Ready to Wrestle The New World of SwapTech chapter 6 by deleted_user

Nate woke up in Brandy Lynn’s body with his cheek pressed to a frilly pink pillow and the taste of light beer and cinnamon lip gloss in his mouth. His head felt fuzzy, but not bad. Just full. Full of scent—vanilla lotion, bonfire smoke, leather. Full of weight—particularly in his chest, where Brandy Lynn’s boobs lay heavy and unbothered, pillowed under the thin blanket of a borrowed sleeping bag.

He sat up with a grunt, hair spilling over his shoulders like a shampoo commercial gone feral. Her shirt had ridden up in the night, exposing a toned stomach and a faint tan line just below the ribcage. The thong felt like a deeply personal prank.

Nate blinked, stretched, and accidentally smacked his arm against one of Brandy’s ginormous boobs. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered, clutching the offending orb with a startled bounce. “These things are out to get me.”

A buzz from the phone on the folding chair next to him interrupted his tit-wrangling.

🐮 RODEO ALERT!
“Get ready, girl! Mud pit opens at 11AM for the Sweetwater Cowgirl Rumble™! Bring your sass, your shorts, and your A-game!”

Nate groaned. “Right. Mud wrestling.”

The pop-up tents behind the rodeo bleachers weren’t exactly a high-end locker room, but they were buzzing with energy. The “contestants” for the Sweetwater Cowgirl Rumble were filing in, one by one, shedding jeans and jackets, stripping down to sports bras, bikinis, cut-up tees, and whatever passed for mud-wrestling attire in Sweetwater County.

Nate, in Brandy Lynn’s tanned, curvy body, stepped tentatively through the flap—and froze.

There were half a dozen other women already undressing. And they were comfortable about it. A Latina girl with an underboob tattoo peeled off her crop top, laughing as she spritzed herself with glitter body spray. A busty brunette in a red thong was bent over a mirror, adjusting her cleavage with zero shame. Two others were playfully smacking each other’s butts while tugging on borrowed daisy dukes.

And in the middle of it all… was Nate.

He swallowed hard.

“Brandy!” one of the girls called, grinning wide. “Thought you were skippin’ this year!”

Nate smiled awkwardly. “Change of plans,” he said, in Brandy’s slow Southern drawl. God, even her voice sounded like a pin-up calendar. Just talking made her chest bounce.

The other girls barely noticed his awkwardness—too busy hyping each other up, shouting “Yeehaw, bitch!” and fluffing hair.

Nate made his way to an empty chair, trying to stay cool, trying not to stare. But that was… extremely difficult. He was surrounded by beautiful women undressing like it was no big deal, and he was in a body that fit right in with them. No one gave him a second glance.

He sat down, crossed Brandy’s silky legs, and exhaled shakily. Time to get ready.

He reached for the loaner outfit laid out for “Brandy”: a white crop top cut scandalously short and a pair of minuscule denim shorts that looked like they’d been legally declared underwear.

First, though, he had to get out of what he was already wearing—a loose flannel over a lacy bralette, and tight jeans riding low on Brandy’s hips. He'd avoided this earlier by passing out - a little inebriated - immediately upon arriving home last night. Wearing the same thing two days in a row, his clothes stank a bit from sweat.

Nate looked around. No privacy. Not even a curtain. Everyone was just stripping right there in the open.

He took a deep breath. Alright, dude. Just do it. You’ve literally got boobs now. You can’t get in trouble for looking—because you are the thing you’re looking at.

Still, his hands trembled a little as he peeled off the flannel, revealing the clingy bralette beneath. Her chest—his chest—shifted beautifully under the fabric, the weight unmistakable. He could feel every breath expand Brandy’s ribcage, see the rise of her full, oiled cleavage just below his line of sight.

He tugged the bralette off over her head in one smooth, awkward motion.

Holy shit.

The tent wasn’t cold, but her nipples stiffened instantly. He tried not to stare at them in the mirror, failed, stared harder. They bounced slightly as he moved—firm and real and very front-and-center.

“I still don’t believe I’m inside this girl,” he muttered under his breath, adjusting Brandy’s boobs like he was handling unfamiliar fruit. They moved, they responded, and the sheer sensitivity made his knees buckle a little.

Next came the jeans.

Nate popped the button, wiggled them down over Brandy’s hips, and got caught for a second on the thong. He had to lean forward, pulling denim down inch by inch while Brandy’s bare ass slowly came into view in the mirror.

It’s not fair, he thought, staring at her plump, golden cheeks in disbelief. No wonder people stare when she walks.

Someone whistled playfully behind him.

He turned—and saw the red-thong girl smirking. “Nice ass, Brandy. Been workin’ out?”

Nate flushed. “Heh. Lots of squats,” he lied, trying to hide his reaction.

He stood up straight, fully naked now except for the thong, and suddenly hyper-aware of how every part of this body jiggled, bounced, moved. He reached for the crop top with trembling fingers and pulled it down over Brandy’s bare chest. It barely covered her breasts, riding high enough to flash underboob when she raised her arms.

The shorts… were more like denim suggestions. He tugged them up slowly, feeling every inch as they hugged her hips and wedged between her cheeks. A last-minute mirror check showed a slim, toned waist, long legs, and a top-heavy figure that belonged on a country music video poster.

He looked like a bombshell. No—he looked like Brandy Lynn, rodeo party girl, hometown sweetheart with a wild streak a mile wide.

Someone passed him a bottle of baby oil. “Slather up, girl. It’s not a fair fight if you’re not slippery.”

Nate grinned. “You got it.”

As he rubbed the oil into Brandy’s thighs, belly, and cleavage, he caught himself biting her lower lip. And for once, it wasn’t just nerves.

He was ready.