Is that AI?

 

I'm Mike, and the last two weeks have been a weird mix of guilt and thrill. These random naked selfies started popping up on my phone from an unknown number. No head in any of them, just this insanely sexy woman's body. Full tits with perky nipples, slim waist flaring to wide hips, shaved pussy peeking in some shots, all posed in mirrors or beds. Not complaining at first. I rubbed one out to a particularly hot one where she was spreading her legs, that slick pink slit glistening, then deleted it quick. Made sure to erase every trace after, or so I thought.

One night I forgot. My wife Jenna caught it while borrowing my phone for directions. "Who the fuck is this slut?" she screamed, shoving the screen in my face. The pic was the body bent over, ass up, pussy lips puffy and inviting. I denied everything. "Babe, I swear, I don't know her! Must be a wrong number, some prank. I've been deleting them!" All the excuses poured out, but she wasn't buying it, tears streaming as she called me a cheating bastard. We fought for hours, her yelling about trust, me begging her to believe me. Finally, she calmed enough to say, "Fine. Contact this bitch and tell her to stop. Block the number after."

I didn't want to. Those pics were my secret guilty pleasure, that perfect body fueling fantasies Jenna didn't know about. But she was right, this had to end. I racked my brain for who could be pranking me like this. Greg came to mind. That perverted bastard from college, always pulling sick jokes, sending dick pics to randoms. But no, couldn't be. He was in the hospital after a bad car wreck two weeks ago, barely survived from what I heard.

I typed: Stop sending these pictures to me. I will be blocking your number now.

About to hit block when a reply buzzed in: Don't block this number bro! Its me Greg!

My heart skipped. You bastard, I got into a massive fight with my wife coz of you!

Sorry, he replied. 

How are you anyway? Heard you barely survived.

My body got absolutely crushed bro! I was technically dead. But there was an experimental trial that got me a new one.

Confused as hell, I shot back: What do you mean?

I'll show you, he typed. 

Then an image loaded. Same sexy body as before, topless tits heaving, black pants pulled down to expose that shaved pussy, black nails holding the phone for a mirror selfie. But this time, the head was visible. Greg's. Short dark hair, beard, his goofy grin staring back above those massive jugs, necklace dangling between them.

WTFFFF, I replied. Is that AI?

Come see for yourself, but if its not AI you need to eat me out ;) 

I stared at the pic, zooming in. Those tits looked real, nipples pink and stiff, pussy lips slightly parted like in the others, a hint of wetness. My cock stirred again, traitorously, even with Greg's face there. What the actual fuck was happening? Experimental trial? Like a body swap or some sci-fi shit?

I told Jenna it was Greg pranking me with fake pics, which cooled her anger. She knew what a weirdo he was. "I'm gonna visit him at the hospital, make sure he's okay," I said. She offered to come, but I waved her off. "Nah, babe, rest up. I'll be quick." Truth was, I had to see this myself. If it was real, holy shit. If not, I'd punch the prick for the trouble.

Rushed over to the hospital, heart pounding the whole drive. Signed in, found his room. Pushed the door open, and there he was, sitting up in bed, grinning. But below the neck, that body. Tits straining a hospital gown, curves filling the sheets, black nails tapping on his phone. "Bro! You came!" Greg's voice boomed, but then he shifted, tits jiggling, and crossed his legs, pussy probably throbbing under there just like in the pics.

"Is this... real?" I stammered, staring at his beard scratching the gown's collar, the scent of hospital antiseptic mixing with a faint feminine lotion.

"Totally, man. Docs hooked me up after the crash. New body, fresh start." He pulled the gown aside a bit, flashing one tit, nipple hardening in the cool air. "Wanna touch? Feel how firm they are"

My cock twitched, mind reeling. This was Greg, but that body I'd jerked to. What the hell had they done? I backed toward the door, mumbling excuses, but couldn't bare to walk out. I turned around staring at those curves, Greg grinning there with his tit in his hand. He then changed his position and spread his legs.

"I believe you owe me something," he said as he parted his pussy lips.

Looks good on you

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New age body trafficking

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Enjoy the Beard

I'm Jake, 28, and I've been dating Mia for two years now. She's a total boss babe, climbing the corporate ladder at her marketing firm, always dressed to kill in power suits that hug her curves just right. Massive tits, tiny waist, legs for days, and an ass that makes heads turn. We're crazy about each other, and tonight's supposed to be special. She's got a big presentation tomorrow, so we're role-playing in our hotel room to "practice her pitch." She's strutting around in that blue blazer over a black tank, black skirt flaring just enough to tease, nails painted dark, gold bracelet glinting. The room smells like her jasmine perfume mixed with the crisp hotel sheets, and my cock's already stirring watching her pose in front of the mirror.

"Babe, how's this look? Confident enough to close the deal?" she asks, hands on hips, tits thrusting forward. I nod, grinning from the bed, phone out to snap pics for her "motivation board." We're alone, curtains drawn, the hum of the AC the only sound besides her heels clicking on the floor.

Then there's a knock. "Room service?" I mutter, but we didn't order anything. Mia opens the door, and in steps this bearded guy, stocky with short dark hair, smirking like he owns the place. "Hey, I think you're in the wrong room," I say, standing up. He ignores me, eyes locked on Mia. "Love the outfit. Mind if I borrow something?" Before I can react, he grabs her hair and yanks. Her head pops off clean, like it's detachable. I freeze, brain short-circuiting. He sets her pretty face down on the dresser, then reaches up and pulls his own bearded head off, placing it on her neck with a click.

What the actual fuck? I lunge forward, but he's already scooping up her head, tucking it under his arm like a football, then bolts out the door. I froze. I'm left staring at Mia's body, now topped with his thick-bearded face, dark eyes blinking in confusion for a split second before she smiles at me.

"Babe? You okay? You look like you saw a ghost," she says, but it's his deep, rumbling voice, not her soft alto. The beard twitches as she talks, scratching against the black tank's neckline. Her tits heave with each breath, straining the fabric, nipples poking through like always, but that hairy chin bobs above them, making my stomach flip.

"Mia, your head! That guy...he stole your head! You've got his bearded face!" I'm yelling now, hands grabbing her shoulders, feeling her smooth skin, but the neck's sturdier, coarser hairs brushing my fingers.

She frowns, brows knitting under that neat black hair, and laughs low and gravelly. "What are you talking about? This is my face, you idiot. Stop messing around." She thinks I'm joking, turning back to the mirror, adjusting the blazer, tits jiggling as she poses with hands on hips, skirt swishing. "Come on, take the pic. I need to see if this screams 'power exec.'"

I can't breathe. The room reeks of her jasmine, but now mixed with his faint cologne, like musk and old spice clinging to the beard. She's oblivious, strutting closer, hips swaying, that perfect ass flexing under the skirt. "Babe, seriously, what's wrong? You were all over me five minutes ago." She presses against me, tits mashing soft and heavy into my chest, the tank's fabric thin enough to feel her hard nipples. My cock twitches despite the horror, responding to her body as she grinds lightly, pussy heat radiating through the skirt against my thigh.

But that beard scratches my collarbone as she nuzzles in, deep voice purring, "You wanna practice more? I could blow you for good luck." Her hand slides down, cupping my bulge, manicured nails grazing through my pants. I recoil, pushing her back. "No! Mia, look in the mirror! That's not you!"

She rolls her eyes, and grabs her phone from the dresser. "Fine, if you're gonna be weird." She snaps a selfie, tits out front, smiling that confident smile on his face, then shows me. "See? Same old me, beard and all. You don't complain about my beard when you're 7 inch deep into my throat! Now stop being a prick and fuck me already. I've got an early meeting."

I'm shaking, bile rising, but her body's so familiar, curves begging, that musky arousal scent wafting up as she spreads her legs a bit. The swapper's long gone, probably jerking off with her pretty head on his body somewhere. My phone buzzes, a text from an unknown number. I look and there's a picture: Mia's gorgeous face on the bearded guy's stocky frame, his hand on a bulging cock, caption: "She finally has a real dick in her hand. More pics coming - enjoy the beard on your nuts when she blows you!"

I nearly drop the phone. Mia's already stripping the blazer, tits bouncing free in the tank, oblivious, pulling me toward the bed. "Come on, babe. Let's make this night memorable." Her deep voice echoes, beard framing those plump lips as she licks them. I'm trapped, cock hardening against my will, wondering if I can even touch her without puking. What the fuck do I do now?

Rogue Swapper - Long Flight

 

I'm Ryan, and I'm cutting it way too close at the airport. My flight's boarding in minutes, and I hate being last. I always race to be first so I can snag overhead space for my bag without fighting anyone. Sprinting through the terminal, shoes pounding, heart racing, carry-on thumping against my side. The gate's in sight, thank fuck.

I barrel around a corner and slam right into someone. A hooded guy stumbles back, and next to him a voluptuous woman in a tight black sweater yelps, her massive tits jiggling from the impact. "Shit, sorry!" I mutter, barely slowing down, charging past them toward the gate. A sudden flash blinds me, bright as hell, like a camera went off in my face. I blink hard, vision spotting, but keep moving. I stumble momentarily in my heels, maybe I should have worn shoes, but adrenaline's pumping so I ignore it.

I reach the gate, panting, hand over my ticket. The attendant scans it, smiles big. "Welcome aboard, ma'am. Right this way." Ma'am? I shoot her a look but brush it off, probably just a mix-up. Everyone in line stares as I board, eyes lingering too long on my chest, whispers I can't quite catch. Weird, but whatever, I'm on the plane, that's all that matter to me.

Overhead bin's half full already, I knew I should have left earlier. I hoist my bag, struggling more than usual, arms straining. Damn, I need to hit the gym harder, I think, finally shoving it in. Straighten my outfit, this black cardigan thing over a gray top, feels snug across my chest. I slide into my aisle seat and the middle guy glances over and mutters under his breath, "Great, I'm sitting next to a trans." What the actual fuck? I try to ignore him, cross my arms over my chest, feeling a little self conscious.

Flight takes off smooth and the cabin lights dim. Once we're cruising, I grab my toiletry bag and head to the lavatory to freshen up. I lock the door, the tight space smelling like sanitizer and recycled air, turn to the mirror and look at myself.

My face is tired, baggy eyebags, short dark hair and stubble. I look pass my neck to my hourglass curves, smooth skin, massive tits barely contained by this gray tank, and my black cardigan open. I pull the tank down a bit, watching my tits spill out, heavy and round, nipples dark and perky. Hands cup them instinctively, flesh soft, warm, a jolt shooting straight between my legs when I squeeze. How can anyone mistake me for a woman with these? I pat between my legs, my newly shaved pussy lips, puffy under my tight jeans, a faint dampness seeping through. Can't wait to get home to my partner.

Then I think about it more, why's everyone acting so strange? Flight attendants calling me ma'am, that asshole seatmate whispering trans like I'm some freak. Are they all Idiots? They see a guy with killer tits and a cunt and they think he's a woman? The fuck? Whatever.

I fish out my phone, angle it for the mirror. Pull the tank lower, tits fully out now, nipples hardening in the cool air, goosebumps racing over the cleavage. Snap a few selfies, one squeezing them together, another pinching a nipple, biting my lip at the spark that hits my clit. I hike the cardigan off one shoulder for a better shot, tits heaving with each breath.

Perfect. Gary's gonna lose it when I send these after landing. "Miss you, babe," I'll caption them. Maybe add a tease about joining the mile-high club next time he's with me. I tuck the girls back in, their mass straining the fabric. I unlock the door, and with my heels clicking, I head back to my seat, ignoring the stares again. People are so judgmental! Can't a guy have nice tits without the drama?

Rogue Swapper - Wedding Jitters

 

I'm Alex, and this was supposed to be the best day of my life. I just married Sarah, the woman of my dreams. Long blonde hair, killer curves, that white wedding dress hugging her perfect tits and ass like it was painted on. The ceremony went off without a hitch, vows exchanged, rings on fingers, the whole church clapping as we kissed. Now the guests are gone, off to the reception, and it's just us with the old priest Father Michael, gray beard and all, plus a couple cameramen grabbing final shots in the empty church. The stained glass glows soft, incense still hanging in the air, mixed with Sarah's floral perfume and the faint sweat from nerves.

I'm standing at the altar, arm around her waist, feeling the satin under my fingers, her body warm against mine. One cameraman calls out, "Okay, lovebirds, one more. Big kiss for the album!" Sarah turns to me, smiling that sexy smile, lips full and red. I spot some weird guy at the back pew, hood up, fidgeting with something, but figure he's crew. I lean in for the kiss...

A bright flash hits, like a camera bulb exploding right in my face. I blink hard, spots dancing, and the photographer yells, "Ready!" I turn back to Sarah, and my world shatters. Her body's still there. Massive tits straining the lace bodice, tiny waist, hips flaring out. But the head? Father Michael's. Gray hair, beard, that wrinkled smile staring at me like I'm the only man in the world. "Are you okay, babe?" he says in his gravelly voice, but with Sarah's flirty lilt, reaching out a manicured hand. "You're not looking so good."

I stumble back, heart slamming. "What the fuck?!" The beard on her (his?) face twitches as he tilts his head, confused. I whip around, and there, by the altar blowing out candles, is Sarah's beautiful face on the priest's old, robed body, humming like nothing's wrong. The cameramen lower their lenses, frowning. "Everything alright, man?" one asks.

"Alright? Can't you see? They've swapped heads! That's not. That's the priest on my wife!"

They exchange looks, like I'm the crazy one. "Uh, dude, you've been married to Father Michael all day. You feeling okay?" The other chuckles. "Wedding jitters?"

No. No way. Reality's fucked. That suspicious guy must've done it. Some device, a zap. And now everyone's oblivious except me. My "bride" approaches again, hips swaying in the dress, tits bouncing with each step, the lace barely containing those stiff nipples. He (she?) nuzzles up to me, beard scratching my neck, stubble rough against my skin. The smell hits: Sarah's perfume mixed with the priest's aftershave, plus a warmer, musky hint from between those legs, like arousal already building.

"Babe, you're freaking me out," he whispers in that deep voice laced with her sweetness, pressing closer. Those huge tits mash against my chest, soft and heavy through the fabric. "You must be super tired. I know, I am too." He leans in, hot breath on my ear, beard tickling, and murmurs, "Think about all the sex we're gonna have tonight." A nibble on my earlobe, teeth gentle but the scratch of facial hair making my stomach churn. His hand slides down my back, pulling me in, and I feel the heat radiating from the dress, the faint dampness where a pussy now hides under layers of satin.

Shock hits like a truck. My vision tunnels, knees buckle. The church spins. Pews blurring, candles flickering. And everything goes black as I hit the floor.

When I come to, face against cool tile, my "bride" is kneeling over me, beard shadowed in the light, tits heaving with worry. "Babe? Oh God, someone get water!" The cameramen hover, concerned, while Sarah (in the priest's body) rushes over, her pretty face all priestly concern. The air's thick with incense and that twisted perfume musk. I'm trapped. Married to an old man's head on my wife's smoking body, and tonight? He's expecting a honeymoon fuck. My cock twitches traitorously at the thought of those curves, even as bile rises. What the hell do I do now?

I don't want them on me

We were messing around at the mall like idiots, my buddy Jaxson and me, testing out this weird remote I'd found on the street the other day. It was supposed to scan someone as the "source" and zap a target to match them, body-wise, but heads always stayed put for some glitchy reason. You could tweak who knew about the swap too, make it so everyone thinks it's normal, or just a few folks, or nobody at all. We'd been on a little spree, swapping random people for laughs, watching dudes waddle around with chick asses or whatever. Harmless fun, right?

Then we spot this sexy woman strutting by in a floral sundress, all curves and confidence, massive tits straining the fabric, hips swaying like she owned the place. "Yo, let's swap her with that fat guy over there," I whisper to Jaxson, the big African American dude with short hair and a beard, always acting tough. He's grinning, egging me on. I scan her quick, aim at the fat man, but some klutz barrels into me from behind. I spin, finger slips on the trigger, and bam, the beam hits Jaxson square in the chest. Worse, the jolt knocks the awareness dial. Now only me, Jaxson, and the woman know what happened, everyone else oblivious. The remote flies out of my hand, smashes on the tile floor, circuits sparking like fireworks.

The woman screams, her eyes wide as she pats down her new chunky body, then bolts off into the crowd. Jaxson stands there, frozen, looking down at himself. His head's the same, beard and all, but below? That voluptuous frame, smooth brown skin, those enormous tits heaving with every breath, wide hips filling out the sundress, and I catch a glimpse of thong underneath as he shifts. People stare, but to them, he's always been this way, some bearded guy with a bombshell body in a dress. They were more staring at his reaction. "What the fuck, man?" he hisses, voice deep but body language all wrong, hands flying to cup those massive tits like they're grenades.

We hightail it back to my place before security gets nosy. We crash on the couch in the living room, the AC humming, smell of takeout lingering from dinner last night. Jaxson's sitting there in that unlady-like way he always does, legs spread wide, but this time, his sundress riding up, giving me a full view of those thick thighs and the thong barely covering a shaved pussy. His beard scratches against the floral fabric as he leans forward, poking at his new curves. "Bro, you need to fix that remote of yours," he says, voice cracking a bit. "As much as I love tits, I don't want them on me!" He grabs them, squeezing, the soft flesh spilling over his fingers, nipples poking through the thin material. They jiggle when he lets go, and he stares, mesmerized.

"I'm on it, man," I mutter, eyeing the broken remote on the coffee table, pieces scattered. "Just give me time to solder this shit back together." But honestly, I'm half-distracted, watching him. He's African American tough guy one minute, now this curvy goddess the next. He leans back, legs still splayed, sundress hiked higher, thong outlining everything. His hand drifts down, absentmindedly tracing the fabric over that pussy, and I hear a low moan escape his lips. "Damn, this feels... weird," he breathes, beard twitching as he rubs harder, fingers pressing into the slit through the thong. The room starts smelling like arousal, that musky sweetness mixing with his usual cologne.

I should tell him to stop, right? Snap him out of it. But my cock's stirring in my jeans, watching my best friend lose himself in this borrowed body. His massive tits rise and fall faster, nipples hard now, and he slips a hand under the thong, gasping as his fingers find the clit. "Oh shit... what the..." Another moan, deeper, his hips bucking a little on the couch. The sundress slips off one shoulder, exposing more of those tits, heavy and round. He's rubbing circles now, beard damp with sweat, eyes half-closed, totally gone in the sensation. Pussy juices start soaking the thong, the wet sounds filling the quiet room.

I just sit there, frozen, hard as hell, pretending to fiddle with the remote. Part of me wants to fix it quick, get him back. But another part? Watching Jaxson, this macho dude, writhe and moan like a slut in heat? Fuck, maybe I'll take my time.