Instantly I slammed back into consciousness in an unfamiliar room. I was
on my back, staring at a computer. Just below that were tits. Huge tits.
I sat up. This body was so different than my own. Tits and hair settled
over my shoulders. The hips felt impossibly wide. Everything smelled
fruity and girly.
I was in. It fucking worked.
I had to get to a mirror. I threw the computer to the side. When I
stood, everything felt out of place. Her hips were so wide and the tits
pulled me forward.
The sensation was overwhelming. A dizzying loop of tactile feedback
where I was both the one touching and the one being touched.
I felt the
heavy, dense weight of them pressing against the lace of a bra that felt
far too tight, the underwire digging into the ribs of a body that wasn't
mine. I slid my palms upward, cupping the undersides, marveling at the
sheer mass of them. They were like warm, soft boulders of flesh that
defied gravity only because of the synthetic fabric holding them in
place. With a sudden, frantic impulse, I hooked my fingers under the
strap and yanked it down, letting them spill out of the bra, it still
strapped and awkwardly sitting atop them. They didn't just drop; they
bounced, a heavy, rhythmic jiggle that sent a shockwave of pleasure
straight to my new brain.
I spent the next few minutes just experimenting with the physics of it,
watching them sway and bounce as I shifted my weight. I reached out and
flicked the nipples, watching them harden instantly.
The jolt of
electricity from that touch shot through the chest and settled deep in
the pelvis, a sensation so visceral it made my knees shake. I leaned
over, staring down at the pale, expansive curves, unable to believe that
this, this biological jackpot, was now my personal property.
I hopped, running to the mirror, tits and hair bouncing everywhere and
fixing my bra and shirt back in place to calm the frantic jiggling. When
I stared, she stared back.
My invention actually worked! I almost forgot I was a hot chick for a
second as I went through the implications. I had genuinely invented a
way to control the bodies of others with radio waves.
But... I was actually inside the body of that snooty HR lady. And I
could make her do whatever I wanted.
I started with the tits. I'd basically had a hand on one since I got in
here. They jiggled everywhere and were fucking huge. Even grabbing them
made my belly tingle, a weird feeling I'd never had as a guy. Holy shit
- was that her getting horny?
Some business to attend to before I went all in with exploration.
Dropping my tits, I walked back to the living room. The tingly feeling
got even stronger, denial fueling the growing need within me.
I grabbed her laptop. "Looks like I'll be getting the job after all." I
said in her voice to her empty apartment.
But on the lockscreen, I was stymied. Her password. Shit. I had none of
her memories.
Well, if I couldn't do my job, she couldn't do hers. I took her laptop
and folded it open, going past the resistance until it bent and snapped
off.
"Have fun working from home now, you spoiled bitch."
Now, time for some fun with her pussy.
I wandered into the small office nook off the living room. Her desk was
as tidy as the rest of the place — until I opened the bottom drawer.
Inside was a printed spreadsheet of candidates from the last hiring
round, with handwritten notes in the margins.
"Not worth hiring. Overseas candidate cheaper."
"Lacking in EQ."
"Cute but no. We already have enough of those people."
And next to my own name, in neat blue ink: "Position to be filled by boss's daughter. Holding interviews for compliance reasons."
I stared at the page for a long moment, anger well inside me. Then I
smiled with her mouth, folded the paper carefully, and ripped it up.
As I walked to her room, I let my arm run along her kitchen island,
knocking cups and plates off and onto the floor. Some shattered, making
me laugh to myself. Her apartment was genuinely immaculate and decorated
so intricately. Ruining it was a perverted delight as violating as
wearing her body as my own.
I laid down on the bed, the mattress plush and smelling of expensive
vanilla, and stared up at the ceiling for a moment, letting the sheer
absurdity of the situation sink in. Then, my hands drifted back to my
chest. The bra was a restrictive, lacy thing that fought to keep the
masses of flesh contained. I lifted my tits out, nipples just visible over the lip of the bra.
With a thin finger, I toyed with the nipple. The faster I rubbed, the more pleasure I got.
Just to try it, I reached my hands back and slapped my tits hard. Pain flashed, but was replaced by a
surge of righteous pleasure. My big, juicy, stolen tits ached. She'd feel that later. Good, she deserved it.
As I continued to toy with the peaks of her breasts, I noticed a
strange, magnetic pull directing my focus downward. It wasn't just a
psychological desire; it was a physical circuit. Every time I squeezed
the heavy mounds or flicked the nipples, a warm, thrumming pulse
traveled south, bypassing the stomach and landing with a wet, heavy thud
right between my thighs. As a man, pleasure had always been localized, a
direct line from the organ to the brain. But this was a network. The
connection between the breasts and the pussy was a shimmering, invisible
wire of nerve endings, and I was the one flipping the switch.
The focus shifted downward, the heavy sway of my chest acting as a
curtain for the exploration below. I slipped off her silk panties, my
fingers met a humid warmth as I cupped my pussy. "My pussy" I thought to myself. The thought was an absolute delight, sending
a small gush of lubricating liquid forward as I rubbed my hand down the
seam.
I closed my eyes, letting my head sink into the plush pillow as I
synchronized the rhythms of my two hands. The tactile feedback was
overwhelming, a dual pleasure that my virgin male brain could barely
process. I gripped both breasts, squeezing them firmly, molding the
soft, heavy mass of them until they were crushed against my ribs. Every
time I squeezed, the pressure translated into a dull, satisfying ache
that seemed to fuel the fire building between my legs. I began to knead
them, rolling the nipples between my thumbs and forefingers, creating a
frantic, pulsing tension that mirrored the drumming of my heart.
Simultaneously, my other hand was buried deep in that humid warmth, my
fingers working in a frantic, sliding motion. I found the clitoris, a
tiny, electric nerve center. Each flick sent a jagged bolt of lightning
straight up my spine, colliding with the sensation of my breasts being
crushed in my other hand. The synergy was explosive; the more I
manipulated my chest, the more intense the clitoral stimulation became,
creating a feedback loop of escalating heat that made my breath come in
ragged, high-pitched whimpers.
The buildup detonated. The world narrowed down to a
single, white-hot point of convergence between my chest and my crotch. I
arched my back, my spine curving, as a tidal wave of release
crashed through the pelvis, radiating outward in concentric circles of
shimmering heat.
My vision blurred, the edges
of the room dissolving into a haze of vanilla-scented static, and my
breath hitched in a strangled, high-pitched keen that echoed off the
walls of the bedroom. The contractions were rhythmic and violent,
pulling my hips upward in an involuntary dance, while my breasts heaved
with every frantic gasp.
The silence that followed was heavy, filled only by the sound of my own
ragged, feminine breathing. I lay there, limbs splayed across the silk
sheets, feeling the slow, rhythmic thrum of a heart that didn't belong
to me. I looked up at the ceiling, a smug grin spreading across a face
that had once looked down on me with indifference. I had stripped her of
her autonomy, her dignity, and her career in a single afternoon. The
thought of her laptop, snapped in half on the living room floor, brought
a fresh surge of satisfaction.
I leaned forward, peering down to see the anatomy of my conquest. Using
my fingers, I carefully spread open the pussy, peeling back the soft,
pink folds to expose the glistening, swollen center. Seeing the wetness,
the raw openness of it, and the pulsing vulnerability of the clitoris
made the reality of the situation hit me all over again. I spent a long
time just staring, fascinated by the way it moved and squelched under my
touch.
The clock was ticking. I felt a sudden sense of urgency. My hour of
borrowed sovereignty was winding down.
I stood up from the bed, the cool air of the apartment hitting my damp
skin. I didn't bother with the clothes; there was something profoundly
liberating about being completely exposed in a space that was designed
for curated, professional perfection. I looked at myself in the
full-length mirror, the wide hips, the heavy, swinging tits. I decided
to cause a bit more mayhem before leaving.
I started in the kitchen. I didn't just want to break things; I wanted
to dismantle the image of the "perfect" woman she played. I grabbed a
bottle of expensive champagne from the counter and didn't bother with
the cork; I smashed the neck against the granite, laughing as the glass
shattered and the liquid sprayed across the white cabinetry.
I tore through her vanity in the hallway, sweeping high-end perfumes and
designer makeup onto the floor, watching the expensive oils seep into
the expensive rug, creating dark, permanent stains.
Every crash was a middle finger to the woman who had rejected me with a
flicker of her eyes on a Zoom call. I wasn't just trashing a room; I was
erasing her carefully constructed life, one broken object at a time.
As the humming in my head grew louder, signaling the imminent end of the
transfer, I made my way back to the living room. I stood over the
remains of her laptop, the plastic chassis snapped and useless. I looked
down at the body I was inhabiting, the skin flushed from the adrenaline
and the previous exertion. I felt a strange, lingering warmth in the
chest and pelvis, a ghost of the pleasure that was still humming through
the nerves. I took a deep breath, savoring the scent of expensive
vanilla mixed with the sharp smell of spilled alcohol and broken glass.
Suddenly, I heard jiggling at the door. Who was that? My face turned
into a scowl as the door opened, revealing a man.
His eyes burst open at the sight of the wreckage. "Julie... what the
hell happened here?"
I opened my mouth to reply, but before the words could escape it...
I was back in my car outside, satellite dish pointed at the wall. I
laughed maniacally. I'd actually fucking ruined her! Holy shit, my life
had changed. The unemployed man-child could now hack the mind of anyone.
I might not have gotten the job, but I got something better. A golden
ticket into the life of anyone I could find with a satellite dish.
And God, how fucking good was that orgasm! Being a man didn't even
compare. I was sporting a serious boner now, realizing that despite my
crazy, leg quake of an orgasm as a woman, I hadn't gotten my own body
off.
"Shit. Why didn't I take any pictures?" I berated myself. "Wait..." I
saw the satellite dish sitting there. I knew one way to get some.
I considered jumping back in. But the HR lady's position was not an
enviable one to be in. Luckily, there was a new target.
I fired up the machine. Time to take the plunge.
