"Choice," you say, the word escaping your lips before you can overthink it.

Veronica tilts her head, studying you.

"Choice? Really?" Veronica asks, a slow smile spreading across her face. "Not Resistance?"

You shrug, trying to appear more casual than you feel about agreeing to temporarily surrender your manhood.

"With Resistance, I know I'd change back automatically. It's the safe option." You lean forward, taking her hand. "But with Choice, I have to trust you to give me the reversal pill when you return. And I do trust you, Roni."

Veronica's expression softens, her violet eyes warming at the strategic deployment of her nickname. You press your advantage.

"Besides, I've heard horror stories about those Resistance pills. Well, especially the older versions. One guy sneezed too hard while jilling off and ended up stuck as a woman for an extra month."

Veronica laughs, the sound drawing appreciative glances from nearby diners.

"Are you sure it's about trust?" Veronica teases, leaning in conspiratorially. "Or do you just not want me knowing how often you cum while I'm gone? I see how it is."

Heat creeps up your neck. "That's not—"

"Relax," Veronica says, squeezing your hand. "I'm kidding. Choice is perfect. Very romantic, actually. Literally putting your manhood in my hands."

She reaches into her clutch and pulls out a small glass vial containing another pink pill, identical to the Choice pill.

"See? Same serial number. They're a matched pair." Veronica dangles the vial between her fingers. "This is your ticket back to masculinity."

You watch as she opens her locket—a gold heart-shaped pendant you gave her for your six-month anniversary—and carefully places the reversal pill inside, snapping it shut with a decisive click.

"There," Veronica says, patting the locket now resting between her breasts. "Safe and sound until I return."

The waiter appears with Veronica's black card and receipt. She signs with a flourish, adding a tip that makes you wince internally.

"Let's get to the hotel," Veronica says, sliding out of the booth with feline grace. "I've got plans for your last night as a man."

---

Outside Nobu, the Summer City night envelops you in humid warmth, the air thick with salt. Neon signs cast pink and blue reflections on the puddles from an earlier rain shower. Veronica raises her hand, and as if by magic, a cab materializes.

"The Azure," she instructs the driver.

As the cab pulls away from the curb, Veronica nestles against you, her hand resting possessively on your thigh.

"I got you some clothes," she says, tracing small circles with her thumb.

"You already bought clothes?" You shouldn't be surprised at this point. Veronica's planning is always three steps ahead of reality.

"Rented, actually. From Bonwit Teller. They'll be delivered while we're out." Her fingers inch higher on your thigh. "I had to know what size to get, so I specified a particular body type when ordering the pill."

Your pulse quickens. "What body type?"

Her smile turns enigmatic. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

"Actually, yes, I would."

"That's the fun part of X-Change pills," she explains, her voice taking on that lecturer tone she uses when sharing expertise. "If you pay extra, you can get Clone variants—predetermined forms rather than just the girl version of you. The catalog is quite extensive."

"So you picked my female form from a catalog?" You can't decide if that's disturbing or arousing.

"I wanted you to have something nice to look at," she says, her lips brushing your ear. "So you don't get tempted by other girls."

The cab turns onto Ocean Drive, and the Azure looms ahead, its neo-deco façade illuminated by strategic uplighting that makes the rose gold accents gleam against the night sky.

"I considered several options," Veronica continues as the cab slows. "A big booty Latina might be fun—you could spend hours just watching yourself walk past mirrors."

You swallow hard as the cab stops. Veronica pays the driver while you try to process the fact that you'll soon be occupying a completely different body.

The Azure's lobby is all marble and brass, with staff who seem to appear precisely when needed and vanish when not.

"Ms. Valentine, your suite is ready. Champagne has been chilled as requested."

"Perfect," she accepts the keycard.

In the elevator, Veronica presses the button for the penthouse level, then backs you against the mirrored wall.

"I also considered a pale, freckled redhead type for you," she whispers, her lips tantalizingly close to yours. "The kind that blushes everywhere when she's turned on."

The elevator ascends smoothly as her hand slides down to cup you through your pants. You're already half-hard from the surreal conversation.

"Ooh!" she says. "So is that it, then? Redhead?"

"I mean—"

The elevator dings, saving you from having to respond. Veronica leads you down a short hallway to a set of double doors, which she opens with a theatrical flourish.

The penthouse suite is a monument to 80s luxury reimagined for modern sensibilities. The central living area features a sunken conversation pit with plush white seating around a circular fire feature. Floor-to-ceiling windows showcase the Summer City skyline, which looks like a Hiroshi Nagai painting right now. A Knoll table holds a silver ice bucket with Veuve Clicquot and two crystal flutes.

"Maybe you'd prefer a blonde with glasses?" Veronica muses, kicking off her heels. "That whole sexy librarian vibe. Or a busty Asian babe? You did watch a lot of that on PornHub last month."

Your jaw drops. "You track my—"

"I notice things," she says with a dismissive wave. "It's what makes me good at my job."

She leads you through the suite to the bedroom, where a California king bed covered in crisp white linens sits beneath a ceiling entirely mirrored. Another set of floor-to-ceiling windows reveals a private terrace with a jacuzzi tub steaming gently against the night air.

"Get that running," Veronica instructs, nodding toward the jacuzzi. "I'll slip into something more... minimal."

She disappears into the bathroom with a wink, leaving you to figure out the jacuzzi controls. You find the panel beside the tub and press a button. Jets activate, bubbling the water invitingly. The city sprawls below, a carpet of lights stretching to the dark horizon of the ocean.

"Maybe I'll make you a black girl with a tight, toned body?" Veronica's voice calls from the bathroom. "Or an Indian babe with those gorgeous eyes? So many options."

You're about to respond when the bathroom door opens, and coherent thought abandons you entirely.

Veronica emerges in what can only technically be called a bikini—three tiny triangles of black fabric held together by the thinnest of gold chains. The top barely contains her breasts, the fabric straining against their fullness. The bottom is a Brazilian cut that displays nearly all of her perfect ass, bisected by just a triangle of fabric.

Her makeup has been refreshed—smoky eyes, glossy lips—and she's added gold anklets that catch the light as she walks toward you.

"Or perhaps," she says, her voice dropping to that husky register that makes your cock twitch, "you'd prefer a brunette girl-next-door type? Something more... attainable? Sometimes that's hotter than a total sex doll like me!"

That's statement's a trap!

Her bikini is La Perla—you recognize the distinctive gold clasps from the set you bought her for Valentine's Day that nearly maxed out your credit card. The fabric is a luxurious, high-sheen material that looks painted onto her curves.

"Why are you still dressed?" she asks, reaching for the champagne.

You strip quickly, suddenly self-conscious despite having been naked with her countless times. There's something about knowing you'll soon be in a female body that makes you hyperaware of your male one.

Veronica expertly pops the champagne cork without spilling a drop, filling two flutes. She hands you one, then gestures toward the jacuzzi.

"In you go."

You step into the hot, bubbling water and sink down, the jets massaging your back. Veronica stands at the edge, looking down at you with a predatory smile.

"Last night with this equipment," she says, her eyes dropping to where your cock is already hardening in the water. "Better make it count."

She steps into the jacuzzi with deliberate slowness, allowing you to appreciate every inch of her body. The water comes up just below her breasts as she sits on the bench opposite you, the steam creating a dewy sheen on her skin.

"To new experiences," she says, raising her glass.

You clink glasses and sip the crisp, expensive champagne. Veronica watches you over the rim of her flute, her eyes dark with desire.

"You know what I've been wondering?" she asks, setting her glass aside. "Is the same body type you find attractive in women what you'd want to have yourself? Or would that be boring?"

"I haven't really thought about it," you lie. Of course you've thought about it. What guy hasn't wondered?

"Liar," she says with a knowing smile. "I'm totally okay with you playing with a female body if it's on you. That's just masturbation with extra steps."

The champagne bubbles dance on your tongue as you watch her rise from the water. Her La Perla bikini clings to her curves like a second skin, the expensive fabric now translucent enough to reveal the darker circles of her nipples. Water cascades down the valley between her tits, tracing the toned lines of her stomach before disappearing into the barely-there triangle between her legs.

"I think a big tiddy goth girl might suit you," she muses, moving through the water toward you. "All that pale skin and dark makeup. You could even keep your gaming aesthetic."

She straddles you in one fluid motion, her thighs gripping your hips underwater. The thin fabric of her bikini bottom presses against your hardening cock, her cameltoe creating a perfect channel that your shaft nestles into. The fabric digs slightly into the juicy flesh of her thighs, creating little indentations you want to trace with your tongue.

"Or maybe," she whispers, her lips brushing yours, "I'll keep it a surprise."

Her mouth captures yours, and you taste expensive champagne and that highly specific Veronica flavor—cinnamon-y, ambitious. Her tongue slides against yours, aggressive and demanding. You can feel her smiling into the kiss.

You grab her ass, those perfect caramel globes fitting into your palms like they were sculpted for you. The water makes her skin slippery, and she grinds against your now fully hard cock, the fabric of her bikini creating delicious friction.

"Thank you for doing this, baby," she murmurs against your lips, rolling her hips in a way that makes your eyes roll back. "You have NO IDEA how much it means to me."

Her tits press against your chest, nipples hard points through the thin fabric. You reach up to pull aside one triangle of her top, exposing a perfect breast topped with a dusky pink nipple already puckered from the cool air. She gasps when you take it into your mouth, her back arching to push more titflesh against your tongue.

"Fuck, Alex," she moans, grinding harder against your cock. The jacuzzi jets create bubbles that rise between your bodies, adding another layer of sensation. "You're going to miss these, aren't you? But hey, you'll have your own!"

The thought should be a boner-killer, but somehow, with Veronica's perfect ass grinding against you and her tit in your mouth, it just adds to the surreal eroticism of the moment.

She pulls back, her violet eyes dark with lust. "You know what's weird? I'm not worried about you cheating as a girl. I mean, if you did something with a guy or something—" she giggles, the sound both sexy and slightly cruel, "—that would make you gay! And I don't want a gay boyfriend."

She winks, grinding her blazing-hot pussy harder against your shaft.

"Breaking up with you for that... well, that would be a lot less hard for me to take."

There's something both emasculating and weirdly hot about her casual dismissal of your potential female infidelity. Like she's saying your maleness is what she values, what she's possessive of.

Veronica turns around suddenly, her back to your chest, and reaches between her legs to grasp your cock. She guides it between her ass cheeks, not inside her but nestled in the tight channel between those perfect, jiggly globes.

"Hot-dog me," she commands, leaning forward slightly to give you a better angle.

You grasp her hips, mesmerized by how the water makes her skin gleam under the moonlight. Her ass is a masterpiece—two perfect hemispheres with just the right amount of jiggle, marked with the faintest hint of dimples at the base of her spine. You squeeze those plump cheeks together around your cock and start thrusting.

"Fuck yes," she hisses, reaching back to grab your thigh. "Harder."

The friction is incredible—her ass cheeks create the perfect channel, slick with water and squeezing your cock from all sides. Each thrust makes a lewd PLAP sound as your hips connect with her ass, water splashing around you both.

"You're going to miss this, aren't you?" she taunts, looking back over her shoulder. Her makeup is still somehow perfect, those violet eyes framed by thick lashes that are now spiky with moisture. "Two weeks without your cock. Two weeks with a dripping wet pussy instead."

Something about her words sends a surge of anger-tinged lust through you. You bring your hand down hard on one perfect ass cheek, leaving a pink handprint on her caramel skin.

"Fuck!" she gasps, but you can tell from the way she pushes back against you that she likes it. "Do that again."

You spank her other cheek, harder this time. The CRACK echoes across the terrace, possibly audible to neighboring buildings, but you're too far gone to care.

"That's for making me take this fucking pill," you growl, spanking her again.

"Yes," she moans, her ass clenching rhythmically around your shaft. "Be mad at me. Take it out on my ass."

You establish a rhythm—thrust, SPANK, thrust, SPANK—watching her ass jiggle and redden under your palm. while you use one hand to keep your cock firmly nestled in her ass crack. She's moaning continuously now, one hand disappearing beneath the water to touch herself.

"I'm going to cum," she pants. "Fuck, Alex, I'm going to cum just from you spanking me and hot-dogging my ass. That's how much I love your cock."

Her words push you closer to the edge. Your balls tighten, that familiar pressure building at the base of your spine. You grab both her asscheeks and squeeze them together brutally tight around your cock, thrusting faster, the water splashing violently around you both.

"Last nut as a man," she says. "Make it fucking- ngh- count!"

That does it. Your orgasm tears through you like a lightning bolt, your cock pulsing as you shoot thick ropes of cum between her asscheeks. Jet after jet of hot white cum spurts up her back, some landing as high as her shoulder blades. She's still cumming too, her body trembling against yours, ass clenching around your spurting cock.

"Fuck, fuck, FUCK," she chants, grinding back against you to milk every last drop.

When the aftershocks finally subside, she turns to face you, her eyes glassy. She reaches behind her back, gathering a dollop of your cum on her finger. With deliberate eye contact, she brings it to her mouth and licks it clean, making a show of savoring the taste before washing it down with a sip of champagne.

"So, think about THAT for the next two weeks," she purrs, settling back on your lap. Your softening cock nestles against her ass, spent but still twitching occasionally.

"Jesus, Roni," you mutter, still trying to catch your breath.

The water has grown tepid, but neither of you moves to get out. Veronica traces lazy patterns on your chest, her head resting on your shoulder.

"You know," she says, "I've been thinking about this trip for months. The Matsuhisa contract could put Valentine Strategies on the map globally. But every time I pictured myself in those meetings, I kept seeing you back here, surrounded by temptation."

Her fingers drift lower, circling your navel. "Not because I don't trust you specifically. It's just... men are biologically wired to spread their seed. It's not your fault—it's evolution."

You snort. "That's a convenient excuse for shitty behavior."

She lifts her head. "Maybe you're more evolved than most."

"Or maybe I just really fucking love you," you say, surprising yourself with the intensity in your voice.

Something flashes across her face—vulnerability, maybe even guilt—before she masks it with a smile.

"Come on," she says, standing up. Water cascades down her body, the bikini now completely transparent. "Let's shower."

You follow her through the terrace doors into the master bathroom, a temple of marble and gold fixtures. The shower is a massive walk-in with multiple heads positioned at different heights. She reaches in to start the water, then turns to you, unhooking her bikini top.

"So," she says, letting the tiny triangles fall away, exposing her perfect tits. "What kind of body do you think you're going to have?"

You watch as she hooks her thumbs into the sides of her bikini bottom and slowly slides it down her legs. Your eyes trace the curve of her hip bones, the flat plane of her stomach, the neatly trimmed triangle between her legs.

"Knowing you," you say, stepping into her space, "you've picked something that will simultaneously torture me and amuse you."

She laughs, pulling you under the spray. "Am I that predictable?"

"Strategic," you correct, reaching for the hotel's fancy body wash. "You never do anything without multiple layers of purpose."

You squeeze some wash into your palm and begin soaping her body, taking your time with each curve and valley. Her skin is impossibly soft, warm under your hands. She sighs as you massage her shoulders, her back, her ass.

"I've spent a small fortune on these pills," she admits, turning to face you. Her nipples harden as your soapy hands glide over them. "I want to get my money's worth."

"Of course you do," you murmur, leaning down to kiss her.

She responds hungrily, pressing her slick body against yours. Her hands tangle in your hair, tugging just hard enough to make your scalp tingle. You back her against the cool marble wall, lifting one of her legs to hook around your waist.

"Pick me up while you still can," she breathes against your mouth.

You hoist her higher, both her legs now wrapped around you, her back sliding against the wall.

"Maybe I'll still be able to," you say between kisses. "Maybe you'll turn me into an Amazon."

"Maybe," she teases, biting your lower lip.

The hot water pounds against your back as you make out like teenagers, all tongue and teeth and wandering hands. She tastes like champagne and desire, her body undulating against yours in a rhythm as old as time.

Eventually, the water begins to cool. You set her down gently, both of you breathless and flushed.

"I want to watch you change," she says, reaching for a towel. "I want to see it happen."

There's an almost clinical curiosity in her voice that should worry you, but after the night you've had, you're feeling magnanimous.

"Your wish is my command," you say with a theatrical bow.

She wraps a plush hotel towel around herself, tucking it between her breasts. "Let's do it in the bedroom. More space."

You follow her, towel slung low on your hips, watching the hypnotic sway of her ass. Despite having just come spectacularly in the jacuzzi, you feel desire stirring again. Two weeks suddenly seems like an eternity.

In the bedroom, she sits cross-legged on the massive bed, her towel riding up to reveal the tops of her thighs. She pats the space in front of her.

"Sit."

You obey, mirroring her cross-legged position. She reaches into her discarded clutch on the nightstand and pulls out the Choice pill, holding it between her thumb and forefinger.

"Last chance to back out," she says, but her tone makes it clear she doesn't expect you to.

"And miss the chance to finally understand the female orgasm? Not a chance." You're aiming for bravado, but your voice catches slightly.

Veronica notices—she notices everything—and her expression softens.

"Hey," she says, reaching out to touch your face. "It's going to be okay. I'll be back before you know it, and you'll have Devon to hang out with. Just... no wild parties, okay?"

"Yeah, because that's totally my style."

She smiles, leaning forward to kiss you. Her lips are soft, her tongue teasing against yours. Just as you're getting lost in the kiss, you feel something small and hard pressed against your lips.

You pull back slightly. "Wait, is that—"

"Open," she commands, her voice low and seductive.

You part your lips, and she pushes the pill into your mouth with her tongue, following it with a deep, possessive kiss. Her hand cups the back of your neck, ensuring you can't pull away.

You feel the pill dissolving, a faintly sweet taste spreading across your tongue. Veronica breaks the kiss, her eyes locked on yours, watching.

"How long does it—" you begin, but then it hits you.

A tingling sensation starts at the base of your spine, quickly spreading outward like wildfire through your nervous system. Your skin feels too tight, then too loose, your bones seeming to vibrate beneath your flesh.

"Veronica," you gasp, your voice already sounding strange to your ears.

She watches, fascinated, her violet eyes wide and unblinking.

"Starting... now," Veronica says, tapping her phone screen. The timer begins: 00:00.00.

Your skin flushes hot, then cold, then hot again. Every droplet of water from the shower suddenly feels like it's sizzling against your flesh. Your entire epidermis tingles like it's being peeled off and replaced, cell by cell.

"Oh, it's happening fast," Veronica whispers, her eyes wide. "Look at your skin, baby."

00:01.45

You glance down at your arms. The tan you worked so hard for all summer is literally fading before your eyes, like someone is erasing it with a cosmic pencil eraser. Your skin blanches to an alabaster white, so pale you can see the blue veins beneath pulsing with alarming speed.

"Fuck," you gasp, but your voice already sounds wrong—higher, breathier.

00:03.27

A grinding sensation starts in your bones. Your height begins to decrease, not gradually but in sickening lurches. The world seems to rise up around you as your perspective shifts downward. Your skeleton is literally compressing, bones grinding against each other like tectonic plates during an earthquake.

"You're getting so tiny," Veronica says with delight, circling you. "I'm going to be taller than you!"

00:05.89

Your fingers spasm and contract, the bones shrinking, skin reshaping. Your hands become smaller, more delicate before your eyes. Your nails lengthen slightly and darken, turning a glossy black as if being painted by an invisible manicurist.

"Those are going to look so cute wrapped around a game controller," Veronica comments, holding her own perfectly manicured hand against yours for comparison.

00:07.32

The sensation in your groin starts as a tingle, then intensifies to a strange pulling. Your cock—still semi-hard from the shower sex—begins to retract, not shrinking exactly, but inverting. It feels like someone has grabbed your penis from the inside and is slowly pulling it backward into your body. Your balls tighten and rise, the scrotal sac flattening and splitting with a sensation like fabric tearing.

"Oh my god," you gasp, hands flying to your crotch.

"Don't touch!" Veronica slaps your hands away. "Just let it happen. Trust me, you don't want to interfere."

00:09.56

The inversion accelerates. Your glans—the head of your cock—seems to fold inward, nerve endings screaming in confusion as it recedes into your body, transforming into a swollen nub that you instinctively recognize as a clitoris. The shaft continues inverting, creating a tunnel-like sensation, tissue rearranging to form a vaginal canal. Your testicles are now completely inside your body, the strange vacuum-like sensation continuing as they migrate upward, reshaping into ovaries.

"There goes your manhood," Veronica narrates, her voice low and fascinated. "Right up inside you where it belongs for the next two weeks."

00:12.71

Your hips crack and grind as they widen dramatically. The bones actually rotate outward, creating a wider pelvic cradle. Fat deposits begin forming instantaneously, padding your new hip structure with soft, feminine curves. Your waist simultaneously contracts, creating a hyperfeminine silhouette—like someone is squeezing you with an invisible corset.

"Oh, hello curves," Veronica purrs. "You're getting a serious hourglass, baby."

00:15.23

The most dramatic change begins in your chest. What starts as a tingling in your nipples quickly becomes an intense pressure as tissue begins to swell beneath them. Your flat pectoral muscles seem to liquefy, reforming into soft breast tissue that expands outward at an alarming rate. The weight is immediate and shocking—two heavy masses suddenly pulling at your chest wall.

"Holy shit," Veronica breathes, her eyes fixed on your growing chest. "They're going to be huge."

00:17.84

Your nipples darken from light brown to a dusky rose, and your areolae begin expanding—spreading outward like ink on wet paper until they're the size of silver dollars. The sensitivity is overwhelming; even the air in the room feels like it's physically touching them. Each new nerve ending that forms sends conflicting signals to your brain—pain, pleasure, confusion.

"Look at those fucking udders," Veronica says, reaching out to brush one expanded areola with her fingertip.

You flinch at the contact—it's too much, too sensitive. "Don't," you gasp, but your voice comes out as a breathy moan instead of a command.

00:20.05

Your breasts continue to swell, passing what would be considered average, moving firmly into "large" territory. The weight is disorienting, pulling your center of gravity forward. Your shoulders naturally roll forward to compensate, creating a posture that further emphasizes your new chest. They're so heavy that they actually bounce with your rapid breathing, jiggling with each panicked inhale.

"Perfect big tiddy goth girlfriend proportions," Veronica assesses.

00:22.79

The changes in your face FEEL more subtle, but Veronica's wide eyes tell you they're dramatic. Your jawline softens, cheekbones become more pronounced. Your lips tingle and swell, darkening to a natural burgundy color without any makeup. Your eyelashes thicken and curl upward. Most disturbing is the sensation of your eye sockets subtly reshaping, making your eyes appear larger and more widely spaced.

"Oh my god, you're actually going to be hot," Veronica laughs, sounding almost surprised.

00:25.33

Your hair begins to tingle at the roots. The sensation travels upward as your brown hair darkens to jet black, the color change moving like a wave from roots to tips. Simultaneously, it seems to retract slightly, reshaping into an asymmetrical bob with heavy side-swept bangs.

"I specifically requested this haircut," Veronica explains, reaching out to touch your new hair. "Very Emily the Strange meets Wednesday Addams. Super cute."

00:27.91

Your ass and thighs transform with disturbing speed. It's not just that they're growing—it's that your entire lower body is being remolded like wet clay. Fat cells multiply beneath your skin, creating a layer of soft padding that wasn't there before. Your once muscular thighs—thighs that could power you through a 5K without breaking (much of) a sweat—dissolve into something pillowy and yielding.

The new weight distributes itself with alarming precision, following its determined-by-Veronica feminine blueprint.

"Oh my god," you gasp as you feel your thighs literally spreading sideways, the skin stretching to accommodate new volume. Where they once had definition and separation, they now touch when your legs are together, creating a warm, constant pressure you've never experienced before. The hair on your legs literally retracts into your skin, leaving behind impossibly smooth, pale flesh that seems to glow under the bathroom lights.

Your ass expands with a sensation like being filled with warm liquid, tissue redistributing to create two perfect hemispheres. They're so soft, so jiggly, so... present. You've gone from having an ass you barely thought about to having one that announces itself with every shift of your weight.

00:29.45

"Turn around," Veronica commands, making a twirling motion with her finger. When you comply, she makes an appreciative sound. "Oh, perfect. The tattoo came out exactly right."

"Tattoo?" Your voice is completely foreign now—higher, melodic, with a slightly husky quality.

"I'll show you later. Keep turning—I want to see the whole package."

00:31.08

The final changes are happening between your legs. Your cock has fully inverted now, the last of the shaft tissue reshaping to form the walls of your new vaginal canal. The head of your penis, once the proud centerpiece of your sexuality, has compressed into a tiny, hypersensitive nub—your new clitoris. It's bizarre how something so much smaller can feel so much more intense. All those nerve endings, once spread across your entire glans, are now concentrated in a space no bigger than a pencil eraser.

What's most shocking isn't the absence of your penis, but what's replaced it. You expected a simple slit, but what you have is a prominent mound—puffy and soft, with plump outer lips that protect the more delicate inner anatomy. It feels bizarrely vulnerable, this new opening into your body. There's no hair anywhere—just smooth, pale skin that feels perpetually exposed.

"Spread your legs a little," Veronica instructs, her voice clinical but eyes hungry.

You comply without thinking, still too shocked to resist, and feel a rush of cool air against your new anatomy.

"Perfect little pussy," she assesses. "Puffy and pink. Very goth girl. Very fuckable. Not that you'll be finding that out!"

Your cheeks burn at her casual appraisal.

00:35.59

The final changes sweep through your body like a wave. Your fingernails and toenails darken to match your lips—a natural black that looks like polished onyx. Your neck lengthens slightly, becoming more slender. Your shoulders narrow to childlike proportions, making your breasts look even larger in comparison. Your arms lose their remaining muscle definition, becoming soft and slender.

"Time!" Veronica announces as the timer hits 00:37.00. "Transformation complete."

You try to stand upright but immediately wobble, your entire sense of balance completely fucked. Those massive tits—your massive tits—hang heavy on your chest, pulling you forward like twin pendulums. They don't sit high and perky; they're heavy teardrop-shaped SACKS OF FAT that droop slightly with their own considerable weight, swaying with even the slightest movement.

"Careful there, Morticia," Veronica laughs, steadying you with a hand that now feels enormous against your smaller frame. "You've got to learn to balance with those milkers."

"What the fuck did you do to me?" you gasp, but your voice comes out all wrong—breathy and high, with a slight rasp that somehow sounds perpetually aroused.

"Exactly what we agreed to," Veronica says innocently. "I just picked a body type I thought would be fun for you."

She guides you to the full-length mirror on the bathroom door, and the sight that greets you is so shocking you actually stumble backward.

"Holy shit."

The girl in the mirror is barely recognizable as you. She's tiny—at least eight inches shorter than your male form—with skin so pale it's almost translucent. Her jet-black asymmetrical bob frames a heart-shaped face with enormous green eyes and naturally dark, pouty lips. But it's her body that's truly shocking.

Those tits are fucking MASSIVE for her small frame—pale, heavy globes topped with areolae so large they cover nearly half of each breast. Your waist is impossibly narrow, flaring out to wide, childbearing hips and an ass that looks like it belongs in a rap video. The contrast is cartoonish, hyperfeminine to the point of parody.

"Turn around," Veronica commands, spinning you to see your back.

That's when you notice the first tattoo—positioned just above your ass in gothic script:

PROPERTY OF VERONICA VALENTINE 555-0187 • REWARD FOR RETURN

"What the FUCK?" you sputter, trying to crane your neck to see it better. "You BRANDED me?"

Veronica shrugs, not even trying to hide her smug smile. "Just a little insurance policy. In case you decide to get... adventurous while I'm gone."

"That wasn't part of the deal!" Your new voice rises in pitch, making your outrage sound more like a whine.

"Neither was this," she says, pointing to another tattoo—this one positioned on the underside of your left breast, only visible if you lifted it:

ALEX MERCER ON X-CHANGE EXPIRES 01/15 IF FOUND FUCKING AROUND CALL VERONICA

"Or this," she continues, lifting your right arm to reveal a small gothic heart on your inner bicep with the words:

DADDY'S LITTLE DISAPPOINTMENT

"Or my personal favorite," she says, gently pushing your legs apart to reveal a tiny skull and crossbones tattooed on your inner thigh, just inches from your new pussy:

ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK GIRLFRIEND WILL CASTRATE TRESPASSERS

"You fucking vandalized me!" You try to sound angry, but your new voice makes it come out petulant.

"Relax," Veronica says, rolling her eyes. "They're part of the transformation. They'll disappear when you change back. I just thought they'd be a good reminder of who you belong to." She traces the tattoo above your ass with one finger. "Besides, they're kind of hot."

You can't stop staring at your reflection. The girl in the mirror is undeniably hot—exactly the type you'd have fantasized about before. The irony isn't lost on you.

"No, you don't," Veronica says confidently. "You're just in shock. By tomorrow, you'll be having fun playing with those big tits in the mirror."

She reaches into her overnight bag and pulls out a small package. "Here, I got you something to sleep in."

Veronica opens the package to reveal a black satin camisole with lace trim and matching shorts. The fabric is so thin it's practically transparent.

"This is sleepwear?" you ask, taking the delicate garments.

"For a big tiddy goth girlfriend? Absolutely." She smirks, towering over you now by several inches. "Need help putting them on?"

"I can dress myself," you snap, but immediately fumble with the camisole, unsure which holes are for what.

"Sure you can," Veronica laughs, taking it back. "Arms up."

You reluctantly comply, raising your arms like a child. Veronica slides the silky fabric over your head, guiding it down over your massive new breasts. The sensation of satin against your nipples sends an electric shock through your entire body.

"Jesus!" you gasp.

"Sensitive, huh?" Veronica's eyes gleam with amusement. "Just wait until you try to sleep on your stomach."

She hands you the shorts, but you hesitate, not sure how you feel about having your girlfriend watch her boyfriend put on panties for the first time.

"Oh for god's sake," she sighs, kneeling down. "Step in."

You place one foot, then the other into the leg holes. Veronica slowly draws the shorts up your legs, the satin cool against your new, impossibly smooth skin. As she pulls them over your ass, the fabric seems to disappear between your cheeks, swallowed by the pillowy flesh.

"These are too small," you complain.

"No, that's just how they fit on an ass like yours," Veronica explains, adjusting the waistband.

The panties settle against your new pussy, the fabric pressing directly against your labia. The sensation is bizarrely intimate—a constant, gentle pressure against parts of you that didn't exist an hour ago.

"So," Veronica says, standing back to admire her handiwork. "What do you think?"

You look down at yourself—what you can see of yourself, anyway, past the pale, heavy mounds of your breasts. The camisole does nothing to contain them; instead, they spill out from the sides and bottom, the fabric merely suggesting coverage rather than providing it.

"I think I look ridiculous," you mutter.

"You look hot as fuck," Veronica corrects. "But you know what would really complete the look?"

Before you can answer, her hand cracks against your ass with a sound like a gunshot. You yelp, more from surprise than pain, though the sting quickly blooms across your right cheek.

"What the hell?!" you protest, reaching back to rub the spot.

Veronica is doubled over laughing. "Holy shit! Look how red it got instantly!" She points to the mirror where, sure enough, a perfect handprint is visible on your pale ass, already turning bright red.

"That's not funny," you say, but your new voice makes it sound more pouty than angry.

"Oh, come on. You spanked me silly in the jacuzzi. I don't even get to do it ONE TIME?" She's still laughing, wiping tears from her eyes. "Your skin marks so easily now. It's adorable."

You glare at her, but it's hard to maintain your anger when she looks so genuinely delighted. There's something infectious about her joy, even if it's at your expense.

"Look," she says, finally composing herself. "I know this is a lot. But you're going to be fine. You'll have the whole apartment to yourself. You can game, code, read, watch shows—whatever you want."

"What about Devon?" you ask, suddenly remembering your plans.

Veronica's expression shifts subtly. "You really want Devon to see you like this? Your buddy who you bench press with? The guy who's seen you shotgun beers and hit on bartenders?"

Your stomach drops as the reality hits you. Of course you can't let Devon see you like this. The humiliation would be unbearable.

"I didn't think so," Veronica says, reading your expression. "Just tell him you're sick. Or that I changed my mind and you're coming with me."

"So I'm just supposed to stay locked in the apartment for two weeks?" Your voice rises indignantly.

"You can go out if you want," Veronica shrugs. "But do you really want to learn how to walk in those hips while strangers stare at your tits? Do you want to figure out how to pee sitting down in a public restroom?"

She has a point, and you both know it.

"Besides," she continues, digging in her overnight bag again, "I got you some entertainment."

She pulls out a sleek black vibrator and tosses it on the bed.

"You've got to be kidding me."

"What? I'm being considerate." She grins. "You're going to get curious. Might as well have the right equipment."

You sit heavily on the edge of the bed, your new ass creating way more cushioning than you're used to. Your breasts settle into your lap, the weight of them pulling at your chest. They don't sit high and perky like in porn; they're heavy, pendulous things that move with a life of their own. When you shift, they wobble like pale, flesh-colored water balloons.

"I hate this," you say again, but with less conviction.

Veronica sits beside you, the mattress dipping under her weight. "No, you don't. You're just freaked out. But think about it—you get a two-week vacation from job hunting, complete with a brand new body to explore. Most people would pay thousands for that experience."

"Most people aren't being forced into it by their control-freak girlfriends," you mutter.

"Excuse me?" Veronica's eyebrow arches dangerously.

"Sorry," you sigh, too exhausted to fight. "I just... this is a lot."

Her expression softens. She reaches out to brush your new bangs from your eyes, the gesture unexpectedly tender.

"I know, baby. But it's just two weeks. And when I get back..." her voice drops to that husky register that always makes your pulse race, "...we can have some very fun girl-on-girl time before you change back."

Your eyes widen. "You'd do that?"

"Of course. I'm not really into girls, but it's you." She winks. "We can even use a strap-on or something. Though let's be real, it's more likely I'll be wearing it. You're DEFINITELY a bottom in that body!"

Despite everything, you feel a flutter of arousal at the thought. It's confusing.

"And after you change back," she continues, "you can hate-fuck me all you want. I'll even wear those slutty costumes you've been hinting at." She leans in close. "But only if you're good while I'm gone."

"Define 'good,'" you say cautiously.

"Don't cheat on me, obviously. Don't do anything that would embarrass me." She taps the tattoo on your inner thigh. "Remember, anyone who sees this will know exactly who to call."

"Like I'd let anyone see me naked like this," you scoff.

"Good," she says, satisfied. "Then we're on the same page."

She stands and begins her nightly routine—removing makeup, applying various creams and serums. You watch her, struck by how normal she seems while your entire existence has been turned upside down.

"Are you all packed for your trip?" you ask, desperate for any conversation that doesn't involve your transformation.

"Almost," she says, applying something that smells like roses to her face. "Just need to pack my toiletries in the morning."

"What time's your flight?"

"Noon. Car's picking me up at nine." She turns to look at you. "We can leave here at like 5:30 so I can get you set up. I've got a whole wardrobe waiting for you there."

"All goth stuff?" you ask warily.

"Mostly. Some comfy loungewear too. Nothing too slutty—I know you'll be staying in." She pauses. "Though there is one outfit I'd love to see you in when I video call. It's in a box under the bed."

You groan. "I'm not playing dress-up for you."

"We'll see," she says with a knowing smile. "You might get bored enough to try it."

Finally, she slides into bed, patting the space beside her. You hesitate, then join her —the sensation of the silky sheets against your new skin is almost overwhelmingly sensual.

"C'mere," she says, opening her arms.

You scoot closer, and she pulls you against her, spooning you from behind. It feels bizarre being the little spoon—your smaller body fits perfectly against her curves in a way that's completely new. One of her arms wraps around you, her hand coming to rest possessively on your breast.

"Jesus, these are soft," she murmurs, giving a gentle squeeze. "Like stress balls."

"They're heavy," you complain. "My back already hurts."

"Poor baby," she says, not sounding sympathetic at all. "Just wait until you try to run down stairs."

You lie there in silence for a moment, acutely aware of every point of contact between your bodies—her breasts against your back, her arm around your waist, her hand on your breast. Your new breasts don't stack neatly; they spread outward when compressed, spilling to the sides like water finding the path of least resistance.

"Veronica?" you say quietly.

"Hmm?"

"You know this is crazy, right? This whole thing."

She's quiet for a moment. "I know," she finally admits. "But I've been cheated on before. My mom was cheated on. My sister was cheated on. It fucks you up."

"I would never cheat on you," you say, and mean it.

"I want to believe that," she says softly. "But men are... men. And I've worked so hard for this deal. I can't be distracted worrying about what you're doing back here."

"So instead I get to be distracted worrying about these fucking udders hanging off my chest," you grumble.

She laughs, the sound vibrating against your back. "They're not udders. They're perfect tits. And they look amazing on you."

You roll your eyes, but there's something comforting about her certainty.

"I know I'm crazy," she continues, her voice smaller now. "But I'm hot, right? And the sex is good?"

The vulnerability in her voice catches you off guard. For all her confidence and control, there's an insecurity there that rarely surfaces.

"The sex is fucking incredible," you assure her. "And you're the hottest woman I've ever seen."

"Good," she says, sounding relieved. "Because I really do love you, you know. Even when you're a big tiddy goth girlfriend."

"Especially then," you correct dryly.

"Especially then," she agrees, laughing.

She pulls you closer, her hand still cupping your breast possessively. Despite everything—the shock, the anger, the humiliation—there's something undeniably intimate about being held like this. Your new body responds to her touch in ways you don't fully understand yet, a warmth spreading through your core.

"Get some sleep," she murmurs against your hair. "Tomorrow's a big day. First day of your two-week vacation from masculinity."

"Some vacation," you mutter, but you're already drifting off, the events of the day catching up to you.

The last thing you feel before sleep claims you is Veronica pressing a kiss to the back of your neck, her lips lingering there as if sealing a promise.

Or maybe marking her territory.

The shrill beep of Veronica's alarm yanks you from sleep. For one blissful moment, you exist in the limbo between dreams and reality, not yet remembering the events of last night.

Then you shift, and two gelatinous masses slide across your chest like water balloons in a pillowcase. One breast flops directly on top of the other, creating a strange, squished sensation that jolts you fully awake.

"What the—" you gasp, eyes flying open.

"Morning, sunshine," Veronica chirps, already sitting up beside you. "How's my little goth girlfriend feeling?"

Reality crashes back. In the harsh morning light, your skin looks even paler, almost translucent, blue veins visible beneath the surface like roads on a map.

"I was hoping it was a nightmare," you groan, voice still startlingly high and breathy.

"Nope. All real." Veronica stretches, her tank top riding up to reveal a strip of toned stomach. "Bathroom's all yours if you need it."

You do need it, you realize. Badly.

Sliding out of bed, you wobble slightly. Your breasts swing pendulously as you stand, the momentum carrying them in a brief figure-eight before they settle into their natural hang. The camisole has twisted during the night, one breast completely exposed, the dark areola puckered in the cool air.

"Jesus," you mutter, tugging the fabric down.

The bathroom is all marble and gold, just as opulent as it was last night. You approach the toilet with trepidation.

Pulling down your satin shorts, you awkwardly position yourself over the toilet seat and lower down. The sensation is bizarre—nothing to aim, just a void between your legs that somehow needs to release pressure.

You relax, and suddenly—PSSSSHHHHH! The sound is startlingly loud, the sensation of release entirely different from what you're used to. It's less directed, more of an overall flowing sensation, and it seems to go on forever.

"Don't forget to wipe!" Veronica calls through the door, making you jump.

"Jesus Christ, Veronica!" you shout back, mortified.

"Front to back!" she adds helpfully.

After figuring out the mechanics of post-pee hygiene, you wash your hands and stare at yourself in the mirror. The shock has worn off slightly, but the disconnect between your mind and this body remains profound. You raise a hand to touch your face—the skin is impossibly soft, like the finest silk.

When you return to the bedroom, Veronica has laid out clothes on the bed. Black jeans, a band t-shirt you don't recognize, and what looks like a medieval torture device.

"What is that?" you ask, pointing at the black elastic contraption.

"Sports bra," Veronica says, already dressed in a crisp white blouse and pencil skirt. "Trust me, you'll need it. Those puppies will give you black eyes if you try to go downstairs without support."

She helps you into it, which involves an ungraceful dance of arms and elbows as you try to position the elastic band under your breasts. The cups aren't really cups at all, more like compression panels designed to flatten rather than shape.

"Lift," Veronica instructs, holding the band in place.

You hoist your breasts up, the weight of them surprising you all over again. Veronica pulls the band underneath, then helps you shimmy the straps up your arms. The final step involves an undignified stuffing motion, both of you working to corral your flesh into the elastic constraints.

"Jesus fucking Christ," you gasp as Veronica gives one final adjustment, squeezing your breasts into place. "People wear these voluntarily?"

"Welcome to womanhood," Veronica says cheerfully. "That's actually a really good one. It's got triple reinforcement."

Once dressed, you follow Veronica to the elevator, hyper-aware of your new body. The sports bra compresses your breasts against your chest, but they still bounce slightly with each step. The jeans hug your new curves in a way that feels obscenely tight, though Veronica assures you they're "actually pretty loose."

In the cab back to your apartment, Veronica scrolls through emails on her phone while you stare out the window, still adjusting to seeing the world from a lower vantage point. Everything seems slightly larger, slightly more imposing.

"Oh!" Veronica says suddenly, looking up from her phone. "There's ONE OTHER THING I forgot to tell you..."

You turn to her warily. "What now?"

She bites her lip, looking almost guilty. "Well, it's just that..."

WHAT DID VERONICA "FORGET" TO MENTION?

Option 1: The Buddy System She made your friend Devon take X-Change too, so that she could trust him around you.

Option 2: The Renovation Crew There's a team of hunky contractors renovating the bathroom for the next two weeks - "I wanted it done while I was gone so I wouldn't have to deal with the mess!"