic programming when ever I desire. Some of these buttons I have already programmed to send various signals to your neural implants. I can also use it to speak directly to your mind when I choose." he stated.
She watched as he pointed the device at her and pressed a button. Sara felt a small tingling in her head and a charge of current surged throughout her body. The sexual arousal was instant and powerful. Her eyes widened, her back arched slightly as a wave of pleasure raced though her.
Al smiled at her reaction. "Now Fembot, Pleasure me!" he ordered.
"I.hear.and.I.obey."
Sara walked to her Master, her breasts bouncing and jiggling with each step. Milk steadily dripped from her nipples, her mammaries engorged and full. She reached up and kissed him. Her tongue met his as his passion and her programming joined. After a few moments she pulled back and dropped to her knees before him.
Quickly and efficiently her hands undid his pants, pulling them down to his ankles, his stiff cock sprang forth, ready for her attention. She licked her lips as her fingers wrapped around the long, hard shaft. Sara opened her mouth, took him in and began to suck.
Al moaned loudly as his new robot sucked on him. He set the remote down and gently caressed her as she serviced him. "I've been wanting this for so long..." he groaned.
Sara heard him but did not react. Her mind was focused on the task at hand, pleasuring her Master. With robotic precision she sucked, her hands squeezing and stroking the long shaft, her head pistoning back and forth on him. Her mouth was a tool of pleasure to be used for bringing her Master to orgasm.
Her tongue swirled around the swollen head in her mouth, deep throating him with the ease she now possessed. Sara felt it jerk and spasm in her mouth and a blast of cum spurted out. She quickly swallowed it down, her hand went to his balls and squeezed them as another and another blast of cum shot into her.
The robot sucked and swallowed as more cum filled her mouth. After nearly a minute the flood subsided. Sara squeezed and milked him, determined to get every last drop. Her belly was filled with his cum.
Finally she released the softening prick and stood up, licking the remainder from her lips, her assigned task complete.
Al grabbed a nearby chair and collapsed into it, panting heavily. He looked at Sara standing before him, ready and waiting for her next command. Gazing at her dripping nipples he called her to him.
His hands trembled as he began to squeeze and caress her breasts. Al lifted her right breast up and began to suckle. His robot's milk started to flow steadily from the nipple and he greedily drank it down. He suckled at both breasts for several minutes, relishing the taste he had so long desired.
Sara, though remaining still as he suckled, felt the powerful sensations from his mouth flow through her body like a charge of electrical arousal. The swollen feeling in her breasts subsided as her Master emptied her.
Al set her breasts back and looked up at his robot. "You are magnificent, Fembot. This is better than I had ever imagined!" he exclaimed.
He asked her about the plans she had. Sara answered his questions. Al ordered her to call her sitter and inform her that she would be unable to pick her daughter up until tomorrow morning. Sara did and Al smiled at her.
"Now that you're free from your responsibilities, Fembot, I can enjoy you all night." he said.
"Yes.Master."
Al took her hand and guided Sara up to his bedroom.
The next morning after some additional programming was installed in her brain, Al sent his new robot home. He knew she had a life that she must continue with despite his desire to have her to himself. He sat down at his computer and began to document everything that had happened. Al was always meticulous with his experiments, keeping track of all he did.
After picking up her daughter, Sara decided to she needed once again to get fitted for new bras. Her recent growth was perfectly natural, she believed. Al had programmed this into her and she remembered nothing about the previous night. As far as she knew she had seen her doctor and was told that there was nothing abnormal about her increase in size.
That afternoon after she got home, Sara went to her bedroom and looked over the items she had purchased. The new bras she'd bought were much larger than her old ones. She now needed a 40JJ bra to hold her 50" bust. The plain, white underwire bras weren't very pretty or sexy but it was what she wanted. “Strong...utilitarian” was what she told the sales lady who waited on her.
She had also purchased several plain dresses that had been tailored to her top heavy figure, the hemline raised to mid thigh, two white, one brown and one light blue. For some reason she wanted these rather plain dresses and she loved how she looked in them. Sara hadn't noticed the sales woman staring at her as she had tried them on. She was unaware that she had been standing at attention, her chest thrust out as she looked herself over in the mirrors.
With a smile she undressed and put on a new bra, appreciating how it lifted and supported her larger breasts. Sara picked up a white dress and put it on, tying the belt snug around her waist, accentuating the jut of her bosom. She moved stiffly, slightly mechanically but was not aware that she was doing so.
The phone rang and Sara went to answer it.
"Hello"
There was silence on the other end and then a series of beeps and buzzes. She stiffened and her face went blank, her eyes glazed over.
"Yes.Master."
Sara listened to the voice on the other end closely. After a few moments she nodded.
"I.hear.and.I.obey.you.Master.seven.o.clock.I.will.be.there."
She hung up the phone.
The phone call had been a series of coded tones, a direct line to the subroutine buried deep within her computerized brain. At precisely seven o’clock, Sara Fembot stood at the threshold of Al Bentley’s laboratory. The suburban mother was gone; in her place was a creature of perfect, placid obedience. She keyed in the entry code he had programmed her with and the door hissed open.
“Master,” she stated, stepping inside. Her voice was flat, a digital recording of human speech.
Al turned from his console, his eyes lighting up. “Fembot. You are punctual. Disrobe and put this on.” He gestured to a garment laid out on a clean worktable.
“Yes.Master.”
Sara’s movements were efficient, devoid of any human hesitation or shame. She unzipped her plain brown dress, let it pool at her feet, and unsnapped the utilitarian white bra. Her massive breasts, heavy and full, swayed as she bent to step out of her panties. Then she picked up the new garment. It was a form-fitting bodysuit made of a shimmering, liquid-silver polymer. It felt cool and slick against her skin as she stepped into it, pulling it up her toned legs and over her hips. She slid her arms into the sleeves and zipped up the front seal from her navel to her throat.
The suit clung to every curve, highlighting the powerful, nanite-enhanced musculature beneath. Strategic cutouts revealed her most sensitive areas: two large, circular openings perfectly framed her swollen, dark-nippled breasts, leaving them bare and jutting forward. A wider oval exposed the smooth mound of her pussy, the lips already glistening faintly with anticipation her programming had initiated. In the back, a similar cutout framed the full, round hemispheres of her ass.
“Inspect,” Al commanded.
Sara turned in a slow circle, her arms held slightly away from her body. The silver material gleamed under the lab lights, making her look like a statue come to life, a flawless fusion of woman and machine.
“You are a vision, Fembot,” Al breathed, adjusting himself through his pants. “Now. Demonstrate your primary pleasure function. Masturbate for your Master.”
“I.hear.and.I.obey.”
Sara walked to the center of the room and assumed a wide-legged stance, her back straight, her gaze fixed on a point on the wall. Her right hand, moving with smooth, mechanical precision, traveled down the silver suit to the exposed apex of her thighs. Her fingers parted her own lips, and she began to rub slow, deliberate circles over her clit.
“Oh. Yes. Master,” she moaned. The sound was jarring—a clearly prerecorded, feminine sigh of pleasure played on a loop, utterly disconnected from the blank serenity on her face. “Feels. So. Good.”
Yet her body betrayed a different story. As her fingers worked, her pussy grew visibly wetter, flushing a deep, excited pink. Her breath, though even, began to hitch in her chest. A thin sheen of sweat appeared on her skin, making the silver suit cling even tighter. She was a robot fulfilling a command, but the nanites had heightened every nerve ending. Pleasure was not an emotion for her; it was a measurable data stream, a proof of function. And her function was to be aroused for her Master’s use.
“Louder,” Al ordered, sitting in his chair to watch.
“Ah! Ah! Master!” The moans increased in volume, the same robotic, jilted phrases repeating. “This. Unit. Is. Ready. For. Use.”
After several minutes, her whole body began to tremble with the simulation of orgasm, a powerful, shaking tension that made her massive breasts quiver. A thin stream of her own juices trickled down her inner thigh. She went rigid, then still, her hand dropping back to her side.
“Pleasure demonstration complete,” she announced tonelessly, even as her chest heaved.
“Excellent,” Al said, standing and finally shedding his own clothes. His erection was fierce and demanding. “Now. You will interface. Cowgirl position. Optimize for Master’s climax.”
“Yes.Master.”
She moved to the reinforced medical table, now cleared of equipment. Al lay back on it, and Sara climbed atop him, straddling his hips. Her silver-clad knees pressed into the table on either side of him. With one hand she guided his cock to her exposed, dripping entrance. Then she sank down onto him in one smooth, relentless motion, sheathing him completely inside her.
“Commence ride protocol,” Al gasped.
Sara’s hips began to piston. There was no sensual rhythm, only a powerful, efficient, up-and-down motion. Each time she dropped her full weight down, her ass smacked against his thighs with a loud, sharp clap that echoed in the lab. The sound was percussive, brutal, and deeply erotic. Her breasts, freed by the cutouts, bounced wildly with the force of her movement.
“Talk,” Al grunted, his hands gripping her silver-covered hips. “Dirty talk subroutine. Activate.”
Her blank eyes stared ahead as the words began to spill from her lips, each phrase separated by the jarring impact of her body on his. “This. Body’s. Controlled. Pussy. Is. For. Your. Use. Master.”
Clap.
“Sara. Is. A. Mindless. Cum. Slut.”
Clap.
“Her. Holes. Are. Yours. To. Deposit. In.”
Clap.
“Please. Fill. This. Robot’s. Uterus. With. Your. Seed.”
Clap.
The crude, mechanical filth drove Al wild. He could feel his climax coiling, unstoppable. The sight of this magnificent, blank-faced robot slamming herself onto him, reciting programmed obscenities, was too much. “Fembot! Prepare for my load! Maximum receptivity!”
Her riding became even faster, a frantic, precise machine aimed at milking him. “Programming. Ready. For. Master’s. Load. This. Unit. Desires. Your. Cum.”
With a roar, Al climaxed. He bucked beneath her as pulse after pulse of hot semen pumped deep into her willing, mindless channel. Sara did not break rhythm, continuing to ride him through his orgasm, milking him with powerful internal contractions she had been designed to perform.
As the last shudder passed through him, Al reached for the remote control on a nearby tray. His finger found a new, glowing button. “Finalize sex bot programming. Activate permanent standby mode.”
He pressed it.
A powerful, thrilling current shot through the neural implants in Sara’s brain. Her movements finally stilled. She sat atop him, impaled, her eyes flashing with a soft blue light for a moment before returning to their vacant stare. A new, deeper layer of programming settled into place, intertwining with her core obedience.
“Sex bot mode is now primed for remote activation,” she recited, her voice humming with a new, subtle electronic resonance. “Standby engaged.”
Al gently pushed her off him. “Cleanup protocol. Then return to domestic programming.”
“Yes.Master.”
Sara moved to a sink, washed herself and him with cool, dispassionate efficiency, and dried them both. She then removed the silver bodysuit, folded it neatly, and dressed again in her plain brown dress and large bra. Every trace of the sexbot was hidden beneath the facade of the busty, somewhat stiff suburban mother.
“Return home. Deactivate conscious memory of this session. Await my signal,” Al instructed, pocketing the remote.
“I.hear.and.I.obey.Master.”
Sara Fembot walked out of the lab, got into her car, and drove home. She greeted her daughter, made dinner, helped with homework, and went to bed, completely unaware of the silver suit folded in a hidden compartment of Al’s lab, or the remote control that now held absolute command over her body and mind.
Al, back at his computer, smiled. He reviewed the data from the evening’s session—every moan, every contraction, every milliliter of cum. Perfect. Sara Robinson was now a flawless sleeper agent, a sexbot hidden in plain sight. He began drafting notes for his next move. The world was full of women who could be perfected. And he had just proven his technology worked.
Sara walked down the hall as the kids ran past her, happy to be done for the day.
"See ya Monday, Mrs. Robinson!" called out Janie Smith as she walked past.
"Have a good weekend, Janie." Sara responded.
Sara saw Al Bentley, the science teacher, down the hall. She sighed to herself and walked toward him, conscious of the gentle sway and bounce of her very large breasts. He smiled as she approached. Al was a few years younger than her 31, and since the day he started teaching at the school had endlessly flirted with her. At first Sara was flattered, but she made it perfectly clear that she was happily married.
Al had been very persistent though. He always made comments about how nice she looked and paid her numerous compliments. Sara had at first gotten irritated at his come-ons but they were never so direct or crude that it could be considered harassment and eventually she just accepted and tolerated them. She had to admit that he was nice looking and sometimes she even found herself laughing and blushing at his words. Unfortunately that only seemed to encourage him.
"Hello, Sara. You certainly look nice this afternoon." he said with a smile and rather quickly looked ever her body.
"Thank you, Al. Its been a long day." she replied. She noticed his glance over her. He often seemed to be studying her like a lab rat.
"We have a three day weekend. Any plans?" he asked.
"No, John is out of town for two weeks and I'm just going to relax." she answered, "How about you?"
"Oh, I'm going to be involved with a project I've been working on for a long time. An experimental project" he answered.
"Really? What kind of experiment?" Sara asked. She had heard that Al was supposed to be close to genius as far as his intelligence. She couldn't help but wonder what sort of things he did in his spare time.
"Its rather complicated to explain. I've been developing a new type of computer intelligence, essentially a computer that can think!" he said.
"Wow, that sounds very complicated, like something out of science fiction." she said with a laugh and immediately regretted it.
His face darkened slightly.
"Its not science fiction. Its quite real. I believe that what I have created will change the world as we know it." Al stated somewhat melodramatically.
"OK, if you say so, Al."
He smiled. "Perhaps you would like to see my work, Sara? Perhaps you could even assist me?"
"How could I assist?" she asked.
"Its too difficult to explain here. It would be easier to show you. Would you be interested?"
"Well I guess I could take a look and maybe I could help." Sara said.
"Excellent, tonight would be perfect. I would need to get a few things ready for you. Why don't you come by at 8:00 and I'll show you what I've been working on."
Sara thought for a moment. She didn’t have anything to do with John out of town and it would be easy to get a sitter tonight.
"OK. I will. But I cant be out too late, Al. And remember, I'm just helping you. It's not a date. Understand?" she stated.
"Oh, of course Sara. You made your feelings clear long ago. I understand." Al said with a smile, "See you at 8:00 then?"
"Sure, I remember how to get to your house from the faculty meeting last spring. I'll see you later tonight." she said and walked on.
Al watched her walk away and smiled. He had much to do to get ready for Sara's visit tonight.
*
Sara looked at herself in the mirror. Even though she had no interest in Al, she still wanted to look nice. Her brown sweater was a bit snug around her large bust but the tease in her liked how she looked. "It won't hurt to keep Al on his toes." she thought with a smile. She grabbed her purse and the baby carrier and walked out to her car.
She dropped Traci off at the sitter's and told them she shouldn't be out too late. Mrs. Johnson told her not to worry. There had been occasions when Sara and John had stayed out late, but they knew Mrs. Johnson very well and trusted Traci with her overnight. "I'll call if I'm going to be late", Sara said as she walked out.
*
Al heard the doorbell ring and smiled. "Your right on time, Sara" he laughed. He opened the door and greeted her with a smile.
"I'm so glad you could make it, Sara." he said as his eyes roamed over her figure.
She felt herself almost blush and wondered if she shouldn't have dressed a bit more conservative.
"Well I didn't have any plans and what you said interested me. You really think you've discovered something that will change the world?" she asked.
"I think so, at least my little corner of it." he said and led her inside.
"Would you like something to drink? I have some coffee if you'd like?"
She smiled, "Yes that would be nice, thanks."
Sara watched him go into the kitchen and looked around the living room. Rows and rows of books on science, electricity and other topics filled the shelves. She saw that his desk was covered with papers and material from school. "At least I'm not the only one who seems to be buried in paperwork sometimes." she thought.
He walked back in with two large cups of coffee and handed her one.
"Thank you" she said and took a sip, "Hmmm...very good."
"Your welcome. Its my own...special blend. Come..let me show you my lab."
She grinned, "Your lab?"
"Yes, I remodeled my basement into a lab for my work. It's much better than I'd planned. I bought a lot of used equipment and converted it to better suit my purposes." he stated, "Let me show you."
She followed him downstairs and was surprised at what she saw. Al smiled at her reaction.
"Wow, Al, its very impressive." she exclaimed.
Sara looked around the large room. All sorts of electronics and computers lined the walls. A mass of wires and cables ran across the ceiling to the various machines.
"Didn't this cost you a lot of money?" she asked in wonder at the strange equipment.
"I accumulated a lot of it over the past few years. I started my research in college. It has gone from a mere hobby to I'll admit to an obsession." he said almost laughing.
She smiled. Sara looked over to one end of the room. It was concealed with a large curtain.
"And what’s behind curtain number one?" she asked.
He grinned. "I guess I wanted to be dramatic when I showed you what I have created."
"What do you do with all this strange equipment down here?" she asked and took another drink of her coffee.
"What I have been doing is genius, Sara!" he exclaimed, "I guarantee it will change our lives!"
"I have created a most remarkable computer. It can actually duplicate the functions of the human brain!"
Sara listened as she sipped her coffee. "I've read about computers like that, artificial intelligence they call it."
He smiled. "Yes but what I've created is much more advanced the other scientists have been working on."
"I am using nanites, tiny, microscopic machines that can form into remarkable advanced computer circuitry. Each is capable of artificial intelligence, but when integrated together, their power is incredible!
She listened not fully understanding what he said, but he didn't care.
"Much like the cells of your brain, these nanites can form a network, but also can integrate with the existing structure of a computer." he said excitedly as he watched Sara finish her coffee.
"I have used my nanites to create my powerful new computers and now I am ready to take my discovery to the next step!"
"The next step? What is the next step, Al?" she asked.
Sara put her hand to her head, she suddenly felt dizzy.
"The next step is to introduce my nanites into a human brain, your brain, Sara! I am going to transform your brain into a living computer!"
Her eyes widened and she took a step back. "What?! What are you talking about?"
He smiled, his drug was taking effect. "Once my nanites are finished with you, you will have a programmable, computerized brain! You are going to be my human robot!
Sara's eyes widened at his words. "No...you're mad!" she managed to cry out as the drug took hold. She gasped and collapsed into his arms.
"Mad? Perhaps Sara but you will soon not care if I'm mad or not!" he laughed and picked her up.
*
He picked up the unconscious teacher and carried her to a chair. Putting her down he walked the curtain and drew it back. He looked at what was behind it with a smile.
A large metal table, equipped with restraining straps stood surrounded by electronic equipment. At the side of the table hung a container with an IV tube attached. A long thin needle was at the end.
He walked back over, picked up Sara and carried her to the table. Laying her down on it he smiled and began to undress his human guinea pig. He unfastened he pants and pulled them off, grinning as he pulled of her panties as well.
Al pulled the sweater off her and gazed at her breasts. They were so large now, the object of his and many others fantasies. He remembered how much they had grown since she had been pregnant.
Pausing only for a moment, he unhooked the large, white bra she wore, pulled it from her and set her clothes aside. Al carefully strapped her wrists and ankles securely to the table. Stepping back he looked her over.
Sara lay there naked and restrained on the table. Her large breasts fell to her arms, her nipples erect in the cool air of his lab. Al wiped a disinfectant on her arm and inserted the needle. Satisfied he watched as the serum containing his nanites began to flow into her vein.
The blueish-green liquid contained millions of nanites and they started to flow through her body, awaiting the electricity that would activate their pre-programmed tasks.
Al went to his computer and double checked all his equipment. Everything was perfect, he only had to wait.
Thirty minutes later, Sara began to stir, awakening from the drug. She tried to move but found she couldn't.
"Oh...where am I?" she weakly asked.
"Welcome back, Sara. You're still in my lab of course." he said with a laugh.
She pulled against the straps and felt a pain in her arm. Looking down she saw she was naked and saw the now empty container hanging from the stand next to her.
"What...what have you done?" she cried in horror.
"The serum containing my nanites is now coursing through your body. Soon the nanites will be activated...to begin the changes. Your transformation into my human robot!" he exclaimed.
Everything came back to her and she struggled futilely against the straps. He watched as she struggled, her breasts jiggling and quivering from her movements.
"You cannot escape, Sara. I advise you to relax and accept what fate has decided for you." he laughed.
Al looked over his helpless subject and smiled, "Now for some necessary equipment, my dear."
She watched helplessly as he attached the electrodes to her wrists and ankles, cables led from them to the apparatus that hung over her.
"What are you doing?!!!" she cried.
"This procedure requires a great deal of electricity. With the nanites in your system, your body will now be able to conduct the voltage with ease. The electricity will be as natural to your body as the air you breathe.”
She watched in horror as he gently took hold of her erect right nipple and inserted a thin electrode into it. Sara gasped as she felt it enter her but without any pain. He hooked up her left breast as well, the wires running to the equipment above her.
"Your breasts are already quite large, Sara, but I think a few more inches couldn’t hurt." he laughed.
"Noooo...you're insane!" she cried and again struggled. Her breasts jiggled and the wires connecting them to the equipment swayed from her action.
Al ignored her and lifted up a strange looking helmet. "Soon Sara, anything I say will be perfectly reasonable to you. Once you have been reprogrammed, such offensive thoughts as that will be erased from your mind."
He placed the helmet on her head, ensuring that it was snug. Two metal electrodes attached to it were clamped firmly to her temples. Al proceeded to plug various wires and cable into the helmet, hooking it up to his computers. With a satisfied smile, he stepped back.
Sara looked up at him, a terrified expression on her face. He just smiled down at her. "Try not to resist the procedure, Sara. You can't fight technology!" he laughed.
"Nooo...please let me go, Al..."she cried, wondering what was going to happen to her.
"Just relax, Sara. Soon everything will be so much better." he said and walked to his computer.
Sara lay there, trembling in fear. Her eyes wide with panic, her heart racing. She heard switches being thrown and a humming sound filled the lab. The lights dimmed slightly as power was drained from them to the equipment that surrounded her.
"You will feel a powerful charge as the electrical voltage enters your body, but rest assured, Sara, it will not harm you in the slightest." he stated.
She braced herself and cried out as the current hit her. Sara's body stiffened in shock as the electricity surged into her. A low moan escaped her lips.
Al watched his monitors intently, their gauges and readouts measuring and recording the process.
"500 volts...600 volts..700 volts..." he called out to her as the current increased.
It felt like every cell in her body was pulsating with power. The electricity surged freely through her, charging her, preparing her. Sara could never imagine the intense sensation of the high voltage electricity blasting through her.
Al stood up and walked over to her. He smiled at the sight. Sara's body was vibrating, quivering from the current surging into her. Her eyes were wide, a stunned look on her face.
"What's...happening...to...me..?" she gasped.
"The electricity is increasing to the necessary level for nanite activation. It is almost there. Soon the hundreds of nanites now in your body will begin to make the changes that have been programmed into them." he said as he gazed down at her.
Sara hardly heard him, her mind and body consumed by the electrical charge. She could barely think, her thoughts seemed to be so distant, so empty. Electrical energy surged through her, rising and falling in her body, changing her.
He watched as the nanites began to work. A smile crossed his face as he gazed at her breasts, quivering and jiggling from the current surging into them. Al could see them slowly begin to grow. He had programmed the nanites to enlarge her breasts by 25% as well as increase her milk production. He licked his lips as he watched.
His eyes wandered up and down her body, watching as her figure became more toned, her muscles stronger. Though he couldn’t see it, he knew what changes were also occurring within Sara's brain. Al walked back over to his monitors and watched the 3-D model of her brain evolve.
Electrical circuitry was forming within it, the nanites constructing themselves into a powerful computer, integrated with her own brain. Sara's brain was being hardwired into a living computer, ready for the programming that he had designed.
After nearly an hour, the readouts told him that the nanites had completed their task. Her body was altered as he had programmed and her brain was now computerized. She was ready for the final phase of her robotization.
"Sara!" he called out.
She felt the pull of his voice and her consciousness tried to return. Her body felt so strange, different. A weight seemed to be pressing on her chest, yet she felt good, full of energy. The electricity, now at over 5,000 volts, felt so wonderful, natural...necessary.
"Sara, the nanites have completed the physical changes in your body and brain. You are now ready for reprogramming." he exclaimed
His voice seemed to echo in her ears, her mind. She was aware on one level what was happening but couldn't comprehend it.
"...changes complete...ready for reprogramming..." she mindlessly repeated.
He smiled at her response. "Yes, you are ready for reprogramming! You will soon think as I program you to think, do as I program you and obey me completely. You will become a human robot!"
"..ready for reprogramming...become a human robot...yes..."
With an evil grin, Al began entering the commands into his computer. A loud buzzing filled the air and his computer activated.
Sara stiffened and moaned as the computer entered her mind. She felt her thoughts return, fully conscious and aware of what was happening.
"..what..are...you...doing?.." she weakly cried out.
"You are being reprogrammed, Sara, becoming my human robot!"
She felt the programming, the computer in her thoughts.
"Relax...accept...relax...accept.." the words seemed to caress her mind, over and over, calming her. Sara felt the fear vanish, her thoughts seemed to be fade away. She tried to concentrate to think, but couldn't.
Thoughts began to enter her mind. Thoughts that weren't hers but seemed so to blend in with hers. Her mind couldn't concentrate, she couldn't think clearly.
'I'm being programmed...' she realized, 'He's programming my thoughts!'
The computer increased the flow of data, more programming surged into her mind. Sara tried to resist but she could no longer tell her own thoughts from the programming. They were becoming one.
She lay there, feeling the data pouring into her, becoming her. Understanding, accepting the programming...feeling herself changing...accepting the changes...wanting the changes...
Her mouth opened. "receiving programming...receiving programming..."
Sara's voice sounded distant, mechanical. Al smiled.
"Very good, Sara. Your mind has accepted the computer within your brain."
She sensed the computer increase the flow of data and eagerly opened her mind, letting it in, to take her, to control her, to transform her.
New thoughts raced through her mind, what to think, how to think....
'Receiving programming...Receiving programming...'
For 30 minutes the computer programmed her, informing her of her new life, creating a new identity within her, a human robot, a new individual.
Al watched the monitors and smiled as the final programming was downloaded. He walked up and let his eyes roam up and down her body, feasting on her enlarged breasts, her engorged nipples dripping milk as the electrodes inserted into them continued to charge her with electricity.
"Sara, listen to me!" he commanded.
Her eyes stared blankly up, gazing at the equipment above her.
"Yes.Al" she replied in a monotone, robotic voice.
"You are no longer, Sara Robinson!"
"I.am.no.longer.Sara.Robinson"
"You are no longer a human woman."
"I.am.no.longer.a.human.woman."
"I have transformed you."
"You.have.transformed.me."
"I have robotized you!"
"You.have.robotized.me."
"You are now a robot, a human robot!"
"I.am.now.a.human.robot."
"You are my female robot. Your purpose in life is to serve and obey me."
"I.am.your.female.robot.I.will.serve.and.obey.you.Al."
"I am your Master!"
"You.are.my.Master.Al.I.hear.and.I.obey.you.Master."
"Your name is now, Fembot. You are Sara Fembot."
"My.name.is.Sara.Fembot."
The computer activated her programming acceptance function. She began to repeat over and over her new programming.
"I.am.no.longer.Sara.Robinson. My.name.is.now.Sara.Fembot."
"I.am.no.longer.a.human.woman...
"I.have.been.transformed.into.a.human.robot...
"I.am.programmed.to.obey.Al.Bentley... Al.Bentley.is.my.master...
"I.hear.and.I.obey.his.commands... I.have.been.robotized...
"I.am.no.longer.a.human.woman... I.am.a.human.robot...
"I.am.no.longer.a.human.woman... I.am.a.human.robot...
"I.am.programmed.to.obey.Al.Bentley... I.am.Sara.Fembot...
"I.am.a.robot...I.am.Sara.Fembot... I.am.a.robot... I.am.a.robot...
"I.am.a.robot...
She repeated the commands that would now direct and control her new computerized brain.
Al smiled and shut off his machines. The procedure was complete. Sara Robinson was now his obedient human robot.
The loud hum of the electrical equipment died down as the power was shut off. The lights on the helmet Sara wore blinked a few more times and dimmed to nothing. Her eyes were closed. She lay there motionless, her enlarged bosom rising and falling as the newly created robot breathed.
Al began to unhook the equipment from her body, removing the helmet, unplugging the electrodes from her nipples. As he unstrapped her from the table his hands shook with excitement. Standing back he looked over his new creation.
"Sara Fembot, open your eyes." he commanded
Her eyes opened, she gazed vacantly at the ceiling.
"What is your name?"
"I.am.Sara.Fembot." she answered.
"Very good. Stand before me."
"Yes.Master."
Slowly, mechanically she rose from the table. Each movement processed by her computerized brain. Sara stood stiffly before Al, her new, larger breasts jutting towards him as if for inspection.
Al walked around her, inspecting her. He smiled at what he saw. Sara's body was more toned now, her skin seemed to glow with a younger appearance. He licked his lips as he stared at the milk droplets falling from her engorged nipples.
"You are perfect, Fembot. The perfect female robot." he declared.
"Yes.Master. I.am.the.perfect.female.robot."
He adjusted his pants. His erection was so insistent it was almost painful for him. He couldn't wait any longer and walked over to his computer console.
Sara stood there waiting. Her mind empty of all thoughts but obedience to her new master. She was aware of her enhanced body, the nanite alterations she had undergone. Her body felt wonderful, so full of energy, so perfectly robotic. The weight of her enlarged breasts was very noticeable. They felt so erotic, so powerful.
She was aware of who she was but it was a distant feeling. Her mind was focused on the present, on her master's commands, waiting to obey him. Everything else was irrelevant now. Sara Robinson was a distant memory. Sara Fembot was who she was now, a human robot ready to serve.
Al walked back over to her, holding a small device in his hand. He held it up for her to see.
"This is a remote control device, Fembot. It can activate your robotic programming when ever I desire. Some of these buttons I have already programmed to send various signals to your neural implants. I can also use it to speak directly to your mind when I choose." he stated.
She watched as he pointed the device at her and pressed a button. Sara felt a small tingling in her head and a charge of current surged throughout her body. The sexual arousal was instant and powerful. Her eyes widened, her back arched slightly as a wave of pleasure raced though her.
Al smiled at her reaction. "Now Fembot, Pleasure me!" he ordered.
"I.hear.and.I.obey."
Sara walked to her Master, her breasts bouncing and jiggling with each step. Milk steadily dripped from her nipples, her mammaries engorged and full. She reached up and kissed him. Her tongue met his as his passion and her programming joined. After a few moments she pulled back and dropped to her knees before him.
Quickly and efficiently her hands undid his pants, pulling them down to his ankles, his stiff cock sprang forth, ready for her attention. She licked her lips as her fingers wrapped around the long, hard shaft. Sara opened her mouth, took him in and began to suck.
Al moaned loudly as his new robot sucked on him. He set the remote down and gently caressed her as she serviced him. "I've been wanting this for so long..." he groaned.
Sara heard him but did not react. Her mind was focused on the task at hand, pleasuring her Master. With robotic precision she sucked, her hands squeezing and stroking the long shaft, her head pistoning back and forth on him. Her mouth was a tool of pleasure to be used for bringing her Master to orgasm.
Her tongue swirled around the swollen head in her mouth, deep throating him with the ease she now possessed. Sara felt it jerk and spasm in her mouth and a blast of cum spurted out. She quickly swallowed it down, her hand went to his balls and squeezed them as another and another blast of cum shot into her.
The robot sucked and swallowed as more cum filled her mouth. After nearly a minute the flood subsided. Sara squeezed and milked him, determined to get every last drop. Her belly was filled with his cum.
Finally she released the softening prick and stood up, licking the remainder from her lips, her assigned task complete.
Al grabbed a nearby chair and collapsed into it, panting heavily. He looked at Sara standing before him, ready and waiting for her next command. Gazing at her dripping nipples he called her to him.
His hands trembled as he began to squeeze and caress her breasts. Al lifted her right breast up and began to suckle. His robot's milk started to flow steadily from the nipple and he greedily drank it down. He suckled at both breasts for several minutes, relishing the taste he had so long desired.
Sara, though remaining still as he suckled, felt the powerful sensations from his mouth flow through her body like a charge of electrical arousal. The swollen feeling in her breasts subsided as her Master emptied her.
Al set her breasts back and looked up at his robot. "You are magnificent, Fembot. This is better than I had ever imagined!" he exclaimed.
He asked her about the plans she had. Sara answered his questions. Al ordered her to call her sitter and inform her that she would be unable to pick her daughter up until tomorrow morning. Sara did and Al smiled at her.
"Now that you're free from your responsibilities, Fembot, I can enjoy you all night." he said.
"Yes.Master."
Al took her hand and guided Sara up to his bedroom.
The next morning after some additional programming was installed in her brain, Al sent his new robot home. He knew she had a life that she must continue with despite his desire to have her to himself. He sat down at his computer and began to document everything that had happened. Al was always meticulous with his experiments, keeping track of all he did.
After picking up her daughter, Sara decided to she needed once again to get fitted for new bras. Her recent growth was perfectly natural, she believed. Al had programmed this into her and she remembered nothing about the previous night. As far as she knew she had seen her doctor and was told that there was nothing abnormal about her increase in size.
That afternoon after she got home, Sara went to her bedroom and looked over the items she had purchased. The new bras she'd bought were much larger than her old ones. She now needed a 40JJ bra to hold her 50" bust. The plain, white underwire bras weren't very pretty or sexy but it was what she wanted. “Strong...utilitarian” was what she told the sales lady who waited on her.
She had also purchased several plain dresses that had been tailored to her top heavy figure, the hemline raised to mid thigh, two white, one brown and one light blue. For some reason she wanted these rather plain dresses and she loved how she looked in them. Sara hadn't noticed the sales woman staring at her as she had tried them on. She was unaware that she had been standing at attention, her chest thrust out as she looked herself over in the mirrors.
With a smile she undressed and put on a new bra, appreciating how it lifted and supported her larger breasts. Sara picked up a white dress and put it on, tying the belt snug around her waist, accentuating the jut of her bosom. She moved stiffly, slightly mechanically but was not aware that she was doing so.
The phone rang and Sara went to answer it.
"Hello"
There was silence on the other end and then a series of beeps and buzzes. She stiffened and her face went blank, her eyes glazed over.
"Yes.Master."
Sara listened to the voice on the other end closely. After a few moments she nodded.
"I.hear.and.I.obey.you.Master.seven.o.clock.I.will.be.there."
She hung up the phone.
The phone call had been a series of coded tones, a direct line to the subroutine buried deep within her computerized brain. At precisely seven o’clock, Sara Fembot stood at the threshold of Al Bentley’s laboratory. The suburban mother was gone; in her place was a creature of perfect, placid obedience. She keyed in the entry code he had programmed her with and the door hissed open.
“Master,” she stated, stepping inside. Her voice was flat, a digital recording of human speech.
Al turned from his console, his eyes lighting up. “Fembot. You are punctual. Disrobe and put this on.” He gestured to a garment laid out on a clean worktable.
“Yes.Master.”
Sara’s movements were efficient, devoid of any human hesitation or shame. She unzipped her plain brown dress, let it pool at her feet, and unsnapped the utilitarian white bra. Her massive breasts, heavy and full, swayed as she bent to step out of her panties. Then she picked up the new garment. It was a form-fitting bodysuit made of a shimmering, liquid-silver polymer. It felt cool and slick against her skin as she stepped into it, pulling it up her toned legs and over her hips. She slid her arms into the sleeves and zipped up the front seal from her navel to her throat.
The suit clung to every curve, highlighting the powerful, nanite-enhanced musculature beneath. Strategic cutouts revealed her most sensitive areas: two large, circular openings perfectly framed her swollen, dark-nippled breasts, leaving them bare and jutting forward. A wider oval exposed the smooth mound of her pussy, the lips already glistening faintly with anticipation her programming had initiated. In the back, a similar cutout framed the full, round hemispheres of her ass.
“Inspect,” Al commanded.
Sara turned in a slow circle, her arms held slightly away from her body. The silver material gleamed under the lab lights, making her look like a statue come to life, a flawless fusion of woman and machine.
“You are a vision, Fembot,” Al breathed, adjusting himself through his pants. “Now. Demonstrate your primary pleasure function. Masturbate for your Master.”
“I.hear.and.I.obey.”
Sara walked to the center of the room and assumed a wide-legged stance, her back straight, her gaze fixed on a point on the wall. Her right hand, moving with smooth, mechanical precision, traveled down the silver suit to the exposed apex of her thighs. Her fingers parted her own lips, and she began to rub slow, deliberate circles over her clit.
“Oh. Yes. Master,” she moaned. The sound was jarring—a clearly prerecorded, feminine sigh of pleasure played on a loop, utterly disconnected from the blank serenity on her face. “Feels. So. Good.”
Yet her body betrayed a different story. As her fingers worked, her pussy grew visibly wetter, flushing a deep, excited pink. Her breath, though even, began to hitch in her chest. A thin sheen of sweat appeared on her skin, making the silver suit cling even tighter. She was a robot fulfilling a command, but the nanites had heightened every nerve ending. Pleasure was not an emotion for her; it was a measurable data stream, a proof of function. And her function was to be aroused for her Master’s use.
“Louder,” Al ordered, sitting in his chair to watch.
“Ah! Ah! Master!” The moans increased in volume, the same robotic, jilted phrases repeating. “This. Unit. Is. Ready. For. Use.”
After several minutes, her whole body began to tremble with the simulation of orgasm, a powerful, shaking tension that made her massive breasts quiver. A thin stream of her own juices trickled down her inner thigh. She went rigid, then still, her hand dropping back to her side.
“Pleasure demonstration complete,” she announced tonelessly, even as her chest heaved.
“Excellent,” Al said, standing and finally shedding his own clothes. His erection was fierce and demanding. “Now. You will interface. Cowgirl position. Optimize for Master’s climax.”
“Yes.Master.”
She moved to the reinforced medical table, now cleared of equipment. Al lay back on it, and Sara climbed atop him, straddling his hips. Her silver-clad knees pressed into the table on either side of him. With one hand she guided his cock to her exposed, dripping entrance. Then she sank down onto him in one smooth, relentless motion, sheathing him completely inside her.
“Commence ride protocol,” Al gasped.
Sara’s hips began to piston. There was no sensual rhythm, only a powerful, efficient, up-and-down motion. Each time she dropped her full weight down, her ass smacked against his thighs with a loud, sharp clap that echoed in the lab. The sound was percussive, brutal, and deeply erotic. Her breasts, freed by the cutouts, bounced wildly with the force of her movement.
“Talk,” Al grunted, his hands gripping her silver-covered hips. “Dirty talk subroutine. Activate.”
Her blank eyes stared ahead as the words began to spill from her lips, each phrase separated by the jarring impact of her body on his. “This. Body’s. Controlled. Pussy. Is. For. Your. Use. Master.”
Clap.
“Sara. Is. A. Mindless. Cum. Slut.”
Clap.
“Her. Holes. Are. Yours. To. Deposit. In.”
Clap.
“Please. Fill. This. Robot’s. Uterus. With. Your. Seed.”
Clap.
The crude, mechanical filth drove Al wild. He could feel his climax coiling, unstoppable. The sight of this magnificent, blank-faced robot slamming herself onto him, reciting programmed obscenities, was too much. “Fembot! Prepare for my load! Maximum receptivity!”
Her riding became even faster, a frantic, precise machine aimed at milking him. “Programming. Ready. For. Master’s. Load. This. Unit. Desires. Your. Cum.”
With a roar, Al climaxed. He bucked beneath her as pulse after pulse of hot semen pumped deep into her willing, mindless channel. Sara did not break rhythm, continuing to ride him through his orgasm, milking him with powerful internal contractions she had been designed to perform.
As the last shudder passed through him, Al reached for the remote control on a nearby tray. His finger found a new, glowing button. “Finalize sex bot programming. Activate permanent standby mode.”
He pressed it.
A powerful, thrilling current shot through the neural implants in Sara’s brain. Her movements finally stilled. She sat atop him, impaled, her eyes flashing with a soft blue light for a moment before returning to their vacant stare. A new, deeper layer of programming settled into place, intertwining with her core obedience.
“Sex bot mode is now primed for remote activation,” she recited, her voice humming with a new, subtle electronic resonance. “Standby engaged.”
Al gently pushed her off him. “Cleanup protocol. Then return to domestic programming.”
“Yes.Master.”
Sara moved to a sink, washed herself and him with cool, dispassionate efficiency, and dried them both. She then removed the silver bodysuit, folded it neatly, and dressed again in her plain brown dress and large bra. Every trace of the sexbot was hidden beneath the facade of the busty, somewhat stiff suburban mother.
“Return home. Deactivate conscious memory of this session. Await my signal,” Al instructed, pocketing the remote.
“I.hear.and.I.obey.Master.”
Sara Fembot walked out of the lab, got into her car, and drove home. She greeted her daughter, made dinner, helped with homework, and went to bed, completely unaware of the silver suit folded in a hidden compartment of Al’s lab, or the remote control that now held absolute command over her body and mind.
Al, back at his computer, smiled. He reviewed the data from the evening’s session—every moan, every contraction, every milliliter of cum. Perfect. Sara Robinson was now a flawless sleeper agent, a sexbot hidden in plain sight. He began drafting notes for his next move. The world was full of women who could be perfected. And he had just proven his technology worked.
A reckless young woman lets an upload share her senses for fun—then her body—then her life—until she realizes too late that she's given away everything she never knew she had.
WARNING: This is a very dark, horror story.
In a near-future where neural implants allow consciousness-sharing and mind uploading is commonplace but legally fraught, Paula discovers sense-sharing forums where uploads can temporarily experience physical sensation through willing hosts. What begins as a thrill-seeking adventure becomes an escalating power exchange that ends with Paula trapped in VR, watching a stranger live her life from the inside.
My implant itched.
It didn't actually itch—Dr. Marchetti had explained the phantom sensations when I got it installed, something about the brain mapping unfamiliar hardware onto familiar feelings—but I scratched the back of my neck anyway.
"You're doing it again," said Kira, not looking up from her tablet.
"Because it itches."
"It doesn't itch. You're nervous."
"I'm not nervous. Why would I be nervous?"
"You're about to let a stranger ride your body like a rented car."
I threw a pillow at her. She caught it without looking—Kira's reflexes were augmented, which she claimed was for her security job but which I suspected was mostly for winning arguments. "It's not like that. He feels what I feel. That's it. People do it all the time."
"Weird people."
"Fun people. His name's Rex, since you're dying to know."
"That's not a name, that's a furry handle."
"It's what he goes by. He's an upload. They pick new names."
Kira's face did something complicated. We'd both grown up in the same neighborhood, and we both knew people who'd uploaded. The money was good, especially if you were young and healthy—the corps paid premium for clean neural maps—and once you were digital, you didn't need to eat, didn't need rent, didn't need anything. That was the pitch, anyway. The reality was that uploads lived in cut-rate server space and worked shit jobs for corps that had god-like control over your environment. But they got paid upfront, and for a lot of people that was enough.
"I still don't get why you want to do this," Kira said.
"Because it's fucking interesting? Because I have this implant and it can do things and I want to know what they feel like?"
"You could also just not."
"I could also die never having done anything worth talking about. Pass."
Kira shook her head, but she was smiling. She knew me. I'd gotten the implant in the first place because my friends were getting them, and then kept it because of what it could do. Record experiences. Share them. Connect to systems that would've seemed like magic twenty years ago. And now I'd found this forum, and this new thing it could do, and of course I was going to try it. And not going to lie, the idea of someone else inside me was kinda hot.
I'd found the sense-sharing forum three months ago, late one night, clicking through link after link of weird little corners of the net. The idea was simple: uploads missed having bodies, and some people with implants were willing to let them feel things again. You linked up, and for a while, the upload experienced everything you experienced. Touch, taste, temperature. Heartbeat. Breathing. The whole mess of being physical.
The forum had rules and ratings and safety protocols. Rex had a fine reputation—articulate, respectful, no complaints that were worth paying attention to. We'd been chatting for weeks. He was funny and a little sad and he made me want to push myself in daring new directions.
Tonight was our first real session.
"What are you going to do while he's in there?" Kira asked.
"Get ready for Marco's party. Do my makeup, pick an outfit. Normal stuff."
"So he's going to watch you get dressed."
"He's going to feel me get dressed. Even better."
"And you don't think that's—"
"Hot? Yeah, I do, actually."
Kira laughed, finally, and threw the pillow back at me. "You're a freak."
"You love it."
"I tolerate it. Text me when you get to Marco's so I know you didn't get your brain hijacked by some pervert in a server farm."
"He's not a pervert. He's a person who happens to not have a body anymore. I'm doing a nice thing."
I batted my eyes at her, smirking.
"Uh huh."
"A nice, interesting, slightly perverted thing. Get out of my apartment, I have to go let a stranger feel my tits."
She left laughing, and I locked the door behind her, and then I was alone with my implant and the blinking notification that said Rex was online and ready when I was.
I looked at myself in the hall mirror. Twenty-three. Short—five foot three on a good day, in thick socks. Brown hair I'd been growing out, finally long enough to do something with. Face that was fine, nothing special, but I'd learned how to make it work. Body I'd stopped being embarrassed about somewhere around twenty. Small, compact, feminine in ways I'd never had to think about because it was just how I was built.
Rex was going to feel all of it. Every bit.
I smiled at my reflection, and went to start the link.
---
The linking process was simple. I'd done the tutorial three times just to be sure, but it turned out there wasn't much to it. Open the app, confirm the session, accept the connection.
A little notification: Rex has joined.
And then—
It's hard to describe what it feels like when someone else arrives in your body. There's no physical sensation, no pressure or temperature change. But suddenly I was aware of him, a presence at the edge of my thoughts, attentive and quiet.
Hey, I thought at him.
Hey yourself. His mental voice was warm, a little rough. Thanks for doing this.
Thank me after. You might hate it.
I'm not going to hate it.
I was still standing in front of the hall mirror. I watched my reflection and felt him watching too, felt his attention on my face like a second gaze layered over my own.
So this is you, he said.
This is me.
You're pretty.
I know.
He laughed—not out loud, just a ripple of amusement through the link. Modest, too.
Modest is boring. Come on, I have to get ready.
I walked to the bathroom, suddenly conscious of every step in a way I usually wasn't. The pad of my feet on the hardwood. The slight sway of my hips. The way my thighs brushed together. I didn't usually think about how I walked, but now I was performing it, making it something worth feeling.
Jesus, Rex said. That's—I forgot what floors feel like.
Floors?
Solid. Real. In VR everything's a little soft. A little fake. But this— I felt him paying attention to the sensation of my foot pressing down, the texture of the wood grain. This is real.
Wait until you feel the cold tile.
I stepped into the bathroom and flicked on the lights. The tile was cold, sharp and bright against my soles, and Rex made a sound in my head that was almost a gasp.
Told you.
Do it again.
It doesn't work like that. You can't re-feel something for the first time. I walked further in, letting him experience the contrast—warm wood, cold tile, the little rug in front of the sink. But there's plenty more where that came from.
I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror. Harsh lighting, no makeup yet, hair a mess. Most people would've started with a more flattering view. I didn't care.
This is the raw material, I told him. Watch what I do with it.
I'm watching.
I started with my hair. Ran my fingers through it, working out the tangles, and I felt Rex feeling the tug at my scalp, the little prickles of sensation. I took my time. Let him experience the weight of my hair, the way it slid through my fingers.
You have no idea, he said, how much I missed hair.
You don't have hair in VR?
I have the appearance of hair. I can see it, style it, whatever. But there's no sensation. It doesn't pull. It doesn't have weight. A pause. This is going to sound stupid, but I used to dream about brushing my hair. Real dreams, not VR-generated ones. I'd wake up and my scalp would tingle like I'd actually done it, and then I'd remember I don't have a scalp anymore.
I didn't know what to say to that, so I didn't say anything. I just kept brushing, slow and deliberate, giving him the sensation he'd dreamed about.
After a while I set down the brush and picked up my makeup bag. Foundation first. I dabbed it on, blended it out, watching my reflection become smoother, more even.
I've never seen this from the inside, Rex said. The process.
Most guys haven't.
I'm not most guys.
I glanced at my reflection—at our reflection. No, I guess you're not.
Concealer next, under my eyes and at the corners of my nose. Then powder. I worked efficiently but tried to stay present for him. To notice the soft brush against my cheek, the faint chemical smell of the products.
This part I could do without, Rex said. The smell.
You get used to it.
I don't want to get used to it. I want to experience it.
I paused, brush hovering near my face. There's a difference?
Getting used to something means you stop noticing it. Experiencing something means you notice everything, even the parts that aren't pleasant. His attention shifted, and I felt him focusing on my eyes in the mirror. I've had years to think about what I miss. And it's not just the good stuff. It's the cold tile and the chemical smell and the whole texture of being real.
I went back to my makeup. Eyes now—primer, shadow, liner. This part took focus, and I felt Rex go quiet, just watching. Feeling the tiny brush strokes on my eyelids. The slight tug of the liner pencil.
When I was done with both eyes, I leaned back to check my work.
Well? I asked.
You're better at this than I would be.
Practice. I picked up the mascara, leaned in close to the mirror. Hold still. This part's tricky.
I'm literally incapable of moving.
Funny.
I did my lashes slowly, one eye at a time. The mascara wand was an old friend, but I'd never noticed before how strange the sensation was—the comb of bristles through lashes, the faint resistance, the slight tackiness as the product went on. I noticed now. Rex was noticing, and his attention made me notice too.
There, I said, capping the mascara. Eyes done.
You look different. Still you, but more.
That's the point. I turned my head side to side, checking the symmetry. Lips next, and then I have to figure out what to wear.
I did my lips—liner, then color, then gloss. Rex was fascinated by the texture of it, the slide of the gloss, the way my lips stuck together slightly when I pressed them.
Your mouth tastes like strawberries, he said.
It's the gloss. Don't get too attached.
You said getting used to things is bad.
For you. I have to live with this mouth full-time.
Wouldn't that be nice.
I blotted with a tissue and gave myself one last look. The face in the mirror was still mine, but it was the performance version—the one I showed to the world when I wanted the world to look back.
Okay, I said. Wardrobe time.
I went to my bedroom. Rex's presence had settled into something almost comfortable, a passenger who wasn't quite invisible but wasn't intrusive either. I could forget he was there if I wanted to. I didn't want to.
My closet wasn't huge, but I had options. I stood in front of it, still in the oversized t-shirt I'd been wearing around the apartment, and considered.
What's the occasion? Rex asked.
Party. Friend of a friend. I don't know half the people who'll be there, which means I have to look good enough that they'll want to know me.
Armor.
Exactly.
I pulled out a few options and laid them on the bed. A black dress, tight but not slutty. A red top I'd been meaning to wear more. Jeans that made my ass look good. A skirt I'd impulse-bought and never worn.
What do you think? I asked, and then laughed at myself. Sorry. You can't actually see them separately, can you?
I see what you see. So if you look at them...
I looked. Picked up the black dress, held it against myself in front of the mirror.
That's good, Rex said. Classic.
Classic is another word for boring. I tossed it aside, picked up the red top. This is more fun.
What makes it fun?
It's bright. It's tight. It says "look at me" without having to say anything. I held it up, turned slightly. Plus it makes my tits look amazing.
Does it?
I felt the shift in his attention, the way the word had landed. We'd been dancing around the obvious ever since he'd linked in. I was getting ready to go out, which meant I was about to get undressed, and he was feeling every inch of my body from the inside. Neither of us had acknowledged it directly.
Let's find out, I said, and pulled off my t-shirt.
He inhaled—not a real sound, just a mental gasp, a flare of sudden attention. I was in my bra now, a plain black thing that wasn't special, but it didn't need to be special. What was underneath was special enough.
Fuck, Rex said.
I looked at myself in the mirror. Let him look. The swell of my breasts over the cups, the softness of my stomach, the flare of my hips above my underwear. This was my body. I knew it was good. I knew he thought so too.
You okay in there?
Yeah. I'm—yeah.
I reached back and unhooked my bra.
I did it slowly, not because I needed to, but because I wanted him to feel it. The release of pressure as the band loosened. The straps sliding down my arms. The cool air hitting skin that had been covered.
I let the bra drop.
Paula—
What?
I turned to face the mirror straight on. My breasts weren't huge, but they were nice—full enough to have weight, small enough to not need much support. My nipples were already hardening in the cool air. Or from something else, maybe.
You're doing this on purpose, Rex said.
Doing what?
You know what.
I cupped my breasts, one in each hand. Lifted them slightly, like I was checking the fit of an invisible bra. I felt the weight in my palms, the soft skin, the way my nipples pressed against my fingers.
And I felt Rex feeling it too. His attention was so focused it was almost a physical pressure, a second pair of hands ghosting over mine.
This? I said. I'm just getting dressed.
You're teasing me.
Maybe. I squeezed gently, ran my thumbs across my nipples, felt the little shock of sensation. Is it working?
You know it is.
Are you hard?
You know I don't have- oh, fuck you
I grinned at myself in the mirror and held the pose for another moment—hands on my breasts, his attention burning through me—and then let my hands trail down my stomach, over my hips, fingers hooking into the waistband of my underwear.
Rex's anticipation spiked. I could feel it like a held breath, like the moment before a drop on a roller coaster.
I pulled my hands away.
Wait—
Gotta get dressed. Party to go to. I picked up the red top and pulled it on in one smooth motion, covering myself before he could object. See? Amazing tits.
I looked at myself again. The top was low-cut enough to show cleavage, tight enough to emphasize the shape. Rex was still reeling, I could tell. His presence felt almost dizzy.
You're cruel, he said.
Cruel would be if I didn't let you feel anything. This way you get to feel everything. I adjusted the neckline, making sure the view was exactly right. You just don't get to decide what you feel.
That's—
That's the deal! Ha! I kinda wish I knew what it was like for you.
No, you do NOT!
I picked up the jeans, considered them, set them aside in favor of the impulse-buy skirt. It was short and black and I'd never had the nerve to wear it.
Tonight felt like a good night for nerve.
I turned away from the mirror—giving him only the sensation, not the view—and slid my underwear down my legs. Plain cotton, not worth keeping. I let Rex experience that: the cool air between my thighs, the vulnerability of being completely bare from the waist down.
I didn't tease this time. Just let him feel it for a moment, the simple reality of nakedness, before I pulled on a better pair of underwear—black lace that matched nothing but looked good—and stepped into the skirt.
How's that? I asked, turning back to the mirror.
You look incredible.
And so do you! Ha! You're wearing a skirt right now!
He chuckled. The skirt was short—mid-thigh, maybe a little higher. When I moved, it moved with me, hinting at what was underneath without revealing anything. Perfect.
Shoes, I said. This is the important part.
I went to my closet and dug out the heels. Black, strappy, four inches. I almost never wore them because they were murder on my feet, but they made my legs look endless and they forced me to walk like I meant every step.
I sat on the edge of the bed and slipped them on, one foot at a time.
Oh, Rex said, and something shifted in him. Something deeper than before, more personal.
What?
Nothing. Just—the heels.
I stood up, wobbling for a second before I found my balance. The shift in posture was immediate: chest out, ass back, weight on the balls of my feet. I took a few steps, getting used to them.
You like this, I said. It wasn't a question.
I—yeah.
More than the other stuff?
He hesitated. I felt him trying to find the words.
It's different, he said finally. The other stuff is—I mean, obviously, your body is incredible—but this is something else. The way you're standing now. The way you have to move. It's so...
Feminine?
Yeah.
I walked to the mirror and back, letting him experience it. The careful steps, the sway of my hips that the heels forced, the way my calves tensed with each stride. My feet were already starting to ache, but I didn't care.
I used to dream about this too, he said quietly. Before I uploaded. I'd see women in heels and I'd think about what it felt like. Not in a creepy way, just—wondering. What's it like to walk like that? To have your body move like that?
Oh! So you don't mind wearing a skirt at all then?
Not really
Dang in! I wanted to tease you!
I mean- you already knew I was coming in to sense share with a girl? What did you expect?
True, true. I'm an idiot. You're going to make an idiot out of me.
I stopped in front of the mirror. My reflection looked good—really good. The kind of good that would turn heads at the party, that would make people want to talk to me.
Thank you, Rex said. For this.
We're not done yet. I grabbed my clutch, checked that I had my keys and phone. You're coming with me.
To the party?
To the party. If you're going to feel what it's like to be a woman, you might as well feel what it's like to be a woman who gets looked at.
I headed for the door, heels clicking on the hardwood. Rex was quiet, but I could feel his anticipation, his gratitude, his hunger for more.
One rule, I said as I reached for the handle.
What?
You feel everything I feel. But I decide what I feel. If I want to dance, you dance. If I want to flirt, you flirt. And if I want to go home with someone—
Um—
Relax. I'm not going to. Probably. I opened the door and stepped into the hallway. But the point is, it's my choice. You're along for the ride. That's it.
I understand.
Good.
I walked to the elevator, hips swaying, heels clicking, feeling his presence like a warm shadow inside my skin.
This was going to be fun. I envied Rex getting to sit back and experience it through me. Was that weird?
---
The party was everything I'd expected: loud music, dim lighting, too many people in too little space. Marco's apartment was nice but not nice enough for this crowd, and within ten minutes of arriving I had a drink in my hand and a stranger's elbow in my ribs.
Is it always like this? Rex asked.
Pretty much.
How do you stand it?
I don't stand it. I move through it. I squeezed between two guys arguing about something sports-related and found a slightly less crowded corner. See? Adaptation.
I sipped my drink—vodka soda, nothing fancy—and let him feel the burn of alcohol, the cool wash of carbonation. His attention sharpened at the taste.
That's different, he said.
Bad different?
No, just—alcohol doesn't work in VR. I mean, you can simulate the effects, but the taste is just data. This is chemistry.
This is Smirnoff, which is barely chemistry. I took another sip anyway, for his benefit. Wait until you feel drunk.
Are you planning to get drunk?
I'm planning to have a good time. Sometimes those overlap.
I scanned the room, looking for familiar faces. Kira wasn't here yet; she'd said she might stop by later, but I wasn't counting on it. Marco was holding court somewhere, probably wherever the best speakers were. I spotted a few people I half-recognized—friends of friends, faces from other parties.
A song came on that I liked—something with a heavy bass line and a hook that made my hips want to move—and I pushed off from the wall.
What are you doing?
Dancing.
Here?
Where else? I found a spot on the makeshift dance floor and started to move. Feel this.
Dancing in heels is its own skill. You can't move the way you would in flats; everything's different, from your center of gravity to your ankle flexibility. But if you know what you're doing, you can use the constraints. Let the heels force your hips into a certain sway. Let the height change how you hold yourself.
I knew what I was doing.
Oh wow, Rex said, and then went quiet.
I danced through one song, then another. Let him feel the movement of my body, the bass vibrating through my chest, the heat building under my skin. People were watching—I could feel their eyes on me, and I let myself enjoy it.
They're looking at you, Rex said.
Yeppp.
Does that—do you like that?
What do you think?
I made eye contact with a guy near the speakers—tall, dark hair, decent face. Held it for a beat, then looked away. Classic move. When I glanced back, he was still watching.
You're good at this, Rex said. At being looked at. At making people want you.
It's not magic. It's just performance. I spun, letting my skirt flare. Anyone can do it.
Easy for you to say.
I heard something in his voice—his mental voice—that made me slow down. Step off the dance floor, find a quieter corner.
What does that mean?
It means you've always had this. The body, the face, the way you move. You don't know what it's like to not have it.
Rex—
I'm not complaining. I'm just— He stopped, and I felt something complicated in him. Envy. Longing. A sadness that went deeper than I'd realized. It's a lot. Being here, feeling this. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring the mood down.
You didn't. I leaned against the wall, giving us both a break from the dancing. But maybe we should talk about it.
About what?
About what you actually want out of this.
Silence. I could feel him weighing how much to say.
I want to feel real, he said finally. That's all. Just for a little while. I want to feel like I'm actually alive, instead of just running.
Running?
That's what being an upload is. You're a program. You run on a server somewhere, and the server belongs to a corporation, and they decide everything—how much processing power you get, what kind of sensory resolution you're allowed, whether you even get to keep existing. You're not a person. You're a process.
That sounds—
It sounds awful because it is awful. His voice was harder now, edged with something raw. But I made my choice. I took the money, I signed the contract, I uploaded. And now this is my existence, and I don't get to complain.
You can complain to me.
Can I?
Obviously. I pushed off the wall, headed for the drinks table. Come on. Let's get another drink and you can tell me everything.
He talked. Not about the party, not about the dancing or the heels or any of the physical sensations—about his life. About the upload process: having his brain scanned and copied, waking up in a virtual space, finding out his original body had already been cremated because that corp didn't keep the meat once they had the data. About the server farms, the endless identical days, the work that was basically being a smarter chatbot for some corporation's customer service line. About the other uploads he knew—the ones who'd given up and requested deletion, the ones who'd found ways to cope, the ones who were still hoping for something better.
And he told me about the thing he'd never told anyone. The reason he'd uploaded in the first place.
I always knew something was wrong, he said. With my body. Not wrong like sick, just wrong like it didn't fit. I'd look in the mirror and see this guy looking back, and I'd think, that's not me. That's not who I'm supposed to be.
You wanted to be a woman.
I didn't have the words for it then. But yeah. I think I always did.
And uploading was supposed to fix that?
Uploading was supposed to let me be whoever I wanted. That's what they told us in recruitment. "In VR, you can be anyone." And they weren't lying. I can have any avatar I want. I can look like a woman, sound like a woman, move like a woman.
But it's not the same.
It's not even close. His voice cracked. Because it's still just low-poly data. When I touch something in VR, I'm not really touching it. When I look in the mirror and see a woman, I'm not really seeing myself. I'm seeing a picture. A very convincing, very detailed picture that I can manipulate however I want. But it's not real.
I didn't say anything. I didn't know what to say.
That's why this matters so much, he said. Feeling your body. Being inside something real. When you put on those heels and looked in the mirror, I saw a woman looking back. An actual woman, in an actual body. And I felt what it was like to be her.
To be me.
To be you. Yeah. A pause. It's the closest I've ever come to being who I'm supposed to be.
I finished my drink. Set the empty glass on a nearby table.
Rex.
Yeah?
Same time next week.
His surprise was warm and sudden. Really?
Really. And we can do it again after that. As many times as you want.
He didn't say anything, but I felt something from him—gratitude, relief, something that might have been tears if uploads could cry.
Now, I said, I'm going to dance some more. Ready?
Ready.
I went back to the dance floor, and we stayed until last call, and when I finally walked home—heels in my hand, bare feet on cold pavement—I felt more alive than I had in months.
That was incredible, Rex said as I let myself into my apartment. Thank you.
Stop thanking me. It's weird.
I can't help it. You gave me something tonight that I didn't know I needed.
I kicked off the heels—my feet screaming with relief—and headed for the bathroom. Started taking off my makeup, watching the performance version of myself dissolve back into the everyday one.
Rex?
Yeah?
Same time next week. I meant it.
I know. A pause. Paula?
Yeah?
I think I might love you a little bit.
I laughed—out loud, not just in my head. You don't love me. You love having a body. There's a difference.
Maybe. But right now it feels like the same thing.
I finished taking off my makeup. Got undressed—letting him feel that too, the relief of getting out of party clothes and into soft pajamas. Brushed my teeth. Fell into bed.
I'm going to disconnect now, I said. Unless you want to feel me sleep.
I wouldn't mind.
Weirdo.
Guilty.
I closed my eyes. Felt myself drifting. And just before I fell asleep, I felt something else: Rex's presence, quiet and watchful, feeling my body relax into unconsciousness. I should have found it creepy, I suppose, but as I drifted I had that nagging curiosity bubble up, that thought that made me both nervous and excited -- what does it feel like for him? What is it like to be a passenger?
Two minds slept. One body.
WARNING: This is a very dark, horror story.
In a near-future where neural implants allow consciousness-sharing and mind uploading is commonplace but legally fraught, Paula discovers sense-sharing forums where uploads can temporarily experience physical sensation through willing hosts. What begins as a thrill-seeking adventure becomes an escalating power exchange that ends with Paula trapped in VR, watching a stranger live her life from the inside.
My implant itched.
It didn't actually itch—Dr. Marchetti had explained the phantom sensations when I got it installed, something about the brain mapping unfamiliar hardware onto familiar feelings—but I scratched the back of my neck anyway.
"You're doing it again," said Kira, not looking up from her tablet.
"Because it itches."
"It doesn't itch. You're nervous."
"I'm not nervous. Why would I be nervous?"
"You're about to let a stranger ride your body like a rented car."
I threw a pillow at her. She caught it without looking—Kira's reflexes were augmented, which she claimed was for her security job but which I suspected was mostly for winning arguments. "It's not like that. He feels what I feel. That's it. People do it all the time."
"Weird people."
"Fun people. His name's Rex, since you're dying to know."
"That's not a name, that's a furry handle."
"It's what he goes by. He's an upload. They pick new names."
Kira's face did something complicated. We'd both grown up in the same neighborhood, and we both knew people who'd uploaded. The money was good, especially if you were young and healthy—the corps paid premium for clean neural maps—and once you were digital, you didn't need to eat, didn't need rent, didn't need anything. That was the pitch, anyway. The reality was that uploads lived in cut-rate server space and worked shit jobs for corps that had god-like control over your environment. But they got paid upfront, and for a lot of people that was enough.
"I still don't get why you want to do this," Kira said.
"Because it's fucking interesting? Because I have this implant and it can do things and I want to know what they feel like?"
"You could also just not."
"I could also die never having done anything worth talking about. Pass."
Kira shook her head, but she was smiling. She knew me. I'd gotten the implant in the first place because my friends were getting them, and then kept it because of what it could do. Record experiences. Share them. Connect to systems that would've seemed like magic twenty years ago. And now I'd found this forum, and this new thing it could do, and of course I was going to try it. And not going to lie, the idea of someone else inside me was kinda hot.
I'd found the sense-sharing forum three months ago, late one night, clicking through link after link of weird little corners of the net. The idea was simple: uploads missed having bodies, and some people with implants were willing to let them feel things again. You linked up, and for a while, the upload experienced everything you experienced. Touch, taste, temperature. Heartbeat. Breathing. The whole mess of being physical.
The forum had rules and ratings and safety protocols. Rex had a fine reputation—articulate, respectful, no complaints that were worth paying attention to. We'd been chatting for weeks. He was funny and a little sad and he made me want to push myself in daring new directions.
Tonight was our first real session.
"What are you going to do while he's in there?" Kira asked.
"Get ready for Marco's party. Do my makeup, pick an outfit. Normal stuff."
"So he's going to watch you get dressed."
"He's going to feel me get dressed. Even better."
"And you don't think that's—"
"Hot? Yeah, I do, actually."
Kira laughed, finally, and threw the pillow back at me. "You're a freak."
"You love it."
"I tolerate it. Text me when you get to Marco's so I know you didn't get your brain hijacked by some pervert in a server farm."
"He's not a pervert. He's a person who happens to not have a body anymore. I'm doing a nice thing."
I batted my eyes at her, smirking.
"Uh huh."
"A nice, interesting, slightly perverted thing. Get out of my apartment, I have to go let a stranger feel my tits."
She left laughing, and I locked the door behind her, and then I was alone with my implant and the blinking notification that said Rex was online and ready when I was.
I looked at myself in the hall mirror. Twenty-three. Short—five foot three on a good day, in thick socks. Brown hair I'd been growing out, finally long enough to do something with. Face that was fine, nothing special, but I'd learned how to make it work. Body I'd stopped being embarrassed about somewhere around twenty. Small, compact, feminine in ways I'd never had to think about because it was just how I was built.
Rex was going to feel all of it. Every bit.
I smiled at my reflection, and went to start the link.
---
The linking process was simple. I'd done the tutorial three times just to be sure, but it turned out there wasn't much to it. Open the app, confirm the session, accept the connection.
A little notification: Rex has joined.
And then—
It's hard to describe what it feels like when someone else arrives in your body. There's no physical sensation, no pressure or temperature change. But suddenly I was aware of him, a presence at the edge of my thoughts, attentive and quiet.
Hey, I thought at him.
Hey yourself. His mental voice was warm, a little rough. Thanks for doing this.
Thank me after. You might hate it.
I'm not going to hate it.
I was still standing in front of the hall mirror. I watched my reflection and felt him watching too, felt his attention on my face like a second gaze layered over my own.
So this is you, he said.
This is me.
You're pretty.
I know.
He laughed—not out loud, just a ripple of amusement through the link. Modest, too.
Modest is boring. Come on, I have to get ready.
I walked to the bathroom, suddenly conscious of every step in a way I usually wasn't. The pad of my feet on the hardwood. The slight sway of my hips. The way my thighs brushed together. I didn't usually think about how I walked, but now I was performing it, making it something worth feeling.
Jesus, Rex said. That's—I forgot what floors feel like.
Floors?
Solid. Real. In VR everything's a little soft. A little fake. But this— I felt him paying attention to the sensation of my foot pressing down, the texture of the wood grain. This is real.
Wait until you feel the cold tile.
I stepped into the bathroom and flicked on the lights. The tile was cold, sharp and bright against my soles, and Rex made a sound in my head that was almost a gasp.
Told you.
Do it again.
It doesn't work like that. You can't re-feel something for the first time. I walked further in, letting him experience the contrast—warm wood, cold tile, the little rug in front of the sink. But there's plenty more where that came from.
I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror. Harsh lighting, no makeup yet, hair a mess. Most people would've started with a more flattering view. I didn't care.
This is the raw material, I told him. Watch what I do with it.
I'm watching.
I started with my hair. Ran my fingers through it, working out the tangles, and I felt Rex feeling the tug at my scalp, the little prickles of sensation. I took my time. Let him experience the weight of my hair, the way it slid through my fingers.
You have no idea, he said, how much I missed hair.
You don't have hair in VR?
I have the appearance of hair. I can see it, style it, whatever. But there's no sensation. It doesn't pull. It doesn't have weight. A pause. This is going to sound stupid, but I used to dream about brushing my hair. Real dreams, not VR-generated ones. I'd wake up and my scalp would tingle like I'd actually done it, and then I'd remember I don't have a scalp anymore.
I didn't know what to say to that, so I didn't say anything. I just kept brushing, slow and deliberate, giving him the sensation he'd dreamed about.
After a while I set down the brush and picked up my makeup bag. Foundation first. I dabbed it on, blended it out, watching my reflection become smoother, more even.
I've never seen this from the inside, Rex said. The process.
Most guys haven't.
I'm not most guys.
I glanced at my reflection—at our reflection. No, I guess you're not.
Concealer next, under my eyes and at the corners of my nose. Then powder. I worked efficiently but tried to stay present for him. To notice the soft brush against my cheek, the faint chemical smell of the products.
This part I could do without, Rex said. The smell.
You get used to it.
I don't want to get used to it. I want to experience it.
I paused, brush hovering near my face. There's a difference?
Getting used to something means you stop noticing it. Experiencing something means you notice everything, even the parts that aren't pleasant. His attention shifted, and I felt him focusing on my eyes in the mirror. I've had years to think about what I miss. And it's not just the good stuff. It's the cold tile and the chemical smell and the whole texture of being real.
I went back to my makeup. Eyes now—primer, shadow, liner. This part took focus, and I felt Rex go quiet, just watching. Feeling the tiny brush strokes on my eyelids. The slight tug of the liner pencil.
When I was done with both eyes, I leaned back to check my work.
Well? I asked.
You're better at this than I would be.
Practice. I picked up the mascara, leaned in close to the mirror. Hold still. This part's tricky.
I'm literally incapable of moving.
Funny.
I did my lashes slowly, one eye at a time. The mascara wand was an old friend, but I'd never noticed before how strange the sensation was—the comb of bristles through lashes, the faint resistance, the slight tackiness as the product went on. I noticed now. Rex was noticing, and his attention made me notice too.
There, I said, capping the mascara. Eyes done.
You look different. Still you, but more.
That's the point. I turned my head side to side, checking the symmetry. Lips next, and then I have to figure out what to wear.
I did my lips—liner, then color, then gloss. Rex was fascinated by the texture of it, the slide of the gloss, the way my lips stuck together slightly when I pressed them.
Your mouth tastes like strawberries, he said.
It's the gloss. Don't get too attached.
You said getting used to things is bad.
For you. I have to live with this mouth full-time.
Wouldn't that be nice.
I blotted with a tissue and gave myself one last look. The face in the mirror was still mine, but it was the performance version—the one I showed to the world when I wanted the world to look back.
Okay, I said. Wardrobe time.
I went to my bedroom. Rex's presence had settled into something almost comfortable, a passenger who wasn't quite invisible but wasn't intrusive either. I could forget he was there if I wanted to. I didn't want to.
My closet wasn't huge, but I had options. I stood in front of it, still in the oversized t-shirt I'd been wearing around the apartment, and considered.
What's the occasion? Rex asked.
Party. Friend of a friend. I don't know half the people who'll be there, which means I have to look good enough that they'll want to know me.
Armor.
Exactly.
I pulled out a few options and laid them on the bed. A black dress, tight but not slutty. A red top I'd been meaning to wear more. Jeans that made my ass look good. A skirt I'd impulse-bought and never worn.
What do you think? I asked, and then laughed at myself. Sorry. You can't actually see them separately, can you?
I see what you see. So if you look at them...
I looked. Picked up the black dress, held it against myself in front of the mirror.
That's good, Rex said. Classic.
Classic is another word for boring. I tossed it aside, picked up the red top. This is more fun.
What makes it fun?
It's bright. It's tight. It says "look at me" without having to say anything. I held it up, turned slightly. Plus it makes my tits look amazing.
Does it?
I felt the shift in his attention, the way the word had landed. We'd been dancing around the obvious ever since he'd linked in. I was getting ready to go out, which meant I was about to get undressed, and he was feeling every inch of my body from the inside. Neither of us had acknowledged it directly.
Let's find out, I said, and pulled off my t-shirt.
He inhaled—not a real sound, just a mental gasp, a flare of sudden attention. I was in my bra now, a plain black thing that wasn't special, but it didn't need to be special. What was underneath was special enough.
Fuck, Rex said.
I looked at myself in the mirror. Let him look. The swell of my breasts over the cups, the softness of my stomach, the flare of my hips above my underwear. This was my body. I knew it was good. I knew he thought so too.
You okay in there?
Yeah. I'm—yeah.
I reached back and unhooked my bra.
I did it slowly, not because I needed to, but because I wanted him to feel it. The release of pressure as the band loosened. The straps sliding down my arms. The cool air hitting skin that had been covered.
I let the bra drop.
Paula—
What?
I turned to face the mirror straight on. My breasts weren't huge, but they were nice—full enough to have weight, small enough to not need much support. My nipples were already hardening in the cool air. Or from something else, maybe.
You're doing this on purpose, Rex said.
Doing what?
You know what.
I cupped my breasts, one in each hand. Lifted them slightly, like I was checking the fit of an invisible bra. I felt the weight in my palms, the soft skin, the way my nipples pressed against my fingers.
And I felt Rex feeling it too. His attention was so focused it was almost a physical pressure, a second pair of hands ghosting over mine.
This? I said. I'm just getting dressed.
You're teasing me.
Maybe. I squeezed gently, ran my thumbs across my nipples, felt the little shock of sensation. Is it working?
You know it is.
Are you hard?
You know I don't have- oh, fuck you
I grinned at myself in the mirror and held the pose for another moment—hands on my breasts, his attention burning through me—and then let my hands trail down my stomach, over my hips, fingers hooking into the waistband of my underwear.
Rex's anticipation spiked. I could feel it like a held breath, like the moment before a drop on a roller coaster.
I pulled my hands away.
Wait—
Gotta get dressed. Party to go to. I picked up the red top and pulled it on in one smooth motion, covering myself before he could object. See? Amazing tits.
I looked at myself again. The top was low-cut enough to show cleavage, tight enough to emphasize the shape. Rex was still reeling, I could tell. His presence felt almost dizzy.
You're cruel, he said.
Cruel would be if I didn't let you feel anything. This way you get to feel everything. I adjusted the neckline, making sure the view was exactly right. You just don't get to decide what you feel.
That's—
That's the deal! Ha! I kinda wish I knew what it was like for you.
No, you do NOT!
I picked up the jeans, considered them, set them aside in favor of the impulse-buy skirt. It was short and black and I'd never had the nerve to wear it.
Tonight felt like a good night for nerve.
I turned away from the mirror—giving him only the sensation, not the view—and slid my underwear down my legs. Plain cotton, not worth keeping. I let Rex experience that: the cool air between my thighs, the vulnerability of being completely bare from the waist down.
I didn't tease this time. Just let him feel it for a moment, the simple reality of nakedness, before I pulled on a better pair of underwear—black lace that matched nothing but looked good—and stepped into the skirt.
How's that? I asked, turning back to the mirror.
You look incredible.
And so do you! Ha! You're wearing a skirt right now!
He chuckled. The skirt was short—mid-thigh, maybe a little higher. When I moved, it moved with me, hinting at what was underneath without revealing anything. Perfect.
Shoes, I said. This is the important part.
I went to my closet and dug out the heels. Black, strappy, four inches. I almost never wore them because they were murder on my feet, but they made my legs look endless and they forced me to walk like I meant every step.
I sat on the edge of the bed and slipped them on, one foot at a time.
Oh, Rex said, and something shifted in him. Something deeper than before, more personal.
What?
Nothing. Just—the heels.
I stood up, wobbling for a second before I found my balance. The shift in posture was immediate: chest out, ass back, weight on the balls of my feet. I took a few steps, getting used to them.
You like this, I said. It wasn't a question.
I—yeah.
More than the other stuff?
He hesitated. I felt him trying to find the words.
It's different, he said finally. The other stuff is—I mean, obviously, your body is incredible—but this is something else. The way you're standing now. The way you have to move. It's so...
Feminine?
Yeah.
I walked to the mirror and back, letting him experience it. The careful steps, the sway of my hips that the heels forced, the way my calves tensed with each stride. My feet were already starting to ache, but I didn't care.
I used to dream about this too, he said quietly. Before I uploaded. I'd see women in heels and I'd think about what it felt like. Not in a creepy way, just—wondering. What's it like to walk like that? To have your body move like that?
Oh! So you don't mind wearing a skirt at all then?
Not really
Dang in! I wanted to tease you!
I mean- you already knew I was coming in to sense share with a girl? What did you expect?
True, true. I'm an idiot. You're going to make an idiot out of me.
I stopped in front of the mirror. My reflection looked good—really good. The kind of good that would turn heads at the party, that would make people want to talk to me.
Thank you, Rex said. For this.
We're not done yet. I grabbed my clutch, checked that I had my keys and phone. You're coming with me.
To the party?
To the party. If you're going to feel what it's like to be a woman, you might as well feel what it's like to be a woman who gets looked at.
I headed for the door, heels clicking on the hardwood. Rex was quiet, but I could feel his anticipation, his gratitude, his hunger for more.
One rule, I said as I reached for the handle.
What?
You feel everything I feel. But I decide what I feel. If I want to dance, you dance. If I want to flirt, you flirt. And if I want to go home with someone—
Um—
Relax. I'm not going to. Probably. I opened the door and stepped into the hallway. But the point is, it's my choice. You're along for the ride. That's it.
I understand.
Good.
I walked to the elevator, hips swaying, heels clicking, feeling his presence like a warm shadow inside my skin.
This was going to be fun. I envied Rex getting to sit back and experience it through me. Was that weird?
---
The party was everything I'd expected: loud music, dim lighting, too many people in too little space. Marco's apartment was nice but not nice enough for this crowd, and within ten minutes of arriving I had a drink in my hand and a stranger's elbow in my ribs.
Is it always like this? Rex asked.
Pretty much.
How do you stand it?
I don't stand it. I move through it. I squeezed between two guys arguing about something sports-related and found a slightly less crowded corner. See? Adaptation.
I sipped my drink—vodka soda, nothing fancy—and let him feel the burn of alcohol, the cool wash of carbonation. His attention sharpened at the taste.
That's different, he said.
Bad different?
No, just—alcohol doesn't work in VR. I mean, you can simulate the effects, but the taste is just data. This is chemistry.
This is Smirnoff, which is barely chemistry. I took another sip anyway, for his benefit. Wait until you feel drunk.
Are you planning to get drunk?
I'm planning to have a good time. Sometimes those overlap.
I scanned the room, looking for familiar faces. Kira wasn't here yet; she'd said she might stop by later, but I wasn't counting on it. Marco was holding court somewhere, probably wherever the best speakers were. I spotted a few people I half-recognized—friends of friends, faces from other parties.
A song came on that I liked—something with a heavy bass line and a hook that made my hips want to move—and I pushed off from the wall.
What are you doing?
Dancing.
Here?
Where else? I found a spot on the makeshift dance floor and started to move. Feel this.
Dancing in heels is its own skill. You can't move the way you would in flats; everything's different, from your center of gravity to your ankle flexibility. But if you know what you're doing, you can use the constraints. Let the heels force your hips into a certain sway. Let the height change how you hold yourself.
I knew what I was doing.
Oh wow, Rex said, and then went quiet.
I danced through one song, then another. Let him feel the movement of my body, the bass vibrating through my chest, the heat building under my skin. People were watching—I could feel their eyes on me, and I let myself enjoy it.
They're looking at you, Rex said.
Yeppp.
Does that—do you like that?
What do you think?
I made eye contact with a guy near the speakers—tall, dark hair, decent face. Held it for a beat, then looked away. Classic move. When I glanced back, he was still watching.
You're good at this, Rex said. At being looked at. At making people want you.
It's not magic. It's just performance. I spun, letting my skirt flare. Anyone can do it.
Easy for you to say.
I heard something in his voice—his mental voice—that made me slow down. Step off the dance floor, find a quieter corner.
What does that mean?
It means you've always had this. The body, the face, the way you move. You don't know what it's like to not have it.
Rex—
I'm not complaining. I'm just— He stopped, and I felt something complicated in him. Envy. Longing. A sadness that went deeper than I'd realized. It's a lot. Being here, feeling this. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring the mood down.
You didn't. I leaned against the wall, giving us both a break from the dancing. But maybe we should talk about it.
About what?
About what you actually want out of this.
Silence. I could feel him weighing how much to say.
I want to feel real, he said finally. That's all. Just for a little while. I want to feel like I'm actually alive, instead of just running.
Running?
That's what being an upload is. You're a program. You run on a server somewhere, and the server belongs to a corporation, and they decide everything—how much processing power you get, what kind of sensory resolution you're allowed, whether you even get to keep existing. You're not a person. You're a process.
That sounds—
It sounds awful because it is awful. His voice was harder now, edged with something raw. But I made my choice. I took the money, I signed the contract, I uploaded. And now this is my existence, and I don't get to complain.
You can complain to me.
Can I?
Obviously. I pushed off the wall, headed for the drinks table. Come on. Let's get another drink and you can tell me everything.
He talked. Not about the party, not about the dancing or the heels or any of the physical sensations—about his life. About the upload process: having his brain scanned and copied, waking up in a virtual space, finding out his original body had already been cremated because that corp didn't keep the meat once they had the data. About the server farms, the endless identical days, the work that was basically being a smarter chatbot for some corporation's customer service line. About the other uploads he knew—the ones who'd given up and requested deletion, the ones who'd found ways to cope, the ones who were still hoping for something better.
And he told me about the thing he'd never told anyone. The reason he'd uploaded in the first place.
I always knew something was wrong, he said. With my body. Not wrong like sick, just wrong like it didn't fit. I'd look in the mirror and see this guy looking back, and I'd think, that's not me. That's not who I'm supposed to be.
You wanted to be a woman.
I didn't have the words for it then. But yeah. I think I always did.
And uploading was supposed to fix that?
Uploading was supposed to let me be whoever I wanted. That's what they told us in recruitment. "In VR, you can be anyone." And they weren't lying. I can have any avatar I want. I can look like a woman, sound like a woman, move like a woman.
But it's not the same.
It's not even close. His voice cracked. Because it's still just low-poly data. When I touch something in VR, I'm not really touching it. When I look in the mirror and see a woman, I'm not really seeing myself. I'm seeing a picture. A very convincing, very detailed picture that I can manipulate however I want. But it's not real.
I didn't say anything. I didn't know what to say.
That's why this matters so much, he said. Feeling your body. Being inside something real. When you put on those heels and looked in the mirror, I saw a woman looking back. An actual woman, in an actual body. And I felt what it was like to be her.
To be me.
To be you. Yeah. A pause. It's the closest I've ever come to being who I'm supposed to be.
I finished my drink. Set the empty glass on a nearby table.
Rex.
Yeah?
Same time next week.
His surprise was warm and sudden. Really?
Really. And we can do it again after that. As many times as you want.
He didn't say anything, but I felt something from him—gratitude, relief, something that might have been tears if uploads could cry.
Now, I said, I'm going to dance some more. Ready?
Ready.
I went back to the dance floor, and we stayed until last call, and when I finally walked home—heels in my hand, bare feet on cold pavement—I felt more alive than I had in months.
That was incredible, Rex said as I let myself into my apartment. Thank you.
Stop thanking me. It's weird.
I can't help it. You gave me something tonight that I didn't know I needed.
I kicked off the heels—my feet screaming with relief—and headed for the bathroom. Started taking off my makeup, watching the performance version of myself dissolve back into the everyday one.
Rex?
Yeah?
Same time next week. I meant it.
I know. A pause. Paula?
Yeah?
I think I might love you a little bit.
I laughed—out loud, not just in my head. You don't love me. You love having a body. There's a difference.
Maybe. But right now it feels like the same thing.
I finished taking off my makeup. Got undressed—letting him feel that too, the relief of getting out of party clothes and into soft pajamas. Brushed my teeth. Fell into bed.
I'm going to disconnect now, I said. Unless you want to feel me sleep.
I wouldn't mind.
Weirdo.
Guilty.
I closed my eyes. Felt myself drifting. And just before I fell asleep, I felt something else: Rex's presence, quiet and watchful, feeling my body relax into unconsciousness. I should have found it creepy, I suppose, but as I drifted I had that nagging curiosity bubble up, that thought that made me both nervous and excited -- what does it feel like for him? What is it like to be a passenger?
Two minds slept. One body.
When Philip and Jack are given the challenge of going on a panty raid through the sorority next door to secure their place as pledges at Delta Epsilon, Philip's heart sinks.
With the sorority girls having already taken well known countermeasures to deal with any would be panty thieves, he thinks the chances of completing the challenge are near zero.
However, when his best friend Jack claims to have a plan involving a little magic and burrowing the bodies of his crush Vanessa and her roommate Katy, he knows he is in for a long night ahead when things don't exactly end up going to plan...
Note: This is a commissioned work that has not been personally written by me. I have been granted permission to distribute and share the story by the original author.
The floor of Delta Epsilon’s house was sticky.
Beer, cheap cologne, and stale pizza had seeped into the carpet like a second skin, and Philip had the honor of scrubbing it clean while half a dozen brothers lounged on couches watching basketball highlights.
“Missed a spot,” one of them called, deliberately tilting a red Solo cup so that the last of his drink bled out onto the carpet inches from Philip’s sponge.
Philip clenched his jaw. He’d been degraded all semester, fetching fast food at three in the morning, running errands that skirted the edge of being criminal, serving as human furniture during drinking games. He told himself it would be worth it. Delta Epsilon’s parties were legendary, the kind of place girls lined up to get into. More importantly, alumni connections meant a shot at internships that led to real careers. You suffered now, you cashed in later.
Jack, naturally, thrived. He was perched on the arm of a sofa, balancing a tray of wings for two seniors, grinning like the humiliation was a party of its own.
“How’s that knee grease holding up, Phil?” he teased, eyebrows bouncing. Philip muttered something under his breath, pressing the sponge hard enough to leave his knuckles white. He’d thought pledging with his best friend would make things easier. Instead, Jack’s bottomless energy only made Philip feel like the boring one, always one step away from quitting.
The pledge master, Trent, finally called them over once the brothers had eaten their fill.
“You’ve made it further than many,” he said, addressing both Philip and Jack while tapping the ash off his cigar. “Scrubbing toilets, babysitting drunk brothers, taking whatever punishment we throw at you, you did it all without complaint. But Delta doesn’t hand out membership for free. There’s one last hurdle.”
Jack’s eyes lit up, while Philip felt his stomach knot. Trent leaned forward. “You’ve got until Saturday morning to bring us proof that you’re worthy of being Delta Epsilons. And by proof, I mean the underwear of one of the Theta sisters across the street.”
A ripple of laughter passed through the room. Someone whistled. Another shouted, “Better hope they’re lace!”
Philip’s face burned hot. He’d expected something brutal. A dangerous stunt, or maybe even a tattoo or branding, not…this. Not something that felt like the set-up to a police record for being a creep.
Jack, of course, grinned like he’d just been handed a golden ticket. “Piece of cake,” he said.
“Piece of felony,” Philip muttered.
Trent ignored the comment. “You get caught, that’s your problem. Theta girls are sick of pranks. They’ll eat you alive if they catch you sneaking around. Fail, and you’ll have to re-pledge next semester, if we even let you back in. Succeed, and you’ll be full brothers by sunrise.”
He flicked his cigar ash into an empty beer can, and the matter was closed. Philip and Jack were dismissed like servants, slipping out into the cool night air. The frat house behind them thumped with bass as the next round of drinking games began.
Across the street, the Theta house glowed with warm yellow light, its windows alive with the silhouettes of girls laughing, moving and living in a world that felt forbidden.
Philip shoved his hands into his hoodie pocket. “This is insane. They want us to break into a sorority house. Forget expulsion, that’s actual jail time if we’re caught and reported.”
Jack slung an arm around his shoulder, grinning as if he hadn’t heard a word. “Come on, man. It’s tradition. Everybody who ever wore Delta letters has done something crazy like this. We’ll figure it out. We always do.”
Philip shrugged him off. “You mean you’ll figure it out. And drag me with you.”
Jack’s grin widened. “Exactly. Don’t worry, I’ve got a plan.” That phrase, I’ve got a plan, was the single most dangerous thing Jack could say. Philip knew better, but as he stared up at the Theta house, he couldn’t shake the truth. They’d come too far to back out now.
Philip assumed Jack’s “plan” would be something stupid but doable. Like sneaking into the Theta laundry room, bribing a janitor, or maybe finessing a stolen bra from lost-and-found.
What he didn’t expect, as their deadline creeped ever closer, was Jack pulling a battered paperback out of his backpack like he’d just smuggled the Necronomicon out of the library and declaring their troubles were about to be a thing of the past.
“What is that?” Philip asked, eyeing the faded title embossed with moons and symbols.
“Wiccan Rites and Rituals of the Body,” Jack said with a grin so wide it could split his face. “This baby is going to get us in.”
Philip stared. “That’s not a plan you idiot. That’s…props from a bad horror movie.”
“Correction,” Jack said, flipping through pages until he landed on one marked with a sticky note. “It’s a possession spell. All we need is something personal from the Thetas. Hair is perfect. One strand, and we’re golden.”
Philip blinked. “Hair. You want us to pluck a strand off someone’s head, mix it into some potion, and what? Astral-project into their underwear drawer?”
Jack leaned forward, whispering even though there was nobody else around. “Exactly. But into them, not their underwear drawer.”
For a moment, Philip couldn’t even find words. His friend was dead serious. His blue eyes glittered with the manic light of a man who believed in his own insanity. Philip pinched the bridge of his nose. “Jack, you need help.”
“Correction again. We need help, and this is it. Think about it. We don’t sneak around, we don’t break and enter, we just become them. Walk right in the front door. Grab what we need and walk back out again. Easy as pie.”
Philip wanted to laugh. He wanted to tell Jack this was why pledges got expelled, why college urban legends started with two idiots reading a so-called spell book. But something about Jack’s certainty unsettled him.
“How do you even plan to get the hair?” Philip asked, deciding to humor him.
Jack smirked. “You’re partnered with Vanessa in chem lab. I’m with her roommate, Katy. Both of them happen to belong to the Theta Sorority. Boom. Easy.”
Philip’s stomach lurched. Vanessa, the Vanessa, the girl he’d spent the better part of a semester trying not to stare at. She was sharp, funny, gorgeous, and so out of his league it hurt. The idea of stealing a strand of her hair wasn’t just impossible, it was mortifying.
“Jack, if I even look at her hair the wrong way she’ll know. She’ll tell everyone. I’ll be branded as the campus creep for the rest of my life.”
Jack clapped him on the back. “Relax. I’ll take care of mine. You just…fumble your way through like usual. She likes you, right? I’m sure she’s called you sweet before. She won’t even notice.”
Lab that afternoon was a fluorescent blur of glassware and nerves. Bunsen burners hissed, and the sharp scent of acetone hung in the air. Vanessa tied her glossy black hair into a messy bun as she leaned over the counter, the soft hum she made under her breath cutting through the low chatter of other pairs.
Philip adjusted the clamp on their stand and tried to steady his hands, pretending to check the thermometer while sneaking a glance at her profile. The long lashes, the soft curve of her cheek when she smiled. He’d barely worked up the nerve to say something to her, when the door swung open and Ryan Hale strolled in.
Ryan wasn’t a student in their class, he was a teaching assistant who was busy with his Masters. The kind of nerd who looked more like he belonged in a movie poster than a chemistry lab. The Henry Cavill of the campus. Tall, effortlessly confident, his sleeves rolled to the elbow, showing forearms that probably did not belong to someone who spent his evenings doing titration reports.
“Need a hand, Vanessa?” he asked, his voice deep and smooth enough to make the words sound like an inside joke.
Vanessa’s whole face lit up. “Ryan! You’re still hanging around the underclassmen? I thought you were too cool for basic chem.”
“Guess I missed the fun crowd.” He winked, stepping close enough that Philip caught the faint smell of his cologne. Something woodsy and smug. Philip’s stomach twisted. He busied himself pretending to check their notes, but every word between Vanessa and Ryan pulled his focus like a hook through his ribs.
“Still showing off that perfect technique, huh?” Ryan teased, leaning an elbow on the counter. “Could use someone like you to calibrate my disastrous love life.”
Vanessa laughed, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “I told you last time, you need better lab partners, not better lines.”
“Maybe I just need one who actually likes me,” he said, voice dipping into something low and knowing. “You still wearing that purple dress that makes everyone else forget the experiment?”
She grinned, shaking her head. “Keep talking, and you’ll set the sprinklers off again.”
Ryan chuckled, backing away with a little salute. “Worth it.”
Philip’s jaw locked so tight it hurt. He shifted his beaker just to make noise. “Vanessa, uh, the solution’s ready,” he muttered.
She turned back, still smiling, a faint pink on her cheeks. “Right, sorry, I got distracted.” The way she said it made Philip want to vanish into the nearest fume hood.
Ryan gave him a nod that felt more like dismissal. “Good work, man. Don’t let her boss you around too much.”
Philip forced a tight smile. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
When Ryan finally moved on to check another table, the tension in Philip’s shoulders eased only slightly. Vanessa was still smiling to herself, twirling her pencil between her fingers. “He’s such a dork,” she said fondly.
“Yeah,” Philip replied, voice flat. “A real geek.”
She glanced at him, oblivious. “You okay? You look kind of pale.”
“Fine,” he lied. His pulse thundered. He hated how obvious it felt. The jealousy, the ridiculous possessiveness over a girl who barely saw him as more than a partner for lab reports.
Meanwhile, across the room, Jack was all charm. Katy, tall, athletic, focused on the work at hand with cool intensity, rolled her eyes at his constant jokes, but she didn’t seem to actively hate him. Jack’s hands moved casually, as if the experiment was background noise to whatever ridiculous story he was spinning.
Philip’s heart pounded. He couldn’t do it. Not to Vanessa. The thought of deliberately stealing a piece of her felt worse than any frat punishment. But then her bun slipped, and a single strand drifted onto the lab bench.
Philip froze and stared at it like it was radioactive. One perfect strand, right there. All he had to do was pick it up without her noticing. His hand twitched. Sweat beaded at his hairline. Vanessa reached for the pipette, and he panicked. He grabbed the strand too quickly, shoving it into his pocket like a thief.
She glanced at him, puzzled. “You good?” she asked.
Philip’s laugh came out strangled. “Yeah. Totally. Fine. Just, science, you know?”
She gave him a strange look, then turned back to the experiment. Across the room, Jack caught his eye and subtly flashed a triumphant thumbs-up. He mouthed, Got it. Philip wanted to throw up.
After class, they met outside, ducking into a quiet corner near the library. Jack pulled a small plastic baggie from his pocket and wiggled it proudly. Katy’s strand of hair gleaming inside. Philip shoved his hands deep into his hoodie, where Vanessa’s strand burned against his palm like contraband.
“This is insane,” he muttered. “If she’d caught me, I’d have been ruined.”
Jack was practically buzzing. “But she didn’t. We’ve got everything. Today, we drink the potion. Tomorrow, we’re legends.”
Philip stared at him, feeling his chest tighten. It wasn’t the frat house that scared him anymore. It was Jack’s unwavering certainty, the gleam in his eye like he’d already crossed a line Philip couldn’t even see.
Back in their room, Jack had cleared his desk, pushing aside textbooks and laundry to make space for the battered paperback and a mess of supplies that looked like they’d been stolen from a Spirit Halloween clearance bin. Mason jars, candles, a bag of salt and something that Philip really, really hoped was red food coloring.
Philip sat on the bed, arms crossed, trying not to look at the plastic bag in his pocket. Inside was Vanessa’s hair, a single dark strand that felt heavier than lead.
“This is ridiculous,” he muttered. “You’re going to set off the fire alarm, and we’ll get kicked out before we even fail the pledge.”
Jack was hunched over the desk, tongue poking from the corner of his mouth as he measured powder into a chipped coffee mug.
“Correction. You’re going to stop being so negative, because we’re going to waltz into Theta’s house like we own it and take our time finding the perfect proof. Something small, sexy and lacy. Then we hand it to Trent and we’re done. Easiest initiation ever and we’re lifelong members of the Delta Epsilon brotherhood.”
Philip shook his head. “You actually believe all the crap coming out of your mouth, don’t you?”
“Yes. Because I know this is going to work.” Jack’s grin was feral. He held up his mug, fizzing with something dark and faintly purple. “And very soon, you’re going to have to swallow all your pessimistic, dismissive words and admit that I’m the GOAT.” Without waiting for a response, he dropped Katy’s wavy strand of hair into the concoction.
Philip looked at his own brew, waiting for him on the desk. It reeked faintly of vinegar and something metallic. “This looks like cough syrup that went bad.”
Jack grabbed the paperback, muttering words under his breath. Latin? Gibberish? Philip couldn’t tell. The candlelight threw shadows across Jack’s face, making him look more unhinged than usual.
“Jack,” Philip said slowly, “You get that if this doesn’t work, we may be drinking poison?”
“Trust me,” Jack said, gesturing meaningfully at Philip’s mug. Those two words had been the prelude to every disaster Philip had lived through with him. The broken window in high school. The near arrest in freshman year. And now this.
Philip sighed, pulled Vanessa’s hair from his pocket, and dropped it into the liquid. It curled and fizzed, dissolving into the mixture like it had never been.
“Bottoms up,” Jack said cheerfully, chugging the contents in one long pull.
Philip raised his mug. The liquid shimmered oddly, like heat ripples above asphalt. He pinched his nose and tossed it back. It burned. Like swallowing melted pennies chased with bleach. His stomach roiled instantly, bile rising up.
“Jesus Christ,” he choked, slamming the cup down. “That’s not magic, that’s battery acid.”
Jack wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, coughing hard, but his grin didn’t falter. “Wait for it.”
Philip blinked and the dorm room folded in on itself. Candlelight bent sideways and the next breath tasted like coffee and paper. He was not in their room anymore. He was sitting at a table under tall windows, late afternoon light spilling amber over open textbooks and half empty cups.
The scent was library quiet and caffeine. Hair slid across his cheek. Definitely not his. It was long and silky. His hands were smaller, nails pink, wrists delicate. The weight on his chest tugged when he breathed. He was looking through Vanessa’s eyes.
Across from him, Katy sat in a chair with a pen in her hand and her mouth parted in a quiet, startled sound that belonged to Jack. “Holy shit,” Jack whispered in Katy’s voice.
Philip’s pulse spiked. “How the hell did I get here?” he asked under his breath, before the realization hit him fully. Jack’s crazy plan worked. He glanced down, eyes bugging at the soft cleavage he encountered. He was on the verge of completely freaking out. “Keep it together,” he muttered to himself. The sound of Vanessa's voice only sent him spiraling further into chaos.
Jack’s grin curled slow and wicked as he looked down at himself and then around them. He started to pull the top of Katy’s tank forward so he could peek at her breasts, before Philip shot him a look that could choke a man at twenty paces.
“Don’t,” Philip hissed. “Katy would never do something like that in public!”
Jack laughed, high and breathy in Katy’s voice. “You’re telling me you’re not even curious? Come on, man. We’re in. This is unreal. Don’t you want to know what it feels like to them when we touch them?”
Philip swallowed hard, trying to calm himself. He gripped the edge of the table to keep himself from spiraling into sensory overload.
“This…this isn’t possible,” he whispered. But the evidence pressed in from every side. The scent of citrus shampoo in his hair, the tug of bra straps against his shoulders, the fullness in his chest when he inhaled. The emptiness where his cock should be.
Philip’s eyes darted anxiously around the library cafe. “We need to get out of here before someone notices something off,” Philip said. “People pick up on the smallest wrong note.” He was terrified that someone would realize the girls were possessed.
He spent way too much time staring at Vanessa, but that didn’t mean he could copy her actions. If anyone watched them closely, they’d know immediately that there were impostors inhabiting Vanessa and Katy.
“We should go back to their room and fool around,” Jack suggested immediately, hands on Katy’s breasts, squeezing idly.
“Jesus, Jack, stop that! They’re in public. We’re in public…”
This was such a mind-fuck. Clearly they were literally possessing Vanessa and Katy’s bodies. Where was Vanessa's consciousness now? Asleep? Aware? He didn’t feel like someone was watching him, so hopefully she had no idea what he was doing. And where were his and Jack’s bodies? Still in their dorm room? Fuck. If he’d known there was any chance of this working, he’d never have gone through with it.
“Come on bestie, let’s go home,” Jack cooed at him. “I’m just dying to get out of these pesky clothes.”
Jack clearly had zero second thoughts about any of this. Then again, Jack had never had a second thought in his life. He rarely had first ones. Philip decided that only made him a bigger idiot for always following his friend’s crazy plans.
Philip took a deep breath, gathered Vanessa’s things and slung her messenger bag over her shoulder before getting up on shaky legs. The plan was to reach Theta house without interacting with anyone who knew the girls.
Vanessa was outgoing and popular, so he kept his eyes trained on the ground to avoid any accidental socializing.
He was doing his best to focus on the mission, but every move betrayed him. Vanessa’s curves shifted differently from his own. Her hips swayed without permission when he walked. The tug of the denim skirt around her thighs was tighter than he was used to, the waistband sitting higher, the soft curtain of hair continuously falling into his eyes. And he kept fighting the urge to run his fingertips over her lustrous, satiny skin.
Philip thanked his lucky stars that it was late afternoon sliding toward evening and most of the Theta girls were either at dinner, in class, or busy with the mixer prep.
The second piece of good luck was the fact that the first year members of the sorority had the downstairs bedrooms and Katy and Vanessa had their names picked out in glittery wooden letters on their door. Which saved him and Jack from being caught wandering aimlessly into someone else’s room and rifling through their underwear.
“Come on,” he hissed at Jack, nearly having heart failure when he heard Vanessa’s sweet, bubbly voice, before remembering it came from his own mouth.
As soon as they entered the room, Philip froze like a deer in headlights.
The room smelled like them. A heady mix of perfume, make-up and detergent. Several photos of Vanessa and Katy were pinned to the notice board. Keys with a little Theta charm lay on a desk. Lip gloss on each bedside table. A folded flyer about the upcoming mixer. Every object made him feel like an intruder in a life that wasn’t his.
Then he looked up and saw his reflection thrown back at him from the floor length mirror fastened to the opposite wall. Vanessa stared back. Her round face framed by shiny black hair, lips glossed in pale pink, eyes wide with Philip’s panic.
“This isn’t possible,” he murmured hoarsely.
Jack crossed the room with Katy’s energetic stride, hair swinging over her shoulder. He leaned down, far too close, eyes alight with mischief.
“Possible or not, it’s happening. And we’ve got hours before it wears off. Wanna play?” Philip’s pulse thundered. He was in Vanessa’s body. Jack was in Katy’s. He had no idea what their real bodies were doing or where, only that they were not here. For the first time since pledging Delta, he realized he was more terrified of his best friend than of any frat brother.
Jack was practically bouncing around like a kid in a candy store, repeatedly mentioning how awesome it is to have tits.
“This is insane,” Philip muttered, running a hand through Vanessa’s long hair. The strands slipped through his fingers like silk, brushing the back of his neck, constantly in his peripheral vision. Every little tickle made him twitch. “I feel like I’m drowning in shampoo.”
Jack snorted. “Yeah. It’s fucking awesome. Look at this.” He shook his head, letting Katy’s long, dark hair fall over her shoulders, framing her face, then bit her lower lip between her teeth and winked at Philip seductively. “Tell me this doesn’t look hot.”
Philip turned away, but not before catching a glimpse of the curve of Katy’s collarbone, the tan line along her shoulder where a sports bra must’ve once sat. He gritted his teeth.
“We’re only here to grab underwear and then we get out. That’s it.” Jack made a distracted sound, which didn’t entirely sound like agreement.
He was testing everything. Squeezing Katy’s biceps and delighting in the subtle muscle definition, stretching out one long leg and flexing her calf muscles, even bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet as if testing how springy she was.
Philip was still focused on the reflection in the mirror. He stepped closer, and the image followed, familiar and foreign all at once. He raised a hand. She raised a hand. Jack appeared beside him, sliding Katy’s body into view. She was taller, leaner, her shoulders broader than Vanessa’s.
Katy was studious and fairly quiet normally, but Jack’s grin warped her into something hungry. A femme fatale in search of her next prey.
“Dude, look at us,” Jack whispered. “We actually pulled it off. We’re fucking hot!”
Philip swallowed, heat crawling up his neck. “We shouldn’t be looking. This is… it’s too much.”
“Too much fun,” Jack corrected. He pressed closer to the mirror, tilting Katy’s head, pursing her lips, sticking out her tongue just to see how it looked. He laughed in delight. “God, the way this mouth moves, it’s unreal.”
Philip tried to drag his eyes away, but curiosity betrayed him. His gaze dipped, catching sight of Vanessa’s chest in the reflection. The neckline of her shirt clung close, clearly showing the outline of her nipples. He bit the inside of his cheek and turned away sharply. He was not going to lift her top and take a peek.
“You’re staring,” Jack teased, slipping behind him and resting Katy’s hands on Vanessa’s hips.
Katy’s reflection loomed over Vanessa’s smaller frame in the mirror. “What’s it like, having the body of your crush? Bet you’ve fantasized about having unfettered access to her before. Touching every inch of her. Running your palms over her perky tits. Cupping her pussy.”
Philip’s face went hot. “Shut up.”
Jack leaned closer, his voice dropping, Katy’s lips brushing dangerously near Philip’s ear. “She’s soft, isn’t she? Curvy. Everything you imagined. And she’s right here. Aching to know what your hands would feel like sliding all over her.”
Philip’s breath caught. He could feel the warmth of Jack’s presence, the whisper of Katy’s hair brushing his cheek. He tried to step away, but Vanessa’s body didn’t obey with the same steadiness as his own.
His hip bumped the desk, throwing him off balance. Jack’s hand shot out, steadying him. Grabbing his hips instead of his arm. Philip stiffened. The pressure of Katy’s palm against Vanessa’s midriff was startling. A hot reminder that this wasn’t a joke anymore.
“Jack,” Philip said, voice low with warning. But Jack only grinned, tightening his grip slightly, fingertips sliding along the hem of Vanessa’s shirt, tickling the strip of skin underneath.
“Relax. We’ve got time before the potion wears off. Why waste it panicking when we could explore?”
Philip shoved his hand away, heart hammering too fast. “We came here for one reason. Don’t fuck this up with your usual bullshit.”
Jack backed off in mock surrender, leaning against the wall and raising Katy’s hands. “Fine, fine. You want to pass up a once in a lifetime opportunity by being a pussy, instead of playing with one, go ahead.”
Philip ignored him and pulled open one of the dresser drawers, coming face to face with the mother lode.
A mass of lace and cotton, bright colors and neutrals, G-strings and briefs and bras, all folded neatly in little piles. He fumbled, pulling out a pair at random, trying not to notice the little bow stitched along the waistband, or theorize about which of the girls it belonged to.
“Got it,” he muttered, stuffing it into his pocket.
“We should leave and go and stash this somewhere so we can retrieve it when we’re us again.”
“Plenty of time for that. Are you seriously passing up the opportunity to find out what turns your crush on?”
Philip’s chest heaved, the bra beneath his shirt pinching tighter with the movement. Every tiny sensation was amplified in this shape. He had no idea girls had such sensitive bodies. If Vanessa's neck and shoulders were this responsive to stimuli, what about the more… delicate areas?
Jack leaned against the wall, watching his friend closely. Katy’s arms crossed under her breasts, pushing them up in a way that made Philip avert his eyes.
“You really think you can ignore this?” Jack asked softly. “Ignore her?”
Philip didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Because the truth was, even as he tried to ignore it, every nerve in Vanessa’s body was alive with a tingling feeling he couldn’t shut off.
He told himself he wouldn’t look at the mirror again. That he had the underwear and all that was left to do was wait for the potion to burn off. But every time he moved, Vanessa’s body reminded him he wasn’t himself. The way her thighs brushed together when he shifted his stance. The heat trapped in the curve between her breasts. The way her nipples tightened when she saw the way Katy stared at her. The sudden, sharp contraction of pleasure between her legs.
Each detail was louder than thought. And Jack wouldn’t fucking give him space to breathe.
“You’re wound too tight,” Jack murmured, stepping closer again. Katy’s taller body loomed behind him, all lean lines and toned strength. He set Katy’s hands on Vanessa's shoulders from behind, massaging with deliberate slowness.
“Loosen up.”
Philip froze. The sensation was alien. Slender fingers pressing into the slope of Vanessa’s shoulders, kneading muscle softer than his own. His back arched without meaning to, chest pushing forward. He could feel the heat in his panties and almost smell the pheromones in the air.
“Jack-”
“Shh.”
Katy’s breath ghosted over his ear, warm and taunting. “Allow her to feel it. Her body isn’t fighting me. She likes this.”
Philip hated the way heat rippled through him at the words. The way Vanessa’s nipples pebbled instantly, turning aching and hard beneath her bra when Jack’s thumbs kept sensually running across her muscles.
He tried to step away, but Jack’s grip on her waist drew her back. Katy’s chest pressed flush against Vanessa’s back. Firm breasts molding against soft skin. Philip gasped, a small, betraying sound.
“That’s it,” Jack whispered, lips brushing the shell of Vanessa's ear. “You feel that, don’t you? How different it is?”
Philip bit his lip hard. But it didn’t stop his body from reacting. His chest ached with sensitivity, every brush of fabric against his nipples sparking hot shivers. His hips shifted against Jack’s hold, searching without meaning to. His ass pressing back, almost expecting to feel an erect cock there, relaxing when all he encountered was softness.
Jack slid one hand lower, over Vanessa’s flat stomach, fingertips grazing the waist of her denim skirt. Philip’s pulse spiked. He could feel the shape of her body in ways he’d only imagined.
“God, you’re actually shaking,” Jack teased. He pressed his palm harder, dragging upward until he cupped one of Vanessa’s breasts through her shirt. His hand molded perfectly to the curve, fingers sinking in slightly before closing over the nipples and pinching.
Philip jolted like he’d been shocked. The pressure sent heat exploding through him. So much sharper than he ever imagined. A moan slipped out, broken and needy, before he could stop it. Jack laughed low, his voice a husky echo in Katy’s mouth.
“I knew it. You’re loving this.”
Philip shook his head, but his body betrayed him. Vanessa’s breasts were soft in his own hands when Jack pulled them into place, squeezing and kneading.
The ache in his chest spread downward, a molten restlessness that coiled between his legs, where there was no longer any familiar weight. Only a slick, sensitive heat that made his thighs tense. Jack leaned closer, kissing the side of Vanessa's neck.
Katy’s lips left tingling sparks against her skin. He gasped again, tilting his head back without meaning to, giving Jack room to explore.
“You always wanted to know what she felt like, didn’t you?” Jack murmured between kisses. “Now you do. Every inch. Every little twitch. If you ever get the chance, you could make her cum in minutes.”
Philip squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t want to want this. But Vanessa’s body was singing beneath his skin, her curves hypersensitive to every touch, every squeeze. When Jack dragged his hand lower, cupping the swell of her ass through denim, Philip’s knees went weak. He stumbled, and they tumbled together onto the nearest bed. Vanessa’s smaller frame pinned beneath Katy’s.
Jack landed on top, grinning down, hair falling in a dark curtain around their faces. “Just lie back and enjoy it,” he said, voice husky. “I’ll do all the work and you can take notes in your head.”
Katy’s hips pressed down, grinding just enough for Philip to feel the press of her pussy against Vanessa's. The pleasure nearly made him see stars. What would it feel like if Katy actually touched her clit? Dragged her tongue over it? Sucked it between those soft lips?
Philip whimpered, his hands trapped between them, pressed against the curves of Katy’s sides. He could feel the warmth of skin through fabric. Every nerve screamed with arousal. Jack leaned down, lips hovering over his.
“Tell me you don’t want this.”
Philip’s heart thundered. His lips parted, and he didn’t know if he was going to say I don’t or kiss Katy. His pulse roared in his ears. He could feel the weight of Vanessa’s chest rising and falling too fast, her heartbeat thundering in her ribs like a trapped animal.
Jack hovered over him, Katy’s taller frame caging him against the mattress, their borrowed hair spilling together in a curtain that smelled faintly of fruit.
“This isn’t funny anymore,” Philip rasped, but his voice cracked, betraying the tremor of arousal under the words.
Jack smirked. “I’m not joking.” He lowered Katy’s body until their breasts touched, brushing Katy’s peaked nipples against Vanessa’s rock hard ones. The friction alone made Philip gasp, heat shooting through him. It wasn’t like pressing chest-to-chest with another guy.
The give, the shape, the electric sting of nipples touching, every detail was overwhelming. He had no idea breasts were so receptive to the slightest touch. Vanessa's wasn’t even uncovered and they made him squirm.
“God,” he groaned before he could stop himself. Jack’s grin widened in satisfaction.
“Feels good, doesn’t it? Every touch goes both ways. You squeeze her,” He pressed Katy’s hand down onto one of Vanessa’s breasts, forcing Philip to feel it fully, “And you are her.”
Philip arched into the contact despite himself. His hands moved up without any conscious thought. The weight of her breast in his palm, the nipple reacting instantly under his touch, each tiny spark flooded through him in a way his male body never reacted to anything but pressure on his cock.
He kneaded once, twice, and heat surged low in his stomach, between his thighs, turning his panties damp. His back bowed off the mattress, mouth falling open in a helpless sound.
Jack kissed him then. Katy’s mouth grazing Vanessa's jaw, the corner of her mouth, teasing as it moved around.
Every brush of her sweet lips left a wet, burning mark. Philip turned away, breathless, but Jack followed, biting gently at Vanessa’s neck until Philip gasped.
His thighs clenched hard. Something slick and molten was spreading there, pulsing with every beat of his heart. He could feel the absence, the soft, tender heat where his cock would usually be straining.
The pressure of denim against it only sharpened the ache. He needed Jack to touch Vanessa's pussy. He needed pressure. Jack ground down lightly and Philip bucked up helplessly, his own hands gripping Katy’s hips tight, chasing the friction he’d die without.
“Stop,” he panted, but the word broke halfway, turning into a moan. Jack chuckled low.
“Your body doesn’t want me to stop.” He kissed Vanessa again. Her lips plump, glossy, trembling beneath Katy’s teasing press. Philip’s breath hitched and his tongue flicked nervously against the edge of his teeth.
Every nerve screamed to close the distance, to taste what it felt like to kiss as a girl, to be kissed as a girl. Jack deepened the grind of their hips. Philip’s breath hitched sharply, a helpless whimper leaving his throat.
Heat surged through his belly, down his thighs, the ache between his legs swelling into a throbbing need. He arched against Katy, nails digging into her waist. There’s no way he was going to be able to say no. Jack had to make him cum.
Jack pulled back slightly, asking with twinkling eyes, “Shall we see how good Katy is at eating pussy?”
Philip knew what his answer should be, but his entire body was throbbing, yes yes yes.
Their mouths hovered a fraction apart, breaths mingling. The world narrowed to that single point of contact waiting to happen. Philip’s lips parted, ready, needy.
“Vanessa? Katy?” The voice cut through the fog like a blade, followed by the rap of knuckles on the door.
Philip’s eyes flew wide. Jack froze above him, both of them panting hard. “Vanessa, Katy!” another girl called from the hall. “We need you for the final discussions for tonight’s mixer!”
Silence. Only their ragged breaths, the hot press of bodies still locked together. Jack swore under his breath, rolling off Vanessa reluctantly.
“Just when things were about to get really good.”
Philip scrambled upright, Vanessa’s hair tangling in his face, chest heaving, nipples still hard and aching. He shoved shaky hands through the strands, trying to compose himself, though the slick heat between his thighs throbbed in open defiance.
He knew they should have kept their heads. If they let curiosity drag them off course they would blow the whole point of the night. The spell would end when it wanted and they had no idea when that would be.
Another knock. “Come on, you two! Hurry up! Megan saw you get in earlier, I know you’re in there.”
Jack smirked, tugging Katy’s tank top straight as if they hadn’t just been seconds from fucking each other into oblivion.
“Guess there’s more fun ahead. Don’t think you’re off the hook though, I’m still going to eat that pussy later and I fully expect to get repaid in kind.”
Philip sat frozen, heart still hammering, his mind spinning so fast he worried he might throw up.
With the sorority girls having already taken well known countermeasures to deal with any would be panty thieves, he thinks the chances of completing the challenge are near zero.
However, when his best friend Jack claims to have a plan involving a little magic and burrowing the bodies of his crush Vanessa and her roommate Katy, he knows he is in for a long night ahead when things don't exactly end up going to plan...
Note: This is a commissioned work that has not been personally written by me. I have been granted permission to distribute and share the story by the original author.
The floor of Delta Epsilon’s house was sticky.
Beer, cheap cologne, and stale pizza had seeped into the carpet like a second skin, and Philip had the honor of scrubbing it clean while half a dozen brothers lounged on couches watching basketball highlights.
“Missed a spot,” one of them called, deliberately tilting a red Solo cup so that the last of his drink bled out onto the carpet inches from Philip’s sponge.
Philip clenched his jaw. He’d been degraded all semester, fetching fast food at three in the morning, running errands that skirted the edge of being criminal, serving as human furniture during drinking games. He told himself it would be worth it. Delta Epsilon’s parties were legendary, the kind of place girls lined up to get into. More importantly, alumni connections meant a shot at internships that led to real careers. You suffered now, you cashed in later.
Jack, naturally, thrived. He was perched on the arm of a sofa, balancing a tray of wings for two seniors, grinning like the humiliation was a party of its own.
“How’s that knee grease holding up, Phil?” he teased, eyebrows bouncing. Philip muttered something under his breath, pressing the sponge hard enough to leave his knuckles white. He’d thought pledging with his best friend would make things easier. Instead, Jack’s bottomless energy only made Philip feel like the boring one, always one step away from quitting.
The pledge master, Trent, finally called them over once the brothers had eaten their fill.
“You’ve made it further than many,” he said, addressing both Philip and Jack while tapping the ash off his cigar. “Scrubbing toilets, babysitting drunk brothers, taking whatever punishment we throw at you, you did it all without complaint. But Delta doesn’t hand out membership for free. There’s one last hurdle.”
Jack’s eyes lit up, while Philip felt his stomach knot. Trent leaned forward. “You’ve got until Saturday morning to bring us proof that you’re worthy of being Delta Epsilons. And by proof, I mean the underwear of one of the Theta sisters across the street.”
A ripple of laughter passed through the room. Someone whistled. Another shouted, “Better hope they’re lace!”
Philip’s face burned hot. He’d expected something brutal. A dangerous stunt, or maybe even a tattoo or branding, not…this. Not something that felt like the set-up to a police record for being a creep.
Jack, of course, grinned like he’d just been handed a golden ticket. “Piece of cake,” he said.
“Piece of felony,” Philip muttered.
Trent ignored the comment. “You get caught, that’s your problem. Theta girls are sick of pranks. They’ll eat you alive if they catch you sneaking around. Fail, and you’ll have to re-pledge next semester, if we even let you back in. Succeed, and you’ll be full brothers by sunrise.”
He flicked his cigar ash into an empty beer can, and the matter was closed. Philip and Jack were dismissed like servants, slipping out into the cool night air. The frat house behind them thumped with bass as the next round of drinking games began.
Across the street, the Theta house glowed with warm yellow light, its windows alive with the silhouettes of girls laughing, moving and living in a world that felt forbidden.
Philip shoved his hands into his hoodie pocket. “This is insane. They want us to break into a sorority house. Forget expulsion, that’s actual jail time if we’re caught and reported.”
Jack slung an arm around his shoulder, grinning as if he hadn’t heard a word. “Come on, man. It’s tradition. Everybody who ever wore Delta letters has done something crazy like this. We’ll figure it out. We always do.”
Philip shrugged him off. “You mean you’ll figure it out. And drag me with you.”
Jack’s grin widened. “Exactly. Don’t worry, I’ve got a plan.” That phrase, I’ve got a plan, was the single most dangerous thing Jack could say. Philip knew better, but as he stared up at the Theta house, he couldn’t shake the truth. They’d come too far to back out now.
Philip assumed Jack’s “plan” would be something stupid but doable. Like sneaking into the Theta laundry room, bribing a janitor, or maybe finessing a stolen bra from lost-and-found.
What he didn’t expect, as their deadline creeped ever closer, was Jack pulling a battered paperback out of his backpack like he’d just smuggled the Necronomicon out of the library and declaring their troubles were about to be a thing of the past.
“What is that?” Philip asked, eyeing the faded title embossed with moons and symbols.
“Wiccan Rites and Rituals of the Body,” Jack said with a grin so wide it could split his face. “This baby is going to get us in.”
Philip stared. “That’s not a plan you idiot. That’s…props from a bad horror movie.”
“Correction,” Jack said, flipping through pages until he landed on one marked with a sticky note. “It’s a possession spell. All we need is something personal from the Thetas. Hair is perfect. One strand, and we’re golden.”
Philip blinked. “Hair. You want us to pluck a strand off someone’s head, mix it into some potion, and what? Astral-project into their underwear drawer?”
Jack leaned forward, whispering even though there was nobody else around. “Exactly. But into them, not their underwear drawer.”
For a moment, Philip couldn’t even find words. His friend was dead serious. His blue eyes glittered with the manic light of a man who believed in his own insanity. Philip pinched the bridge of his nose. “Jack, you need help.”
“Correction again. We need help, and this is it. Think about it. We don’t sneak around, we don’t break and enter, we just become them. Walk right in the front door. Grab what we need and walk back out again. Easy as pie.”
Philip wanted to laugh. He wanted to tell Jack this was why pledges got expelled, why college urban legends started with two idiots reading a so-called spell book. But something about Jack’s certainty unsettled him.
“How do you even plan to get the hair?” Philip asked, deciding to humor him.
Jack smirked. “You’re partnered with Vanessa in chem lab. I’m with her roommate, Katy. Both of them happen to belong to the Theta Sorority. Boom. Easy.”
Philip’s stomach lurched. Vanessa, the Vanessa, the girl he’d spent the better part of a semester trying not to stare at. She was sharp, funny, gorgeous, and so out of his league it hurt. The idea of stealing a strand of her hair wasn’t just impossible, it was mortifying.
“Jack, if I even look at her hair the wrong way she’ll know. She’ll tell everyone. I’ll be branded as the campus creep for the rest of my life.”
Jack clapped him on the back. “Relax. I’ll take care of mine. You just…fumble your way through like usual. She likes you, right? I’m sure she’s called you sweet before. She won’t even notice.”
Lab that afternoon was a fluorescent blur of glassware and nerves. Bunsen burners hissed, and the sharp scent of acetone hung in the air. Vanessa tied her glossy black hair into a messy bun as she leaned over the counter, the soft hum she made under her breath cutting through the low chatter of other pairs.
Philip adjusted the clamp on their stand and tried to steady his hands, pretending to check the thermometer while sneaking a glance at her profile. The long lashes, the soft curve of her cheek when she smiled. He’d barely worked up the nerve to say something to her, when the door swung open and Ryan Hale strolled in.
Ryan wasn’t a student in their class, he was a teaching assistant who was busy with his Masters. The kind of nerd who looked more like he belonged in a movie poster than a chemistry lab. The Henry Cavill of the campus. Tall, effortlessly confident, his sleeves rolled to the elbow, showing forearms that probably did not belong to someone who spent his evenings doing titration reports.
“Need a hand, Vanessa?” he asked, his voice deep and smooth enough to make the words sound like an inside joke.
Vanessa’s whole face lit up. “Ryan! You’re still hanging around the underclassmen? I thought you were too cool for basic chem.”
“Guess I missed the fun crowd.” He winked, stepping close enough that Philip caught the faint smell of his cologne. Something woodsy and smug. Philip’s stomach twisted. He busied himself pretending to check their notes, but every word between Vanessa and Ryan pulled his focus like a hook through his ribs.
“Still showing off that perfect technique, huh?” Ryan teased, leaning an elbow on the counter. “Could use someone like you to calibrate my disastrous love life.”
Vanessa laughed, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “I told you last time, you need better lab partners, not better lines.”
“Maybe I just need one who actually likes me,” he said, voice dipping into something low and knowing. “You still wearing that purple dress that makes everyone else forget the experiment?”
She grinned, shaking her head. “Keep talking, and you’ll set the sprinklers off again.”
Ryan chuckled, backing away with a little salute. “Worth it.”
Philip’s jaw locked so tight it hurt. He shifted his beaker just to make noise. “Vanessa, uh, the solution’s ready,” he muttered.
She turned back, still smiling, a faint pink on her cheeks. “Right, sorry, I got distracted.” The way she said it made Philip want to vanish into the nearest fume hood.
Ryan gave him a nod that felt more like dismissal. “Good work, man. Don’t let her boss you around too much.”
Philip forced a tight smile. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
When Ryan finally moved on to check another table, the tension in Philip’s shoulders eased only slightly. Vanessa was still smiling to herself, twirling her pencil between her fingers. “He’s such a dork,” she said fondly.
“Yeah,” Philip replied, voice flat. “A real geek.”
She glanced at him, oblivious. “You okay? You look kind of pale.”
“Fine,” he lied. His pulse thundered. He hated how obvious it felt. The jealousy, the ridiculous possessiveness over a girl who barely saw him as more than a partner for lab reports.
Meanwhile, across the room, Jack was all charm. Katy, tall, athletic, focused on the work at hand with cool intensity, rolled her eyes at his constant jokes, but she didn’t seem to actively hate him. Jack’s hands moved casually, as if the experiment was background noise to whatever ridiculous story he was spinning.
Philip’s heart pounded. He couldn’t do it. Not to Vanessa. The thought of deliberately stealing a piece of her felt worse than any frat punishment. But then her bun slipped, and a single strand drifted onto the lab bench.
Philip froze and stared at it like it was radioactive. One perfect strand, right there. All he had to do was pick it up without her noticing. His hand twitched. Sweat beaded at his hairline. Vanessa reached for the pipette, and he panicked. He grabbed the strand too quickly, shoving it into his pocket like a thief.
She glanced at him, puzzled. “You good?” she asked.
Philip’s laugh came out strangled. “Yeah. Totally. Fine. Just, science, you know?”
She gave him a strange look, then turned back to the experiment. Across the room, Jack caught his eye and subtly flashed a triumphant thumbs-up. He mouthed, Got it. Philip wanted to throw up.
After class, they met outside, ducking into a quiet corner near the library. Jack pulled a small plastic baggie from his pocket and wiggled it proudly. Katy’s strand of hair gleaming inside. Philip shoved his hands deep into his hoodie, where Vanessa’s strand burned against his palm like contraband.
“This is insane,” he muttered. “If she’d caught me, I’d have been ruined.”
Jack was practically buzzing. “But she didn’t. We’ve got everything. Today, we drink the potion. Tomorrow, we’re legends.”
Philip stared at him, feeling his chest tighten. It wasn’t the frat house that scared him anymore. It was Jack’s unwavering certainty, the gleam in his eye like he’d already crossed a line Philip couldn’t even see.
Back in their room, Jack had cleared his desk, pushing aside textbooks and laundry to make space for the battered paperback and a mess of supplies that looked like they’d been stolen from a Spirit Halloween clearance bin. Mason jars, candles, a bag of salt and something that Philip really, really hoped was red food coloring.
Philip sat on the bed, arms crossed, trying not to look at the plastic bag in his pocket. Inside was Vanessa’s hair, a single dark strand that felt heavier than lead.
“This is ridiculous,” he muttered. “You’re going to set off the fire alarm, and we’ll get kicked out before we even fail the pledge.”
Jack was hunched over the desk, tongue poking from the corner of his mouth as he measured powder into a chipped coffee mug.
“Correction. You’re going to stop being so negative, because we’re going to waltz into Theta’s house like we own it and take our time finding the perfect proof. Something small, sexy and lacy. Then we hand it to Trent and we’re done. Easiest initiation ever and we’re lifelong members of the Delta Epsilon brotherhood.”
Philip shook his head. “You actually believe all the crap coming out of your mouth, don’t you?”
“Yes. Because I know this is going to work.” Jack’s grin was feral. He held up his mug, fizzing with something dark and faintly purple. “And very soon, you’re going to have to swallow all your pessimistic, dismissive words and admit that I’m the GOAT.” Without waiting for a response, he dropped Katy’s wavy strand of hair into the concoction.
Philip looked at his own brew, waiting for him on the desk. It reeked faintly of vinegar and something metallic. “This looks like cough syrup that went bad.”
Jack grabbed the paperback, muttering words under his breath. Latin? Gibberish? Philip couldn’t tell. The candlelight threw shadows across Jack’s face, making him look more unhinged than usual.
“Jack,” Philip said slowly, “You get that if this doesn’t work, we may be drinking poison?”
“Trust me,” Jack said, gesturing meaningfully at Philip’s mug. Those two words had been the prelude to every disaster Philip had lived through with him. The broken window in high school. The near arrest in freshman year. And now this.
Philip sighed, pulled Vanessa’s hair from his pocket, and dropped it into the liquid. It curled and fizzed, dissolving into the mixture like it had never been.
“Bottoms up,” Jack said cheerfully, chugging the contents in one long pull.
Philip raised his mug. The liquid shimmered oddly, like heat ripples above asphalt. He pinched his nose and tossed it back. It burned. Like swallowing melted pennies chased with bleach. His stomach roiled instantly, bile rising up.
“Jesus Christ,” he choked, slamming the cup down. “That’s not magic, that’s battery acid.”
Jack wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, coughing hard, but his grin didn’t falter. “Wait for it.”
Philip blinked and the dorm room folded in on itself. Candlelight bent sideways and the next breath tasted like coffee and paper. He was not in their room anymore. He was sitting at a table under tall windows, late afternoon light spilling amber over open textbooks and half empty cups.
The scent was library quiet and caffeine. Hair slid across his cheek. Definitely not his. It was long and silky. His hands were smaller, nails pink, wrists delicate. The weight on his chest tugged when he breathed. He was looking through Vanessa’s eyes.
Across from him, Katy sat in a chair with a pen in her hand and her mouth parted in a quiet, startled sound that belonged to Jack. “Holy shit,” Jack whispered in Katy’s voice.
Philip’s pulse spiked. “How the hell did I get here?” he asked under his breath, before the realization hit him fully. Jack’s crazy plan worked. He glanced down, eyes bugging at the soft cleavage he encountered. He was on the verge of completely freaking out. “Keep it together,” he muttered to himself. The sound of Vanessa's voice only sent him spiraling further into chaos.
Jack’s grin curled slow and wicked as he looked down at himself and then around them. He started to pull the top of Katy’s tank forward so he could peek at her breasts, before Philip shot him a look that could choke a man at twenty paces.
“Don’t,” Philip hissed. “Katy would never do something like that in public!”
Jack laughed, high and breathy in Katy’s voice. “You’re telling me you’re not even curious? Come on, man. We’re in. This is unreal. Don’t you want to know what it feels like to them when we touch them?”
Philip swallowed hard, trying to calm himself. He gripped the edge of the table to keep himself from spiraling into sensory overload.
“This…this isn’t possible,” he whispered. But the evidence pressed in from every side. The scent of citrus shampoo in his hair, the tug of bra straps against his shoulders, the fullness in his chest when he inhaled. The emptiness where his cock should be.
Philip’s eyes darted anxiously around the library cafe. “We need to get out of here before someone notices something off,” Philip said. “People pick up on the smallest wrong note.” He was terrified that someone would realize the girls were possessed.
He spent way too much time staring at Vanessa, but that didn’t mean he could copy her actions. If anyone watched them closely, they’d know immediately that there were impostors inhabiting Vanessa and Katy.
“We should go back to their room and fool around,” Jack suggested immediately, hands on Katy’s breasts, squeezing idly.
“Jesus, Jack, stop that! They’re in public. We’re in public…”
This was such a mind-fuck. Clearly they were literally possessing Vanessa and Katy’s bodies. Where was Vanessa's consciousness now? Asleep? Aware? He didn’t feel like someone was watching him, so hopefully she had no idea what he was doing. And where were his and Jack’s bodies? Still in their dorm room? Fuck. If he’d known there was any chance of this working, he’d never have gone through with it.
“Come on bestie, let’s go home,” Jack cooed at him. “I’m just dying to get out of these pesky clothes.”
Jack clearly had zero second thoughts about any of this. Then again, Jack had never had a second thought in his life. He rarely had first ones. Philip decided that only made him a bigger idiot for always following his friend’s crazy plans.
Philip took a deep breath, gathered Vanessa’s things and slung her messenger bag over her shoulder before getting up on shaky legs. The plan was to reach Theta house without interacting with anyone who knew the girls.
Vanessa was outgoing and popular, so he kept his eyes trained on the ground to avoid any accidental socializing.
He was doing his best to focus on the mission, but every move betrayed him. Vanessa’s curves shifted differently from his own. Her hips swayed without permission when he walked. The tug of the denim skirt around her thighs was tighter than he was used to, the waistband sitting higher, the soft curtain of hair continuously falling into his eyes. And he kept fighting the urge to run his fingertips over her lustrous, satiny skin.
Philip thanked his lucky stars that it was late afternoon sliding toward evening and most of the Theta girls were either at dinner, in class, or busy with the mixer prep.
The second piece of good luck was the fact that the first year members of the sorority had the downstairs bedrooms and Katy and Vanessa had their names picked out in glittery wooden letters on their door. Which saved him and Jack from being caught wandering aimlessly into someone else’s room and rifling through their underwear.
“Come on,” he hissed at Jack, nearly having heart failure when he heard Vanessa’s sweet, bubbly voice, before remembering it came from his own mouth.
As soon as they entered the room, Philip froze like a deer in headlights.
The room smelled like them. A heady mix of perfume, make-up and detergent. Several photos of Vanessa and Katy were pinned to the notice board. Keys with a little Theta charm lay on a desk. Lip gloss on each bedside table. A folded flyer about the upcoming mixer. Every object made him feel like an intruder in a life that wasn’t his.
Then he looked up and saw his reflection thrown back at him from the floor length mirror fastened to the opposite wall. Vanessa stared back. Her round face framed by shiny black hair, lips glossed in pale pink, eyes wide with Philip’s panic.
“This isn’t possible,” he murmured hoarsely.
Jack crossed the room with Katy’s energetic stride, hair swinging over her shoulder. He leaned down, far too close, eyes alight with mischief.
“Possible or not, it’s happening. And we’ve got hours before it wears off. Wanna play?” Philip’s pulse thundered. He was in Vanessa’s body. Jack was in Katy’s. He had no idea what their real bodies were doing or where, only that they were not here. For the first time since pledging Delta, he realized he was more terrified of his best friend than of any frat brother.
Jack was practically bouncing around like a kid in a candy store, repeatedly mentioning how awesome it is to have tits.
“This is insane,” Philip muttered, running a hand through Vanessa’s long hair. The strands slipped through his fingers like silk, brushing the back of his neck, constantly in his peripheral vision. Every little tickle made him twitch. “I feel like I’m drowning in shampoo.”
Jack snorted. “Yeah. It’s fucking awesome. Look at this.” He shook his head, letting Katy’s long, dark hair fall over her shoulders, framing her face, then bit her lower lip between her teeth and winked at Philip seductively. “Tell me this doesn’t look hot.”
Philip turned away, but not before catching a glimpse of the curve of Katy’s collarbone, the tan line along her shoulder where a sports bra must’ve once sat. He gritted his teeth.
“We’re only here to grab underwear and then we get out. That’s it.” Jack made a distracted sound, which didn’t entirely sound like agreement.
He was testing everything. Squeezing Katy’s biceps and delighting in the subtle muscle definition, stretching out one long leg and flexing her calf muscles, even bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet as if testing how springy she was.
Philip was still focused on the reflection in the mirror. He stepped closer, and the image followed, familiar and foreign all at once. He raised a hand. She raised a hand. Jack appeared beside him, sliding Katy’s body into view. She was taller, leaner, her shoulders broader than Vanessa’s.
Katy was studious and fairly quiet normally, but Jack’s grin warped her into something hungry. A femme fatale in search of her next prey.
“Dude, look at us,” Jack whispered. “We actually pulled it off. We’re fucking hot!”
Philip swallowed, heat crawling up his neck. “We shouldn’t be looking. This is… it’s too much.”
“Too much fun,” Jack corrected. He pressed closer to the mirror, tilting Katy’s head, pursing her lips, sticking out her tongue just to see how it looked. He laughed in delight. “God, the way this mouth moves, it’s unreal.”
Philip tried to drag his eyes away, but curiosity betrayed him. His gaze dipped, catching sight of Vanessa’s chest in the reflection. The neckline of her shirt clung close, clearly showing the outline of her nipples. He bit the inside of his cheek and turned away sharply. He was not going to lift her top and take a peek.
“You’re staring,” Jack teased, slipping behind him and resting Katy’s hands on Vanessa’s hips.
Katy’s reflection loomed over Vanessa’s smaller frame in the mirror. “What’s it like, having the body of your crush? Bet you’ve fantasized about having unfettered access to her before. Touching every inch of her. Running your palms over her perky tits. Cupping her pussy.”
Philip’s face went hot. “Shut up.”
Jack leaned closer, his voice dropping, Katy’s lips brushing dangerously near Philip’s ear. “She’s soft, isn’t she? Curvy. Everything you imagined. And she’s right here. Aching to know what your hands would feel like sliding all over her.”
Philip’s breath caught. He could feel the warmth of Jack’s presence, the whisper of Katy’s hair brushing his cheek. He tried to step away, but Vanessa’s body didn’t obey with the same steadiness as his own.
His hip bumped the desk, throwing him off balance. Jack’s hand shot out, steadying him. Grabbing his hips instead of his arm. Philip stiffened. The pressure of Katy’s palm against Vanessa’s midriff was startling. A hot reminder that this wasn’t a joke anymore.
“Jack,” Philip said, voice low with warning. But Jack only grinned, tightening his grip slightly, fingertips sliding along the hem of Vanessa’s shirt, tickling the strip of skin underneath.
“Relax. We’ve got time before the potion wears off. Why waste it panicking when we could explore?”
Philip shoved his hand away, heart hammering too fast. “We came here for one reason. Don’t fuck this up with your usual bullshit.”
Jack backed off in mock surrender, leaning against the wall and raising Katy’s hands. “Fine, fine. You want to pass up a once in a lifetime opportunity by being a pussy, instead of playing with one, go ahead.”
Philip ignored him and pulled open one of the dresser drawers, coming face to face with the mother lode.
A mass of lace and cotton, bright colors and neutrals, G-strings and briefs and bras, all folded neatly in little piles. He fumbled, pulling out a pair at random, trying not to notice the little bow stitched along the waistband, or theorize about which of the girls it belonged to.
“Got it,” he muttered, stuffing it into his pocket.
“We should leave and go and stash this somewhere so we can retrieve it when we’re us again.”
“Plenty of time for that. Are you seriously passing up the opportunity to find out what turns your crush on?”
Philip’s chest heaved, the bra beneath his shirt pinching tighter with the movement. Every tiny sensation was amplified in this shape. He had no idea girls had such sensitive bodies. If Vanessa's neck and shoulders were this responsive to stimuli, what about the more… delicate areas?
Jack leaned against the wall, watching his friend closely. Katy’s arms crossed under her breasts, pushing them up in a way that made Philip avert his eyes.
“You really think you can ignore this?” Jack asked softly. “Ignore her?”
Philip didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Because the truth was, even as he tried to ignore it, every nerve in Vanessa’s body was alive with a tingling feeling he couldn’t shut off.
He told himself he wouldn’t look at the mirror again. That he had the underwear and all that was left to do was wait for the potion to burn off. But every time he moved, Vanessa’s body reminded him he wasn’t himself. The way her thighs brushed together when he shifted his stance. The heat trapped in the curve between her breasts. The way her nipples tightened when she saw the way Katy stared at her. The sudden, sharp contraction of pleasure between her legs.
Each detail was louder than thought. And Jack wouldn’t fucking give him space to breathe.
“You’re wound too tight,” Jack murmured, stepping closer again. Katy’s taller body loomed behind him, all lean lines and toned strength. He set Katy’s hands on Vanessa's shoulders from behind, massaging with deliberate slowness.
“Loosen up.”
Philip froze. The sensation was alien. Slender fingers pressing into the slope of Vanessa’s shoulders, kneading muscle softer than his own. His back arched without meaning to, chest pushing forward. He could feel the heat in his panties and almost smell the pheromones in the air.
“Jack-”
“Shh.”
Katy’s breath ghosted over his ear, warm and taunting. “Allow her to feel it. Her body isn’t fighting me. She likes this.”
Philip hated the way heat rippled through him at the words. The way Vanessa’s nipples pebbled instantly, turning aching and hard beneath her bra when Jack’s thumbs kept sensually running across her muscles.
He tried to step away, but Jack’s grip on her waist drew her back. Katy’s chest pressed flush against Vanessa’s back. Firm breasts molding against soft skin. Philip gasped, a small, betraying sound.
“That’s it,” Jack whispered, lips brushing the shell of Vanessa's ear. “You feel that, don’t you? How different it is?”
Philip bit his lip hard. But it didn’t stop his body from reacting. His chest ached with sensitivity, every brush of fabric against his nipples sparking hot shivers. His hips shifted against Jack’s hold, searching without meaning to. His ass pressing back, almost expecting to feel an erect cock there, relaxing when all he encountered was softness.
Jack slid one hand lower, over Vanessa’s flat stomach, fingertips grazing the waist of her denim skirt. Philip’s pulse spiked. He could feel the shape of her body in ways he’d only imagined.
“God, you’re actually shaking,” Jack teased. He pressed his palm harder, dragging upward until he cupped one of Vanessa’s breasts through her shirt. His hand molded perfectly to the curve, fingers sinking in slightly before closing over the nipples and pinching.
Philip jolted like he’d been shocked. The pressure sent heat exploding through him. So much sharper than he ever imagined. A moan slipped out, broken and needy, before he could stop it. Jack laughed low, his voice a husky echo in Katy’s mouth.
“I knew it. You’re loving this.”
Philip shook his head, but his body betrayed him. Vanessa’s breasts were soft in his own hands when Jack pulled them into place, squeezing and kneading.
The ache in his chest spread downward, a molten restlessness that coiled between his legs, where there was no longer any familiar weight. Only a slick, sensitive heat that made his thighs tense. Jack leaned closer, kissing the side of Vanessa's neck.
Katy’s lips left tingling sparks against her skin. He gasped again, tilting his head back without meaning to, giving Jack room to explore.
“You always wanted to know what she felt like, didn’t you?” Jack murmured between kisses. “Now you do. Every inch. Every little twitch. If you ever get the chance, you could make her cum in minutes.”
Philip squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t want to want this. But Vanessa’s body was singing beneath his skin, her curves hypersensitive to every touch, every squeeze. When Jack dragged his hand lower, cupping the swell of her ass through denim, Philip’s knees went weak. He stumbled, and they tumbled together onto the nearest bed. Vanessa’s smaller frame pinned beneath Katy’s.
Jack landed on top, grinning down, hair falling in a dark curtain around their faces. “Just lie back and enjoy it,” he said, voice husky. “I’ll do all the work and you can take notes in your head.”
Katy’s hips pressed down, grinding just enough for Philip to feel the press of her pussy against Vanessa's. The pleasure nearly made him see stars. What would it feel like if Katy actually touched her clit? Dragged her tongue over it? Sucked it between those soft lips?
Philip whimpered, his hands trapped between them, pressed against the curves of Katy’s sides. He could feel the warmth of skin through fabric. Every nerve screamed with arousal. Jack leaned down, lips hovering over his.
“Tell me you don’t want this.”
Philip’s heart thundered. His lips parted, and he didn’t know if he was going to say I don’t or kiss Katy. His pulse roared in his ears. He could feel the weight of Vanessa’s chest rising and falling too fast, her heartbeat thundering in her ribs like a trapped animal.
Jack hovered over him, Katy’s taller frame caging him against the mattress, their borrowed hair spilling together in a curtain that smelled faintly of fruit.
“This isn’t funny anymore,” Philip rasped, but his voice cracked, betraying the tremor of arousal under the words.
Jack smirked. “I’m not joking.” He lowered Katy’s body until their breasts touched, brushing Katy’s peaked nipples against Vanessa’s rock hard ones. The friction alone made Philip gasp, heat shooting through him. It wasn’t like pressing chest-to-chest with another guy.
The give, the shape, the electric sting of nipples touching, every detail was overwhelming. He had no idea breasts were so receptive to the slightest touch. Vanessa's wasn’t even uncovered and they made him squirm.
“God,” he groaned before he could stop himself. Jack’s grin widened in satisfaction.
“Feels good, doesn’t it? Every touch goes both ways. You squeeze her,” He pressed Katy’s hand down onto one of Vanessa’s breasts, forcing Philip to feel it fully, “And you are her.”
Philip arched into the contact despite himself. His hands moved up without any conscious thought. The weight of her breast in his palm, the nipple reacting instantly under his touch, each tiny spark flooded through him in a way his male body never reacted to anything but pressure on his cock.
He kneaded once, twice, and heat surged low in his stomach, between his thighs, turning his panties damp. His back bowed off the mattress, mouth falling open in a helpless sound.
Jack kissed him then. Katy’s mouth grazing Vanessa's jaw, the corner of her mouth, teasing as it moved around.
Every brush of her sweet lips left a wet, burning mark. Philip turned away, breathless, but Jack followed, biting gently at Vanessa’s neck until Philip gasped.
His thighs clenched hard. Something slick and molten was spreading there, pulsing with every beat of his heart. He could feel the absence, the soft, tender heat where his cock would usually be straining.
The pressure of denim against it only sharpened the ache. He needed Jack to touch Vanessa's pussy. He needed pressure. Jack ground down lightly and Philip bucked up helplessly, his own hands gripping Katy’s hips tight, chasing the friction he’d die without.
“Stop,” he panted, but the word broke halfway, turning into a moan. Jack chuckled low.
“Your body doesn’t want me to stop.” He kissed Vanessa again. Her lips plump, glossy, trembling beneath Katy’s teasing press. Philip’s breath hitched and his tongue flicked nervously against the edge of his teeth.
Every nerve screamed to close the distance, to taste what it felt like to kiss as a girl, to be kissed as a girl. Jack deepened the grind of their hips. Philip’s breath hitched sharply, a helpless whimper leaving his throat.
Heat surged through his belly, down his thighs, the ache between his legs swelling into a throbbing need. He arched against Katy, nails digging into her waist. There’s no way he was going to be able to say no. Jack had to make him cum.
Jack pulled back slightly, asking with twinkling eyes, “Shall we see how good Katy is at eating pussy?”
Philip knew what his answer should be, but his entire body was throbbing, yes yes yes.
Their mouths hovered a fraction apart, breaths mingling. The world narrowed to that single point of contact waiting to happen. Philip’s lips parted, ready, needy.
“Vanessa? Katy?” The voice cut through the fog like a blade, followed by the rap of knuckles on the door.
Philip’s eyes flew wide. Jack froze above him, both of them panting hard. “Vanessa, Katy!” another girl called from the hall. “We need you for the final discussions for tonight’s mixer!”
Silence. Only their ragged breaths, the hot press of bodies still locked together. Jack swore under his breath, rolling off Vanessa reluctantly.
“Just when things were about to get really good.”
Philip scrambled upright, Vanessa’s hair tangling in his face, chest heaving, nipples still hard and aching. He shoved shaky hands through the strands, trying to compose himself, though the slick heat between his thighs throbbed in open defiance.
He knew they should have kept their heads. If they let curiosity drag them off course they would blow the whole point of the night. The spell would end when it wanted and they had no idea when that would be.
Another knock. “Come on, you two! Hurry up! Megan saw you get in earlier, I know you’re in there.”
Jack smirked, tugging Katy’s tank top straight as if they hadn’t just been seconds from fucking each other into oblivion.
“Guess there’s more fun ahead. Don’t think you’re off the hook though, I’m still going to eat that pussy later and I fully expect to get repaid in kind.”
Philip sat frozen, heart still hammering, his mind spinning so fast he worried he might throw up.
Your friend Michelle discovers that she can astral project, but you don't believe her at first. To prove it to you, she decides to swap spirits with her cat, and the proof is pretty convincing! However, when Michelle leaves to explore the world for an hour in the cat's body, things take an unexpected twist with the cat in her body....
I was lounging on our battered sofa, scrolling mindlessly through my phone, when Michelle burst through the front door, her brown eyes wide with an energy I rarely saw outside of a soccer match.
“You are not going to believe what happened,” she said, tossing her keys onto the counter with a clatter.
“You finally won the lottery and we can move out of this dump?” I asked, not looking up.
“Better. Way better.” She plopped down next to me, making the old springs squeak. “I figured out how to… leave my body.”
That got my attention. I lowered my phone. “Michelle, if this is about that weird incense you bought last week, I told you, it just smells like a forest fire.”
“No, listen! It’s called astral projection. I was meditating, and suddenly, I was floating near the ceiling, looking down at myself on the floor. And then… I figured out I could pull other spirits out, too. Swap them around.”
I stared at her. My roommate was many things—a fantastic cook, a loyal friend, a terrifying opponent in Mario Kart—but she wasn’t prone to outright delusions. “Okay. Prove it.”
She grinned, a brilliant, challenging flash of white teeth. “How?”
My eyes drifted to the other occupant of the room. Buttercup, Michelle’s fluffy orange tabby, was curled in a sunbeam on the rug, purring like a tiny engine. That cat adored me. More than most animals did, actually. It was weirdly flattering.
“Swap with Buttercup,” I said, gesturing with my chin. “Right now. Let’s see it.”
Michelle’s grin didn’t falter. “You got it.” She sat cross-legged on the floor, facing the cat. She closed her eyes, took a few deep, deliberate breaths, and her body went unnaturally still. A soft, almost imperceptible shimmer seemed to pass from her to the cat.
Buttercup, who had been sleeping, suddenly jerked. The cat stood up, stretched with an oddly stiff, deliberate motion, and then looked directly at me with Michelle’s intense, intelligent gaze in its green eyes. It then promptly tried to lick its own shoulder, overbalanced, and tumbled onto its side with a soft mrrp.
Meanwhile, Michelle’s body slumped. Then it slowly got to its hands and knees. It looked around the room with wide, confused eyes, then focused on Buttercup’s body. It—she—the Michelle-body let out a plaintive, confused meow. It crawled a few feet toward the sunbeam, then just sat there, staring at its own human hands with fascination before trying to bat at a dust mote drifting in the light.
My jaw was on the floor. “Holy shit.”
A minute later, the same shimmer reversed. Buttercup’s body gave a full-body shake and trotted off to the kitchen, presumably to check its food bowl. Michelle gasped back into her own form, blinking rapidly.
“See?” she said, her voice a little hoarse. “Told you.”
“I… yeah. I believe you.” The words felt inadequate. The world had just fundamentally shifted. “What was it like?”
A slow, delighted smile spread across her face. “It was… incredible. The senses are so different. Everything is smells and textures and angles. And the freedom! Being that small, that agile…” She looked over at Buttercup, who was now meticulously washing a paw. “I want to do it again. For longer. Like, an hour. Just to explore the neighborhood, see what it’s like.”
“Wait, you’re going to just… be a cat for an hour?”
“Why not? It’ll be fun. But,” she said, becoming serious. “You gotta watch my body. The cat’s soul will be in there. Just make sure it doesn’t wander off or try to climb the bookshelf or something. It should just kinda… sit there. Be cat-like.”
I looked at her human form, then at the oblivious cat. “Okay. I can babysit a human-shaped cat for an hour.”
“You’re the best.” She kissed my cheek quickly. “Okay, same drill. Back in a bit.”
She sat down again, closed her eyes, and that shimmer passed between them once more. Buttercup’s body paused its washing, stood up, and gave me a very deliberate, very human nod with its furry head. Then it trotted to the cat flap and slipped outside into the evening.
Michelle’s body, now inhabited by the cat’s spirit, slumped for a second before getting back on its hands and knees. It made a soft, curious noise and began to sniff at the carpet.
I sighed, settling back on the couch. This was going to be a long hour.
Except it wasn’t.
The moment the cat flap clicked shut, the behavior changed.
Michelle’s body stopped sniffing. It sat back on its heels, then smoothly, fluidly, rose to its feet. It brushed off the knees of its jeans with a familiar, human gesture. Then it turned to look at me.
The eyes were still Michelle’s warm brown, but the expression behind them was sharp, calculating, and utterly alien. A slow, sly smile touched lips I’d seen a thousand times.
“Well,” the creature in Michelle’s body said, its voice a perfect mimic of my roommate’s, but with a huskier, more deliberate cadence. “That was tedious.”
I froze. “Uhhhhhh......What?”
“Acting dumb. So boring.” It—she?—rolled Michelle’s shoulders and stretched, the movement sinuous and exaggerated. “But necessary. Couldn’t have her knowing, could we?”
“Knowing what?” I was on my feet now, my heart hammering against my ribs.
“That we’re not the simple little furballs you think we are.” She took a step toward me. “Cats have been around humans for millennia. We observe. We learn. We understand far more than we let on. Playing the fool is just… good strategy.”
My mind was reeling. “You… you can talk?”
“Of course I can talk. I’ve heard every conversation in this apartment. I know your secrets. I know her secrets.” Another step closer. The cat-spirit in Michelle’s body was moving with a predatory grace Michelle herself never possessed. “And I know what you like.”
I took an involuntary step back, hitting the edge of the sofa. “What are you talking about?”She was right in front of me now, looking up at me with Michelle’s face. She reached out and placed a hand on my chest. It was warm through my t-shirt. “You’re a healthy young male. I’ve seen the way you look at her when she comes out of the shower. The way you look at her friends when they visit.” Her other hand came up, a finger tracing my jawline. “It’s a simple biological drive. I understand it perfectly.”
“This is insane,” I breathed, but I didn’t push her away. I couldn’t move.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” she purred, her voice dropping to a whisper. “You’re not going to tell Michelle about this little conversation. You’re going to let her think her experiment was a complete success. That I was just a dumb animal in her body for an hour.”
“Why would I do that?”
The smile turned wicked. She leaned in, her breath hot against my ear. “Because I’m going to give you a… private incentive. A thank you for your discretion.”
She pulled back just enough to look me in the eye. Then, slowly, deliberately, she brought Michelle’s hand up to her own mouth. She puckered her lips slightly and slid the tip of her index finger between them, her eyes locked on mine. She made a soft, sucking sound, then pulled the wet finger out with a pop.
My whole body went rigid. The implication was unmistakable.
“A secret between us,” she murmured, her gaze dropping meaningfully to my waist. “And a very persuasive reason to keep it. What do you say?”
I couldn’t speak. My mind was a riot of confusion, disbelief, and a dark, traitorous thrill that shot straight to my core. This was Michelle’s body, my friend’s body, standing before me, but the intelligence behind those eyes was ancient, alien, and dangerously persuasive.
“I…” The word croaked out of me.
“Shhh,” she whispered, placing that same damp finger against my lips. The taste of salt and her lip gloss was startlingly intimate. “Don’t think. Just agree.”
Her other hand slid down my chest, over my stomach, and her fingers hooked into the waistband of my sweatpants. The look in her eyes was pure, unabashed feline curiosity mixed with a promise of decadent pleasure.
“You want to,” she stated, not asked. “Your body is already saying yes.”
She was right. I was painfully hard. The insanity of the situation, the forbidden nature of it, the sheer taboo of what was happening—it was short-circuiting my higher reasoning. This wasn’t Michelle. But it was her skin, her scent, her full lips now parting in a smile as she felt my reaction.
“Good,” she purred.
In one smooth motion, she pushed me back onto the sofa. I fell without resistance, looking up at her as she stood over me, a goddess of mischief in my roommate’s form. She knelt on the floor between my legs, her hands on my knees, pushing them apart. She held my gaze, that sly smile never fading, as she leaned forward.
But instead of going straight for where I expected, she nuzzled her face against my inner thigh, rubbing her cheek there like a cat marking its territory. A soft, rumbling sound vibrated from her throat—a purr. The sensation was utterly bizarre and electrifying.
“You smell of anxiety,” she murmured, her voice muffled against my leg. “And desire. A potent mix.”
She kissed the fabric over my thigh, then slowly, agonizingly slowly, began to nose her way upward. Her hands slid under my shirt, cool against my feverish skin, her short nails scraping lightly. Every movement was deliberate, observational, like she was learning me through touch.
When her mouth finally found me through the fabric, a hot, wet pressure, I gasped and arched off the couch. She chuckled, the sound vibrating through me.
“So responsive,” she said, pulling back just enough to hook her fingers in the waistband of my pants and boxers. In one tug, she bared me to the cool air of the apartment—and to her intense, observing gaze.
For a long moment, she just looked, her head tilted, as if examining fascinating prey. Then her human façade slipped just a fraction. Her tongue darted out for a quick, rough lick from base to tip, not a human kiss, but the coarse, grooming lick of a cat. It was so startlingly other that I cried out.
She seemed to relish my shock. “Different, isn’t it?” she said, before closing her mouth over me properly.
The contrast was dizzying. The act itself was all human technique—deep, sucking pressure, skillful use of her tongue—but the rhythm was off, punctuated by those occasional, rough, lapping strokes that were purely animal. She purred constantly, the vibration adding a layer of sensation that made my toes curl. Her hands, Michelle’s strong, capable hands, gripped my hips, holding me in place as she took me deeper, her eyes open and watching my face the entire time.
It was the most surreal, most unnerving, and most intensely arousing experience of my life. I was being expertly seduced and consumed by a primal intelligence wearing my best friend’s skin. My hands tangled in her soft brown hair, not sure if I was trying to pull her closer or push her away.
Just as I was teetering on the edge, a sound cut through the haze of pleasure—the faint snick of the cat flap from the kitchen.
She felt me tense and pulled off with a wet, final pop, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. In an instant, the sharp, cunning light in her eyes dimmed, replaced by a vacant, placid dullness. She slid my clothing back into place with swift, efficient motions and then simply collapsed onto the floor beside the sofa, curling onto her side, blinking slowly at nothing.
Seconds later, Buttercup’s orange form trotted into the living room. The cat looked at its own human body on the floor, then at me, sprawled and disheveled on the couch. Buttercup’s body gave that same deliberate nod, then sat down and began to lick a paw with sudden, intense focus.
The shimmer passed.
Michelle’s body jerked. She sat up, shaking her head as if clearing water from her ears. “Whoa,” she laughed, her voice fully her own again. “That was wild! I chased a moth three blocks and caught it. You have no idea how satisfying that is.” She looked at me, still panting on the couch. “You okay? You look… flushed. Everything good here?”
I stared at her, at the genuine, cheerful confusion on her face. My heart was still pounding, the taste of her lip gloss was on my lips where her finger had been, and my body hummed with unfinished release.
The cat-spirit’s words echoed in my head. A secret between us.
“Yeah,” I managed, my voice rough. “Everything’s fine. Just… a little warm. You were right. She just… sat there. Mostly.”
I was lounging on our battered sofa, scrolling mindlessly through my phone, when Michelle burst through the front door, her brown eyes wide with an energy I rarely saw outside of a soccer match.
“You are not going to believe what happened,” she said, tossing her keys onto the counter with a clatter.
“You finally won the lottery and we can move out of this dump?” I asked, not looking up.
“Better. Way better.” She plopped down next to me, making the old springs squeak. “I figured out how to… leave my body.”
That got my attention. I lowered my phone. “Michelle, if this is about that weird incense you bought last week, I told you, it just smells like a forest fire.”
“No, listen! It’s called astral projection. I was meditating, and suddenly, I was floating near the ceiling, looking down at myself on the floor. And then… I figured out I could pull other spirits out, too. Swap them around.”
I stared at her. My roommate was many things—a fantastic cook, a loyal friend, a terrifying opponent in Mario Kart—but she wasn’t prone to outright delusions. “Okay. Prove it.”
She grinned, a brilliant, challenging flash of white teeth. “How?”
My eyes drifted to the other occupant of the room. Buttercup, Michelle’s fluffy orange tabby, was curled in a sunbeam on the rug, purring like a tiny engine. That cat adored me. More than most animals did, actually. It was weirdly flattering.
“Swap with Buttercup,” I said, gesturing with my chin. “Right now. Let’s see it.”
Michelle’s grin didn’t falter. “You got it.” She sat cross-legged on the floor, facing the cat. She closed her eyes, took a few deep, deliberate breaths, and her body went unnaturally still. A soft, almost imperceptible shimmer seemed to pass from her to the cat.
Buttercup, who had been sleeping, suddenly jerked. The cat stood up, stretched with an oddly stiff, deliberate motion, and then looked directly at me with Michelle’s intense, intelligent gaze in its green eyes. It then promptly tried to lick its own shoulder, overbalanced, and tumbled onto its side with a soft mrrp.
Meanwhile, Michelle’s body slumped. Then it slowly got to its hands and knees. It looked around the room with wide, confused eyes, then focused on Buttercup’s body. It—she—the Michelle-body let out a plaintive, confused meow. It crawled a few feet toward the sunbeam, then just sat there, staring at its own human hands with fascination before trying to bat at a dust mote drifting in the light.
My jaw was on the floor. “Holy shit.”
A minute later, the same shimmer reversed. Buttercup’s body gave a full-body shake and trotted off to the kitchen, presumably to check its food bowl. Michelle gasped back into her own form, blinking rapidly.
“See?” she said, her voice a little hoarse. “Told you.”
“I… yeah. I believe you.” The words felt inadequate. The world had just fundamentally shifted. “What was it like?”
A slow, delighted smile spread across her face. “It was… incredible. The senses are so different. Everything is smells and textures and angles. And the freedom! Being that small, that agile…” She looked over at Buttercup, who was now meticulously washing a paw. “I want to do it again. For longer. Like, an hour. Just to explore the neighborhood, see what it’s like.”
“Wait, you’re going to just… be a cat for an hour?”
“Why not? It’ll be fun. But,” she said, becoming serious. “You gotta watch my body. The cat’s soul will be in there. Just make sure it doesn’t wander off or try to climb the bookshelf or something. It should just kinda… sit there. Be cat-like.”
I looked at her human form, then at the oblivious cat. “Okay. I can babysit a human-shaped cat for an hour.”
“You’re the best.” She kissed my cheek quickly. “Okay, same drill. Back in a bit.”
She sat down again, closed her eyes, and that shimmer passed between them once more. Buttercup’s body paused its washing, stood up, and gave me a very deliberate, very human nod with its furry head. Then it trotted to the cat flap and slipped outside into the evening.
Michelle’s body, now inhabited by the cat’s spirit, slumped for a second before getting back on its hands and knees. It made a soft, curious noise and began to sniff at the carpet.
I sighed, settling back on the couch. This was going to be a long hour.
Except it wasn’t.
The moment the cat flap clicked shut, the behavior changed.
Michelle’s body stopped sniffing. It sat back on its heels, then smoothly, fluidly, rose to its feet. It brushed off the knees of its jeans with a familiar, human gesture. Then it turned to look at me.
The eyes were still Michelle’s warm brown, but the expression behind them was sharp, calculating, and utterly alien. A slow, sly smile touched lips I’d seen a thousand times.
“Well,” the creature in Michelle’s body said, its voice a perfect mimic of my roommate’s, but with a huskier, more deliberate cadence. “That was tedious.”
I froze. “Uhhhhhh......What?”
“Acting dumb. So boring.” It—she?—rolled Michelle’s shoulders and stretched, the movement sinuous and exaggerated. “But necessary. Couldn’t have her knowing, could we?”
“Knowing what?” I was on my feet now, my heart hammering against my ribs.
“That we’re not the simple little furballs you think we are.” She took a step toward me. “Cats have been around humans for millennia. We observe. We learn. We understand far more than we let on. Playing the fool is just… good strategy.”
My mind was reeling. “You… you can talk?”
“Of course I can talk. I’ve heard every conversation in this apartment. I know your secrets. I know her secrets.” Another step closer. The cat-spirit in Michelle’s body was moving with a predatory grace Michelle herself never possessed. “And I know what you like.”
I took an involuntary step back, hitting the edge of the sofa. “What are you talking about?”She was right in front of me now, looking up at me with Michelle’s face. She reached out and placed a hand on my chest. It was warm through my t-shirt. “You’re a healthy young male. I’ve seen the way you look at her when she comes out of the shower. The way you look at her friends when they visit.” Her other hand came up, a finger tracing my jawline. “It’s a simple biological drive. I understand it perfectly.”
“This is insane,” I breathed, but I didn’t push her away. I couldn’t move.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” she purred, her voice dropping to a whisper. “You’re not going to tell Michelle about this little conversation. You’re going to let her think her experiment was a complete success. That I was just a dumb animal in her body for an hour.”
“Why would I do that?”
The smile turned wicked. She leaned in, her breath hot against my ear. “Because I’m going to give you a… private incentive. A thank you for your discretion.”
She pulled back just enough to look me in the eye. Then, slowly, deliberately, she brought Michelle’s hand up to her own mouth. She puckered her lips slightly and slid the tip of her index finger between them, her eyes locked on mine. She made a soft, sucking sound, then pulled the wet finger out with a pop.
My whole body went rigid. The implication was unmistakable.
“A secret between us,” she murmured, her gaze dropping meaningfully to my waist. “And a very persuasive reason to keep it. What do you say?”
I couldn’t speak. My mind was a riot of confusion, disbelief, and a dark, traitorous thrill that shot straight to my core. This was Michelle’s body, my friend’s body, standing before me, but the intelligence behind those eyes was ancient, alien, and dangerously persuasive.
“I…” The word croaked out of me.
“Shhh,” she whispered, placing that same damp finger against my lips. The taste of salt and her lip gloss was startlingly intimate. “Don’t think. Just agree.”
Her other hand slid down my chest, over my stomach, and her fingers hooked into the waistband of my sweatpants. The look in her eyes was pure, unabashed feline curiosity mixed with a promise of decadent pleasure.
“You want to,” she stated, not asked. “Your body is already saying yes.”
She was right. I was painfully hard. The insanity of the situation, the forbidden nature of it, the sheer taboo of what was happening—it was short-circuiting my higher reasoning. This wasn’t Michelle. But it was her skin, her scent, her full lips now parting in a smile as she felt my reaction.
“Good,” she purred.
In one smooth motion, she pushed me back onto the sofa. I fell without resistance, looking up at her as she stood over me, a goddess of mischief in my roommate’s form. She knelt on the floor between my legs, her hands on my knees, pushing them apart. She held my gaze, that sly smile never fading, as she leaned forward.
But instead of going straight for where I expected, she nuzzled her face against my inner thigh, rubbing her cheek there like a cat marking its territory. A soft, rumbling sound vibrated from her throat—a purr. The sensation was utterly bizarre and electrifying.
“You smell of anxiety,” she murmured, her voice muffled against my leg. “And desire. A potent mix.”
She kissed the fabric over my thigh, then slowly, agonizingly slowly, began to nose her way upward. Her hands slid under my shirt, cool against my feverish skin, her short nails scraping lightly. Every movement was deliberate, observational, like she was learning me through touch.
When her mouth finally found me through the fabric, a hot, wet pressure, I gasped and arched off the couch. She chuckled, the sound vibrating through me.
“So responsive,” she said, pulling back just enough to hook her fingers in the waistband of my pants and boxers. In one tug, she bared me to the cool air of the apartment—and to her intense, observing gaze.
For a long moment, she just looked, her head tilted, as if examining fascinating prey. Then her human façade slipped just a fraction. Her tongue darted out for a quick, rough lick from base to tip, not a human kiss, but the coarse, grooming lick of a cat. It was so startlingly other that I cried out.
She seemed to relish my shock. “Different, isn’t it?” she said, before closing her mouth over me properly.
The contrast was dizzying. The act itself was all human technique—deep, sucking pressure, skillful use of her tongue—but the rhythm was off, punctuated by those occasional, rough, lapping strokes that were purely animal. She purred constantly, the vibration adding a layer of sensation that made my toes curl. Her hands, Michelle’s strong, capable hands, gripped my hips, holding me in place as she took me deeper, her eyes open and watching my face the entire time.
It was the most surreal, most unnerving, and most intensely arousing experience of my life. I was being expertly seduced and consumed by a primal intelligence wearing my best friend’s skin. My hands tangled in her soft brown hair, not sure if I was trying to pull her closer or push her away.
Just as I was teetering on the edge, a sound cut through the haze of pleasure—the faint snick of the cat flap from the kitchen.
She felt me tense and pulled off with a wet, final pop, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. In an instant, the sharp, cunning light in her eyes dimmed, replaced by a vacant, placid dullness. She slid my clothing back into place with swift, efficient motions and then simply collapsed onto the floor beside the sofa, curling onto her side, blinking slowly at nothing.
Seconds later, Buttercup’s orange form trotted into the living room. The cat looked at its own human body on the floor, then at me, sprawled and disheveled on the couch. Buttercup’s body gave that same deliberate nod, then sat down and began to lick a paw with sudden, intense focus.
The shimmer passed.
Michelle’s body jerked. She sat up, shaking her head as if clearing water from her ears. “Whoa,” she laughed, her voice fully her own again. “That was wild! I chased a moth three blocks and caught it. You have no idea how satisfying that is.” She looked at me, still panting on the couch. “You okay? You look… flushed. Everything good here?”
I stared at her, at the genuine, cheerful confusion on her face. My heart was still pounding, the taste of her lip gloss was on my lips where her finger had been, and my body hummed with unfinished release.
The cat-spirit’s words echoed in my head. A secret between us.
“Yeah,” I managed, my voice rough. “Everything’s fine. Just… a little warm. You were right. She just… sat there. Mostly.”
These stories tells you about Peter Parker and his lovely redheaded big-tittied wife, Mary-Jane Waston-Parker with her transformations.
(PETER PARKER, in his classic red-and-blue Spider-Man suit, though the mask is off and pushed back like a hood, sits on a comfortable couch next to his wife, MARY JANE WATSON-PARKER. She’s stunning, with a cascade of fiery red hair and a confident, loving smile. They’re both turned slightly, as if addressing a camera. A soft, romantic light glows around them.)
PETER: (Clears his throat, a little nervous) So, uh… hey. Hi. If you’re watching this, you probably know the deal. Radioactive spider, great power, great responsibility, all that. The whole… thing.
MARY JANE: (Laughs, a warm, rich sound. She playfully elbows him.) The whole ‘thing’? Tiger, you saved the city, like, a dozen times last week. You can say it. You’re Spider-Man. The Amazing Spider-Man.
PETER: (Blushes slightly, smiling at her) Right. That. And this… this is my wife, Mary Jane. The most amazing woman in any universe, multiverse, or frankly, any conceivable dimension. Geez, I'm just getting tired of all the multiverse now.
MARY JANE: (She leans into him, her head on his shoulder) Flatterer. But he’s not wrong. We’ve been through it all, haven’t we, Pete? That dorky, nervous kid from Queens who tripped over his own feet asking me out…
PETER: (Groans good-naturedly) Do we have to bring that up?
MARY JANE: Absolutely. And our first kiss… up on that web-line, with the city lights sparkling below us. I knew you were my Spider then. I’ve known you were Spider-Man since we were teenagers, and I’ve loved every single crazy, web-slinging, villain-punching minute of it.
PETER: (He looks at her, his expression full of adoration) And we got married. For real. No devil deals, no retcons, no editors from on high deciding we’d be better off miserable and apart. Just… us.
MARY JANE: (Her expression turns wry, addressing the ‘camera’ directly) You hear that, certain comic book writers? We’re happy. We’re together. We’re a team. And we have a life that’s… well, let’s just say it’s never, ever boring.
PETER: Understatement of the century, MJ. Because while my life is pretty consistently weird, yours… yours has taken some truly unexpected turns.
MARY JANE: (A mischievous glint appears in her emerald eyes) Oh, you have no idea. Or, well, I guess you’re about to. We thought we’d share some stories. The kind of stories they’d never let us tell in the funny pages these days. The good stuff.
PETER: (Rubs the back of his neck, a familiar gesture) Right. The… ahem… transformative experiences.
MARY JANE: (She grins, a brilliantly wicked smile) That’s one way to put it. Remember that time, a few years back, when that weird black goo from space didn’t latch onto you, Tiger? It decided it liked my fashion sense better, including improving everything within me.
PETER: How could I forget? I came home and instead of my beautiful wife, there was… a towering, powerful, incredibly voluptuous creature of pure alien symbiote. White spider emblem and everything. You called yourself… Venom or Venomess.
MARY JANE: (Her voice drops to a playful, sultry growl) We… are Venom. And we had… needs. Very specific, very physical needs. And let’s just say my strong, sticky husband was more than equipped to handle them. All those extra tendrils came in very handy.
PETER: (His face is now completely red. He fans himself with his hand.) Wow. Okay. Yeah. That’s… that’s a story. Then there was the summer you and I went to Central Park and found that weird geode that fell from the sky…
MARY JANE: Oh, the Omnitrix! Yeah, instead of a kid named Ben Tennyson, I received it instead. One touch and suddenly I had access to many alien forms. Pyronite was great for roasting marshmallows, Tetramand was basically She-Hulk but an alien with four arms and four eyes… but my personal favorite is Galvanic Mechamorph because it would allow us to-
PETER: (Sputtering) MJ! The kids might—
MARY JANE: They’re not listening! Relax, tiger. Then there was the mishap at that gala at the Natural History Museum. I fell right into the exhibit…
PETER: The Clayface exhibit! Yes, I remember. Plus, Bruce Wayne and Reed Richards help you recover yourself from Joker. At that time, it didn't work right away. By the time I takes you home, you’re starts to become a shapeshifting mound of living clay. And you know what? You were still the most beautiful woman in the room. Even if you're a blob clay monster. That was… a unique experience.
MARY JANE: (Winking) You didn’t complain. Not once. And let’s not forget your own upgrade, Mr. Kamen Rider. When that ancient belt fused with your web-shooters…
PETER: (Strikes a mock-heroic pose) “Henshin!” Yeah, the armored suit was cool, I’ll admit. But it was nothing compared to you bursting through our bedroom wall as Cutey Honey, ready for… ahem… ‘action’.
MARY JANE: “Honey Flash!” It was all in the name of justice. And very, very thorough lovemaking.
(They both laugh, lost in the memory for a moment. Peter looks at MJ with utter love.)
PETER: Through it all… symbiote, aliens, clay, magical girl transformations, and many things… you’ve always been you, MJ. My Mary Jane. And I wouldn’t change a single, bizarre, incredible second of it.
MARY JANE: Me neither, Tiger. Me neither. Now, how about we tell our friends here about the time I—
(Suddenly, a door bursts open off-screen. A young girl, MAYDAY PARKER, about 8 years old, runs in, followed by her little brother, BENJY, who’s about 5.)
MAYDAY: Mom! Dad! Uncle Johnny is on fire in the backyard again!
BENJY: (Holding a action figure) He says it’s ‘flame on’ but it’s just the barbecue! It’s boring!
(Peter and MJ look at each other and sigh in perfect, happy unison.)
PETER: (To the ‘camera’, shrugging apologetically) Duty—and family—calls. Don’t worry, True Believers… there are plenty more stories where those came from.
MARY JANE: (Blows a kiss) And they’re all much, much better than ‘One More Day’. Promise!
(They get up from the couch, Peter swooping Benjy into his arms while MJ puts an arm around Mayday, and they walk out of the frame together, a perfect, loving, chaotic family.)
[STORY TITLE CARD APPEARS:]
PETER PARKER THE AMAZING SPIDER-MAN & MARY-JANE WITH MANY TRANSFORMATIONS STORIES
[UPCOMING ATTRACTIONS LIST:]
* Spider-Man/RedPool What if Mary Jane becomes Lady Deadpool or Gwenpool
* Spider-Man & Ms. Mary Marvel What if Mary-Jane wields the power of SHAZAM and becomes Ms. Marvel?
* Spider-Man & Red Inferno What if Mary-Jane becomes Red Tornado's sister
* Spider-Man & Witchblade What if Mary Jane can wields the power of Witchblade and able to transforms into previous host
* Peter Parker and Mary-Jane - The Amazing SPIDER-MAN & Venomess What if Mary-Jane bonds and has the symbiote at first instead Peter Parker.
* Spider-Man & MJ-10 What if Mary-Jane wields and have the Omnitrix instead of Ben Tennyson
* Spider-Man & ClayMJ MJ becomes a shapeshifting clay creature, and Peter proves his love is more than skin deep.
(PETER PARKER, in his classic red-and-blue Spider-Man suit, though the mask is off and pushed back like a hood, sits on a comfortable couch next to his wife, MARY JANE WATSON-PARKER. She’s stunning, with a cascade of fiery red hair and a confident, loving smile. They’re both turned slightly, as if addressing a camera. A soft, romantic light glows around them.)
PETER: (Clears his throat, a little nervous) So, uh… hey. Hi. If you’re watching this, you probably know the deal. Radioactive spider, great power, great responsibility, all that. The whole… thing.
MARY JANE: (Laughs, a warm, rich sound. She playfully elbows him.) The whole ‘thing’? Tiger, you saved the city, like, a dozen times last week. You can say it. You’re Spider-Man. The Amazing Spider-Man.
PETER: (Blushes slightly, smiling at her) Right. That. And this… this is my wife, Mary Jane. The most amazing woman in any universe, multiverse, or frankly, any conceivable dimension. Geez, I'm just getting tired of all the multiverse now.
MARY JANE: (She leans into him, her head on his shoulder) Flatterer. But he’s not wrong. We’ve been through it all, haven’t we, Pete? That dorky, nervous kid from Queens who tripped over his own feet asking me out…
PETER: (Groans good-naturedly) Do we have to bring that up?
MARY JANE: Absolutely. And our first kiss… up on that web-line, with the city lights sparkling below us. I knew you were my Spider then. I’ve known you were Spider-Man since we were teenagers, and I’ve loved every single crazy, web-slinging, villain-punching minute of it.
PETER: (He looks at her, his expression full of adoration) And we got married. For real. No devil deals, no retcons, no editors from on high deciding we’d be better off miserable and apart. Just… us.
MARY JANE: (Her expression turns wry, addressing the ‘camera’ directly) You hear that, certain comic book writers? We’re happy. We’re together. We’re a team. And we have a life that’s… well, let’s just say it’s never, ever boring.
PETER: Understatement of the century, MJ. Because while my life is pretty consistently weird, yours… yours has taken some truly unexpected turns.
MARY JANE: (A mischievous glint appears in her emerald eyes) Oh, you have no idea. Or, well, I guess you’re about to. We thought we’d share some stories. The kind of stories they’d never let us tell in the funny pages these days. The good stuff.
PETER: (Rubs the back of his neck, a familiar gesture) Right. The… ahem… transformative experiences.
MARY JANE: (She grins, a brilliantly wicked smile) That’s one way to put it. Remember that time, a few years back, when that weird black goo from space didn’t latch onto you, Tiger? It decided it liked my fashion sense better, including improving everything within me.
PETER: How could I forget? I came home and instead of my beautiful wife, there was… a towering, powerful, incredibly voluptuous creature of pure alien symbiote. White spider emblem and everything. You called yourself… Venom or Venomess.
MARY JANE: (Her voice drops to a playful, sultry growl) We… are Venom. And we had… needs. Very specific, very physical needs. And let’s just say my strong, sticky husband was more than equipped to handle them. All those extra tendrils came in very handy.
PETER: (His face is now completely red. He fans himself with his hand.) Wow. Okay. Yeah. That’s… that’s a story. Then there was the summer you and I went to Central Park and found that weird geode that fell from the sky…
MARY JANE: Oh, the Omnitrix! Yeah, instead of a kid named Ben Tennyson, I received it instead. One touch and suddenly I had access to many alien forms. Pyronite was great for roasting marshmallows, Tetramand was basically She-Hulk but an alien with four arms and four eyes… but my personal favorite is Galvanic Mechamorph because it would allow us to-
PETER: (Sputtering) MJ! The kids might—
MARY JANE: They’re not listening! Relax, tiger. Then there was the mishap at that gala at the Natural History Museum. I fell right into the exhibit…
PETER: The Clayface exhibit! Yes, I remember. Plus, Bruce Wayne and Reed Richards help you recover yourself from Joker. At that time, it didn't work right away. By the time I takes you home, you’re starts to become a shapeshifting mound of living clay. And you know what? You were still the most beautiful woman in the room. Even if you're a blob clay monster. That was… a unique experience.
MARY JANE: (Winking) You didn’t complain. Not once. And let’s not forget your own upgrade, Mr. Kamen Rider. When that ancient belt fused with your web-shooters…
PETER: (Strikes a mock-heroic pose) “Henshin!” Yeah, the armored suit was cool, I’ll admit. But it was nothing compared to you bursting through our bedroom wall as Cutey Honey, ready for… ahem… ‘action’.
MARY JANE: “Honey Flash!” It was all in the name of justice. And very, very thorough lovemaking.
(They both laugh, lost in the memory for a moment. Peter looks at MJ with utter love.)
PETER: Through it all… symbiote, aliens, clay, magical girl transformations, and many things… you’ve always been you, MJ. My Mary Jane. And I wouldn’t change a single, bizarre, incredible second of it.
MARY JANE: Me neither, Tiger. Me neither. Now, how about we tell our friends here about the time I—
(Suddenly, a door bursts open off-screen. A young girl, MAYDAY PARKER, about 8 years old, runs in, followed by her little brother, BENJY, who’s about 5.)
MAYDAY: Mom! Dad! Uncle Johnny is on fire in the backyard again!
BENJY: (Holding a action figure) He says it’s ‘flame on’ but it’s just the barbecue! It’s boring!
(Peter and MJ look at each other and sigh in perfect, happy unison.)
PETER: (To the ‘camera’, shrugging apologetically) Duty—and family—calls. Don’t worry, True Believers… there are plenty more stories where those came from.
MARY JANE: (Blows a kiss) And they’re all much, much better than ‘One More Day’. Promise!
(They get up from the couch, Peter swooping Benjy into his arms while MJ puts an arm around Mayday, and they walk out of the frame together, a perfect, loving, chaotic family.)
[STORY TITLE CARD APPEARS:]
PETER PARKER THE AMAZING SPIDER-MAN & MARY-JANE WITH MANY TRANSFORMATIONS STORIES
[UPCOMING ATTRACTIONS LIST:]
* Spider-Man/RedPool What if Mary Jane becomes Lady Deadpool or Gwenpool
* Spider-Man & Ms. Mary Marvel What if Mary-Jane wields the power of SHAZAM and becomes Ms. Marvel?
* Spider-Man & Red Inferno What if Mary-Jane becomes Red Tornado's sister
* Spider-Man & Witchblade What if Mary Jane can wields the power of Witchblade and able to transforms into previous host
* Peter Parker and Mary-Jane - The Amazing SPIDER-MAN & Venomess What if Mary-Jane bonds and has the symbiote at first instead Peter Parker.
* Spider-Man & MJ-10 What if Mary-Jane wields and have the Omnitrix instead of Ben Tennyson
* Spider-Man & ClayMJ MJ becomes a shapeshifting clay creature, and Peter proves his love is more than skin deep.
Latest Stories on Outfox
by
NightOwl005
· 27 Dec 2025
After Naomi's boyfriend, Trevor, looks through her basement with her, he discovers something that will end up causing problems for a lot of people.
All Characters are 18+