Flashback to 1 hour earlier

Flashback 1 hour earlier

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The sharp rap on the door was an unwelcome intrusion. Jezzer groaned, rolling over in the narrow hospital bed, the sheet twisting around his new legs. “Go away.”

Dr. Kerry entered, his expression tight. Dr. Saunders loomed behind him like a grim shadow. “Jezzer. Rise and shine. We need to talk.”

“About what?” he grumbled, sitting up. The hospital gown gaped open, and he made no move to close it, enjoying the way Kerry’s eyes flickered away while Saunders’ remained fixed, analytical.

“Allison’s parents will be here within the hour,” Kerry said, his voice low. “They believe their daughter is awake and recovering from a severe concussion. You need to be ready.”

Jezzer’s blood ran cold, a sudden, sharp fear cutting through his post-orgasmic haze. “Ready for what? To play daughter?”

“Precisely,” Saunders stated, his tone leaving no room for argument. “It is also imperative that Tim continues to believe the events of the transplant were a medication-induced dream. His stability, and the integrity of this project, depend on it. We will not corroborate your story.”

A slow, calculating smile spread across Jezzer’s features. This, I can work with. “So I just gotta be a good little girl for Mommy and Daddy, and let my boyfriend think he’s crazy? Sounds like a fun Tuesday.”

“This is not a joke,” Kerry snapped, then reined in his frustration. “There is another matter. We cannot release the other subject—the individual inhabiting your former body—to the public. The… dissonance would be too great. She will remain here, under our care, for the foreseeable future.”

A new curiosity sparked in Jezzer’s eyes. “She? So the little miss is in my old meat-suit? How’s that workin’ out for her?”

“The integration is… slower. More unstable,” Saunders admitted, a flicker of professional interest in his stern face. “We need to monitor her closely. The project’s parameters require us to study the consciousness’s adaptation to its new vessel.”

Jezzer’s smile vanished. Project? Parameters? “Wait a minute. What project? You said this was a life-saving procedure.”

The two doctors exchanged a loaded glance. Kerry sighed. “The procedure was born from a… research initiative. An experiment to see if consciousness could be successfully transplanted. The accident provided a unique, if tragic, opportunity. Our ultimate goal is to understand the process so thoroughly that we could, theoretically, reverse it.”

The words landed like a physical blow. Reverse it. The glorious, intoxicating reality of this young, vibrant body was suddenly under threat. A red-hot rage, cold and sharp, ignited in his gut. They wanted to put him back in that broken-down, dying shell.

He forced his features into a mask of cooperative concern, nodding slowly. “I see. So you’re gonna try to put us back. Well, good luck with that.” The words tasted like ash.

“We will do our best,” Kerry said, seemingly placated by his false compliance. “Now, get ready. And remember, you are Allison.”

The moment the door sighed shut, the mask shattered. Jezzer launched himself from the bed, his small hands balling into fists. He stomped his bare foot on the cold linoleum, a utterly feminine gesture of fury that felt absurdly satisfying.

“Like hell you will,” he snarled, his voice a low, vicious thing in the quiet room. “You are not putting me back in that coffin.” He turned, his gaze falling on his reflection in the dark monitor screen. The blurry outline of a beautiful girl stared back. His smirk returned, wider and more predatory than before. Mine.

It would take planning. It would take cunning. But he’d spent a lifetime manipulating people for far less of a prize. He could play the dutiful daughter, the loving girlfriend, all while working to make this stolen life permanent. He would find a way to sabotage their precious experiment. He would make this body his, forever.

The thought sent a fresh, thrilling jolt through him. He needed to christen his resolve.

He walked toward the small private bathroom, his movements now a deliberate, swaying sashay. With his back to the mirror, he grasped the loose ties of the hospital gown. He let it slide down his shoulders, down his back, inch by agonizing inch, revealing the smooth, pale skin beneath. He paused when it caught on the swell of her buttocks, then gave his hips a slow, insolent shake, making the fabric fall the rest of the way to the floor in a soft heap.

Completely naked, he turned his head to look over his shoulder, catching the delectable curve of his new ass in the mirror. He gave it a firm, approving slap, the sound sharp in the tiled room. The sting was a promise.

He stepped into the bathroom, his mind already racing with wicked plans, and closed the door. The lock clicked with a sound of finality. From behind the door, the hiss of the shower starting was soon followed by a low, pleasured groan.