Cheerbug Trevor The Remote of Transformation chapter 5 by bodyswapbabe

Trevor Doyle was halfway through his third lap around the block, earbuds in, shirt off, sweat glistening down his pecs, when it hit him.

Not pain. Not dizziness. Just—slip.

Like reality forgot how it was supposed to sit on his body. One moment his calves were burning and his breath came in heavy exhales. The next, everything... bounced.

Trevor staggered to a stop, blinking hard. His tank top suddenly hung like a sheet, slipping halfway off a shoulder that wasn’t supposed to be that narrow. His shorts pooled around his ankles.

“What the—?”

His voice—higher. Breathier. Like someone had smuggled helium into his windpipe.

He looked down.

Boobs.

Big, perky, ridiculous boobs in a strappy neon sports bra that hadn’t been there five seconds ago. His abs were gone—no, not gone, just smoothed into a flat, toned belly. His thighs were thick. His waist was tiny. His skin looked like it had been facetuned.

“What the fuck is happening—oh my god,” he squeaked, voice warbling as he caught his reflection in a parked car’s window.

A girl.

No—a bimbo. Blonde ponytail, long lashes, cheerleader thighs. Probably five foot nothing.

He turned in a circle, trying to orient himself, and nearly fell flat on his ass thanks to his now-tiny feet and overly jiggly center of gravity.

“Okay—okay—chill. Chill. It’s just—fuck. Did I get roofied by a Disney witch?”

Trevor slapped his own cheek. Bad move. His hand bounced off with a soft thwap, and his boobs jiggled again.

Something in his hips shifted as he moved. Every step felt... inviting.

A car honked.

Some guy leaned out the window, grinning. “Looking good, baby!”

Trevor flipped him off on instinct. “Eat shit, dickbag!” he yelled—only to freeze at the sound of his own flirty, bratty whine.

What the hell was he supposed to do now? He couldn’t go home like this. Not looking like Tiffany Tittybounce.

And worse—why was part of him getting turned on?