Brett - The sorority bro who let you in

You smile at Brett, leaning in closer to his muscular frame. "That tour sounds perfect," you purr, trying to channel what you imagine is Sophia's usual confidence. The words feel strange coming from your lips, but Brett doesn't seem to notice anything amiss.

"That's what I like to hear," he says, his hand sliding possessively to the small of your back as he guides you toward the stairs.

You feel eyes following your ascent—Charlotte's piercing gaze burns hottest of all—but the persistent throbbing between your legs overrides any hesitation. Brett leads you down a hallway lined with closed doors, music thumping through the floorboards.

"This one's mine," he announces, pushing open the third door on the left. The room is surprisingly neat for a frat guy—sports trophies line a shelf, a few tasteful posters adorn the walls, and the queen-sized bed is actually made.

You move toward Brett with Sophia's body but your own inexperienced mind. The disconnect is immediately apparent. When he pulls you against him, your hands remain awkwardly at your sides instead of exploring his body. When he kisses you, your technique is mechanical and hesitant.

"What's wrong with you tonight?" Brett asks, pulling back with confusion clouding his features. "You're acting like you've never done this before."

You attempt to recover, placing your hands on his chest in what you hope is a seductive manner. "Just... taking it slow tonight."

Brett snorts. "That would be a first for you, Sophia." His hands slide down to cup your ass, and the sensation sends shivers through your borrowed body. The chronic arousal pulses stronger, making you gasp involuntarily.

"There she is," Brett murmurs, mistaking your physical response for genuine desire. He guides you backward until your legs hit the bed, and you tumble onto the mattress. Brett's weight pins you to the mattress as his lips trace a hungry path down your neck. Your borrowed body responds with an electric jolt, arching against him involuntarily. The disconnect between your mind and Sophia's physical responses creates a disorienting feedback loop—you know what should happen next, but your inexperience shows.

"You're so weird tonight," Brett murmurs against your collarbone, his hands sliding beneath the hem of your tight dress. "Usually you're tearing my clothes off by now."

You attempt to match his rhythm, fumbling with his belt buckle. Your fingers, unfamiliar with the mechanics from this angle, struggle with the simple task.

"Let me," he says with a laugh, swiftly removing his shirt to reveal a sculpted torso. As he works on his jeans, you try to slip out of your dress seductively, but it catches awkwardly around your shoulders.

Brett pauses, watching your ungraceful struggle with growing suspicion. "Seriously, what's up with you? You on something?"

"I'm just... trying something different," you stammer, finally freeing yourself from the dress.

His eyes sweep over Sophia's naked body appreciatively, momentarily distracted. "Well, at least this hasn't changed," he mutters, lowering himself back onto you.

When his fingers slide between your thighs, the sensation is overwhelming—entirely different from anything you've experienced in your original male body. You gasp sharply, then moan as he finds a particularly sensitive spot.

"There we go," Brett whispers, mistaking your reaction for expertise rather than surprise.

Brett's experienced hands explore your borrowed body with practiced ease, finding sensitive spots you never knew existed. The dual consciousness—your mind experiencing Sophia's physical responses—creates an intoxicating disconnect. Her body knows exactly how to move even as your mind struggles to keep up.

"There's my girl," Brett groans as you arch beneath him, your hips finding a natural rhythm against his touch. "I knew you were in there somewhere."

When he enters you, the sensation is unlike anything you could have imagined. Your gasp is genuine, unfiltered shock at the fullness, the stretching, the complete difference from your male experience.

"Fuck, Sophia," Brett pants, mistaking your wide-eyed wonder for passion. "You're so tight tonight."

The feeling builds faster than you can comprehend—waves of pleasure radiating outward from your core. Your borrowed nerve endings sing with each thrust, each touch. When his thumb circles against your clit, you cry out, unprepared for how different orgasm feels from this side of the equation.

"That's it, baby," he encourages, increasing his pace as your body clenches around him. "Come for me."

Your release crashes through you like a physical ****. Your back arches involuntarily, walls pulsing around him as your vision blurs. You hear yourself making sounds you've never made before—high, **** moans that don't sound like your voice because they aren't.

"Jesus," Brett laughs, slowing his movements as you tremble beneath him. "That was quick. Usually takes a lot more to get you there."

Before you can catch your breath, you realize the chronic arousal hasn't abated—if anything, it's intensified. Your climax has only stoked the fire, not extinguished it.

"Don't stop," you hear yourself begging, wrapping Sophia's legs around his waist.

Brett raises an eyebrow but complies eagerly. "Demanding tonight, aren't we?"

The second time builds even faster than the first. You're learning now—how to angle your hips, where to place your hands on his shoulders, how to tighten certain muscles to intensify the sensation.

"Oh god," you moan as the second orgasm approaches, stronger than the first. Your nails dig into his back, leaving crescent marks.

"That's right," Brett growls, his own release clearly approaching. "Take what you want."

When you come again, the pleasure is so intense it borders on pain. Your entire body convulses, tears forming at the corners of your eyes, that was amazing. Brett follows immediately after, his rhythm faltering as he pulses inside you.

As you lie tangled in the sheets afterward, breathing heavily, Brett props himself up on one elbow and studies your face.

"You're different tonight," he says finally, but his tone is appreciative rather than suspicious. "Like you're experiencing everything for the first time or something."

You offer a noncommittal smile, unsure how to respond without revealing yourself.

"I like it," he decides, trailing fingers along your collarbone. "It's hot, watching you discover yourself like that."

The irony of his statement makes you want to laugh. If only he knew how accurate his assessment really was.