Huge short stories - 6 - eastern salad (Patreon)

a - يا إلهي إلهي! (ya 'iilahi ya 'iilhi! - Oh God, God!) - Jason repeated nervously, his hands trembling as he yanked down the Porsche's sun visor, dreading what he'd see in that mirror. His eyes fixated on the newly small hands, decked out in bright, fiery red nails, a far cry from the burly, hairy paws he'd known his whole damn life.

He, of course, noticed as soon as he was there a strange new weight in the chest area, which seemed completely alien and uncomfortable, especially from the pressure of the bra straps on his new weak shoulders.

a - لا يمكن أن يكون! هذا كله هراء! (la yumkin 'an yakuna! hadha kuluh hura'! - It can't be! It's all nonsense!)

It finally came out of Jason's mouth when he saw in the reflection of the mirror the beautiful feminine face of an Arab woman with dark eyebrows, who was looking at him from the reflection with wide eyes in shock. Closing his eyes, he said quietly again

- Well done! ('awadu 'an 'asbah nafsi maratan 'ukhraa!

​- I wish you to become yourself again!)

Repeating this over and over again, hoping that he would again end up in his beer bar, where he had been a few minutes ago, and turn out to be himself again - a 30-year-old hard worker who loved to drink and get rowdy in the bar.

- Baby, what are you muttering there?

Jason's attention was distracted by a man's voice. His words seemed foreign to Jason, but nevertheless he understood what this stranger was saying. But before he could answer anything, he felt the stranger suddenly press his mouth to him and begin to kiss him, tightly squeezing one of Jason’s large breasts with his hand.

Zulfiya was also in shock when she found herself a few minutes ago in Jason’s body in a beer bar and also tried to understand what happened, wanting to get her life back. However, what has been said has already been said: Jason, who previously wished to “be a rich foreigner,” and Zulfiya, who, tired of the tyranny of her rich husband, wished for a “simple American life,” have now forever swapped bodies and lives.

...

Looking around carefully, Jason gingerly strutted out of the room, teetering on his stilettos with a desperate attempt not to draw any unwanted eyeballs. But hell, that was a tough task, especially now with his new feminine curves making it even trickier.

"Fuckin' Monica..." he cursed under his breath as he caught Mahmoud, one of the Sheikh's gorilla guards, ogling him. That sure as hell wasn't helping. All Jason wanted was to haul ass out of there and make it to the damn meet-up spot with the other spy who had the reverse freakin' transformation pill stashed in some sleazy hotel in Abu Dhabi.

"I gotta skedaddle outta this joint," Jason grumbled to himself, steering clear of Mahmud's gaze, feeling his hefty tits jiggling and his bra straps straining under the weight. Oh, he could already picture the sh*tstorm he'd kick up once he got back to CIA HQ in the States, throwing Monica under the bus for cooking up this humiliating thing to keep his way back to USA in secret.

But what Jason failed to consider in that moment was Mahmoud's idea of snatching up the "hot chick" he'd been eyeing. And damn, he hadn't even entertained the thought that the CIA bigwigs might see this mess as a golden opportunity to milk his undercover gig for all it was worth, advising him—now going by "Fatima Al-Zaidi"—to cozy up even closer to his 'new boyfriend' and start working on seducing some higher-up muckety-muck.

...

"And where's that pretty smile, sugar?" Milena's voice came from behind Mark as he grumbled about how damn annoying it was feeling his new pair of tits jiggle on this friggin' motorcycle ride. "Hey, turn around and look at me!"

"Uh, what... hmhmh, whhhathth awhre ywhou dwooing!?" Mark stammered out in his still freakin' weird female voice, not even realizing he was spouting Malay, all thanks to some damn spell Milena found online and decided to use for this crazy joyride.

"Hahaha! Oh, you're just adorable! It's hilarious," Milena chuckled, leaning in for a kiss. Her soft lips met Mark's equally plump and now feminine ones. Their tongues were already getting frisky when suddenly Milena pulled away, shoving Mark so hard he almost toppled off the bike.

"What the hell, Siti? Why'd you... oh, god! You... you kissed me!" Milena exclaimed, eyes wide with shock. "Your husband! God! He shouldn't know this! How... this! What a shame this is!"

"What's the matter, babe?" Mark said in bewilderment, not realizing that his girlfriend was already in her body, while Mark was still stuck here in the body of a local girl, Siti, who would now have to make excuses for what happened.

And until Mark returns everything as it was, he will not be able to go back. And taking into account the fact that this morning Mark has already told Siti’s husband to go to hell, it will be very difficult for him to return the attitude that her husband and everyone else once had towards Siti. However, he still needed to understand this, because neither Mark nor Milena had read the instructions for using the body possession spell.

...

Sitting my huge-up ass on this bench in some godforsaken, bumfuck nowhere village in Indonesia, I'm cursing every damn moment of my idiotic decision to tag along with my buddies to that stupid, secretive religious joint. We were shooting the shit, cracking jokes, and downing booze like it was our last day on Earth. And then there we were, standing by this ancient goddess statue, mocking her exaggerated curves like a bunch of assholes. I was leading the pack, ripping her to shreds with my usual flair, comparing her to the tight bodies I see at the gym, tearing her apart piece by piece.

Then shit hit the fan, or so we thought. There was this deafening rumble in the temple, like the whole place was about to collapse in on itself. But when we stumbled out, nothing had changed. Except, of course, our bodies. We'd morphed into these local chicks, jabbering away in some dialect we couldn't even begin to understand.

But I got the short end of the stick, or should I say the big end. Suddenly, I'm packing these massive tits, each one bigger than my damn head. And to top it off, I've shrunk down, feeling like a goddamn hobbit in comparison. And let's not forget the hair, the goddamn hair everywhere, turning me into a furry freak show.

And the sensations? Jesus Christ, don't even get me started. These boobs feel like boulders strapped to my chest, dragging me down like I'm trying to swim with cinder blocks tied to my tits. The weight of them is unbearable, the constant jiggle making me want to puke. And the goddamn sensitivity? It's like every touch sends shockwaves straight to my crotch, setting me on fire from the inside out.

Now, sitting here in this tiny village, every dude that struts by sends shivers down my spine and this crazy heat between my legs just won't quit. It's like a damn furnace down there, getting hotter by the minute. Pretty soon, I figure out I gotta get laid at least once a day just to keep my mind. sex is more temptin' to me than food to a starving man at this moments.

...

Fuck, this shit is a nightmare! Can't believe I'm stuck in this goddamn Indonesia, walking around with these massive heavy tits dragging me down like fucking anchors. And let me tell you, getting laid every damn day ain't a walk in the park, not in this body. Sometimes, I'm practically begging people to let me... at least give 'em a blowjob. Yeah, at least... Short! You heard that right, I used to strut around like I owned the damn world, flexing my muscles like I was some goddamn Greek statue come to life. And now?

I'm walking around this godforsaken Indonesia, I'm like a damn stray dog, scavenging for a bone. Except instead of food, I'm hunting for a dick to suck, or anything to scratch this insatiable itch between my legs. Sure, I could sell my body like some cheap whore, but fuck that noise. It's too much for me.

And fuck! These tits, man, they're like goddamn wrecking balls strapped to my chest, swinging and swaying with every step like they've got a mind of their own. The weight of 'em is crushing, pulling me down like gravity's got a personal vendetta against me. And the way they hang, it's like I'm carrying two watermelons in a pair of socks, all saggy and shit. And when I walk, they bounce and sway like overfilled water balloons, drawing every eye within a mile radius.

So here I am, plastering on a fake-ass smile as some sleazy motherfucker strokes my cheek and whispers sweet nothings about letting me suck him off. It's degrading as fuck, but what choice do I have? It's either that or go fucking insane