Babes of Bridgerton The New World of SwapTech chapter 11 by deleted_user

Tyler, still lounging in the La-Z-Boy, grew restless during a commercial break. “Too much crying in that last one,” he muttered, and flipped again. The screen settled on Netflix: Bridgerton Season 3, Episode 4—the infamous masquerade ball at Lady Danbury’s. Candlelight flickered over gilded ballroom walls. Debutantes in elaborate gowns swirled across the marble floor. Penelope Featherington (in a soft citrus gown) hovered near the refreshments. Kate Sharma (in deep emerald silk) stood with Anthony Bridgerton, laughing softly. Eloise Bridgerton (in pale lavender) argued quietly with a suitor in the corner.

Channel locked.

Whump-whump-whump.

The stadium roar vanished. The three minds were hurled into Regency elegance.

Hal opened his eyes to the sight of emerald silk cascading over full breasts, cinched waist, long gloves up to the elbows. He was Kate Sharma—poised, fierce, dark hair piled high with jeweled pins. The body felt regal, powerful; corset pressed breasts upward, skirts swished with every step. Between his legs: the unfamiliar press of soft linen undergarments, already damp from the abrupt transfer. Hal felt the weight of Kate’s curves, the heat of the ballroom, the eyes of every gentleman lingering on his décolletage.

“Bloody hell,” he whispered in Kate’s rich, accented voice. “I’m a viscountess.”

Vic found himself in pale lavender muslin—Eloise Bridgerton. Hair in soft curls, gown light and flowing, body slimmer, less curved but still sensitive. He felt the restriction of the corset, the brush of silk stockings against thighs, the faint ache of nipples against the chemise. Eloise’s mind was sharp, rebellious; Vic felt the echo of it—anger, curiosity, a body that had never been touched but was suddenly screaming for contact.

He adjusted the gown’s neckline, felt breasts shift. “This one’s got opinions,” he muttered in Eloise’s crisp tone. “And apparently no patience for corsets.”

Marge was Penelope Featherington—soft citrus gown hugging generous curves, red curls pinned with pearls, fan clutched in gloved hands. The body was plush, sensitive—breasts heavy, hips wide, skin flushing easily. Marge felt the immediate rush of heat between her legs; Penelope’s body was primed for scandal, for longing, for secret touches. She pressed the fan to her chest, trying to calm the pounding heart.

“Well,” Marge said in Penelope’s sweet, slightly breathy voice, “this one’s been wanting for years. Poor thing.”

The ballroom spun around them. Music swelled—a waltz. Gentlemen approached; eyes raked over exposed shoulders, décolletage, the sway of hips. Hal (Kate) felt Anthony Bridgerton’s gaze like a brand—possessive, hungry. Vic (Eloise) had a suitor bowing, offering a hand; the touch of gloved fingers sent sparks up his arm. Marge (Penelope) watched Colin Bridgerton across the room, heart racing with Penelope’s unrequited ache.

They caught each other’s eyes across the dance floor—silent recognition amid the swirl of silk and candlelight.

Hal (Kate) mouthed: We’re in Regency hell.

Vic (Eloise) mouthed back: With corsets.

Marge (Penelope) just smirked, snapped her fan open, and began to plot how to turn this proper ball into something decidedly improper.

The waltz began. Hands were offered. Bodies drew close. Three old men in the most eligible female bodies of the ton prepared to scandalize the ton in ways Lady Whistledown could never dream of printing.