Transfer (MtF MILF Body Swap)

In order to save his life, a young man’s mind is transferred into a mature woman’s body in Transfer (Part 1), available on Smashwords, Amazon or wherever ebooks are sold.

Hunter was tired after the stimulant in the bath of goop. He felt like he’d just run a marathon, his legs and shoulders burning slightly with exhaustion. The bulk of the goo drained out of the pod as Hunter sat in it, the rest washed away by the warm water that cascaded in from a nozzle behind his neck. The pod was still closed, preventing Hunter from seeing himself. But when it opened the orderly helped him up and then let him towel himself off.

Hunter wiped himself dry, fumbling with his breasts as he did so. It wasn’t that he was trying to explore himself with the others in the room, it was just that they were constantly getting in the way and leaving patches of damp. When he finished the orderly slipped him back into a hospital gown and returned him to his room. Before helping him into bed, the orderly wheeled him over to the toilet and transferred him to it, then left him to do his business.

Hunter knew he had to pee, felt his bladder full, but had a hard time figuring out which muscles to use. Finally, he felt his bladder release into a noisy stream into the bowl. As he went, he glanced up at the mirror above the sink. It had been covered by a film that obscured the reflection. When he finished using the toilet he tried to stand but his legs were too weak to support him and, in the end, he called for the orderly’s help. The orderly helped transfer him to his hospital bed.

“You might be a little sore or stiff tomorrow,” Doctor Goodling warned him, “But that’s a good sign. It means your muscles are getting stronger.”

They left him alone and Hunter fell asleep within minutes, his body exhausted from the recent stimulant workout. When he awoke there was no sunlight coming from beneath the curtains. It seemed quiet outside in the hallway. He was restless, and he wiggled his legs but that didn’t seem to do anything. The restlessness was more from inside him. A vague itch that needed scratching but that Hunter had no idea how to reach.

A tray of food sat on a small wheeled table beside his bed. Hunter reached out and wheeled it closer, peeling off the plastic to find the meagre hospital dinner. Cold meat and vegetables, with a rock-hard dinner roll and a pat of butter. But Hunter was ravenous and he ate the whole thing. Hospital food had never tasted so good and Hunter wondered what was the last thing this woman’s body had to eat.

What had she been doing before she died? Who was she? There were no clothes or other personal effects that he could see to give him any clues. All he had was her body. Her body. Now his. Right beneath this thin gown.

He wiped his lips with the coarse napkin and pushed the tray of food out of the way. He wanted to see himself but he was afraid. Would this be an invasion of privacy? But it was his body now. If the psychiatrist was right the original owner would never be coming back. The curiosity combined with the strange restlessness he’d woken with spurred him on.

He struggled to get out of the paper gown, finally managing to pull one side down and arm, then the other. He crumpled the papery fabric down into his lap and gazed at the bare breasts hanging beneath him. He took them in each hand and hefted them gently, not quite sure how fragile they were. They were so big they spilled out of his fingers as he cupped them to his chest, fingers dimpling the soft skin. He released them and let them bob back down together, then picked them up again. They were heavy and fun to play with, and he ran his fingers over the skin, tracing the curves of each one, lightly touching a little mole here and there. Judging by her body, she must have been somewhere in her mid-thirties maybe. Hunter had a full hourglass figure with a little extra padding that was no less beautiful for being natural.

The restlessness within him grew as he played with his new tits. They felt nice to touch and he explored them with his fingers. Stroking the underside of them he found them sensitive, almost ticklish, and it sent a pleasant shiver down his body. The little nipples spiked out and a bright warmth flared within him. He pinched the nipples between thumb and middle finger as he’d watched Christen do, and then stroked each sharpened nipple with his forefingers. Sharp pleasure danced through him and he sighed, a lovely aching sound.


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