What's a Guy Supposed to Do? The New World of SwapTech chapter 6 by bodyswapbabe

Jonas stared at his reflection, breathing hard.

This was ridiculous. No guy could’ve resisted this. Not when your body looked like a goddamn NSFW commission come to life.

He turned sideways. The view made him groan. Her ass—his ass—jutted out like a shelf. Thick thighs, tight waist, and that cape draped just right to tease the whole damn thing. She was shaped like a figure-eight made of sin. Just standing there made his brain short-circuit.

His hands moved like they had a mind of their own.

One snaked up to cup that giant left boob again, squeezing slow, watching it push out against the fabric. Jonas had never touched a girl in real life, but he’d spent enough time on Reddit and rips from OnlyFans to know this was the real deal. Heavy, soft, bouncy. He pressed his palm flat, felt the weight shift, then released—boing. It bounced like something out of a fighting game animation.

He actually let out a choked laugh. “Bro. What the hell.”

The other hand roamed lower. Down the tight stomach, across smooth, thick thighs that pressed together like steel under velvet. He pressed into the muscle—hard—and felt the raw power under there. Power Girl didn’t just look hot. She looked like she could bend a car in half, then sit on your face with a smile.

His fingers drifted between his thighs, over the crotch of the suit—tight and seamless, like the whole thing had been vacuum-sealed onto her body. There was no bulge, no package. Just a smooth cleft, a curve that throbbed with nervous curiosity.

Jonas swallowed.

There was a weird heat there. Not pain. Not discomfort. More like… tingling. Alive. Like someone had lit a match and it hadn’t caught yet.

He rubbed slowly. One pass. Two.

The reaction was immediate. His hips twitched forward. His thighs clenched.

His eyes rolled back for a second.

“Okay. Okay. Okay,” he whispered, panting. “That’s… that’s real. That’s doing something.”

He kept going. Fingers rubbing through the suit, the fabric slippery now under his palm. It didn’t take much. Every stroke sent little sparks up his spine. He bit his lip hard. The sounds coming out of his mouth didn’t even sound like him—just soft, breathy gasps in a woman’s voice that made it worse and hotter all at once.

And the boobs—God, the boobs. They bounced with every movement. He couldn't stop looking at them. One hand still clutched the left one like it was a lifeline. The nipple was stiff as a thumb tack under his palm.

The pressure inside him kept building. Hot. Deep. Not in his gut like usual, but lower. Like something was coiled, waiting.

And then—

A knock at the door.

“Hey—Power Girl? They’re ready for you at the signing table!”

Jonas froze.

His face went beet red. His hand snapped away from between his thighs like he’d touched a stove. The cape flared out a little from the sudden movement, like it knew he was guilty.

“Y-yeah!” he called out, voice cracking in that ridiculous deep-babe register. “Just… fixing a wedgie!”

Silence. Then retreating footsteps.

Jonas let out a long, shuddering breath and stood slowly. His thighs wobbled. His heart pounded in his throat.

He looked back at the mirror.

Power Girl stared at him, cheeks flushed, hair slightly mussed, chest heaving. A goddess caught red-handed.

Jonas ran his tongue across unfamiliar lips and grinned.

“Next time,” he whispered. “Next time, we go all the way.”