Bathroom Babe The Remote of Transformation chapter 4 by ThePanswapticon

Jerry slipped past the bar, the throb of music and flashing lights suddenly too much. He needed space. Needed to see.

The women’s bathroom was mercifully quiet compared to the chaos outside, though a pair of girls were gossiping in front of the mirror, adjusting lipstick. Both glanced up as Jerry entered, eyes sweeping over him with quick, appraising looks.

“Damn, girl,” one of them whispered to the other, “I need her workout plan.”

Jerry smiled awkwardly and ducked into a stall before they could say more. His hands trembled as he locked the door. The beat of the music outside was still faintly audible, but all he could hear was his own ragged breathing.

He turned to the mirror bolted to the stall door. His reflection stole the air from his lungs.

Her hair—his hair now—was long, thick, and glossy, the color of rich chocolate. His cheekbones were sharp, jaw delicate, lips full and soft, almost kiss-swollen. But it was the body that made him swallow hard.

The black club dress hugged his waist, the neckline dipping low enough to show off a perfect line of cleavage. He raised his hands to his chest, fingers brushing the warm, pliant mounds that shifted under his palms. Sensitive didn’t even begin to describe it—just grazing the nipples through the thin fabric sent a pulse of heat straight down between his legs.

His breath hitched.

He needed to know what was really there.

Heart pounding, Jerry hiked the dress up over his thighs. The fabric clung stubbornly to his hips before finally giving way, revealing soft, creamy skin. His new legs looked airbrushed, smooth and toned with just the faintest hint of muscle.

Then his gaze dropped lower.

Where his old equipment had been, there was now a delicate mound, a neat triangle of trimmed hair, and folds of soft, glistening skin that looked almost too sensitive to touch. His stomach clenched at the sight.

“Jesus,” he whispered, fingers shaking as he reached down.

The first brush of his fingertip sent a shockwave through him. It wasn’t like touching himself before—it was sharper, wetter, almost electric. Every nerve ending seemed to be wired directly to his brain. He bit his lip, stifling a moan as he pressed a little harder, feeling the warmth and slipperiness between his fingers.

He spread the folds slightly, exploring with hesitant curiosity, and nearly buckled when a sudden, sweet jolt shot through his core. The sound that slipped out of him was embarrassingly feminine—a soft, breathy moan.

He leaned back against the stall wall, one hand gripping the metal divider for balance while the other traced teasing circles just to see what would happen. Heat built fast, faster than anything he’d ever experienced as a guy. His thighs squeezed together instinctively, trapping his hand there, desperate for more.

A knock jolted him out of the haze.

“Hey, you good in there?” a voice called.

Jerry froze. His dress was bunched around his waist, his hand still between his legs. His heart pounded like a drum.

“Uh—yeah! Fine!” His voice came out high and breathless, which probably didn’t help his case.

He hastily pulled the dress down, cheeks flushed, and stared at his reflection one last time. Lips swollen from biting them, hair a little wild, eyes bright and wide. He looked like someone who’d just done something dirty—and wanted more.