Who's Next?

It was a crisp fall day when Christine Henderson arrived home from work. She was later than usual, but for good reason. She had been catching up with a friend she hadn’t seen in a very long time. And they had made plans to get together and catch up, and drag their husbands along with them. Christine knew her husband, Peter, would not like this change of plans at all. It disrupted their nightly routine of the past couple months of fucking each other silly.

Despite the fact that they were an old married couple, they were enjoying a resurgence in their sex life. This was made easier by the fact that they were also body hoppers, and were exploring new kinks they had long shunned. In this case, they were regularly hopping the bodies of a mother and son that lived across the street from them.

Peter hadn’t been able to get enough of their neighbors. The taboo nature of using their bodies to satiate their desires had not grown stale. Usually they’d have grown bored, but that had not been the case.

Every day, as soon as they both got home from work, they would shed their clothes and become an ethereal mist. They’d float across the street, and take over the mother and son that lived there. Then they would act perfectly normal. The mother would talk about her work at a bank downtown. The son would talk about his college classes he’d attended that day. But during a meal or an activity, there would be subtle flirting that would turn into not so subtle flirting. Eventually clothes would be removed, or sometimes torn off. And before the night was over, the mother and son would have engaged in hot, hot ****.

Night after night after night this was their pattern. And when Christine walked into her kitchen that day, she saw that her husband was already in mist form, ready to go.

“Peter, I’m sorry,” Christine sighed. “There’s been a change of plans tonight. We’ve got a dinner date.”

Christine watched as the mist swayed back and forth.

“It couldn’t be helped,” she said. “I ran into Diane Shiplee today at lunch. You remember the Shiplees?”

She knew darn well he did. They used to be their dearest friends. Still, he handled this news about as well as she expected. She watched the mist sway back and forth and spin around.

“Oh don’t be like that,” Christine argued. “You used to love it when I’d hop Diane so you could play with her big tits. We might have never stopped if they hadn’t gotten pregnant.”

The mist continued to spin and whirl and throw a mini tantrum.

“Oh yes,” Christine exclaimed. “I remember your big tit phase. You wanted me to hop whoever had the biggest pair in the room. And quite often that was Diane.”

The mist began moving up and down in the air.

“Stop it, Peter,” Christine said frustratedly. “I can’t understand you. You’ll have to rematerialize.”

The mist hung there for a few seconds, not moving in the slightest.

“Now, please!” Christine demanded.

The mist began to swirl about, and began to take the shape of a man. A few seconds later, where the mist had been, stood an older, pudgy man in his sixties without a stitch of clothes on him. As soon as he could speak, he started complaining.

“No! Not tonight! You can’t be serious! We’ve got a good thing going here. You said so yourself last night.”

Christine helped turn him in the direction of the stairs, “Yes, I know dear. But that also means we haven’t had a social life in two months. People will think we’ve died or joined a cult. Besides, we probably need to give Sara and Mark a break, don’t you think. Let them have a normal, sex free night as mother and son. Now go put something nice on.”

Peter followed his wife into their bedroom in full pout. “I don’t see why we have to visit the Shiplees. We haven’t seen them in ages.”

“You used to love the Shiplees! And I’m not just talking about Diane’s tits. You and Greg always got along so well. You’d talk about, uh, whatever it is that got you two all fired up.”

“Model trains.”

Christine chose a shirt from his closet and handed it to him. “Really? Trains? But you don’t have any model trains. Or any other kind of models?”

“I know, but it’s still fascinating. He was working on creating a whole village. He let me run it one time, you know.”

“How very nice of him. Now get these pants on and let’s go. Dinner’s in thirty, and we need to stop and pick up a bottle of wine before we get there.”

Peter looked at the pants with distrust, as if by putting them on he was accepting this dinner party that had been **** upon him. “Are we going to hop them and screw?”

Christine put her hands on her hips. “If you want to, I suppose…”

“They’re almost as old as we are!”

“We’ve still got them beat by a good ten years.”

“Do you want to have sex as someone in your late forties, early fifties?” Peter asked wryly.

“I mean, we’ve had sex in each others bodies this last week, so…”

“Not what I asked,” Peter said. “And we’ve had the help of a surge to our libido. I bet Greg and Diane do it only once or twice a month by now.”

Christine rolled her eyes as she watched her husband take forever to put his pants on. “We don’t have to hop the.”

“Well then let’s blow them off so we can hop the neighbors,” Peter begged. “Mark’s dick gets so hard when he sticks it in his mommy’s pussy.”

“If you stop complaining, maybe tomorrow I’ll have Mommy put on a nurse’s outfit and see if her big man needs to stay home from college classes tomorrow.”

With that incentive, the pants were on, and they got out the door less than a minute later.

[By Kripto on Outfox Stories, reposted with permission.]