Rufus' Midnight Mishap The New World of SwapTech chapter 11 by deleted_user

Mark tossed in his sleep, Umbra's curvaceous body twisting the sheets into knots. Breasts shifted with each turn, heavy and distracting even in dreams; his subconscious replayed the day's frustrations—the constant throb between his legs, shadows teasing like phantom lovers. Beside him, Lisa slumbered peacefully in Nova's form, stellar veins glowing dimly like nightlights, her breaths even and deep. Rufus, their beagle, curled at the foot of the bed, occasionally twitching in doggy dreams.

The clock read 2:13 a.m. when it happened. Rufus stirred, ears perking at some nocturnal noise—a car passing outside, perhaps. He hopped off the bed, nails clicking on the hardwood, and nosed around the nightstand. The TVT Remote sat there, humming faintly as it had all evening—warmer now, almost vibrating with residual energy from the glitch. Rufus sniffed it curiously, then pawed at it, knocking it to the floor with a clatter.

The impact jarred the big red button. Twice, somehow—in the tumble, it mashed against the carpet.

Flash. Whiteout. The room filled with static hum, pulling from the TV that wasn't even on.

Rufus yelped—a high, confused bark that warped mid-sound into something softer, more human. Mark bolted upright, shadows flaring defensively around him. Lisa blinked awake, golden eyes wide. "What the—?"

On the floor where Rufus had been, a woman knelt on all fours. Human—or mostly. She was mid-30s, curvaceous in that late-night infomercial way: the kind of bombshell from a fitness gadget ad, all toned abs and exaggerated hourglass from "miracle" workouts. Long blonde hair cascaded in perfect waves, skin tanned and flawless, breasts straining a too-tight sports bra that materialized with her, paired with yoga shorts that rode up her ass. But her eyes—wide, brown, puppy-like—held no intelligence beyond instinct. She tilted her head, tongue lolling slightly, then shook herself like shaking off water, breasts jiggling wildly.

"Rufus?" Mark whispered, voice cracking in Umbra's purr. Shadows coiled around the woman's ankles, curious.

The woman—Rufus—whined softly, not words, just a plaintive sound. She crawled forward on hands and knees, nuzzling Mark's leg like before, but now her nose pressed against his midnight thigh, warm breath huffing. Mark froze; the contact sent an unwelcome tingle up to his pussy, already sensitive from sleep.

Lisa burst out laughing, then clamped a hand over her mouth. "The remote—it zapped him. Into... what, a ThighMaster model? From those 3 a.m. ads?"

Mark stared. Rufus-the-woman sniffed higher, tongue darting out to lick his knee—rough, wet, exactly like the dog's. He pushed her away gently. "Bad... girl? Fuck, this is weird."

Rufus whined again, rolling onto her back submissively, belly exposed. Her sports bra rode up, one breast nearly spilling free. She pawed at the air, legs kicking playfully. No speech, no comprehension—just dog brain in a bombshell body.

Lisa slid out of bed, Nova's nude form glowing brighter with curiosity. "We have to fix this. But... she's kinda cute." She knelt, scratching behind Rufus's ear. The woman arched into it, leg thumping the floor rhythmically, ass wiggling. Breasts bounced with the motion; Lisa's eyes lingered.

Mark's shadows stirred, slithering toward Rufus, wrapping her wrists gently. She didn't notice, too busy rolling around. But the contact made Mark feel it—through the shadows, a echo of her simple joy, her instincts. His clit throbbed; he crossed his legs. "Lisa, don't encourage her."

Too late. Rufus bounded up, nuzzling into Lisa's chest, tongue lapping at a stellar-veined breast. Lisa gasped—half laugh, half moan—as the rough lick grazed her nipple. Golden energy sparked; Rufus yelped happily, tail... well, no tail, but her ass wagged.

The night devolved into chaos. They tried coaxing Rufus into clothes—Lisa's robe, too small, gaped over her curves. She shredded it playfully, rolling on the floor with it like a toy. Food? She scarfed kibble from her bowl on all fours, ass in the air, shorts wedging between cheeks. Water? Lapped from a dish, spilling down her chin onto her cleavage.

By 4 a.m., they corralled her onto the couch. Rufus curled up, head in Mark's lap, snoring softly. Her breaths made his thigh warm; shadows played with her hair absentmindedly. Lisa sat beside, hand on Mark's shoulder. "Dog brain, human body. This glitch is escalating."

Mark nodded, but Rufus shifted in sleep, mouth brushing his inner thigh. A accidental lick—wet, warm—made him stifle a groan. His pussy flooded with heat.

Lisa noticed. "Experimental walkies tomorrow?"