Go to the bathroom

You raise your hand—Tyler's hand—feeling a strange disconnect between your intention and the movement. Professor Knox nods in your direction. "Yes, Ms. Chen?"

"Bathroom," you say, still startled by the throaty feminine voice emerging from your lips.

"Take your time," Knox replies. "The first few minutes in a new body can be disorienting. Remember your stabilization techniques, everyone."

You stand shakily, immediately aware of how differently this body moves. Your center of gravity has shifted, and you're suddenly several inches taller, looking down at most of your classmates. As you walk toward the door, you feel the powerful muscles in your legs responding with strength you're not used to controlling. The compression shorts cling to your new thighs, and the sensation of breasts shifting slightly under the tank top with each step is entirely foreign.

You find the women's restroom—a space you've never had legitimate reason to enter before—and push through the door, heart racing. The bathroom is empty, thankfully. Fluorescent lights illuminate a row of sinks opposite three stall doors. You approach the large mirror over the sinks and stare, transfixed.

Tyler Chen's reflection gazes back at you. Her—your—almond-shaped dark eyes widen in wonder. You run your hands over your new face, feeling the smooth skin, the defined cheekbones, the fullness of lips that aren't yours. Your fingertips trace the strong line of your jaw, then drift down to your neck and collarbones, exposed by the athletic tank top.

"Holy shit," you whisper, watching Tyler's mouth form the words.

You flex an arm experimentally, watching the bicep rise and define itself beneath golden-tan skin. The strength is incredible—you can feel the coiled power in every movement. You roll your shoulders back, feeling the shifting of unfamiliar muscles across your upper back.

Curiosity overwhelming your initial caution, you lift the hem of the tank top slightly, revealing a toned stomach with the 6-pack abs. The sports bra underneath constrains your new breasts, but you can see their fullness even compressed. You turn sideways, taking in the profile of Tyler's body—your body now—the curve from waist to hip, the athletic lines of her legs and drooling at her fat ass.

You run your hands through your hair, feeling the thickness of Tyler's short, straight black hair. It's silkier than you expected. Your appearance is soft yet still undeniably powerful.

"So this is what it feels like," you murmur, placing your hands on your hips and feeling the unfamiliar width of them. You take a deep breath, feeling your chest rise and fall, the sensation entirely different than in your original body.

Alone in the bathroom, you give in to your basest curiosities. You cup Tyler's breasts through the sports bra, feeling their weight and fullness in your palms. The sensation sends a thrill through your borrowed nervous system—feeling them from the outside while simultaneously experiencing the pressure from within.

"Fuck, these are incredible," you whisper, pinching at the nipples through the fabric. They harden instantly, sending unexpected jolts of pleasure down your spine. You hastily pull up the tank top and sports bra, exposing Tyler's breasts to the cool air. They're perfectly proportioned to her athletic frame—firm, round, with small brown nipples that pucker under your touch.

You squeeze them together, watching them in the mirror, then bend your head down to lick one nipple. The sensation is electric—both familiar and alien. Your tongue feels different in this mouth, the taste of skin unlike anything you've experienced before.

"Holy shit," you gasp, voice high and breathy. Your hands slide down the taut stomach, feeling each defined abdominal muscle. You turn and crane your neck to look at Tyler's ass in the mirror. The compression shorts hug every curve perfectly.

You slap one cheek experimentally, feeling the firmness of muscle beneath the soft layer of flesh. The sharp sound echoes in the empty bathroom as you knead the flesh roughly. Another slap, harder this time, leaves a red handprint and sends a confusing mixture of pain and pleasure through your system.

"God, her ass is perfect," you mumble, pulling the compression shorts down just enough to see the tan line where Tyler's bikini would sit. The skin is slightly paler there, creating a tantalizing contrast.

You lift one arm and bury your face in the armpit, inhaling deeply. There's a faint trace of deodorant masking the natural musk beneath. You lick the skin there, tasting salt.

Pulling at the waistband of the shorts, you peek inside, confronted with the unfamiliar territory of female anatomy. You slide your hand down further, fingertips brushing against short trimmed hair and then lower, where everything is unexpectedly warm and soft.

A sudden surge of pleasure makes your knees weak as your fingers explore. You grip the edge of the sink with your free hand to steady yourself, shocked by how sensitive everything feels. Your borrowed body responds eagerly to your touch, growing slick and hot within seconds.

"Jesus," you pant, watching Tyler's face flush in the mirror. Her dark eyes are dilated with arousal, lips parted. You barely recognize the expression of raw desire on her features—it's nothing like the confident, disinterested look she wore in class.

You slide a finger inside experimentally, gasping at the alien sensation of penetration from this perspective. Your hips buck involuntarily, seeking more friction.