The fabric of the white top scraped against my skin—my cousin's skin—as Ethan's fingers dug into the slender hips he'd been gripping for the last twenty minutes. The dining table shuddered under our weight, a cheap, laminate thing that squeaked with every thrust. His balls slapped against my pussy, a wet, rhythmic thwap-thwap-thwap that had become the soundtrack to my new life. My ass, this borrowed, incredible ass, jiggled and clenched with each impact, the soft flesh rippling and then tightening, a bounce that lingered, a quake that travelled up my spine.
"God, you're so wet," he moaned again, his voice ragged.
I didn't answer. My mouth was open, a silent 'O' of air and need. That's all for you, I'd lied earlier. The lie tasted good. It tasted like power. The wetness was mine. The hunger was mine. This pussy, this tight, perfect, blonde pussy, was mine.
He bent me further over, my palms flat on the cool table. My back arched, my spine a strained curve. The position pushed my breasts against the laminate, a soft crush, the nipples hard little points of pressure. My hair—her hair—a waterfall of blonde, stuck to my neck with sweat. Ethan's grip shifted, one hand moving to the small of my back, pressing down, owning the dip of my waist where it tapered sharply before blooming into the hips he was using.
"Fuck, Ava," he grunted. Not my name. Her name. "You're taking me so good."
I let my head drop. "Mmmnh… more."
He obliged. The rhythm broke, became something frantic, something desperate. His thrusts weren't sliding anymore; they were pounding, driving, a piston-mechanical force that shoved the air from my lungs in short, punched-out gasps. Ah. Ah. Ah. Each one corresponded to a deep, bottoming-out invasion. I could feel him everywhere—the stretch at the entrance, the pressure against the inner walls, the blunt nudge at a spot deep inside that made my toes curl against the floor.
The sensations were a map I was learning. The initial sting of entry, gone now, replaced by a thick, full ache. The glide, slick and hot. The impact, a jolt that radiated out through my pelvis. And the retreat, a dragging, delicious emptiness that begged for him to fill it again.
My own hands crept back, over my trembling thighs, to where he joined me. I touched the base of his cock, felt the heat, the pulse, the strain of his shaft as it disappeared into me. My fingers traced the stretched rim of my pussy, feeling the way my flesh parted for him, how it clung to him as he withdrew. The skin was swollen, puffy, a plump ring of sensitivity. A thin string of my juice—clear, slick—connected my fingertip to his moving cock.
"You feel… hnng… so big," I whimpered, the words shattered by a particularly deep plunge.
"You're so fucking tight, baby," he answered, his voice a low growl against my ear. His breath was hot. "I can feel you gripping me. Squeezing me."
It was true. The muscles inside were clenching involuntarily, a spasm of pleasure that tightened around him like a fist. Each time he pulled back, they clung, reluctant to let go. Each time he pushed in, they yielded, then tightened again, milking him.
I was close. The pressure was building, a coiling spring low in my belly, a heat that was spreading, radiating out to my limbs, making them weak. My thoughts were gone. Just sensation. The smell of sex—musky, salty, sweet—filled the room. The sound of our bodies: the slap of flesh, the creak of the table, the wet, squelching shlurp of his penetration. The sight, in my mind's eye, of my own body bent and used, my ass bouncing, my pussy stretched.
"Ethan… I'm…" I couldn't say it. The climax was a wave cresting, and my voice drowned in it.
He understood. His hand on my back pressed harder, forcing my arch deeper. His other hand returned to my hip, holding me steady, a anchor for his final, furious assault. The pace became relentless, a battering ram of pleasure. Thump. Thump. Thump. My body shook with it. My vision blurred. A high, thin sound escaped my throat, a whine that climbed into a scream.
"Come for me, Ava," he commanded, a ragged plea. "Let me feel it."
The spring snapped. The wave broke.
It started as a deep, internal convulsion, a violent clench that locked around his cock and held. Then it exploded outward. My back bowed impossibly. My head flew back. A raw, tearing scream ripped from my lungs—"FUCK!"—and my body erupted into a shaking, trembling, boneless collapse of release.
The orgasm wasn't a point. It was a territory. It owned me. My pussy spasmed, a rapid, involuntary series of pulses and grips that squeezed his shaft in a rhythmic, milking torture. Heat flooded my core, a liquid, electric fire. And then, a gush. A sudden, shocking surge of fluid that wasn't juice, but something more. It erupted from inside me, a hot, copious rush that soaked him, soaked me, spilled out around his buried cock with a audible squelch and dripped onto the table below with a steady tap-tap-tap.
I squirted. This body squirted.
The sensation was unbelievable. A release of pressure, a wash of utter, filthy completion. My thighs shook. My knees buckled. Ethan, buried deep, groaned a long, drawn-out "Ohhhh, god…" as the fluid drenched his balls and thighs.
He didn't stop. As my orgasm peaked and began to ebb, leaving me hypersensitive, raw, and trembling, he kept moving. Slower now, but still deep, still filling me. The overstimulation was agony and ecstasy. Each movement scraped against nerves that were too alive, too exposed. I whimpered, a high, broken sound.
"Please… ahhh… it's too… hnng…"
"Just one more," he murmured, his voice thick with his own nearing peak. "Give me one more, baby."
He fucked me through the aftermath. The squirted fluid made everything slicker, hotter, messier. The smell intensified. My pussy, exhausted and spent, still clenched around him weakly, each thrust now sending sharp, bright sparks of pain-pleasure through my oversensitive core. I was sobbing, my face pressed to the table, tears mixing with sweat. My body was his to use, and he used it, drawing out his own climax from my ruined, dripping state.
His rhythm changed again, becoming shorter, sharper, more focused. He was chasing it. His grip on my hip turned into a claw. His breath came in ragged, open-mouthed gasps.
"I'm gonna… fill you up, Ava," he panted. "I'm gonna cum in this perfect pussy."
The words, the promise, sent a fresh, weak shudder through my exhausted body. I wanted it. I wanted to feel him finish inside me, to claim this hollow he'd carved. "Do it," I begged, my voice a shredded whisper. "Please… cum in me."
He drove in one last, final, punishing thrust, burying himself to the root, and held. His body stiffened against mine. A low, guttural groan tore from his chest. "Fuck… yes…"
And I felt it. Inside. A deep, internal pulse. Then a hot, sudden flood. His cum. It filled the space my own fluids had vacated, a thick, warm injection that spread through my core. I could feel the volume, the pressure, the distinct, separate heat of his release. It was… profound. A physical marking.
He stayed there, locked inside me, for a long moment, both of us trembling, breathing in ragged unison. Then, slowly, he withdrew. The sensation was exquisite—a slow, dragging exit that made my oversensitive walls cling to him, followed by a sudden, empty coolness. And then, a warm, immediate trickle. His cum, mixed with my squirt, began to seep out of me. I felt it slide down my inner thigh, a thick, pearlescent strand.
He slumped against me, his weight a comforting pressure. His hands softened, moving from ownership to caress, stroking my sweaty back, my trembling sides.
We didn't speak. The room was quiet except for our breathing. The table was wet. My body was wrecked. And I was… happy. A deep, smug, triumphant happiness.
This was mine now.
*
The phone rang two hours later, while I was in her bathroom, cleaning her body with a towel that smelled of her shampoo. I stared at the screen. My name—my real name—flashed there. Jake. My cousin, in my body.
I picked up. "Hey."
"Hey. So. That was… weird. Being a guy is kinda boring. I'm ready to swap back. Your mom keeps asking why I'm walking like my back hurts." His voice—my voice—was tired.
I looked at myself in the mirror. The blonde hair, tangled and sex-mussed. The blue eyes, wide and bright. The lips, puffy from kissing. The body, slender and curved, with the gentle swell of breasts and the incredible, soft roundness of the ass I'd just had pounded. A faint, pink blush still lingered on the skin from the exertion.
"Let's give it one more day," I said, my voice smooth, calm. "I think I'm getting the hang of it. You should… experience a full day as a guy. It's different."
A pause on the line. "You're having too much fun, aren't you?"
I smiled at the mirror. "Maybe. It's just… interesting. One more day. Tomorrow night. We'll swap back tomorrow night."
Another pause. Longer. "Okay. Fine. One more day. But don't do anything… crazy. With my body."
"I won't," I lied again. The taste was even sweeter now.
I hung up. I ran the towel over my thighs, cleaning the streaks of cum and squirt. The evidence of my betrayal. My cousin's boyfriend's seed, on her skin. My pleasure, in her form. I wasn't giving this back.
*
The next day, I dodged her calls. When the phone rang, I let it go to voiced mail. When texts popped up—"Jake, where are you?" "We need to talk." "This is feeling weird."—I ignored them. I spent the day in her apartment, wearing her clothes. A tight, black dress that hugged the waist and flared over the hips. I looked at myself. I touched myself. I learned the body.
Ethan came over in the afternoon. He looked at me with a possessive, satisfied glow. "You're different today," he said, kissing me, his hands immediately on my ass, squeezing the softness through the fabric.
"I feel different," I answered, and let him lead me to the bedroom.
This time was slower. More exploratory. He laid me back on her bed, on her sheets, and peeled the dress off me. He looked at my naked body with a reverence that was new. "You're so fucking beautiful, Ava."
He didn't fuck me immediately. He teased. His mouth on my breasts, sucking the nipples until they were hard, aching points. His fingers tracing the dip of my waist, the curve of my hip. His tongue exploring my pussy, which was still tender, still sensitive from the night before. He licked slowly, deliberately, tracing the outer lips, which were plump and faintly swollen. He probed at the entrance, which yielded easily, still loose from use. He found my clit, a hard, eager little knot, and circled it with a focused, gentle pressure.
I moaned, arching under him. The sensations were sharper, more nuanced today. I could feel everything. The scratch of his stubble on my inner thigh. The cool slip of his saliva. The hot, firm point of his tongue. My own responses: the clench of my inner muscles, the flush of heat across my skin, the quick, shallow pant of my breath.
"You taste so good," he murmured, his voice muffled against my flesh. "So sweet. And salty."
He brought me to the edge with his mouth, then backed off, leaving me trembling and desperate. Then he climbed over me, his cock hard and ready, and began the same, slow tease with his tip.
He rubbed the broad, smooth head of his penis up and down my slit. It dragged over my swollen outer lips, a friction that made them part slightly. Pre-cum, a clear, sticky bead, smeared from his tip onto my skin, glazing the folds. Shlick. Shlick.The sound was soft, wet, intimate. He spanked my pussy lightly with his cock, a gentle tap-tap that sent little shocks through my clit. My hips bucked, seeking more.
"You like that?" he asked, his voice a low tease.
"Yes… mmmhh… please…"
"Tell me what you want."
"I want… you inside. I need… to feel you."
He nudged the tip at my entrance, pressing, but not entering. The pressure was exquisite, a promise. My pussy lips spread wider, opening for him, leaking a fresh trickle of juice that mixed with his pre-cum. The combined fluid made a slick, shiny pool between my thighs.
Finally, slowly, he pushed in. Not a thrust. An invasion. The head breached the entrance, and my body welcomed it with a deep, internal shudder. He paused, buried just an inch, letting me feel the stretch, the fullness. Then, another slow, inexorable push. More. And more. Until he was fully seated, his balls resting against my ass, his entire length buried in my heat.
We stayed like that, joined, not moving, for a long moment. My pussy adjusted, accepting the girth. My mind settled, accepting the ownership. Then he began to move. A slow, rocking motion, not pulling out, just shifting inside me, grinding his pelvis against mine. The friction was deep, internal, overwhelming.
This fuck was different. It was claiming. It was connective. He watched my face as he moved, his eyes locked on mine. I watched him, seeing the pleasure in his expression, the possession. He was making love to his girlfriend, and I was stealing it.
We climbed together, slowly, steadily. The orgasm built like a tide, not a storm. When it came, it was a deep, rolling wave that washed through me without the violent explosion of the night before. I cried out softly, my body tensing and then melting, my pussy pulsing around him in slow, grateful clenches. He followed, groaning, spilling inside me again, a hot, thick flood that filled the quiet space my own climax had left.
After, he held me. We lay tangled in the sheets, sticky and spent. His cum seeped out of me, warming the sheet beneath my ass.
"I love you, Ava," he whispered, kissing my hair.
I closed my eyes. "I love you too, Ethan."
Another lie. A bigger one.
*
When my cousin—Jake—came over that evening, pounding on the door, I was prepared. Ethan, drowsy and satisfied on the couch, looked up at me.
"That's Jake," I said, my voice quiet. "He's… upset. About the swap. He wants to end it now."
Ethan frowned. "Why? It was fun."
"He's jealous, maybe. Or scared. Can you… talk to him? Keep him calm? Tell him we'll swap tomorrow. Just… don't let him in. He's angry."
Ethan, loyal, protective, nodded. He got up, went to the door. I stayed in the bedroom, listening.
I heard the door open. I heard my own voice, angry and confused. "Ethan? What are you doing here? Where's Ava? I need to see her."
"She's resting, Jake. You guys can swap tomorrow. Just give it one more night."
"No. I want to swap now. This is my body. Let me in."
A struggle of words. Ethan's firm, calm denial. My cousin's rising frustration. Then, the sound of the door closing. Ethan had kept him out. My cousin, in my male body, was locked out of her own life.
I walked to the bedroom window, peeking through the blinds. I saw him—me—standing on the sidewalk, looking up at the apartment, his face confused and hurt. Then he turned and walked away, shoulders slumped.
I turned back to the room. To the mirror. To the body.
It was mine now. Not for one more day. Forever.
The corruption was complete. The betrayal was absolute. And the pleasure… the pleasure was just beginning.