The non-functional TV-Remote

The storm outside raged with a moody pulse, thunder rumbling low like the growl of something primal in the dark. Lisa and Ben sat on the couch, half-draped in a blanket, flipping through channels with the kind of lazy boredom that only stormy evenings could inspire.

“Nothing but cooking shows and reality trash,” Ben muttered, jabbing the universal remote linked with the TV again. Nothing happened. The screen stayed stubbornly fixed on an old weather report.

Lisa raised an eyebrow. “Battery’s dead?”

“No, it was working a second ago—”

He shook it. Still nothing.

Lisa smirked, took the remote from his hand, and—half-joking—pointed it directly at him. “What if it’s not broken… just redirected?”

She pressed a button. The screen flickered.

Ben blinked. “Did you feel that?”

Before either of them could answer, something strange shimmered in the air between them—a static pulse, soft and tingling. Lisa looked down at her hand, then at Ben, her eyes wide.

“Wait. Something’s… off.”

Then she laughed. “Ben. That’s my hand.”

Ben looked down and gasped. “What the—?! No way.”

Somehow, the remote had swapped their hands. She held his broader, rougher palm. He now had her slender fingers with neatly trimmed nails.

Lisa looked at the remote slowly. “Oh my god. This… this can swap body parts.”

Ben shifted uncomfortably. “Okay, that’s—cool, but maybe let’s not—”

Click.

She pointed it at his lap. A warm, electric tug rippled through both their cores.

“Oh,” Lisa whispered. “That was your cock, now… mine.”

Ben’s face flushed. “Lisa…”

She stared down at herself, her eyes wide and fascinated as she gently pressed her thighs together and felt the heavy new presence there.

Lisa’s voice turned low and wicked. “You never told me how underwhelming this thing was.”

Ben tried to reach for the remote—but she was quicker.

“Oh no, babe. You had your turn. Now it’s mine.”