Swap to Bypass The Remote of Transformation chapter 3 by ThePanswapticon

The next fifteen minutes were pure humiliation. Every time the club door cracked open, a blast of cool, sweaty air teased him with what he was missing: the strobe lights, the crowd, the music vibrating straight into bone marrow. The line crawled forward by inches. The bouncer still looked bored enough to fall asleep.

Then she appeared.

Jerry spotted her before anyone else in line—hell, he felt her presence like a punch to the throat. A tall brunette in a red dress so tight it looked like she’d been poured into it, black heels clicking against the pavement like she owned the place. Long legs, smooth tan skin, hair that bounced with every step. She didn’t even look at the line. She already knew she wasn’t waiting.

The bouncer’s head lifted the moment she approached, that dead-eyed wall of muscle suddenly alive and grinning.

Jerry’s hand slid inside his jacket, fingers curling around the remote. His heart slammed against his ribs. Could he really do this?

Screw it. He’d spent weeks fantasizing about using this thing on himself, about escaping his boring skin. What better test drive than now, when the universe was practically mocking him with this goddess in heels?

She walked right past him. He pressed the button.

The world snapped.

It was like tripping headfirst into ice water, then heat, then static. Jerry’s vision doubled, stretched, then slammed into something smaller and tighter. His balance wobbled—no, his center of gravity shifted. Everything felt… lighter but heavier in weird places. He was standing near the doorway, the bouncer right in front of him.

He adjusted his stance. His heels clicked. His heels.

He staggered and grabbed at—oh, holy shit—breasts. Soft, real, filling his hands even through the slick material of the red dress. He yelped, and the sound that came out was a silky, breathy moan.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!”

The shout came from behind him. He turned and saw himself. His face. Jerry Phelps’ ordinary, slightly sweaty face—only now twisted into shock. The brunette—well, the woman who had been the brunette—was staring down at herself, at the short, average dude body she now inhabited.

“What—what the hell did you do to me?” Her voice came out of his throat, deeper and frantic. She looked at her hands like they were rubber gloves filled with meat.

Jerry’s brain was on fire, but his mouth curled into a slow grin. He could feel the dress clinging to his hips, the hem tickling the top of his thighs. His hair brushed his shoulders when he turned his head. The curve of his ass was huge.

“Uh…” He coughed, but even coughing sounded hot. “Guess it’s ladies first tonight?”

The woman—his body—lunged toward him. “Change us back! Are you insane?!”

The bouncer stepped between them. “Sir, you need to chill.”

“Sir?” she barked, voice cracking. “I’m not—”

The bouncer glared. “You’re not getting in. Back of the line, man.”

Jerry bit his lip to keep from laughing. The guy thought the real brunette was just some random drunk dude harassing a hot chick in a red dress. And he was the hot chick.

“Come on, babe,” Jerry purred, the words falling out smoother than expected. “Let me through before this guy freaks out.”

The bouncer didn’t hesitate. He unhooked the rope and waved him in.

Jerry felt the eyes of the line boring into him as he strutted forward, hips swaying like the dress demanded it. He heard the woman in his body still yelling, but the bass swallowed her voice as the door shut behind him.

Inside was chaos—lights pulsing, drinks clinking, bodies grinding. Jerry’s pulse matched the beat as he took a deep breath and felt the subtle rise and fall of a chest that wasn’t his.

And for the first time all night, everyone’s eyes were on him.