Alan Bixby and the Red Alert The New World of SwapTech chapter 5 by deleted_user

Alan opened his mouth to shout—maybe for help, maybe to curse whoever was responsible—but all that came out was a gasp. It was soft. Feminine. Confused.

He clutched at his chest—and gasped again.

There was… weight there. Real weight. He looked down and nearly fell out of his chair.

Two large, round breasts pressed up against the collar of his Swaptyx-issued polo, now stretched tight across a chest it had not been tailored for. His scrawny frame had been replaced with full, soft curves and a smooth waist that flared into hips wider than the arms of his desk chair.

“Wh-what in the…” he murmured, and froze at the sound of his voice.

Velvety. Sultry. Like someone reading softcore audiobooks by candlelight.

Alan stood up on instinct—and stumbled as he felt a strange bounce beneath him, thighs brushing together where once there had been narrow, bony knees. His balance was off. He reached for the back of the chair, but when he saw his hand—slender fingers, delicate wrist, manicured nails—he froze.

He spun around and looked toward the reflective paneling on the side of the server cabinet.

A woman stared back.

A gorgeous woman.

Long, tumbling red hair framed a face that was stunning in a way Alan had only ever associated with perfume ads and hotel bar commercials. High cheekbones. Pouty lips. Freckles across a porcelain complexion. Her eyes—his eyes—were a deep green now, with long lashes and perfect eyeliner. She had the kind of jawline that made men stare and women take notes.

Alan blinked rapidly. “No. No no no no no.”

The reflection didn’t change.

His legs—long and toned—jutted out beneath a now laughably short pair of khakis that clung to full thighs and round hips like a second skin. His polo shirt barely held back his new chest, the fabric tugged up enough to reveal a flash of flat, smooth stomach.

This had to be some kind of nightmare. A hallucination. A cruel practical joke. But every sensation was real—from the tug of his tight waistband to the weight of the breasts bouncing slightly every time he shifted.

He swallowed. Even that felt strange. His throat was smaller. He could feel the soft press of long red hair against his neck.

Suddenly, a chime echoed in the hallway outside. Voices. Female voices. One was laughing. One sounded panicked.

Alan backed away from the door of the server room, heart racing.

They’d see him.

No—her.

What the hell is happening?!