The first thing I was aware of was the weight on my chest. A deep, unfamiliar ache in my shoulders and back. I blinked my eyes open, the morning light feeling unusually bright. My hand came up to rub the sleep from my eyes, but my wrist felt slender, delicate. And my chest… what the hell?
I sat bolt upright, the movement making my head spin. Two heavy, perfect breasts swayed with the motion, settling against my ribs. My ribs. I stared down. They were large, tipped with pale pink nipples that were already pebbling in the cool air of the bedroom. Not my bedroom.
My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic, bird-like flutter that was all wrong. My gaze darted around the room. Pink walls. A vanity cluttered with makeup and hair products. A full-length mirror on the closet door.
I scrambled out of the absurdly soft bed, my legs longer, my balance different. I stumbled to the mirror and froze.
A stranger stared back. A woman. A blonde. Waves of honey-colored hair spilled over her... over my... shoulders. Big, blue eyes wide with terror set in a heart-shaped face. And the body… my god, the body. Curves I’d only ever seen in magazines. Hips that flared from a narrow waist, and those breasts, so full and heavy they seemed to defy gravity. I was naked, and the sight was so shocking, so fundamentally wrong, that I had to grip the doorframe to stay upright.
My phone. I needed my phone. I saw it on the nightstand, a glittery case that felt alien in my new, smaller hands. My fingerprint didn’t work. Panic rising, I punched in a passcode I somehow instinctively knew. 6969. Of course it was.
The screen flashed open, and an app with a pulsing, intertwined double-helix logo was front and center. SoulShift. The stupid dating app my buddy dared me to download. “It’s next-level, man. Finds your perfect match on a biological level.” I’d filled out the questionnaire half-drunk, joking about wanting to know what the other side felt like.
It wasn’t a joke.
I frantically clicked the app. A single match populated the screen: Sienna. Her profile picture was me. Or rather, the body that was supposed to be me. My own face grinned back, a mischievous, knowing look in its eyes. There was a chat function. My fingers, trembling, typed a message.
What did you do? What is this?
The response was almost immediate. Took you long enough to wake up, sleepyhead. 😉 Read the user agreement. Section 4, Subsection B. The shift is permanent unless both parties consent to a reversal within 24 hours. Clock’s ticking.
Permanent. The word slammed into my gut. I scrolled through the impossibly long legal document I’d blindly accepted. There it was... Permanent bodily transference.
You knew, I typed, rage and fear making my new voice shake. You fucking knew this would happen!
A girl’s gotta have a little fun, she replied. And this model was getting a little… boring. You, on the other hand, have a certain… rugged appeal.
I didn’t agree to this! Swap us back. NOW.
I could, her message appeared, each word feeling like a trap being set. But I’m rather comfortable. I think I’ll need some convincing.
What do you want? Money?
Oh, nothing so crude. I want a show. I want to see what my new body is capable of. I want you to touch yourself. For me. Right now.
My blood ran cold. No. Absolutely not.
Suit yourself. Enjoy being Sienna. I know I’m going to enjoy being you. Toodles!
The screen indicated she was typing another message, probably a final goodbye. Desperation clawed at my throat. The thought of being stuck in this soft, hyper-feminine form forever was a prison sentence. My old life, my body, my everything… it was all slipping away.
WAIT! I typed, the word a scream in text form. Okay. Fine. I’ll do it.
Awesome! 😊 Video chat me. And don’t be shy.
A request flashed on the screen. I hit accept with a sinking feeling of utter humiliation. My own face—Sienna in my body—appeared on the screen. She was smirking, leaning back in my office chair, wearing my favorite t-shirt.
“Well, hello there,” my old voice said, a playful lilt that was all hers. “Let’s see you.”
I angled the phone, showing her the body I was trapped in. A hot flush of shame spread across my chest and up my neck. This was insane.
“Start slow,” she coached, her voice a low murmur from the speaker. “You must be so curious.”
Hesitantly, I brought a hand up, letting my fingertips skate over the swell of one breast. The skin was incredibly soft, sensitive. A jolt, sharp and electric, shot from my nipple straight down to my core. I gasped. The sound was a high, feminine thing that startled me.
“See?” Sienna purred. “It’s not so bad. Keep going.”
My fingers, moving with a will of their own now, circled a nipple, tracing the areola until it was a tight, aching bud. The sensations were overwhelming, a language my old body didn’t speak. Every touch was amplified, a direct line to a gathering heat between my legs. I let my other hand drift down, over the flat plane of my stomach, through the fine, downy hair.
I was wet. So wet. The discovery was a shock. My new body was responding with an eagerness my mind was still fighting.
“That’s it,” Sienna whispered. “Don’t think. Just feel.”
My fingers slid lower, parting folds that were entirely new to me. I found a center of throbbing, hypersensitive nerve endings. A clit. The word floated through my haze of pleasure. I pressed the heel of my palm against it, and my back arched off the bed as a wave of pure sensation crashed over me. A low moan escaped my lips, and I didn’t even try to stop it.
The fight was gone. The humiliation burned away by a need so intense it was all-consuming. I was a passenger, watching this blonde stranger pleasure herself with a building, frantic urgency. My fingers worked in tight, frantic circles, my hips bucking against my hand. The pleasure was a storm building inside me, a pressure coiling tighter and tighter. Breaths came in short, sharp gasps. The room, Sienna’s face on the phone, it all melted away. There was only the feeling, the incredible, mounting, needing feeling.
It broke over me with the force of a tsunami. My body seized, back bowing off the mattress as a silent scream tore through me. Pleasure, white-hot and absolute, radiated out from my core in endless, rolling waves. My muscles clenched and released, riding the aftershocks until I collapsed, boneless and spent, onto the disheveled sheets.
I lay there for a long moment, my new heart hammering, skin slick with a light sweat. The haze of the most powerful orgasm I’d ever experienced slowly receded, and reality trickled back in. The agreement. Sienna. Swapping back.
I turned my head, a sluggish, exhausted movement, toward the phone on the pillow next to me.
The screen was dark.
I reached for it, my arm feeling like lead. I tapped the screen. Nothing. A cold dread began to pool in my stomach, cutting through the post-orgasmic bliss. I pressed the power button.
The screen lit up to the home screen. The SoulShift app was gone. Deleted. I fumbled to open the chat history. Error. User not found.
A single notification sat in the center of the screen, from the app store. SoulShift has been removed from your device.
My breath froze in my lungs. I stared at the empty space where my salvation had been. She’d blocked me. She’d deleted the app. The 24-hour window was still open, but the connection was severed. I was alone.
I was just… her.
And with the flood of hormones and thoughts consuming my mind, it was very tough to deny that I needed something thick, hard, and pulsing to fill me up...
