After the explosion, everything went to hell.
One minute Manuel and his girlfriend were calibrating the prototype bodyswap machine with the hired hooker. The next, the lab filled with smoke, and Manuel woke up in her voluptous body.
The hooker, now in his young male body, had vanished without a trace. His girlfriend had been desperately searching the city for a week while Manuel hid in this cheap motel, trying not to lose his mind in this borrowed skin.
Steam still clung to the air as Manuel stepped out of the shower. He then grabbed the moisturizer and began rubbing it into the smooth, mature skin—thighs, belly, those full tits. The sensations were too much. Too good.
His breathing grew heavy. A needy heat bloomed between his legs. Biting his lip, he slid a hand down and started rubbing his mature, experienced pussy… slow circles at first, then faster, slick sounds filling the motel room.
“Ahh… fuck…” he moaned—then froze.
The voice that came out wasn’t his. It was a husky, accented Spanish purr:
“¡Ay Dios mío… qué rico se siente…” (Oh my God… it feels so good…)
His eyes widened in terror. The words had slipped out naturally.
Heart pounding, Manuel stared at his reflection—flushed cheeks, hard nipples, fingers still glistening between thick thighs.
He couldn’t wait to tell his girlfriend. They were running out of time… before this body stopped feeling like a prison… and started feeling like home.
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