Bachelorettes The New World of SwapTech chapter 7 by deleted_user

Vic stared at the remote in his hand, thumb hovering over the big red ACTIVATE button. The screen was frozen on a glamorous split-second: Kyleigh in silver stepping toward Grant, another contestant (a tall brunette named Serena in black velvet) mid-laugh in the background, and a third (the athletic blonde boxing trainer, Dani, leaning against a limo in crimson satin) flashing a cocky grin at the camera.

He glanced at Hal and Marge.

Hal was practically vibrating. "Come on, Vic. One of us. Make it Grant. Make it one of the girls. Just do something."

Marge crossed her arms tighter. "Don't you dare point that thing until we agree—"

Vic's thumb slipped.

Not onto ACTIVATE.

Onto the small silver button just below it—the one they'd never noticed before, etched with three tiny interlocking circles and the word MULTI.

A soft electronic chime came from the remote, almost musical.

The screen flared white for a split second.

Whump-whump-whump.

All three bodies in the common room slumped at once—Hal forward over his knees, Marge sideways into the couch arm, Vic backward with the remote still clutched in his limp fingers.

On the television, the frozen promo image dissolved into live footage again. The Bachelor mansion glowed under sunset. Limos were still arriving. But three of the contestants suddenly froze in place, mid-step, mid-gesture.

Kyleigh (silver dress) blinked rapidly, green eyes widening as she looked down at her own body—long legs, shimmering fabric clinging to full breasts and narrow waist, silver heels making her calves pop.

Serena (black velvet) touched her own cheek, feeling smooth, flawless skin, then ran manicured fingers through thick dark waves that cascaded past her shoulders. Her red lips parted in shock.

Dani (crimson satin) flexed long, toned arms, felt the powerful thighs under the short dress, the bounce of athletic breasts barely contained by the low neckline. She let out a low, stunned laugh that came out feminine and rich.

Inside Kyleigh: Vic.

He—she—looked down again, heart hammering. The dress felt like cool liquid against skin that was impossibly soft. Breasts rose and fell with every quick breath, nipples tightening against thin satin lining. Between long, smooth legs: nothing familiar, just a warm, secret ache that pulsed stronger the longer he stood there being stared at by cameras and crew.

Vic whispered in Kyleigh's sultry voice, "Holy shit… all three of us?"

Inside Serena: Hal.

Hal ran both hands down his—her—sides, over the flare of hips, cupping the generous curves of ass through velvet. "Jesus Christ. These tits are… magnificent." He—she—squeezed experimentally; a jolt of pleasure shot straight between her legs. Hal groaned softly, knees buckling a little in the heels. "No wonder women walk funny in these things. Everything's so… sensitive."

Inside Dani: Marge.

Marge flexed Dani's fighter's arms, felt the coiled strength in biceps and core. Then she looked down at the cleavage spilling out of crimson satin—firm, high, perfect—and her jaw dropped. "I… I have abs. And these legs could kick through a door." She shifted her weight; the dress rode up, exposing more thigh. A rush of heat flooded between her legs—strong, insistent, different from anything she'd felt in decades. Marge bit her lip (Dani's full, glossy lip) and muttered, "Okay. This isn't terrible."

The three women on screen turned toward each other at almost the same moment, eyes locking across the driveway.

Vic (in Kyleigh) mouthed silently: You two?

Hal (in Serena) nodded frantically, mouthing back: Yeah. All of us.

Marge (in Dani) gave a tiny, incredulous shrug, then smirked—Dani's cocky boxer smirk—and mouthed: Nice upgrade, boys.

A producer's voice crackled through hidden earpieces they could now hear perfectly: "Ladies? You're up next. Kyleigh, Serena, Dani—line up for your limo exits. Grant's waiting."

Cameras swiveled. Lights flared brighter.

Vic felt Kyleigh's pulse skyrocket—heart pounding against ribs, breasts heaving, clit throbbing under the thin silver thong. The body was wired for this: adrenaline, nerves, raw sexual anticipation all tangled together.

Hal (Serena) adjusted the velvet neckline, feeling the drag of fabric over hard nipples, and whispered to herself, "Okay. Game face. We're doing this."

Marge (Dani) cracked her knuckles—Dani's strong hands making it sound satisfying—then rolled her shoulders like she was stepping into a ring. "Let's see how this Bachelor likes a woman who can actually throw a punch."

One by one, the limo doors opened again for their "official" entrances.

Kyleigh/Vic stepped out first—hips swaying naturally now, silver dress catching every light, long legs gleaming. Grant's eyes locked on her immediately; his smile widened, appreciative, hungry. Vic felt the heat of that gaze like a physical touch—straight to the core, making slickness bloom between thighs.

"Wow," Grant said, voice low and warm as he took her hand. "You look… incredible."

Vic (in Kyleigh's voice, husky and a little breathless): "You have no idea."

Serena/Hal emerged next—velvet hugging every curve, dark hair tumbling, red lips curved in a slow, knowing smile. Grant's hand lingered on her waist a second too long. Hal felt the press of his palm through thin fabric, felt her own body respond—nipples peaking, inner walls fluttering. She leaned in, whispering something filthy in Serena's sultry tone that made Grant's pupils dilate.

Dani/Marge stepped out last—crimson satin short enough to show off fighter's thighs, neckline plunging to reveal toned cleavage. She walked straight up to Grant, grabbed his tie playfully, pulled him close enough to feel the heat of his body.

"Ready to get knocked out, Bachelor?" she purred in Dani's confident alto.

Grant laughed, surprised and clearly turned on. "I think I might be in trouble tonight."

The three women exchanged glances behind his back—Vic, Hal, and Marge all trapped in these gorgeous, horny, adrenaline-soaked bodies, about to spend the entire cocktail party competing for one man's attention while secretly reveling in every filthy, overwhelming sensation their new forms could deliver.

The cameras rolled. Roses waited. And none of them had any intention of hitting Return anytime soon.