This is the life

Brad lounged in the plush LA hotel room, his chunky frame wrapped in a white bathrobe, the scent of lavender bath salts clinging to his damp skin. John had dragged him on this trip, promising to cover flights and lodging, but failed to mention they’d be sharing a room. Whatever, Brad thought, it’s free. While John was out “handling business,” Brad milked the amenities—soaking in the tub, ordering room service burgers, the works. His hairy chest peeked through the robe’s loose tie, and the AC’s hum mixed with the faint tang of greasy fries on the nightstand. John burst in, clutching a small box, his eyes glinting with something unhinged. Brad, toweling off in the bathroom, didn’t notice until John called him out.

“Dude, this is the life,” Brad said, strutting into the room, robe flapping, his gut jiggling. Then he spotted the sleek, remote-like device in John’s hand. “What’s that?” he asked, one eyebrow cocked. John’s grin was all teeth. “This, my man, changes people on a molecular level. Connects to my thoughts, transforms anyone I want.” Brad snorted, his laugh echoing off the tacky wallpaper. “Hope you didn’t blow your cash on that scam.” John’s smirk widened, dangerous. “Let’s try it then.” He aimed the device at Brad, picturing Rachel, his ex—blonde, curvy, with tits that could stop traffic.

Brad played along, clutching his chest dramatically. “Oh no, please don’t shoot me!” he mocked, voice dripping sarcasm. John pressed the button, and a blinding beam of light shot out, slamming into Brad’s chest. He froze, head tilting back like he was about to sneeze, eyes squeezed shut. His short, dark hair surged outward, lengthening into golden waves that cascaded past his shoulders. The robe parted as his body reshaped—his gut sucked in, hips flared, and two massive, perky tits ballooned out, nipples hard under the cotton. His cock vanished, replaced by a slick, shaved pussy, its musky scent cutting through the room’s stale air. In seconds, Brad was Rachel from the neck down, her creamy skin glistening, the robe barely containing her curves.

Brad’s eyes snapped open, and he stumbled, tits bouncing, the robe slipping to reveal a deep cleavage that smelled faintly of lavender and new, feminine sweat. “What the fuck?!” he screamed, his voice still his own—gruff, panicked—but clashing with the bombshell body below. He grabbed his new breasts, squeezing their soft weight, then reached down, fingers brushing his pussy, wet and throbbing. “John, you sick fuck, what did you do?!” John leered, stepping closer, the device dangling in his hand. “This is why I brought you, buddy,” he said, his voice low, lecherous, eyes raking over Brad’s stolen curves. The room reeked of sex already, the carpet muffling John’s steps as he closed the gap.

Brad’s new ass jiggled as he backed up, the robe riding up to flash his pussy, its lips glistening under the cheap hotel lighting. His heart pounded, mixing panic with a traitor’s heat—his new cunt ached, nipples stiffening as John’s gaze burned into him. “Change me back, man!” Brad pleaded, but John just laughed, tossing the device onto the bed. “Not yet, Rachel. Let’s have some fun first.” Brad’s throat tightened, his new body betraying him, pussy dripping onto the robe’s hem. The city hummed outside, but in that room, it was just them—John’s twisted grin, Brad’s horrified stare, and a body that screamed to be fucked, whether he wanted it or not.