Bathroom Crisis The New World of SwapTech chapter 9 by bodyswapbabe

Jonas couldn’t stop looking.

Power Girl stared back at him in the mirror, all hips and cleavage and creamy thighs. The cape draped just so. The chest window framed a pair of cartoonishly buoyant breasts, and even the way her calves flexed when she shifted her weight was unfair.

He turned a little. Then again. Popped a hip. Smirked.

“Jesus,” he whispered. “I’d ruin me.”

The bathroom door swung open.

Two women entered—both cosplayers, clearly. One wore a tight red-and-black leather catsuit, domino mask still perched on her forehead. Harley Quinn, maybe? The other rocked a glossy black bodysuit with silver piping and long red hair—definitely Black Widow. They were both tall, gorgeous, and looked like they actually worked out, not just wore the outfits.

Jonas froze.

He glanced at them—just a flicker, a casual peek—but damn. Harley had legs for days. Black Widow had an ass to die for.

They clocked him immediately. Not just a glance—a look. Side-eye. A slow, synchronized once-over, followed by a whispered exchange he couldn’t quite hear.

Jonas flushed. He suddenly became very aware of how long he’d been ogling himself. He turned back to the mirror, trying to act normal. Adjusted a boob. Fluffed his bangs. Totally casual.

Behind him, the women chatted and touched up their lipstick. Jonas let his eyes wander once or twice—just a little peek while they weren’t looking. He was curious, not a creep. Okay, maybe a little creepy. But this was, like, a scientific survey.

And then—grrrooonnkkk. His stomach rumbled. Loudly.

Jonas tensed. He glanced at the other two. No reaction. Probably nothing.

He smoothed the sides of his bodysuit. Shifted his hips. Posed again. Another grumble. Deeper this time. More insistent.

“Oh no,” he muttered under his breath.

Pressure was building. Something bad was happening in his gut. Like a balloon inflating in reverse. Gas. Maybe just a little. He clenched. Waited. Maybe if he let it out slow—real slow—it wouldn’t make a sound.

He relaxed, just slightly.

PPPPPPPPHHHRRRRRRBBBBT.

The sound was deafening.

Jonas’s eyes widened in horror.

Harley Quinn Cosplay gagged. “Oh my God—what the hell?”

Black Widow froze mid-lipstick swipe. “Jesus Christ, girl, are you okay?!”

Jonas turned bright red. “It’s not— I didn’t mean— It’s this protein bar, I swear—”

“Sounded like a tuba,” Harley muttered, grabbing her bag. “I gotta go.”

They fled. One holding her nose. The other muttering something about “respecting the suit.”

Jonas stood frozen, trembling, humiliated. And then—oh God—he felt the real wave hit. A deep, twisting lurch in his belly. The kind of clench that said run now or regret everything.

He darted for the nearest stall, hands already fumbling at the zipper behind his neck. “Nononononono—”

The zipper stuck.

Of course it stuck.

He turned. Twisted. Struggled. His fingers slipped on the smooth fabric.

“Come on, come on—come ON!”