Masturbate in Beverly's body

Tim stood frozen in front of the bathroom mirror, Beverly’s pale, slender hands still hovering just beneath the hem of the oversized sleep shirt. His breath came in short, shaky bursts—hers, really, high and feminine, nothing like the deep timbre he’d known his whole life. The girl staring back at him was his sister, stripped of her usual armor: no piercings, no heavy eyeliner, just smooth, flushed skin and wide, startled eyes framed by messy black hair with faint purple streaks. And yet those eyes were his now. The body was his now. Every unfamiliar curve, every soft weight, every secret place belonged to him in this stolen skin.

He should stop. He knew it. This was Beverly—his younger sister, the goth pain in his ass who’d spent years tormenting him with her attitude and her loud music and her endless rebellion. The same girl who had just hijacked Tracy’s perfect body and turned their Hawaii trip into a nightmare of public flirting and humiliation. But the heat pooling low in her belly was undeniable. It spread like warm honey, tightening something deep inside that he had never felt before. His borrowed nipples had already hardened into tight peaks, pressing insistently against the thin cotton. The lightest brush of fabric sent sparks racing straight down to the unfamiliar slit between his legs.

“Fuck… this is so wrong,” he whispered. The words came out in Beverly’s voice—soft, breathy, almost sultry. It only made the situation hotter and more twisted.

His hands moved again, as if they had a mind of their own. They slid higher, cupping the undersides of Beverly’s small, firm breasts through the shirt. They weren’t huge like Tracy’s perky D-cups; these were modest, maybe a full B, but perfectly shaped, sitting high on her narrow chest with a natural perkiness that made his thumbs ache to explore. He squeezed gently, feeling the soft give of flesh, the way the weight shifted in his palms. A low, involuntary moan escaped his lips. The sound shocked him—high and needy, nothing like his own grunts during the rare times he’d jerked off in his own body.

“Oh god…” He pinched the nipples lightly between thumb and forefinger, rolling them. Electricity shot through Beverly’s chest, making her back arch. The shirt rode up, exposing the pale strip of skin above the black teddy-print panties. Tim’s eyes dropped to the mirror, watching the reflection of his sister’s body react. Her hips twitched forward, seeking friction that wasn’t there yet. The heat between her legs grew slick and insistent.

He couldn’t stop. Not now. The guilt only seemed to fuel the fire. This was his sister’s body—his little sister’s—and he was groping it like some perverted freak in the bathroom while their mom made breakfast downstairs. The thought made his face burn, but it also made Beverly’s pussy clench around nothing, a fresh gush of wetness soaking the crotch of the panties.

Tim yanked the shirt up and over Beverly’s head in one frantic motion, tossing it aside. The cool bathroom air kissed her bare skin, making the nipples tighten even more. He stared at the reflection: narrow shoulders, delicate collarbones, the faint outline of ribs under pale skin, and those two perfect little tits with dusky pink nipples begging for attention. He’d never seen Beverly like this. Never wanted to. But now he couldn’t look away.

His hands returned, this time skin on skin. He cupped them fully, lifting and squeezing, thumbs circling the sensitive peaks in slow, deliberate strokes. Every touch sent jolts straight to her core. He experimented—pinching harder, then softer, flicking the nipples with his nails. Beverly’s body responded beautifully, trembling, hips rolling in tiny circles. A thin string of arousal had already begun to drip down her inner thigh, visible in the mirror.

“Shit, Bev… your body is so sensitive,” he muttered, voice husky with her vocal cords. The taboo of using her name while touching her like this only made him bolder. He leaned closer to the mirror, watching her lips part, watching her tongue dart out to wet them. One hand stayed on a breast, kneading it, while the other trailed downward, over the flat stomach with its faint happy trail of dark hair leading south.

His fingers hesitated at the waistband of the black panties. The teddy print stared back at him like an accusation. He remembered the day he’d accidentally seen these in the laundry—how Beverly had punched him square in the jaw and screamed at him to stay out of her room. Now he was inside her room, inside her body, about to pull them aside and look at the most private part of her.

He hooked his thumbs in the fabric and shoved them down her slim thighs. They pooled at her ankles and he kicked them away. The mirror showed everything: the neat little landing strip of black pubic hair above smooth, puffy outer lips already glistening with her own juices. The inner lips were a soft pink, slightly parted, clit peeking out like a shiny pearl at the top.

Tim’s borrowed knees almost buckled. “Holy fuck…”

He reached down with one trembling hand and cupped her mound. The heat was insane—wet, swollen, radiating need. His middle finger slid along the slit, parting the lips, collecting slickness. The moment he brushed her clit, Beverly’s hips jerked hard and a sharp gasp tore from his throat.

“Ah—!”

The pleasure was immediate and overwhelming. Nothing like the dull, focused build-up he felt when stroking his own cock. This was everywhere at once—sharp, electric, blooming outward from that tiny bundle of nerves. He circled it slowly, learning the shape, the exact pressure that made her thighs quiver. His other hand kept playing with a nipple, twisting it in time with the strokes on her clit.

He watched the reflection like it was a live porno starring his own sister. Her cheeks were flushed pink, lips swollen, eyes half-lidded with lust. The girl in the mirror looked nothing like the sullen goth who slammed doors and blasted metal music. She looked like pure, **** sex.

Tim slipped a finger lower, teasing her entrance. It was so tight, so wet. He pushed in slowly, feeling the silky walls clench around the intrusion. Beverly’s body welcomed it greedily, sucking the digit deeper. He added a second finger, stretching her, curling them upward until he found a spongy spot that made stars explode behind her eyes.

“Oh my god… right there…” The words came out in Beverly’s voice, breathy and broken. He fucked her with his fingers—slow at first, then faster, thumb never leaving her clit. The wet sounds echoed obscenely in the small bathroom: slick, filthy, rhythmic. Her hips rocked to meet every thrust, ass clenching, breasts bouncing slightly with the motion.

He was panting now, forehead pressed against the cool mirror glass. The reflection of Beverly’s face was inches away—mouth open, tongue lolling slightly, eyes locked on her own fingers disappearing into her pussy. The sight pushed him closer to the edge faster than he’d ever experienced.

“Don’t stop… don’t you fucking stop…” he growled in her voice. He added a third finger, stretching her wider, pounding that perfect spot. His other hand left her breast and joined in, rubbing her clit in tight, frantic circles. The pressure built like a tidal wave—hot, coiling, unstoppable.

Beverly’s body seized. Her back arched violently, thighs clamping around his hand as the orgasm crashed over her. A long, keening cry ripped from her throat—high, feminine, shameless. Her pussy spasmed hard around his fingers, gushing fresh wetness that dripped down her wrist and onto the bathroom floor. The pleasure was blinding, rolling through her in endless waves, every muscle twitching and contracting.

Tim rode it out, fingers still moving, drawing it longer, milking every last shudder. Only when the spasms finally faded did he slump against the sink, gasping, legs shaking.

But it wasn’t enough. Not even close.

The aftershocks were still rippling through Beverly’s cunt when Tim’s fingers started moving again—gentler now, spreading the slickness, exploring every fold. He pulled his fingers out and brought them to his mouth, tasting her. Salty-sweet, musky, intoxicating. He sucked them clean, eyes never leaving the mirror.

“Jesus, Bev… you taste so good,” he whispered, horrified and aroused in equal measure.

He turned around, facing away from the mirror for a moment, and looked over his shoulder. Beverly’s ass was small but round and firm, two pale cheeks with a perfect heart shape. He reached back and spread them, exposing the tight pink pucker and the dripping pussy below. The sight made his borrowed clit throb again.

He spun back to the mirror, climbed onto the edge of the sink so one foot rested on the counter, spreading her legs wide. The position gave him a perfect, obscene view—pussy open, clit swollen and red, inner thighs shiny with her cream.

He went slower this time, savoring it. Two fingers slid back inside, scissoring gently. His thumb worked the clit in lazy circles. He watched every detail: the way her pussy lips gripped his fingers, the way her clit pulsed, the way her stomach fluttered with every breath.

He talked to the reflection like it was Beverly herself.

“You always acted so tough… but look at you now. Spread open, dripping for your own brother. Such a slutty little body.” The dirty words in her voice made the heat spike higher.

He found a rhythm that made her toes curl—deep, curling strokes against her G-spot combined with steady pressure on her clit. His free hand roamed everywhere: squeezing a breast, pinching a nipple, sliding down to grip her ass cheek and pull it open wider.

The second orgasm built faster. He chased it, fingers flying, hips grinding against his own hand like a **** whore. When it hit, it was even stronger—her whole body convulsed, pussy squirting a clear arc onto the mirror. Tim watched in stunned fascination as Beverly’s body came apart again, juices splattering the glass, running down in rivulets.

He kept going through the orgasm, fingers never stopping, forcing a third peak right on the heels of the second. This one was almost painful in its intensity—her vision whited out, legs giving out completely. He slid down to the bathroom floor, back against the cabinet, fingers still buried deep as the aftershocks wracked her slender frame.

For a long minute he just lay there, chest heaving, Beverly’s small tits rising and falling, pussy still twitching around his soaked fingers. The floor was wet beneath her ass. The mirror above was streaked with her cum. The air smelled like sex and her faint vanilla body wash.

Tim pulled his fingers free with a wet pop and stared at them. They were glistening, coated to the knuckles. He brought them to his mouth again, licking them slowly, tasting the evidence of what he’d just done.

Guilt crashed in then, hard and cold. This was his sister. He had just finger-fucked her to three screaming orgasms while wearing her body. Their mom was downstairs making lunch. Tracy’s mind was trapped somewhere in Beverly’s original body, probably panicking. And here he was, legs spread on the bathroom floor, pussy still throbbing with need.

But the shame only made Beverly’s clit twitch again.

He closed his eyes, breathing hard. “I have to stop… I have to find a way to fix this…”

Even as he said it, one hand drifted back between her legs, lazily stroking the oversensitive clit. Just a little more. Just to calm down. Just one more…

He moaned softly, hips rolling in slow circles against his own fingers. The fourth orgasm was gentler, a slow, rolling wave that left Beverly’s body limp and glowing.

Tim finally **** himself to stand on shaky legs. He looked at the mess in the mirror—flushed face, swollen lips, pussy red and puffy, thighs shiny. He grabbed a towel, wiped the mirror, then cleaned between her legs with gentle strokes that almost started everything over again.

He pulled the black panties back up, the fabric immediately soaking through at the crotch. The sleep shirt followed, hiding the evidence. But he couldn’t hide the way her nipples still poked against the cotton or the dazed, satisfied look in her eyes.

He stared at the reflection one last time.

“Bev… I’m sorry,” he whispered. Then, softer, almost against his will: “But fuck… your body feels incredible.”

He opened the bathroom door a crack, listening. Mom was still downstairs, humming. No sign of anyone else. He slipped back into Beverly’s bedroom, closed the door, and collapsed onto her unmade bed, the sheets smelling like her—black cherry incense and that same vanilla.

His hand slipped under the shirt again before he could stop it, cupping one breast, rolling the nipple idly while he stared at the ceiling.

He had a plane to catch somehow. A body to switch back. A girlfriend whose perfect form was currently being paraded around by his perverted sister.

But right now, all he could think about was how wet Beverly still was, how sensitive her clit felt, how easy it would be to slide those fingers back inside and chase another high.

Tim bit his lip—Beverly’s lip—and let his hand drift lower again.

Just one more time, he told himself. Then he’d figure out how to fix this nightmare.

But as Beverly’s fingers sank back into her dripping pussy and her back arched off the bed with a fresh, needy moan, he knew one more time was never going to be enough.