Prestige Model The New World of SwapTech chapter 4 by bodyswapbabe

Trevor awoke in stillness. The pod around him was silent. Cool.

He moved his hand slowly. It was long, graceful, with tapered fingers. A glint of polished silver reflected in the mirror—wire-framed glasses, poised on a sharp, intelligent face with high cheekbones and perfectly shaped lips.

Trevor stood up… and stood tall. 5’8” or so, maybe more in the heels—stilettos, elegant, black. His long black hair shifted like water over his shoulders, falling straight and sleek past his back. His body was sculpted with control: firm, poised curves that didn’t jiggle, didn’t beg for attention. They commanded it.

Under a crisp lab coat, he wore a charcoal pencil skirt, blouse tucked tight. Breasts full but dignified, supported by some absurd internal framework that made his posture impossibly straight. His stride, when he tested it, was exact—heels clicking like punctuation in a well-written threat.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered. His voice was smooth, deep for a woman, perfectly clipped. “I sound like a CEO.”

The SwapPort info tag flickered:

“Sato, Keiko – Conference Speaker, Biochemistry. Your credentials grant full access to Expo panels, press events, and private VIP seminars. AI-Driven Enunciation Module enabled.”

Trevor tried to slouch. The body didn’t let him. Every motion required precision. This was a woman who took no shit, gave fewer fucks, and already knew she was smarter than you. The sheer gravitas was exhausting.

And kind of hot.

A young SwapPort attendant approached, bowing nervously. “Mr. Banks, your car is here."