The Swapping Device
A transformation series by JohnManTD
Chapter 9 - BONUS
The following takes place immediately after chapter 9 and before chapter 10
(James's POV)
The city lights smear past the windows in streaks of neon and gold, reflections glancing off Lila’s sharp profile beside me. She’s leaning back against the passenger seat, eyes half-closed, a faint, satisfied smirk playing on her lips. The air in the car crackles, thick with the residue of adrenaline, shared danger, and the profound intimacy of our newly rearranged reality.
“Fuck,” I breathe out, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter. “My heart is still trying to beat its way out of my chest. That was… insane. Bill, the club, everything…
Lila turns her head, her eyes dark and luminous in the dashboard glow. “Tell me about it,” she murmurs, her voice still carrying a trace of the tequila buzz, though noticeably less than before. “But enough of that for now. We’re safe, we’re clear, let’s assess it another time.”
“Got it. Agreed.” I say, the words tasting like a strange mix of triumph and transgression. We drive in silence until Lila unexpectedly pipes up again, bringing us back to this conversation.
“But isn’t it also… kind of hot? The risk? The secrets? Knowing we’re the only two who really understand what’s going on?” She leans closer, her familiar scent – something sharp and spicy – filling the small space. “What just happened? In Bill’s room? Swapped, vulnerable, almost caught… but we still did it. That edge… it makes everything more intense, doesn’t it?”
“Oh, yeah,” I confirm. She’s definitely still a little drunk the way she’s talking, but there is some truth to all this. She reaches over, her fingers brushing mine where they rest on the gear shift. The contact sends a jolt through me, different from before – less illicit spark, more comfortable warmth, ownership almost. “It’s wild, James. The power we have.”
“It’s terrifying,” I counter, though my heart speeds up at her touch. My cock gives a distinct throb at the memory. Her in my body, me in hers. The sheer mind-bending eroticism of it.
The sobriety I swapped onto myself earlier feels like a thin shield against the rising tide of residual arousal and the undeniable pull towards her.
We approach a traffic light, the red glow washing over the dashboard. Up ahead, the thumping bass and flashing lights of a packed nightclub spill out onto the sidewalk. A crowd mills around the entrance, vibrant, energetic, oblivious.
Lila sits up straighter, peering out the window, her eyes lighting up with renewed, alcohol-fueled energy. “Ooh, look! ‘The Velvet Rope’! I haven’t been there in ages. They play killer techno music. Come on, James, let’s go! One drink? Maybe two?” She grins, squeezing my hand.
I sigh, shaking my head as the light turns green and I slowly pull forward. “Lila, no. Seriously? After tonight?… I’m wiped. And sober, remember? The last thing I feel like doing is pushing through a sweaty crowd and listening to deafening music.” The thought of more chaos, more potential exposure, makes my stomach clench. “I’ve had enough craziness for one night.”
“Oh, come on, killjoy!” she pouts, leaning closer, her voice dropping to a husky whisper. She takes my hand again, the one not on the steering wheel, and deliberately slides it under the hem of her tank top, pressing my palm flat against the warm, smooth skin of her stomach, then slowly guiding it upwards until my fingers brush the undercurve of her breast. My breath hitches. It’s soft, full, the nipple hardening instantly against my fingertips beneath the thin lace of her bra. “Don’t be boring,” she purrs, sending another wave of heat through me. “Think of the fun we could have in there. Nobody knows us. We could find some chick with massive milkers, swap ‘em onto me… or onto you again?” She wiggles suggestively. “Find a dark corner…”
My fingers tighten instinctively on the soft weight of her breast. The sensation is electric, direct, unmediated by swaps or confusion. It feels… incredibly good. Simple and potent. The image she paints – swapping huge tits onto her already fantastic tits, finding a dark corner in that pulsating club… my cock gives another hard throb. It’s tempting. So damn tempting. The ease with which we could manipulate reality for our pleasure…
But the exhaustion, the lingering paranoia, the sheer weight of everything from tonight wins out. I pull my hand away reluctantly, though my fingers tingle with the memory of her warmth. “Lila, I can’t,” I say, laughing softly despite myself. “Seriously. I’m running on fumes.” She sighs dramatically, slumping back in her seat, though the playful glint doesn’t leave her eyes. “Fine. Be responsible. Ruin all my fun.” She pauses, then perks up again. “Okay, compromise. You don’t have to come in. But drop me off? I’m still feeling buzzed, and I’m not ready to call it a night yet. I wanna dance. Maybe cause a little harmless chaos.”
I hesitate. Leaving her alone, especially with the Swapper… “Are you sure? You’re still pretty tipsy.”
“I’ll be fine!” she insists. “I can handle myself. Plus…” A cunning smile spreads across her face. “Can I borrow the Swapper? Just for a little while? For… research purposes?”
My gut clenches. The device. In her hands. Alone. While drunk. After everything we just learned about its potential danger, the bounty… “Lila, I don’t know…” I begin, imagining a dozen disastrous scenarios. Her swapping bodies with someone and getting lost, her accidentally revealing its power, her losing it…
“Oh, come on, James!” she pleads, turning fully towards me, laying a hand on my thigh. “I’ll be careful! Just some light fun. Swapping outfits, maybe some dance moves like we talked about? Nothing crazy. Please? It’ll help me blow off steam. Pretty please?” Her eyes are wide, pleading, but with that undercurrent of manipulative charm she wields so well.
I’m torn. The responsible part of me, the part terrified of Bill, screams NO. But at the same time I doubt I would have made it this far without her. She’s done a lot for me, has no reason to side with me other than being a kind person. Plus, she’s demonstrated she’s responsible… I think.
She must see the conflict on my face because she suddenly brightens, snapping her fingers. “Wait! I have an idea. A fail-safe. To make you feel better.” She rolls down her passenger window, cool night air flooding the car. She scans the sidewalk near the club entrance, where people are queuing, smoking, chatting. Her eyes lock onto a young guy leaning against the wall, scrolling on his phone, looking bored. He seems like a random student, harmless enough.
Lila slips the Mind Control Ring onto her finger. “Watch this,” she murmurs. She leans towards the open window, focusing her intent on the guy. “Hey! Phone guy!” she calls out, her voice imbued with compulsion.
The guy looks up, startled, his eyes immediately glazing over slightly.
“Yeah, you,” Lila continues, her voice calm and authoritative. “Listen carefully. You’re going to stay right here, near this club entrance, for the next few hours. Have fun, blend in, whatever. But when I leave the club later tonight – you’ll know it’s me – I’m going to give you a small black device. You will take it from me, no questions asked, even if I resist or seem confused. Your sole purpose then is to get this device back to James.” She subtly gestures towards me. “You don’t need his address; you’ll just know where to find him. Hand it over, say ‘Lila sent this,’ and then immediately walk away. You will forget this entire encounter, forget my face, forget the device, the moment it leaves your hand. You were just hanging out near the club all night. Understand?”
The guy nods slowly, his expression blank. “Yes. Wait. Take device. Return to James. Lila sent this. Forget.” He repeats the core commands robotically.
Lila smiles, satisfied, and turns back to me, slipping the ring off. “See? Fail-safe. The ring is magic, James. It fills in the blanks. He knows who you are now, where to find you, even if I don’t explicitly tell him. He’s programmed. He’ll get the Swapper back to you, guaranteed. And he won’t remember a thing. So,” she holds out her hand expectantly, wiggling her fingers, “can I borrow your super-powered toy now?”
I stare at her, then at the entranced guy still leaning against the wall, now my unwitting artifact-return-mule. The sheer audacity, the casual manipulation… it’s breathtaking. And undeniably effective. My objections crumble.
“Okay,” I sigh, defeated but also admittedly intrigued to see what chaos she cooks up. I reach into my pocket and pull out the Swapper. It feels strange handing it over, like giving away a part of myself. I place it in her outstretched palm. “Be careful, Lila. Seriously. No permanent body swaps with random strangers, okay? And try not to start an artifact war before breakfast.”
She grins, closing her fingers around the device, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “No promises on the war front, but I’ll try to return it in one piece. Thanks!”
I pull the car over just past the club entrance. Lila hops out, clutching the Swapper like a trophy, and gives me a final wink before melting into the queue. I watch her go, a knot of anxiety tightening in my stomach. This is probably a terrible idea. But goddamn, if it isn’t exciting. Shaking my head, I put the Mercedes in gear and drive away, leaving Lila and my reality-bending device to the mercy of the pulsing music and dim lights of The Velvet Rope. Time to go home, try to get some sleep before tomorrow’s insanity. What’s the worst that could happen?

(Lila's POV)
The moment James’s Mercedes pulls away, a giddy, reckless energy surges through me. The Swapper feels electric in my hand, humming with potential, far more versatile and potent than my ring alone. The tequila buzz is still singing in my veins, mingling with the adrenaline from the party. Tonight, reality is my playground.
I turn towards the queue snaking towards the entrance of The Velvet Rope. It’s long, pretentious, full of beautiful people trying too hard. Ugh. Lines are for mortals. But first… a little chaos to set the mood.
My eyes immediately land on the bouncer. He’s a predictable cliché – massive, shaved head gleaming under the neon lights, arms thicker than my thighs crossed over a chest that looks like solid granite stuffed into a too-tight black t-shirt. His expression is bored, intimidating, radiating ‘don’t fuck with me’ energy. Standing near the front of the line, practically vibrating with impatience, is a woman who is his polar opposite. She’s stunning, yes, but in that sharp, runway-model way – tall, impossibly thin, all angles and attitude, wearing a slinky silver dress that showcases her slender frame and decidedly modest bust. Perfect contrast.
A wicked grin spreads across my face. Swapper out. Target Bouncer. Target Runway Model. Trait: “Muscle Mass / Physique.” Let’s see what happens when raw bulk meets high fashion. Click. Zzzztttt.
The ripple effect is instantaneous and glorious. The bouncer lets out a surprised grunt as his granite-like muscles seem to deflate, melting away like ice in the sun. His massive frame shrinks, shoulders narrowing, arms thinning down to something lean, almost delicate. The tight black t-shirt suddenly hangs loose on his now slender, almost wiry physique. 
Meanwhile, Runway Model gasps, stumbling slightly as raw muscle blooms beneath her silver dress. Her slender arms swell, biceps bulging, veins popping. Her shoulders broaden dramatically, stretching the delicate fabric of her dress taut. Her legs thicken, quads and calves hardening into powerful, defined shapes visible even through the slinky material. She’s still tall and statuesque, but now she’s ripped. A high-fashion bodybuilder poured into couture. Her bored expression remains of course, she doesn’t notice a thing. To her, reality has changed. But her aura, it’s replaced by a fierce, powerful energy. She strikes a tentative pose, flexing a bicep, and the crowd around her subtly shifts away, intimidated by this sudden Amazonian presence.
I stifle a laugh, shoving the Swapper into my borrowed jacket pocket. 
I saunter towards the front, ignoring the indignant murmurs from the people I cut off. The now-petite bouncer looks up as I approach. No time for pleasantries. Ring on. Focus.
“Hey there,” I purr, leaning in slightly, letting the ring’s compulsion flow. “You’re going to let me and my new friend,” I gesture vaguely towards the muscular goddess still admiring her biceps, “straight in. Right now. No charge, no questions. We’re VIPs. Extremely important.”
His eyes glaze over instantly. “Yes,” he says flatly. “VIPs. Right this way.” He unclips the velvet rope with a shaky hand, gesturing us inside, his gaze vacant.
I shoot a wink at the muscular woman in the silver dress – Might as well bring my creation with me – and glide past the bouncer into the club’s pulsing interior. Inside, the club is a sensory assault. Dim lights – mostly strobes and lasers cutting through artificial fog – thumping bass that vibrates in my bones, the heat and press of dancing bodies, the cloying smell of sweat, alcohol, and cheap perfume. First things first. Drink.
I spot the bar, crowded three deep. No patience for that. Ring on again. I push through the throng until I’m near the front, catch the eye of a harried-looking bartender juggling three shakers. Focus. “You see me,” I project silently, “You need to serve me next. Top-shelf tequila, neat. And it’s on the house. Compliments of the management for being so incredibly hot.”
He freezes mid-shake, his eyes finding mine through the crowd. A dazed look washes over his face. He sets the shakers down, ignoring the clamoring customers around him, reaches for the premium tequila bottle, pours a generous shot into a clean glass, and slides it directly towards me across the bar. “On the house, ma’am,” he says automatically, his gaze already drifting away, the command fulfilled and forgotten.
I snatch the glass, down the smooth fire in one gulp, and grin. God, I love this ring. Combined with the Swapper? I’m practically omnipotent in this place.
Tequila warming my belly, I head towards the main dance floor. It’s a writhing mass of bodies, moving under the flashing lights. My eyes scan the crowd, looking for my next bit of fun. I spot them near the center – a couple, clearly together. The guy is doing that awkward, shoulder-shuffling, head-bobbing thing most straight dudes default to. His girlfriend, however, is moving like liquid sex – hips swaying, body rolling, lost in the music, effortlessly sensual. The contrast is almost painful. Time to fix it.
Swapper out again. Hidden in the crush of bodies, it’s easy. Target Dancing Guy. Target Dancing Girl. Trait: “Dance Style / Ability.” Click. Zzzztttt.
The effect is immediate and hilarious. The guy suddenly stops his awkward shuffle, then his body seems to loosen, melting into the rhythm. His hips start swaying with serpentine grace, his shoulders isolate, his hands trace patterns in the air. He’s suddenly… incredible. Fluid, sensual, magnetic. 
His girlfriend, however, freezes mid-roll. The sensual grace vanishes. She tries to move, but her limbs jerk awkwardly. She attempts a hip sway, and it comes out as a stiff, robotic wiggle. Her shoulders hunch, her head starts doing that jerky bobbing motion her boyfriend was doing moments ago. The poor guy, meanwhile, is drawing a small crowd, people mesmerized by his sudden, inexplicable transformation into a dance god, even as he looks like he wants the floor to swallow him whole.
I lean against a pillar, sipping the tequila I managed to snag, shaking with suppressed laughter. Oh, this is too much fun. James worries too much. This power isn’t meant for existential crises; it’s meant for play.
As I watch the dancing disaster unfold, I catch my reflection in a mirrored column. Jeans, tank top… functional, but boring. Especially in this sea of glitter and skin. I need an upgrade. My eyes scan the periphery of the dance floor. There. A woman walking towards the VIP section, dressed to kill. Her dress is… obscene. Black latex, strapless, molding to her body like a second skin, with a neckline that plunges practically to her navel and a hemline that barely qualifies as decent. It perfectly showcases her own impressive cleavage and killer legs. Yes. That’ll do nicely.
Swapper ready. Target Latex Dress Woman. Target me. Trait: “Clothing.” Click. Zzzztttt.
A brief, dizzying shimmer, and suddenly I’m poured into black latex. The material is cool against my skin, then rapidly warms, clinging tightly everywhere. The strapless top pushes my pert tits up and together, creating dramatic cleavage that spills precariously close to freedom. The dress hugs my waist, emphasizes my hips, and the scandalously short hem leaves my legs almost entirely bare. It feels incredible. Tight, restrictive, undeniably, powerfully sexy. I glance down. My own breasts look fantastic, plumped and presented by the unforgiving latex. My ass feels amazing, tightly encased. I feel… hot. Dangerous. Like the main character. Latex Dress Woman, now inexplicably clad in my jeans and tank top, gives a tug at the casual wear before shrugging and continuing towards the VIP rope, reality smoothly papering over the swap.
Okay. Outfit secured. Now what? I find an empty stool at a high-top table near the edge of the dance floor, sliding onto it, feeling the cool latex against the metal. I take another sip of tequila, mind buzzing with possibilities. The Swapper and the ring… the potential is staggering. I can change appearances, skills, clothes… but the ring adds another layer. Mind control. Belief manipulation.
What if… what if I could combine them? Create a state of mind with the ring, then swap it? Could I swap loyalty? Intelligence? Fetishes worked… what else?
An idea, bold and experimental, takes root. I need a test subject. And maybe… a partner in crime for the night. Someone to share this power trip with.
My eyes scan the nearby tables. My gaze lands on a woman sitting alone, nursing a colorful cocktail. She’s attractive – sharp features, fiery red hair cut in a stylish shag, intelligent eyes currently scanning the room with a hint of boredom. She looks… interesting. Game, maybe?
Okay. Operation: Instant Bestie.
I slip off the stool, sauntering over to her table, Swapper concealed, ring finger already tingling. “Hey,” I say, sliding into the chair opposite her, flashing my most charming smile.
She looks up, surprised, raising an eyebrow slightly. “Hi?”
Ring on. Focus. “You know me,” I project, keeping my voice light, friendly. “I’m Lila. We’re best friends. Known each other for ages. You know all about my Mind Control Ring, and you know James lent me his Swapping Device for the night. You’re totally excited to mess around with them with me. We’re partners in chaos tonight. And you’ll be known as Bestie.”
Her expression shifts instantly. The wary surprise melts away, replaced by a wide, conspiratorial grin. Recognition sparks in her eyes. “Lila! Hey! Oh my god, I was wondering where you went!” she exclaims, her voice warm with familiar affection. “Did James really let you borrow the Swapper? No way! That’s awesome! What kind of trouble are we getting into tonight?” She leans forward eagerly, completely accepting the fabricated friendship, the artifact knowledge, everything. It’s seamless. 
“That’s what we need to figure out, partner,” I say, grinning back, already loving this dynamic. “But first… quick experiment.” I slide the ring off for a moment. “Need to test a theory. Ring command first, then Swapper swap.” I slip the ring back on. “Okay, Bestie,” I focus again, “For the next sixty seconds, you are going to be hornier than you have ever been in your entire life. An overwhelming, desperate need. Go.”
Her eyes instantly glaze over with that familiar programmed lust. She gasps, shifting in her seat, her hand instinctively darting between her legs beneath the table. A low whimper escapes her lips. Perfect. Now, the swap.
I quickly pull out the Swapper, pressing it into her hand so she’s touching it, aware of this part. Target Me. Target Bestie. Trait: “Current Arousal State.” Click. Zzzztttt.
BAM. The artificial horniness slams into me. It’s pure, untamed lust, a physical ache demanding release. My pussy floods instantly, my clit throbbing against the latex dress. Fuck. Okay. Theory confirmed. Mental states induced by the ring can be swapped.
I quickly grab the Swapper again, touching her hand. Target Me. Target Bestie. Undo last swap. Click. Zzzztttt.
The horniness vanishes from me as quickly as it arrived, leaving me breathless. Bestie groans as it presumably floods back into her. Before she can act on it, I slip the ring back on. “Okay, experiment over. You’re not horny anymore. Totally calm.” The glaze leaves her eyes, her breathing slows. She blinks, looking slightly dazed but otherwise normal, the memory of the horniness presumably wiped along with the command.
“Whoa,” she says, shaking her head slightly. “That worked? You swapped the feeling?”
“Yep,” I confirm, pocketing the Swapper, my mind racing with the implications. “We can literally swap anything I can induce with the ring. Loyalty, fear, happiness, horniness, specific beliefs…”
Bestie’s eyes light up. “Holy shit, Lila! The possibilities! We could make people fall in love, make enemies best friends, make someone believe they’re a chicken…”
“Exactly,” I grin. “But first things first. What should we actually do tonight? Now that we have ultimate power over this club?”
Bestie leans back, tapping a finger against her chin, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Well… we could try out some new body configurations? See what it’s like to be… ridiculously jacked? Or have massive tits? And then,” she leans forward, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “we find the hottest guys in here and absolutely ruin them with our newfound perfection.”
I laugh, liking her style immediately. “Okay, Bestie. I love it. Body mods first. Where do we start?”
She scans the room, her eyes landing on two guys standing near the bar. They are absolute mountains of muscle. Bodybuilder types, veins popping, muscles straining against their tight shirts. “Them,” she says, pointing subtly. “Let’s take their muscles. See what it feels like to be totally ripped.”
“Deal.” Swapper out. Ring off for now – no need for mind control for this part. “Okay, Bestie, touch the device. Both of us.” She presses her fingers against mine on the cool metal. Target Me. Target Bestie. Target Muscle-Mountain 1. Target Muscle-Mountain 2. Trait: “Muscle Mass / Overall Physique Definition.” Execute swap. Click. Zzzztttt.
The sensation is explosive. A surge of raw power floods my limbs. I feel my muscles swell, harden, expand beneath the tight latex. My arms thicken, biceps bulging, triceps cutting sharp lines. My shoulders broaden significantly, straining the seams of the strapless dress. My back muscles ripple. My abs clench into an impossibly hard, defined six-pack – no, an eight-pack – visible even through the dark material. My thighs become pillars of solid muscle, calves knotting into dense balls. It’s like my entire frame has been overlaid with sheer, dense power. I flex my arm, watching the bicep bulge impressively. Holy shit.
Beside me, Bestie gasps, undergoing the same transformation. Her stylish outfit strains as muscles erupt across her frame. She looks down at herself, eyes wide with awe, clenching and unclenching her newly powerful fists. “Fuck, Lila! Feel this!” She flexes her bicep, and it’s genuinely huge, like a cannonball implanted under her skin. “We’re fucking jacked!”
The two bodybuilder guys near the bar suddenly look… deflated. Their muscles seem to have vanished, leaving them looking strangely skinny and loose in their previously tight shirts. They don’t notice a thing.
“Okay, muscles achieved,” I say, my voice sounding slightly deeper, maybe, resonating from this newly powerful chest cavity. The latex dress feels impossibly tight now, digging into my expanded frame. “What next?”
“Height!” Bestie declares, still admiring her new physique. “Let’s be Amazons!” She points back towards the now-skinny bodybuilder guys. “Swap heights with them too!”
Swapper ready again. Both touching. Target Us. Target Skinny-Builders. Trait: “Height.” Click. Zzzztttt.
The world shifts upwards. The floor seems to drop away slightly as my perspective elevates. I feel my bones stretch, lengthen. I glance at Bestie – she’s growing too. We stop, towering over our previous selves. I must be easily 6’2” now, maybe taller. Looking down at my long, muscular legs encased in the latex feels… dominant. Powerful. Combine the height with the muscle… we’re terrifyingly statuesque. The two guys shrink even further, becoming almost comically short and skinny.
“Yes!” Bestie crows, throwing her head back and laughing, the sound booming slightly with her new size. “Amazon warriors! Now… the final touch.” Her eyes scan the room, landing on a group of women near the VIP section. Several of them are sporting truly enormous, obviously fake-looking breasts, spilling out of low-cut tops. “Tits,” she says decisively. “Let’s get some massive fucking cannons to go with these guns.”
I grin. Why the hell not? Swapper out. Touch device. Target Us. Target Big-Tit-Brigade. Trait: “Breast Size and Shape.” Click. Zzzztttt.
My chest explodes. The latex dress, already strained, feels like it’s going to rip apart as my breasts balloon outwards, swelling to truly epic proportions. They become heavy, impossibly round, defying gravity as they sit high and proud on my newly muscular pectoral muscles. I look down. Easily F-cups. Maybe Gs. They spill dramatically over the strapless neckline, deep cleavage canyoning between them. It’s obscene. It’s glorious. Bestie undergoes the same transformation, her top groaning under the sudden, massive expansion.
We look at each other, jacked, towering, and now sporting ludicrously large, perfect breasts sitting atop rock-hard abs. We look like something out of a hyper-sexualized, anatomically impossible comic book. And it feels… incredible. The sheer power radiating from these altered forms is intoxicating. My pussy – the only part of me that feels remotely normal-sized now – gives a distinct, appreciative throb.
“Okay,” Bestie breathes, cupping her new, enormous assets. “Now this is a fucking look.”
“Agreed,” I purr, feeling the weight of my own massive additions. “But we’re not just about looks, are we?” A final idea, deliciously wicked, forms in my mind. “Let’s upgrade the software too.”
Bestie raises an eyebrow. “Meaning?”
“Meaning,” I say, activating the ring again, “let’s become the best lays these poor saps have ever had.” I scan the room, finding two women who look particularly confident, maybe a bit predatory themselves. Focus. “You two. You possess the combined sexual knowledge and skill of every legendary lover, every experienced courtesan, every top-tier porn star in history. You know every technique, every pressure point, every way to drive someone insane with pleasure.” Their eyes glaze briefly. Perfect. Swapper out. Touch device. Target Me. Target Bestie. Target Sex-Goddess 1. Target Sex-Goddess 2. Trait: “Sexual Knowledge and Prowess.” Click. Zzzztttt.
An explosion of information floods my mind. It’s not just data; it’s ingrained skill. Techniques I’ve never dreamed of, positions that defy gravity, ways to use my mouth, my hands, my body that feel simultaneously alien and completely intuitive. Confidence, absolute and unshakeable in my ability to deliver mind-blowing pleasure, settles over me. I look at Bestie; her eyes hold the same predatory gleam of newfound expertise.
“Okay,” she says, licking her lips slowly. “Now I’m ready.”
“Let’s go show off,” I suggest, nodding towards the restrooms.
We stride towards the ladies' room, our towering, muscular, large-breasted forms drawing a wide berth. People stare, mouths agape, a mixture of awe, fear, and lust in their eyes. Inside the bathroom, we plant ourselves in front of the large mirrors, taking in the full spectacle.
We are magnificent monsters. Tall, ripped, impossibly curvy in all the ‘right’ places. Flexing, my bicep bulges, thick and defined. Turning sideways, my ass looks like a sculpted boulder beneath the latex, my stomach impossibly flat and hard above it. And my tits… they’re just epic, sitting like proud trophies on my muscular shelf. Bestie looks equally imposing, equally unreal. Other women in the bathroom edge around us, whispering compliments. “Oh my god, your physique is incredible!” “Where do you work out?” “Those boobs are amazing!” We soak it in, laughing, feeling utterly dominant.
But admiration isn’t enough. Time for the final phase. We stride back out onto the dance floor, purpose radiating from us. We scan the remaining male population. Most look utterly intimidated, avoiding eye contact. Pathetic.
“Looks like our natural charms are too much for them,” Bestie observes wryly.
“Nothing the ring can’t fix,” I reply smoothly. Ring on. I lock eyes with two guys leaning against the bar – easily the hottest ones left. Chiseled jaws, smoldering eyes, bodies that promise stamina. Perfect candidates. Focus. “You two. See us?” I nod towards myself and Bestie. “You want us. More than you’ve ever wanted anyone. Our strength, our height, our muscles, our massive tits – it’s everything you find irresistible. You need to fuck us. Now. Come here.”
Their eyes glaze, then fix on us with burning intensity. Desire, raw and absolute, floods their faces. They push off the bar simultaneously, moving towards us like moths to a flame, completely under my control.
“Private booth?” I suggest to Bestie with a smirk.
“Lead the way,” she replies, grabbing the arm of her designated admirer.
I guide my own mesmerized hunk towards a secluded corner booth, thankfully unoccupied. As we slide in, me and Bestie on one side, the two guys opposite, I activate the ring again. “This booth is now invisible and soundproof to everyone else in the bar. We have total privacy.” The ambient noise seems to fade slightly. Perfect.
The second the command settles, the guys are on us. There’s no preamble, no seduction. Just raw, ring-induced need. My guy pulls me onto his lap, his mouth crashing onto mine, hands immediately grabbing my massive, latex-clad breasts, squeezing almost painfully. Bestie’s guy does the same, pulling her into a rough embrace.
The sex that follows is a whirlwind of limbs, sweat, and swapped attributes. My newfound sexpert knowledge kicks in instantly. I meet my guy’s rough kiss with skillful passion, my tongue dueling with his. When his hands grope my breasts, I arch my back, grinding my muscular hip against his erection through his jeans, eliciting a groan.
Then, recalling my own earlier request, I push him back slightly. “Down,” I command, my voice husky, dripping with borrowed expertise. Confused but compelled, he slides down in the booth seat. I swing my long, muscular leg over his shoulder and position myself. Time to demonstrate the ‘best blowjob ever.’ My lips enclose him, and the techniques flood my mind – the perfect pressure, the teasing flicks of the tongue, the deep-throat control, the way to use suction and rhythm to build intensity. He’s groaning, eyes rolling back, completely lost within seconds. Beside me, Bestie is doing something similar, her own programmed skills clearly driving her partner wild.
After reducing him to a trembling mess, I pull away, leaving him gasping. “My turn,” I purr. I stand, turn, and brace my hands against the back of the booth, presenting my magnificent, latex-clad ass. “From behind,” I instruct. “Hard.”
He scrambles behind me, practically tearing at his jeans. The moment he’s free, he plunges into me. I moan, pushing back against him, reveling in the impact, the stretch. My massive tits sway heavily with each thrust, brushing against the booth’s upholstery. I reach back, grabbing his hips, guiding him, urging him deeper, faster. Beside me, Bestie is being taken just as hard, her own powerful body absorbing the shock, her moans mingling with mine.
We switch positions, riding them, showcasing our strength and stamina, our massive breasts bouncing hypnotically. Then I have him eat me out, using the ring mid-act to download ‘perfect cunnilingus technique’ directly into his brain. His tongue becomes an instrument of torture, finding every sensitive spot, bringing me close again and again until I’m screaming, begging him to stop, to continue, lost in the pleasure overload.
Finally, sweating, sated, but with one last piece of chaotic inspiration, I catch Bestie’s eye. She grins, understanding immediately. Swapper out. Touch device. Target Me. Target Bestie. Target Guy 1. Target Guy 2. Trait: “Genitals.” Click. Zzzztttt.
A final, bizarre shift. My pussy vanishes, replaced by a thick, hard cock – Guy 1’s cock. Bestie experiences the same, inheriting Guy 2’s equipment. The guys, meanwhile, suddenly find themselves equipped with vaginas, their expressions maintaining the lust-fueled haze. To them, this is normal. 
Bestie and I look down at our new equipment, then at each other, then at the newly feminized men. We burst into laughter, the sheer absurdity too much to handle.
“Well,” Bestie says, hefting her new cock with a curious expression. “Waste not, want not, right?”
She lunges for her partner, easily pinning him down with her superior strength, and starts fucking his new pussy with ruthless efficiency. I follow suit, grabbing my own guy, flipping him onto his back, and driving my borrowed cock into his unprepared tightness. The sensation is… different. Being the penetrator again, but in this ridiculously powerful female form? It’s a unique kind of power trip. We fuck them hard, fast, enjoying their whimpers and the sheer novelty of the situation, until we both come.
Afterwards, silence falls, broken only by panting breaths. Bestie and I disentangle ourselves. Time to clean up.
Ensuring Bestie is touching the Swapper, I initiate the Great Reset. Target Us. Target Muscle Guys. Swap back physiques. Zzzztttt. Target Us. Target Height Guys. Swap back heights. Zzzztttt. Target Us. Target Big-Tit Women. Swap back breasts. Zzzztttt. Target Us. Target Sexpert Women. Swap back skills (except… maybe I keep a little of that?). No, better be safe. Swap it back fully. Zzzztttt. Target Us. Target Genital Guys. Swap back genitals. Zzzztttt.
We’re back. Normal Lila, normal Bestie. The booth feels strangely empty without our Amazonian presence.
Bestie stretches, looking around, a dazed but happy expression on her face. “Okay, wow. What now, Lila? That was…”
Before she can finish, I activate the ring one last time. Focus on her. “You had a fun, normal night at the club with your friends. You don’t remember meeting me, you don’t remember any swaps, any artifacts, any weird sex. You’re feeling a little tired now. Go find your friends and head home.”
Her eyes glaze over, then clear. The conspiratorial warmth vanishes. She looks around, slightly confused. “Huh. Guess I lost track of time.” She stands up, smoothing down her dress. “Night,” she says vaguely, wandering off towards the bar, leaving me alone in the aftermath of our shared reality warp.
I gather my scattered clothes – back in my original jeans and tank top now, thankfully – feeling a strange mix of exhilaration and exhaustion. That was… a lot. Maybe too much? Nah.
I head for the exit, feeling powerful, untouchable. As I pass the entrance, the now-petite bouncer gives me a glance but says nothing. Outside, the cool air feels good. I scan the street. My designated Swapper-return-mule is still there, leaning against the wall, looking bored but alert.
I walk towards him and hand him the remote. He turns, tucks the device into his pocket, and walks briskly away into the night, presumably heading towards James’s place, his memory of the entire night already fading. He has the device. He’ll return it. He’ll leave it on James’ nightstand. James probably won’t even be aware.
Now, how to get home? My eyes scan the street. A car is idling nearby, driver waiting for someone. Ring on. “You’re going to drive me home right now. Forget who you were waiting for.” The driver nods blankly, unlocks the doors. I slide into the back seat and lean back as the car pulls away, leaving The Velvet Rope and its temporary pocket of artifact-fueled debauchery behind me. What a fucking night. James owes me one. Big time.