Treating it like it’s my own

I stayed in the kitchen after Jake left, one hand still resting against the outline in my jeans. The thick shaft had hardened again under the denim. Every slow pulse pushed another bead of precum into the already-damp cotton of his boxers. The denser thighs stayed solid under me. The higher ass pressed back against the cabinet like it had always belonged there.

The house was quiet. Mom was still out. Alice’s door had stayed closed upstairs. I could have gone back to my room, locked the door, and taken everything off. Reversed it completely. Walked around in my own body again.

I didn’t.

I pushed away from the counter and walked through the living room, testing the new weight with every step. The heavy cock rubbed along the inside of my thigh. The denser muscle flexed without thought. The higher curve of the ass filled the seat of my jeans the way his always had. It felt natural now in a way that should have scared me more than it did.

Upstairs, Alice’s door opened. Footsteps moved down the hall toward the bathroom. I froze at the bottom of the stairs, listening. The bathroom door closed. The shower turned on a minute later.

I went up quietly and slipped into my room. Locked the door. Stood in front of the mirror again.

This time I stripped completely except for the boxers. My own hoodie hit the floor. My jeans followed. I stood there in nothing but Jake’s underwear and looked at what they still held.

The thick cock sat heavy and fully hard against the soft fabric, the head shiny where it had leaked. The denser thighs framed it, lean but solid, the exact shape his had from years of skating and doing nothing else. When I turned, the higher, firmer ass curved under the waistband, filling it out completely. Every place the cotton touched was still his. Everything outside it was still mine.

I hooked my thumbs in the waistband and started to push them down.

Stopped.

The moment the fabric began to slide, a sharp warning tingle raced across my skin—the same electric feeling from when the swap first took hold. If I took them off completely, everything would reverse. I knew it without needing the spell. The underwear was the only thing keeping the lower half of my body rewritten.

I pulled the waistband back up and let it settle around my hips again. The tingle faded. Jake’s cock stayed. The denser thighs stayed. The higher ass stayed.

I sat on the edge of the bed and wrapped my hand around the shaft through the fabric. One slow stroke. Then another. The head leaked steadily now, soaking a dark circle into the front of the boxers. Pleasure coiled low and tight. My new thighs tensed. My new ass clenched against the mattress. I bit down on the inside of my cheek and kept stroking, slow and deliberate.

The weight of it felt so different in my grip—thicker, hotter, the skin sliding under the cotton with every pass of my hand. I pushed the waistband down just enough to free the head and the upper half of the shaft, leaving the rest of the boxers still covering my thighs and ass so the swap wouldn’t break. Jake’s cock stood heavy and wet in the open air, the head flared and shiny. I wrapped my bare fingers around it and stroked faster.

The denser muscle in my thighs flexed hard. The higher ass lifted slightly off the mattress with every upward stroke. Precum ran over my knuckles in thick strands. I could hear the soft wet sound of my hand working the borrowed shaft, and it only made me stroke harder. The pressure built fast, coiling tight at the base. My new thighs started to shake. My new ass clenched rhythmically under the fabric still holding it in place.

I thought about the rest of Jake’s clothes still sitting in the laundry basket downstairs. His worn black socks. The soft gray sweatpants he lived in. The faded band tees that always hung loose on his lanky frame. The thought of pulling any of them on while his cock was still in my hand made the pleasure spike so hard I had to bite my lip to stay quiet.

I stroked faster, thumb dragging over the wet head on every upstroke. The thick shaft pulsed in my grip. My denser thighs locked. The higher ass tightened hard. One more stroke—then another—and the orgasm hit like a punch.

Jake’s cock jerked hard in my hand and started pumping. Thick ropes of cum shot across my stomach and up onto my chest, hot and heavy, more than I was used to. I kept stroking through it, milking every pulse while the denser thighs trembled and the higher ass clenched over and over under the boxers. A low sound escaped my throat before I could stop it. I bit down harder and rode it out, hand still moving, watching the borrowed cock throb and spill until the last weak spurts leaked over my fingers.

I sat there shaking, chest rising and falling, Jake’s cum cooling on my skin. The thick shaft stayed semi-hard in my grip, shiny and spent. The boxers were still on, still holding the denser thighs and higher ass in place. Nothing had reversed.

I looked down at the mess and then at the closed door. The shower was still running down the hall. I had time.

I wiped my hand on the edge of the sheet, then reached for my phone and opened the camera. Just for a second I angled it down—Jake’s cock resting against my stomach, still wet, the denser thighs spread on either side, the waistband of his boxers framing everything he still owned on my body. I didn’t save it. I just looked, then locked the screen.

My eyes drifted to the laundry basket I knew was still downstairs. His socks. His sweatpants. Maybe one of the tees that still smelled like him. The boxers had given me the lower half. What would the rest of his clothes take if I put them on while I was still wearing these?

I didn’t move yet. I just sat there in the afterglow, Jake’s cock heavy and spent between my legs, his thighs and ass still solid under the cotton, and thought about how much more of him I could keep before anyone noticed.