Private Curiosity The New World of SwapTech chapter 8 by deleted_user

Diesel looked back, then shook his head. “I need a second too,” he said quietly. “I’ll meet you by the lockers.”

Rico gave him a look. “Seriously?”

Diesel shrugged, already turning toward the hallway behind the lobby. “I just need to clear my head.”

Diesel ducked out of view, slipping past the maintenance door behind the smoothie bar. It led to a dim, mostly-unused utility corridor, lit by a single flickering bulb and lined with storage closets. It smelled faintly of antiseptic and old protein powder.

He didn’t know why he came here. Maybe he just needed to breathe. Maybe he didn’t want Rico—who was his best friend, sure, but now also kind of a curvy Latina with tear-smudged eyeliner and a pissed-off pout—to see the way his hands were trembling. Or the way his legs kept rubbing together.

His body buzzed with leftover adrenaline. He wasn’t aroused, exactly. Not like how he used to feel before a hookup or after a flex-off on the beach. This was different. Deeper. Weirder. Constant. Every step made his thighs press together. Every breath moved his chest in ways that made the tank top pull and slide against his sensitive nipples.

He ducked into one of the janitor closets. It was cramped, lit only by a thin shaft of sunlight peeking through the slats of a high window. Mops, bleach bottles, folded towels. He shut the door, latched it, then leaned back against the wall.

“I just need to see,” he murmured.

He peeled off the tank top first, lifting it over his head with a shiver. His breath caught when his new breasts bounced free. Full, soft, weighty. The dusky brown nipples were slightly darker than his old ones, wide and already a little hard. He touched one gently, just a graze.

A sharp gasp escaped his lips. It was electric.

He reached down and pulled the sweatpants down slowly. No underwear. His hips were wider than he’d realized. His thighs met now, plush and yielding. He ran a hand between his legs.

Nothing familiar. Nothing his. But still—it was his now. Somehow.

The folds were soft, warm, slightly sticky with sweat. Sensitive didn’t even begin to describe it. The moment his fingers brushed lower, he jerked like he’d touched a live wire.

“Oh—oh shit—”

He slumped back against the wall, panting. He didn’t know what he was doing. But the heat was building fast. His whole body felt like it was tightening, coiling. His nipples throbbed. His hips rolled without him meaning to.

He kept going.

It wasn’t like jacking off. It was slower. Slipperier. He had to learn the new angles, the way to move. But his fingers were quick learners. Each stroke sent tingles up his spine. Each second built a need that scared him with its depth.

His back arched. His legs trembled. He bit his lip to stay quiet. This was wrong. This was weird.

But it also felt like the best thing that had ever happened to his body.

And then—

It hit.

A rush of heat and pressure and shaking and moaning he didn’t mean to make. He clutched a towel off the rack and shoved it in his mouth to stifle the sound. He came hard, his body bucking, twitching, shivering from head to toe.

When it passed, he stood there shaking. His chest rising and falling. His new skin prickling all over.

“I... what the hell was that...” he breathed. “I think I just... did it.”

It took him a full minute to collect himself. To pull the sweatpants back up, still warm and sticky inside. To shrug on the tank top again, feeling it cling to damp curves.

He looked down at his body. He didn’t want it. He wasn’t happy about it.

But damn.

He got it now.