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Feel what she feels

I'm standing in the dining room, heart pounding like a drum, staring at this nightmare version of myself. My lover, Carla, the hot little apprentice witch I’ve been banging behind my wife’s back for months, is pacing in her baby blue blouse that’s unbuttoned way too low, tits almost spilling out. She looks pissed and scared at the same time.

And then there’s me. My own head, short spiked hair, neat beard, the one my wife kisses every morning, stuck on top of Carla’s exact fucking body. Same curvy hips, same heavy double-D tits straining against this skimpy black lace bra and thong set she loves wearing for me. My new tits rise and fall with every panicked breath, nipples already hard and poking through the sheer fabric because this body is so damn sensitive. Every shift of the lace sends little sparks straight to my new pussy, which is already getting slick.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen, Rick!” Carla hisses, waving her hands like she’s trying to swat the magic away. “I just wanted you to feel what I feel when you touch me, to know every spot that makes me wet. Not… not this!”

I look down at myself, at these smooth tanned legs, the curve of this fat ass in the mirror on the wall. I shift my weight and feel the thong ride up between my new cheeks, the string rubbing right against my asshole. My tits jiggle with the movement, heavy and full, and fuck, it feels good in the worst way. I grab them without thinking, just to steady them, and a moan slips out of my throat before I can stop it. The nipples are so hard they ache, and squeezing sends a hot pulse straight down to my clit.

“Stop groping yourself and help me fix this!” Carla snaps, but her eyes are glued to my chest, watching her own body react to my touch.

“I’m not groping, I’m… fuck, they’re sensitive!” I growl. I pinch one nipple through the lace and my knees almost buckle. My pussy clenches hard, a fresh gush of wetness soaking the thong. “How the hell do you walk around with these things?!”

Carla grabs her spellbook off the table, flipping pages frantically. “The reversal incantation should work. Stand still.”

She starts chanting, hands glowing faint purple, waving them over me. Nothing happens. The glow fizzles out like a dud firework. She tries again, voice rising, sweat beading between her tits. Still nothing.

“Shit. Shit!” She slams the book shut. “I must’ve bound it too deep. It’s stuck until the moon cycle resets or something. I don’t know!”

I glance at the clock. My wife’s due home any minute. She thinks I’m at a work dinner. If she walks in and sees me like this, head on Carla’s identical slutty body, both of us half-dressed and reeking of sex and panic…

“Change me back before my wife comes back home!” I yell, voice cracking. I grab Carla’s shoulders, my manicured nails digging in. My tits press against her blouse, nipple to nipple through thin fabric, and we both gasp at the contact. Electricity shoots through me, my pussy throbbing so hard I have to clench my thighs together.

I look down and see the dark wet spot spreading on the black thong. My clit is swollen, poking against the lace, begging for friction. I can’t help it. I slide one hand down, cupping my new mound, and the second my fingers brush the clit I whimper. It’s like a direct line to every nerve in this body.

“We don’t have time,” I groan, but I’m already rubbing slow circles, hips rocking forward.

Carla bites her lip, watching me finger her own pussy on my body. “Just… quick. Maybe if you come it’ll loosen the binding.”

I hear the front door lock click.

Too late.

Don't you want your wife back?

 I’m on my knees at the foot of the bed, heart hammering so hard I can taste metal. The bedroom still smells like her vanilla body lotion. And there he is, that smug motherfucker Vince from accounting, the prick who’s always hated me, on all fours in the middle of our mattress wearing my wife’s stolen fucking body like it’s his favorite new toy.

His head (short salt-and-pepper spikes, trimmed goatee, that same shit-eating grin he wears in meetings) looks ridiculous bolted onto Sarah’s perfect hourglass frame. Her heavy tits dangle beneath him, fat and round, nipples dark and stiff, swaying like ripe fruit every time he shifts his weight.

He locks eyes with me and gives a little bounce on the mattress, making those gorgeous tits slap together with a wet, meaty sound.

“Aww, what’s wrong?” he mocks in his gravelly voice. “Don’t you want your wife back?”

Another bounce. The tits jiggle harder, nipples tracing lazy circles in the air. I hear the faint creak of bedsprings and the wetter sound of Sarah’s pussy, my wife’s pussy, dripping onto our sheets because this bastard is getting off on teasing me.

He crawls closer, ass in the air, back arched like a bitch in heat. Her long hair is gone, replaced by his short spikes, but everything else is pure Sarah: tiny waist flaring into wide hips, thick thighs trembling, that perfect heart-shaped ass I used to slap red now flexing under his control.

“Fuck, these things are heavy,” he groans, reaching one manicured hand up to grab a hanging tit. He squeezes hard, milk-white flesh spilling between his fingers. “Bet you miss sucking on these, huh? Miss sliding your cock between them while she moaned your name?”

He laughs, low and dirty, then slaps the underside of the breast so it bounces wildly. The smack echoes. My cock jerks traitorously in my jeans even as my stomach churns.

He drops his chest lower, dragging those stiff nipples across the sheets, then looks back over his shoulder at me, goatee scratching against Sarah’s smooth shoulder.

“Tell you what,” he purrs, voice thick with lust, “beg real pretty, and maybe I’ll let you watch me fuck your wife’s body with my fingers first. Maybe I’ll even let you taste how sweet her cunt still is when I’m done.”

I’m frozen, cock throbbing, tears burning my eyes, watching the love of my life reduced to a smirking, jiggling fucktoy wearing the face of the man I hate.

And the worst part? Some sick, broken part of me wants to crawl forward and bury my face between those thighs just to feel her one more time, even if it’s him moaning when I do.

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.