I was already moaning in her voice, dress bunched up around my waist, heels digging into the kitchen tiles as I squatted over my old cock. Each bounce sent my breasts swaying and a slick, obscene slap echoing off the counters. My new pussy clenched greedily, drawing the milf in my body deeper. Every thrust made me whimper higher, my voice alien yet dripping with pleasure. She was inside my young, strong body, her hands on my new womanly hips, guiding me, smirking as she watched her old curves ride her new cock. “God, I always knew you looked at me like this,” she groaned in my deep voice, “but seeing you as me… fucking yourself like this… it’s even better than I imagined.” I couldn’t even answer. I just bounced harder, faster, milking what used to be mine, losing myself in the heat between my thighs.
It had all started an hour ago. I was just supposed to help her move boxes. That’s it. Married MILF next door, mid-30s, perfect curves, and a husband who was conveniently out for the day. We were in her kitchen unpacking dusty attic finds when she set a strange, glassy pink orb on the counter. “Pretty, isn’t it?” she said, rolling it in her hands. I reached for it and—BANG—everything went white. When my vision cleared, I was staring at… me. My face, my voice coming out of her lips: “Oh… my… God…” I looked down and almost stumbled. The weight of breasts swaying inside a snug dress that clung to my hips. Long, toned legs ending in her delicate feet. A soft, warm flatness between my thighs replacing what had been there moments ago. Even my voice—her smoky, feminine tone—escaped when I gasped, “No way…”
Across from me, she stood in my body, running her new, masculine hands over the flat chest, grinning as she flexed. “This is… unbelievable,” she said, my voice deep and young in her mouth. Then her eyes locked on me—on her old body. She stepped forward, lifted the hem of my dress, and smirked at the curve of her own ass. “I always wondered what it looked like from this angle,” she teased, my big hands cupping it firmly. “W-wait, are we—” I started, but she was already guiding me back against the counter, hiking the dress up around my waist. I felt the blunt, thick heat of my old cock pressing against my thigh and my breath caught in this high, breathy voice.
The first push inside nearly buckled my knees. This body was so hot, so slick, every nerve wired to this new center. She gripped my hips, pulling me down onto her over and over, the sound of skin meeting echoing off the tile. I couldn’t stop moaning in her voice, hands clawing at my own shoulders, the dress slipping down to trap my arms as she drove up into me. She bit her lip, watching her old breasts bounce in front of her, watching me ride her like I’d been starving for it. By the time I came—hard, trembling in heels, my new sex clenching desperately around what used to be mine—the pink orb was forgotten on the counter, and we both knew the line between us was gone for good. It wouldn’t be the last time I visited to “help” her out. ••• More Stories: Bodyswap-fantasy.blogspot.com