Losing the bet

 

The scorching summer sun beat down on the park, but the heat radiating from the three friends was even more intense. Jamal, big and boisterous, had just slammed down his cards, a shit-eating grin plastered across his face. Across from him, Leon, lean and sharp-witted, let out a triumphant cackle. "Looks like you're fucked, Marcus!" he crowed, slapping Jamal's hand.

Marcus, a broad-shouldered man with a meticulously groomed beard and an easy laugh, felt a cold dread settle in his stomach. "No, man, no! Not the device!" he pleaded, his usual confidence evaporating faster than sweat on a hot day. The "device" was their latest, most insane find: a sleek, black remote-like contraption they'd unearthed from some weird antique shop downtown. It had a single button, and when pressed, it swapped body parts. And the best part, the truly diabolical part, was the "awareness setting." You could turn it off, meaning the poor bastard on the receiving end wouldn't know a damn thing was different unless they figured it out. Three days. That was the bet. Three days to figure out what was swapped, or the change was permanent.

"A bet's a bet, my dude," Jamal chuckled, snatching the device from the picnic table. "And you lost."

Leon's eyes gleamed with malicious delight. "We're gonna have some fun with this, Marcus. And you're gonna be clueless."

Their gaze drifted, landing on a woman strolling by, her figure a symphony of curves. She was a vision, her ample breasts straining against a flimsy sundress, the thin fabric barely concealing the hint of a very skimpy thong beneath. Her hips swayed with a natural rhythm that made every man in the park instinctively turn his head. Her skin was a rich, caramel tone, smooth and flawless, and her legs, long and shapely, were a work of art.

"Oh, hell yeah," Jamal breathed, his eyes wide. Leon nodded, a slow, satisfied smile spreading across his face.

Marcus watched them, a growing unease in his gut. He knew that look. That was the "we're about to do something truly fucked up" look. Before he could react, Jamal aimed the device. There was no flash, no sound, just a subtle, almost imperceptible ripple in the air around Marcus.

Marcus felt… nothing. A weird, tingling warmth, like he’d been standing too long in the sun, but that was it. He looked down at himself, his heart pounding in his chest. Okay, what did they do? He saw his familiar, smooth, caramel-colored skin, the gentle swell of his own tits under the thin sundress. His gaze traced the curves of his wide hips, the long, shapely expanse of his legs, all encased in the flimsy, flowy fabric. Everything seemed perfectly normal, exactly as it should be. He ran a hand over his belly, flat and taut beneath the dress. His fingers, long and delicate, felt just right, just as they always had. He was solid, curvy, unmistakably female, and completely unaware it was any different.

Jamal and Leon were already howling with laughter, clutching their sides. "You'll never guess, man!" Leon wheezed, wiping a tear from his eye. "Never in a million years!"

"Fuck you guys!" Marcus yelled, but there was a tremor in his voice. He glanced down again, scrutinizing every inch of himself. His chest still felt broad, his shoulders wide or rather, felt perfectly proportionate to the generous swell of his breasts. He ran a hand over his belly. Same old gut, smooth, flat, and leading down to his thighs, still thick, still rocking that sexy tattoo he got two years ago. His pussy… yeah, it was there, a familiar, exquisite throb beneath the skimpy thong, which was being eaten by his phat ass, the ass he worked to grow in the gym for years.

"What the heck did you change?!" he screamed, his voice echoing slightly in the open air. Did they even change anything? The thought, chilling in its possibility, flashed through his mind. Maybe they were just messing with him, playing a cruel psychological trick. His perfectly formed breasts jiggled with the force of his yell, a sensation he vaguely registered as normal.

Jamal just pointed, still gasping for air between fits of laughter. "Maybe we changed your undies, bro?" he choked out, barely able to speak.

Marcus scoffed. "My undies? That's it? You guys are pathetic!" To prove his point, and fueled by a sudden, inexplicable surge of bravado, he hiked up his sundress, flashing his black thong to his friends. "See? Nothing! I know you guys didn't change this, cos it's my favourite one to wear!"

Jamal and Leon erupted into fresh gales of laughter, doubling over and hitting each other. Marcus watched them, confused. They were laughing hard. Like, disproportionately hard for a simple undies swap. He didn't notice the strange looks he was getting from a family walking by, a mother pulling her child closer, a father shaking his head with a bewildered smirk. 

Damn it, what did they change?! he thought, a frantic energy building inside him. He felt perfectly normal, exactly like himself. But their laughter, their genuine, unadulterated amusement, told him otherwise. He ran his hands over his body again, feeling for any subtle differences. Nothing. Nothing, that is, except for the nagging feeling that he was going to lose this bet, and lose it spectacularly.

Go fuck yourself

Kofi stood there, the cool evening air doing little to douse the fire raging in his gut. His ex, Sarah, with her audacious curves and those sinful tattoos that danced around her navel and snaked up her right leg, just kept staring at him. He’d just told her it was over, laid it out as gently as he could, but gentle didn't seem to compute with Sarah. She was wearing these denim short-shorts that were practically painted on, just enough fabric to call them shorts but they rode up her ass so high they were basically panties. Her white cropped cardigan, tied right in the middle, left her navel on full display, and a sliver of underboob peeked out from the thin fabric. Even in his anger, Kofi couldn't deny she was a goddamn goddess. Or was a goddess, he corrected himself with a bitter taste in his mouth.

"You really think this is how it ends, Kofi?" Her voice, usually a soft purr, was now a low growl, a rumble that vibrated through the humid air. He just shrugged, trying to project an indifference he didn't feel. Fuck, she was hot, even when she was pissed. He had no idea, not a clue in his thick skull, that Sarah was a practicing witch, that her anger was a crucible of dark power simmering beneath that enticing exterior.

"Yeah, Sarah. It's over. I'm done." The words hung in the air, heavy and final.

Her eyes, usually a sparkling blue, seemed to darken, flecks of gold appearing in their depths. A faint shimmer, almost imperceptible, rippled around her. Kofi blinked, chalking it up to the setting sun playing tricks on his eyes. Then, a sudden, jarring thump reverberated through his entire being. It felt like his insides had dropped to his feet, a weird, unsettling lurch. His eyes instinctively darted down.

A gasp, sharp and involuntary, ripped from his throat. Gone were his strong, muscular legs, his familiar dick nestled comfortably in his boxer briefs under his jeans. In their place, the impossibly smooth, tattooed thighs of Sarah, encased in those ridiculous, yet undeniably sexy, denim shorts, stretched out before him. His hands, now oddly pale and slender, instinctively flew down, pressing against the firm, peachy globes of her ass, outlined perfectly by the tight fabric. Then he ran them up his now smooth, tatted navel and cupped the impossible breasts now on his chest, feeling the erect nipples through the thin fabric of the cardigan he now wore. A strange, moist heat, alien yet immediately intoxicating, was pooling between his new legs. His cock, his old cock, was… gone. Just a smooth, soft mound where it should have been and a large set of tits on his chest.

He looked up, frantic, his eyes wide with a horror. Sarah stood before him, her face still radiating fury, but now, beneath her neck, was his body. His thick, muscled torso, his wide shoulders, clad in his usual worn t-shirt and jeans. 

"What the fuck, Sarah?!" Kofi bellowed, his voice cracking with disbelief. "Give me back my dick! What did you do, you crazy bitch?!" He stumbled forward, his new, slender legs feeling like foreign stilts beneath him, the denim shorts clinging uncomfortably to his new ass.

Sarah just smirked, a cruel, triumphant twist of her lips. She reached down, her now thick fingers, fumbling with the waistband of her jeans. With a slow, deliberate motion, she pulled them down, revealing Kofi's old cock, dark and flaccid, resting against her inner thigh.

"You want it back, Kofi?" she purred, her voice dripping with venomous sweetness. She took a step closer, her bare feet pressing into the rough pavement. Kofi stared, mesmerized, utterly helpless as she began to chant, a low, guttural murmur that seemed to warp the very air around them. He couldn't make out the words, but a sickly green light, faint but undeniable, began to emanate from her hands as they wrapped around his former member.

He watched, horrified and morbidly fascinated, as she pulled. Gently at first, then harder, her fingers gripping his cock. It stretched, elongated, and then, with a sickening pop, it pulled completely free, detaching from her old body. It didn't bleed, didn't leave a gaping wound. Instead, as she held it aloft, it began to twist, the familiar flesh hardening, until it was nothing more than a smooth, perfectly formed, dark-colored dildo.

Sarah giggled, a harsh, unfeeling sound. She tossed the dildo into Kofi's trembling, new, delicate hand. "Here," she sneered, the words laced with pure malice. "Go fuck yourself."

She spun on her heel, and began to walk away. She laughed, a high, mocking sound that echoed in the twilight as she strutted away, leaving Kofi standing there, a hot, throbbing wetness spreading between his newly acquired thighs, and a dildo in his hand that was once his own cock. The worst part was, he could feel his new body actually aching for him to shove the dildo in his new pussy. He just stared in shock as Sarah disappeared through the hallway.

Occupied

The stale, recycled air of the airplane cabin usually made Kenji antsy, but today, a mischievous hum vibrated through his bones, a low thrum of anticipation. He was on a red-eye to LA, the kind of flight where most folks were already half-dead with sleep, and that was just how Kenji, a man of simple, yet utterly depraved, pleasures, liked it. At thirty-five, with a soft, round belly that spilled over his seatbelt and a perpetually tired look in his eyes, Kenji wasn't exactly a looker. But he had a secret weapon, a little trick that made him the ultimate, invisible predator in his own twisted game. He could swap bodies, just like that. Poof, and he'd be in someone else's skin from the neck down, while they were stuck with his chubby, unimpressive frame. And the best part? Nobody knew. Unless he wanted them to know, which was almost never.

His gaze drifted, as it always did, to the woman across the aisle. She was asleep, head lolling against the headrest, a large, shapeless brown jacket draped over her, concealing God knows what. Such a waste, Kenji thought, a familiar itch starting between his thighs. He loved a mystery, especially when that mystery promised a juicy reveal. He took a sip of his lukewarm soda, the fizz doing little to quench the rising thirst in his throat.

With a subtle twitch of his fingers, a silent command to the power that hummed within him, Kenji activated his gift. A prickle, like a thousand tiny needles, danced across his skin, starting from his neck and flowing down, down, down. It was a sensation he knew intimately, a familiar, fleeting discomfort that quickly morphed into something else entirely. He felt a profound lightness, a sudden elasticity in his limbs, a subtle shift in weight that made him almost gasp. 

Gone was the sight of his own doughy belly, the worn black t-shirt he'd thrown on that morning. In their place, a taut, flat stomach, pale and smooth, was barely covered by a sliver of yellow fabric. It was a crop top, no, a bra, really, just barely clinging to a pair of firm, medium-sized breasts. His new nipples, soft and unsuspecting, pressing subtly against the thin material. A faint, sweet scent, like summer sweat and something vaguely floral, rose from his new chest. Below, two slender legs, covered in baby blue short shorts that rode high on the inner thighs, stretched out, the fabric bunched just enough to hint at the plushness of her pussy beneath. Fuck.

Across the aisle, the woman remained oblivious, her head still resting peacefully. But now, beneath her neck, where her lush, feminine curves should have been, was Kenji's own familiar, unremarkable torso, clad in his generic black t-shirt and loose jeans. His heart hammered in his chest, a frantic drumbeat against the soft, unfamiliar flesh of his new ribcage. He reached down, his new fingers, long and slender, tracing the curve of her, his, breast. The flesh was soft, yielding, yet firm, with a slight bounce to it. He kneaded it gently, a shiver running through him as the nipple, small and delicate, hardened under his touch. A low groan, almost imperceptible, escaped his lips, a sound that was now strangely high-pitched and feminine. God, this was good.

He gave the other breast a more confident squeeze, relishing the sensation, the unexpected weight and fullness. It was like holding two perfect, ripe fruits, and he couldn't resist. His thumb rubbed over the tight peak of her nipple, and a jolt, sharp and electric, shot straight through his new body, making his breath catch in his throat. A deep, wet heat was already pooling between his new legs, a slickness he wasn't used to, a strange, delightful alien sensation. Oh, this was going to be fun. He needed more. He needed privacy. He glanced down the aisle, the "occupied" light on the lavatory still glowing red. Come on, come on, you sleepy fuckers, he thought, his new clit already throbbing with impatient hunger. He imagined slipping into that tiny bathroom, stripping off these flimsy clothes, and really getting acquainted with every inch of this stolen wonderland. The possibilities were endless, and his new body, already responding with a delicious urgency, was more than ready to explore every single one.

Skewed

The city hummed around me, a dull thrum against my frustrated thoughts. It was 11:30 PM, past Patty’s curfew, and I was walking from the car park to my apartment, a familiar ache settling in my gut. Patty was amazing; hot as hell, beautiful face, killer body. She was a real catch. But her parents? Strict as hell. Curfew at 10:30 PM, no spending the night, no going anywhere after. It was a constant source of tension, especially for a guy like me who just wanted to wake up next to his girlfriend. I wished we could rent our own place, just be together.

Lost in that familiar frustration, I bumped shoulders with an old woman just outside my building. She stumbled, clutching a worn bag. My first instinct was to help, but my annoyance won out. I just kept walking, muttering a quick, half-hearted apology over my shoulder.

"I understand your frustrations, young man," her voice rasped, surprisingly clear, "but you should be more helpful. Even so, I'll grant you one thing you are after: your desires, all in one, will be a reality. Albeit a little skewed because of your behavior." Then, she hobbled off, melting into the shadows of the night.

"What the hell was that?" I thought, shaking my head. Just some crazy old lady, probably.

My phone buzzed. I hoped it was Patty, maybe she’d snuck away from her parents, but it was Dale. My roommate. Dale, the douchebag. Good with ladies, somehow, despite being a total sleaze. He'd bring girls home, bang 'em all night, and then brag about it over coffee the next morning. It was hell.

Dale never messages me, I thought, confused. His text just said, "You home yet?" I typed back, "Just heading in now."

I pushed open the apartment door, and immediately noticed my bedroom door was ajar, lights on inside. "Goddamn it," I muttered, a fresh wave of annoyance washing over me. "Dale, if you're in my room touching my shit again, I swear to god...."

My voice died in my throat. I stared, mouth agape, frozen in the doorway.

Dale. He was on my bed. Naked. Lying on his stomach, facing me, a wide, inviting smile on his face. But it wasn't just Dale. His head, yeah, that was definitely Dale’s - his scruffy beard, his arrogant smirk. But below it? A woman's body. A gorgeous, voluptuous, undeniably naked woman's body. Her back was arched, showing off a perfectly rounded ass, and the smooth curve of her lower back led to a tantalizing glimpse of her pussy, tucked between perfectly toned thighs.

My eyes darted to her feet. The toes were painted with baby blue nail polish. The exact same shade Patty had put on her nails this morning.

"Petey," Dale purred, his voice still Dale’s gruff baritone, but impossibly sensual coming from that body. "You're home. Oh my god, I've missed you, baby!"

My mind reeled. "Dale," I stammered, my voice trembling, "did you just call me Petey?" That was Patty's nickname for me. Only Patty.

"Of course, babe, what else would I call you?" Dale responded, still looking back at me, his smile widening. He arched his new, incredible back even further, stretching out, displaying more of his perfect ass and pussy. His breasts, full and heavy, swayed slightly with the movement. "Petey, I want you so bad! I'm so glad we live together now, you can fuck me whenever you want!" he said, and started to gyrate slowly on the bed, his new hips swaying in a way that was undeniably feminine, undeniably horny.

I was in total shock, completely frozen. My brain was screaming, trying to decode what the hell was happening, trying to reconcile the familiar douchebag with the unbelievable sight before me. And my dick? My dick, traitorous bastard that it was, was already in full, unyielding attention. It ached, hot and hard, a stark contrast to the cold confusion gripping my mind. My desires, all in one, had become a reality. But skewed. So, so skewed.

All rolled into one

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Brother's tits

My earbuds were blasting, drowning out the afternoon traffic as I cut through the park, heading home. The sun was dipping, painting the sky orange and purple, but I was just thinking about my Xbox. That’s when I saw him – a homeless dude, maybe fifty, with a scraggly beard and eyes that seemed a little too wide. But what really caught my attention was his outfit: a bright pink sports bra, straining tight over what looked suspiciously like perky tits, and yoga pants that hugged a curvy ass a little too well. He was fumbling with something small and metallic, then dropped it, stumbling off muttering to himself.

I stopped, curiosity overriding my usual tunnel vision. It was a sleek, silver remote, no bigger than my hand, with a single glowing button. "Huh, wonder what this does?" I whispered, picking it up. It felt warm, almost alive, in my palm.

Lost in thought, I wasn't looking where I was going, and wham! I bumped right into someone. My phone clattered to the pavement. "Oh, shit! Sorry!"

It was Ashley, my neighbor. And man, Ashley was something else. Twenty-something, always showing off her assets, and today was no exception. She was rocking a tiny pink camisole that barely contained her massive, bouncing breasts, and white shorts so skimpy they were practically underwear. Her dark hair was pulled into a high ponytail, and she smelled like sweet vanilla and something musky.

"Watch it next time, kid," she said, her voice a little annoyed, but her eyes held a hint of amusement as she continued on her way, her hips swaying mesmerizingly.

I mumbled another apology, bent down to grab my phone, and as I straightened up, my thumb must have grazed that glowing button on the remote. I didn't feel anything, no flash, no tingle, just the usual city hum. Shrugging it off, I shoved the remote into my pocket and continued home, my mind already back on my game.

The apartment was quiet when I got in. "Yo, mom!" I yelled, but no answer. Probably still at work. I tossed my backpack on the couch and headed to the kitchen, thirsty. My older brother, Mark, was perched on a stool by the counter, absorbed in his phone, probably texting his latest girlfriend. Mark was twenty-two, all lean muscle and annoyingly perfect hair.

"Took you long enough, loser," Mark mumbled, not even looking up as I walked past him to the fridge. Same old Mark.

An idea sparked in my head. That remote. Mark was always busting my balls. Maybe this thing could… zap him? Probably just some dumb toy, but worth a try. With a mischievous grin, I pulled the remote from my pocket, aimed it at Mark's back, and playfully pressed the glowing button.

A blinding flash erupted from the remote, bathing the kitchen in an intense white light. I squeezed my eyes shut, my jaw clenching. When I opened them, the light was gone, and everything seemed normal. Mark was still on the stool, still on his phone.

"What the hell was that, dude?" Mark grumbled, finally turning around.

That’s when I saw it. And my jaw didn't just drop; it crashed to the floor.

Under Mark's head – his short, dark hair, his annoyingly handsome face, his trademark smirk – was Ashley's body. Her ridiculously ample breasts strained against the pink camisole, threatening to spill out. Her toned midriff was exposed above the tiny white shorts, which were indeed practically underwear, hugging a curvy, fleshy ass that now belonged to my brother. Even the subtle scent of vanilla and musk that lingered on Ashley was now emanating from him.

"What the hell are you staring at, freak?" Mark asked, his voice cracking slightly, still holding his phone up.

"You... you got... tits!" I blurted, pointing a trembling finger at his chest.

Mark glanced down, then back at me, a confused frown replacing his smirk. He cupped one of his new, enormous breasts, his fingers kneading the soft flesh. "Yeah, and? What, you checking your brother's tits out now? Gross, dude, that's so gay!" He said, his voice laced with disgust, completely oblivious to the impossible reality of the situation. The camisole shifted, giving me a glimpse of deep cleavage and the shadow of hard nipples. My own dick, against my will, twitched in my pants. This was going to be… a very long night.

 

Complimentary Desserts

Dale and Matt, best friends and roommates, swaggered into a trendy new restaurant across from their apartment, phones ready to film their latest influencer hustle: scamming free food. Their plan? Pose as a gay couple to snag complimentary desserts for “anniversary” couples. Outside, they recorded a quick intro, Matt hyping their scheme to their followers, oblivious to a rogue swapper—a wiry dude with a creepy smirk—eavesdropping nearby. He followed them inside, his device humming in his pocket. The host seated them in a dimly lit booth next to a hot couple, the woman stealing their breath—long legs, a black spaghetti strap sundress barely holding her massive tits, and sexy arm tattoos snaking up her skin. Her cleavage gleamed under the soft lights, and both guys stole glances, dicks twitching despite their act.

They played their roles, giggling and touching hands whenever a waiter passed, filming content to sell their “couple” vibe. Dinner was decent—steak, wine, the works—and the free dessert landed: a rich chocolate cake drizzled with caramel. Dale propped his phone to record Matt, who was mid-rant about their free-food wins, fork loaded with cake. A sudden flash blinded them, like a camera bulb popping. Dale blinked, vision clearing, and his jaw hit the floor. Matt’s head—short brown hair, scruffy jaw—was still there, but his body was the woman’s from next door. The sundress hugged her curves, tits spilling out, tattoos vivid on her arms, and a musky hint of her perfume—jasmine and sweat—wafted over the table. Matt kept talking, oblivious, shovelling cake into his mouth.

“Dude, what’s wrong?” Matt asked, pausing, his voice still his but softer, flirty. Dale leaned in, heart racing, whispering, “You’ve got a chick’s body, man!” Matt glanced around, confused, then grinned. “Babe, what you talking about?” Dale recoiled at babe, his skin prickling. The swapper had fucked them—swapped Matt’s body with the woman’s and rewritten reality. Now Matt and Dale were boyfriends, lovers, while the woman and her guy were just pals. Matt scooped more cake, moaning, “Free shit’s the best, babe. Taste this, it’s to die for!” He held out his fork, but Dale was frozen, staring at Matt’s cleavage, nipples poking through the dress, his new tits jiggling with every move.

Matt’s eyes narrowed, catching Dale’s stare. “What’s wrong, babe? You look like you saw a ghost.” He slid a hand under the table, fingers brushing Dale’s crotch through his pants, making him jump. “This cake’s got me hot inside,” Matt purred, rubbing up and down, his new pussy tingling under the sundress, its wet heat seeping through the fabric. The restaurant smelled of chocolate, wine, and Matt’s new arousal, the booth’s leather creaking as he leaned closer. “Let’s make another kinda video later,” he winked, licking his lips, his hand squeezing Dale’s cock, which—fuck him—stiffened despite the horror.

Dale’s mouth was dry, his brain screaming. Matt’s new body was his wet dream—tits, ass, those tattoos he’d jerk off to—but his best friend’s head on it? Wrong, so fucking wrong. The couple next door ate on, unaware their lives had flipped. The swapper was gone, his chaos sown. Matt’s hand kept stroking, his pussy soaking the dress, the air thick with his scent and the cake’s sweetness. Dale’s phone kept rolling, catching Matt’s flirty moans, his oblivious seduction, while Dale sat, trapped in a new relationship with his bestfriend and a body he’d kill for to fuck, wondering what the hell happened.