New Music in the Hood, Part 2 (Patreon)

Harvey and Karen are a nosy white suburban couple in their mid-fifties who ruthlessly work to enforce the gentrified policies of their Home Owner Association. But when the pair make some unsavoury racial remarks about the new neighbours' taste in hop hop music, they suddenly find not only their genders swapped, but their races changed! And what's more, they both find themselves compelled to enjoy the sounds of hip hop, as well as playing it.

Warning: contains themes of racism. Any representation of a group does not necessarily reflect the author's views (seriously though, it's pretty clear from the story that the racist white couple are the badguys, while the neighbours are nice people just trying to have a good time).

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New Music in the Hood, Part 2

Andre woke with a strange feeling between his legs. It was impossible to describe, it was unfamiliar. It was like a hardness intermingled with a need. He’d been having a strange, sexy dream, but not one of the normal ones. This was far more involved, and far longer, and it involved a gorgeous black woman making love to him. It wasn’t right - it should have disgusted him, made him afraid, but instead he felt utterly turned on and hard.

“Mhhmm,” he grunted, feeling something stroke at that hardness. Something wet and soft was positioned over a sensitive body part he could have sworn he didn’t possess the previous day, and it was slowly waking him up.

Wait, him? Him? He wasn’t meant to be him, he was meant to be a her! For a moment, he assumed it was just part of his lingering sex dream, but as he woke further from unconsciousness his awareness of that hardness between his legs only increased. He opened his eyes and saw that the bed sheets were over him, but a large human lump was positioned between his legs, hovering over his crotch and stroking at the firm body part that was there.

“OOhhhh - Oh God. Oh, what is this!”

He flung the sheet to one side, and his eyes widened in shock just the same as the woman’s eyes that met him.

A curvaceous, sexy, naked Afro-Latina woman was positioned over his body, her mouth clamped over the head of a very, very long penis that was just as incredibly hard. A penis that somehow belonged to him.

“Wait - oh no. It wasn’t a dream. It was real.”

The woman - she was Nia. No, she was Harvey! But she was Nia, it was impossible to think of her otherwise. She had gorgeous dark hair and a pair of thick lips that were sliding up and down his penis, sucking at it sensually. She reached out with a manicured hand and began to tease his hairy balls, and it made him shudder.

Why couldn’t he fight it?

But then, they couldn’t fight it the previous day either. He could see in the woman’s eyes the desperation of her husband, the fear and discomfort and humiliation of her husband Harvey. But her actions were entirely that of Nia.

“Yeah, baby,” Andre found himself saying, “you love waking me up with good head, don’t you?”

She nodded again, staring up at him as she began to stroke his shaft. The feeling was heavenly. No, it was hellish! It was wrong! He was meant to be Karen, not Andre! But he couldn’t deny the pleasure, and soon she was beginning to deep throat him, taking more and more of his thick black cock into her mouth. Oh God, he was black now! A strong, young, muscular black man who couldn’t be older than twenty five at the very latest. His abs were a six pack, his pectoral muscles deeply masculine, his biceps well built. He could feel the power in his form, and despite his fear of it, he reached out a hand and grasped his lover’s hair, reluctantly revelling in his dominance over her.

Nia continued to suck, giving the kind of amazing blowjob that she had often fantasised about receiving when she’d been a man. It was strangely alluring, which only made her internal shame all the deeper. She was unable to stop, having woken up on ‘autopilot’. Before she’d even come to grips with the fact that she was still an Afro-Latina woman with big tits, wide hips, big thighs and a damn pussy between her legs, she was already moving to wake her former wife up with a blowjob.

Suddenly Andre tensed. The pleasure had been building, and he’d been trying to hold it off. He was helpless to avoid sex, but the thought of ejaculating inside his former husband’s mouth was all sorts of wrong. But Nia’s ministrations were simply too skilled, and the ecstasy was only increased when he automatically reached down and began to massage her soft titties. God almighty, he was even thinking of Nia’s breasts as ‘titties’ now. They were big, soft Double-D’s, and even to his remaining mind it was a sexy experience.

He came. Like a cup being overfilled, he could hold it in no more. His dick throbbed, and suddenly it ejaculated its semen directly into Nia’s mouth. The woman moaned sensually, eyes rolling in her head as if she were orgasming too. The warm, salty issue shot down her throat, and she swallowed every last drop, licking her lips to prevent any of it escaping. To her horror, she was even compelled to lick and suck Andre’s penis, seizing up every remaining bit of sperm.

“Mmhhhmm baby, you always cum so much,” she said with a beaming, white-teethed grin that just radiating beauty.

“Oh, you know it Nia,” Andre said, his voice a deep, masculine baritone. “You sing such sweet music even when you got no voice.”

“And you play me like an instrument,” she said back, moving up to nestle against him. She pressed her soft, rounded ass against his cock, shaking a little for emphasis, and he in turn placed a strong arm over her, grasping her soft tit and sinking his fingers slightly into the flesh. Neither of them could say what they wanted to say, and instead Andre buried his face in her hair, smelling her sweetness. He reached down a hand began to play with her pussy.

“Mmhm, how ‘bout I return the favour, Nia?”

“Ohhhhhhh . . . I wouldn’t c-complain,” she said. “So long as you squeeze this big, fine tits of mine. You know I love that, A.”

Nia bit her lip. She only had the most minute control of her body, mostly in her face. She was so completely female, changed not only in sex but race as well! Everything was alien, from the wobbling weights upon her chest to her slim waist to her wide hips and thick thighs, and her -

“Ohhhhhh, my p-pussy! You know how to play with it!”

“Like an instrument,” Andre joked, calling back to her earlier comment. He was stroking her inner folds, and she was becoming wet with arousal. Soon he was stroking her clit and causing her to writhe, the former racist man trapped in the body of a near-orgasmin Afro-Latina woman.

“Yes! Oh damn honey, right there, right on my clit - Oohhhhh fuck yeah, fuck yeah!”

Her body shook in orgasm, and an unfamiliar type of orgasm too. It was not the incredible and immediate rush of a manhood spurting its seed, but instead a series of gentle yet overpowering gusts, like wind coursing through her body and stirring her various erogenous nerves into action. She trembled, whimpering, unable to speak. Finally, unable to stop, she let out a low groan of exquisite ecstasy.

“MMmhmhhh . . . ahhhhh. Oh, honey, that was good. That was good honey.”

She reached back and patted her boyfriend’s hip. Her boyfriend.

Her. Boyfriend.

They’d just had sex - in the wrong bodies of the wrong gender of the wrong race - and they weren’t even married? The male mine within Nia, the Harvey struggling to escape, could have screamed. In his masculine form, Andre felt quite similarly.

Suddenly, a feeling came over them, like an ominous energy that had bound their voices away allowed them to be unshackled.

“Honey?” Andre asked. “Is that really you?”

Nia gasped, pulled away from her ‘boyfriend.’

“Of course it’s me Andre! I mean Andre. Andre! Damn it to heck, I’m trying to call you Andre!”

“Let me try, Nia. I’m Andre. No, I’m Andre. I’m Andre and you’re Nia! Oh Lord, this is not good. That music has done something to us.”

“It’s must like them,” Nia said, trying to ignore the wobble in her chest. “Look at our clothing on the floor; it’s all ‘jive’ and ‘hip’ and ‘hop.’

“And so much gold, it’s too showy!” Andre agreed, lifting his voice higher in register as if trying to adopt its formerly feminine tone.

They would have been a comical sight for someone else lurking in the room: two attractive black individuals talking in stereotypical white people speech, alarmed at anything different, including their own forms.

“And we had sex! Oh God Nia, why did we have sex? I’ve got a - I’ve a thingy now! Between my legs!”

“You can say ‘penis’, Andre.”

“It’s so big!”

Nia blushed a little as she looked at it. It really was a monster, and much bigger than the one she’d ever had. It infuriated her just to look at it. As a man, Harvey had always hated the suggestion that black men had larger penises. It was, in his opinion, just woke propaganda that was another way white were being oppressed. Now, looking at one, he saw that he was wrong. And the worst part was the way it made him feel slightly fuzzy, slightly warm.

“It’s, uh, perfectly normally-sized, dear,” she said.

“Are you sure? It feels far bigger than yours!”

“It’s just perspective. It’s normal sized.”

“Well, I can tell you Nia, your chest is far bigger. It’s scandalous. Any woman would be embarrassed.”

Nia rolled her eyes. Bad enough to have the fact that she now had tits thrown in her face, but also big ones? Of course, no woman would be anything but proud, but then Karen had always been a jealous bitch when it came to other women. Catty, would be the word.

“How could this have happened? And why did it force us to have sex? It was so wrong! It’s disgusting. Is it the devil?”

“Don’t be stupid K-K-Andre! It’s not the damned devil, you’ve been reading too many of your sermons. It was that music, remember? The hiphop that those two blacks were playing last night. It turned us into a pair of blacks as well. I think they must be behind this.”

It was easy for Andre to believe. After all, Deshawn scared him; a big black man like him for a neighbour was just asking for trouble in her racist mind.

“Black magic,” he whispered.

Nia nodded, annoyed at how her curly hair bobbed. She placed her hands on her hips, trying to look assured, but in her naked form she actually looked quite attractive to Andre.

“Exactly,” she said, “and literally too. Black magic. It’s the only thing that could explain it: they’re not exactly rocket scientists. But some cursed music. You heard the lyrics: they literally called us by name! It told me I’d grow a big pair of titties and now here they are - big ole boobies, honey.”

They exchanged a sympathetic glance. Evidently, the spell or curse or whatever it was liked to come down and alter their language from moment to moment, just to mess with them.

“You know what I mean,” she said darkly.

“Well, I’m not staying like this!” Andre exclaimed. “This tall, this muscled, this ridiculous thing between my legs! A woman shouldn’t be like this - that’s liberal type thinking! A woman is a woman is a woman, not a man!”

Nia sighed. Even as a man, her boyfriend was too much. Her wife. She meant to think her wife.

“You’re not wrong dear. I don’t want to be stuck like this. I look ridiculous - this ass is huge!”

“Far too huge. Scandalous.”

“And think of what the HOA will say about us! They’ll think we’re dirty squatters while the real us are on holiday. We’ve got to get turned back. We’ve got to confront Deshawn and Yunique.”

Andre nodded, still following his former husband’s lead.

“Anything you say, baby, I got you.”

Again, that look of irritation at being forced to act a certain way.

“Let’s get dressed,” Nia said. “We’re gonna go over their and demand our bodies back, or else I will unleash the might of suburban HOA rules upon them, as God as my witness I will gentrify this neighbourhood!

***

As a plan, it was easier said than done. The two required changing into clothes, and it seemed overnight that their closets had changed considerably. Instead of the boring green and white polo shirts and beige trousers that Harvey favoured, now Nia had to contend with short shorts, miniskirts, or stylishly torn tight jeans, as well as revealing crop tops, sports bras, or small shirts that outlined the curve of her perfect breasts completely. Andre, on the other hand, had gone from modest dresses and boring red-pink women’s suits to track pants, hoodies, sleeveless shirts and exercise shorts. Regardless of what they chose, they would be revealing their new, shapely black bodies to the world.

“This is ridiculous!” Andre whined.

“I know. Let’s just wear something baggy, like those hoodies.”

“Disgusting clothing.”

“But it will hide these bodies we’ve been thrown into, long enough for us to sort this out. Let’s not give them the satisfaction of our humiliation, dear.”

Andre nodded down at his former husband. It was an odd feeling, being so much taller and more powerful than his partner, particularly given how traditional the two were about gender roles. She in turn felt weak and ‘jiggly’ - her ass, her thighs, her boobs all jostled and wobbled, making her feel ‘for show.’ It was humiliating for the two racist former whites, but even worse, it was difficult not to look at the other and feel an immoral attraction. Try as they might, their bodies had it bad for each other.

And try as they might put on loose clothing, they soon found that whatever curse was upon them came down arbitrarily against their plan.

“I can’t put these damned trousers on!” Nia protested.

“And this hoodie! I don’t care if it’s warm out, I’ll wear it, but something won’t let me!”

It was like an invisible force was preventing them from putting their clothes on, causing them instead to lose control of their bodies completely and instead move to other items. Nia tried to fight her body as it reached towards a set of bras for her double-D cups.

“No, no, no! I ain’t wearing a bra, I’m telling you baby!”

But even as her voice took on the role of Nia, so did she take on her clothes as well. Her body expertly settled her large breasts into the cups, then adjusted them carefully as she clasped the strap. She breathed a little tightly, annoyed at how it lifted her womanly chest, but feeling oddly nice about the support it offered. She was certainly bustier than Karen had ever been. Once she was finished, she put on some tight short shorts that conformed to the round shape of her impressive backside, then a neon green crop top that outlined her breasts while revealing a vast expanse of her slim brown stomach.

“This is ridiculous, I look like a damn whore, baby.”

Andre didn’t feel much better. He was unable to cover up his strong, muscled black form. So strong was the former woman’s racism that even the sight of his own black skin was difficult to stomach, particularly since the merest smidge of paradoxical pride on his muscles kept creeping into his mind. He adopted a white sleeveless shirt that showed of his strong shoulders, and a set of loose shorts that were downright unprofessional in his mind, though admittedly quite comfortable.

To complete the effect of their new appearances, Nia was forced to place golden hoop earrings that jangled in her ears, and wear lipstick and eyeshadow that emphasised her gorgeous half African, half Latina face. She also wore a golden bracelet and necklace. Andre had less to add, but did wear a gold chain and a few rings upon his fingers.

The two regarded themselves in the mirror, horrified.

“We look like thugs,” Nia said.

“Me especially! It’s not right! We don’t belong in this neighbourhood, looking as we do.”

“It’s their fault. Deshawn and Yunuque with their unAmerican names and their criminal ways. They should never have been allowed here, and as a value member of the HOA I should have stopped them.”

“Maybe . . . maybe we shouldn’t have argued with them,” Andre suggested. “They might be doing this to punish us.”

“We were in the right.”
“I know, but what if they change us further?”

“It’s a risk we’ll have to take,” Nia said, adjusting her crop top for the hundredth time. It felt far too revealing. “We’ll have breakfast - I may be a woman now but I’ve got a man’s appetite at the moment - and head over and demand they change us back, or else.”

“Good. I don’t want to be in this ugly body anymore!”

Nia looked at her boyfriend, and that same unwanted shiver passed through her form. Whatever Andre thought, there was no denying that he was in fact an incredibly handsome man. Nia didn’t want to feel this way, but her heart skipped a beat as she took in his muscled form, and remembered the big cock she’d sucked that morning.

She licked her lips.

Andre, in turn, tried to avoid looking at Nia. He couldn’t stop thinking about those large, ripe, bouncing breasts, and how nice it had felt to suck on them. He’d never liked having his breasts played with as a woman, it had felt too unnatural and unholy, but now he wanted to pull down Nia’s crop top and stick his face right in there. Even her dark skin was alluring. He forced his mind from those impure thoughts.

“Let’s eat,” he said. “I don’t want to look like this a moment longer!”

“Agreed, baby.”

They said this without a trace of irony. The truth was, to any reasonable outsider, the couple looked not only incredibly attractive, but quite stylish too. Certainly not to the WASPy standards of people like Karen and Harvey, but they clearly not only took care of themselves, but wore clothing that suited their forms, showed off their best features while also being quality in make. But of course, as they were in a different style than the former white couple were used to, they deemed it to be poor taste.

***

The two had breakfast, trying to ignore each other’s forms. Occasionally their ‘new personalities’ rose into being, forcing them to discuss matters that were not their real hobbies and interests. Nia and Andre were evidently musicians - Nia couldn’t stop humming to herself even when she was aware of it, and her voice was beautiful, with a sassy edge to it that simply oozed sexiness. Andre, on the other hand, kept tapping on the table to a new rhythm every few minutes, keeping in time to his girlfriend’s voice.

“This isn’t me,” Nia explained.

“Me either. At least you sound good.”

“I’d rather not be singing this diseased hip hop at all.”

Andre agreed, though despite his hatred for the ungodly genre, he had to admit the sound of it was nice at that moment.

“Let’s just finish eating.”

They did so, trying to avoid looking at each and repeating their little musical experimentation. Nia found numerous tunes and songs playing through her head, most of them hip hop or rap and somehow now familiar to her. Andre heard chords and lyrics that could match his partner’s focus.

Neither let the other in on their thoughts, and instead finished their food in something approaching silence. When they were done, they quickly brushed their teeth - it was a habit, after all - and together stepped out of the house, Nia in the lead like the alpha male in the relationship she had once been.

“Let’s go teach them a lesson!” she declared.

“Agreed. They don’t belong in this neighbourhood, we do. I tell you Nia, I don’t want to spend one second longer as a black man.”

“You let me take the lead, K-Andre.”

But to her shock, Andre actually stepped past her and rapped his knuckles on the door of their new neighbours.

“Get out of here, you disgusting perverts! We know what you did! We demand you change us back!”

As usual, the man formally known as Karen lacked subtlety. Nia could have killed her. Insead, they waited, until finally some footsteps echoed from within, coming up the basement stairs. The two waited with worry, trying to ignore how revealing their clothes were to their perfect black bodies.

Finally, the door opened, and a woman they didn’t recognise was on the other side. She was Asian, with a sort of punk rocker vibe to her, tattoo sleeves and all.

“Hey guys! Took you long enough! Rest of the band’s inside. Let’s get this thing going.”

She ushered them to come in, then shot back down the stairs briefly.

“Hey guys, the others are finally here, ya’ll!”

A small cheer came up from several voices, and the woman came back up.

“Now, hurry up you two and get down here, so we can start making some music!”

“M-music?” Andre asked.

“Course man, we need our back up singer. And our lead, Nia. We can’t exactly hit it big if we don’t practice, right? Especially with our first big performance next week? So get down here!”

She moved back down the stairs, leaving a very confused Nia and Andre standing at the top, at the threshold.

“Just what the hell is happening to our lives, baby?” Nia.

“I don’t know Nia,” Andre replied, “but I think we’re about to make our own damn hip hop music.”

The stairs waited for them to descend. They could only hope that Yunique and Deshawn were down there with answers, along with this woman they’d never seen or met. They took each other's hand, and stepped down into the basement.

To Be Continued . . .