Girlfriend with Testing Device Ch. 03

Author's Note: This is part three of my smutty little romantic comedy series. This chapter starts off the Mall Arc, which runs until chapter 6. One of the longer chapters, it's a little lighter on the smut, but a little heavier on the swaps, and I hope you'll find it no less sexy.

Please leave a comment! I really do love hearing from readers! Even when I'm terrible about responding to people I do read everything you post, and you guys give me so much inspiration and encourage me to write more! Look forward to more in the weeks ahead!

Thank you for reading! Enjoy!

=-=-=-=-=

Warning: this chapter is rated a gentle R and contains a metric buttload of boobs, body and body part swapping, Football-Cheerleader swap aftermaths, socio-psychological recontextualization, dynamic boob upgrades, slutty school bodies, elevator peepers, gender benders, just desserts, reality blindness, additional lady boners, shopping half way to the point of dropping, lacy underthings, a serious lack of pants (despite our protagonist's best efforts), and two consenting adults in a loving relationship expressing their love through various physical means including lip-kissing and non-lewd hand holding.

*****

== Girlfriend with Testing Device ==

- A Smutty Fanfiction, of Sorts -

= Part 3 - Swap till you Drop =

By Razmagurk

*****

Oh my god, she was mincing.

She had the body of a literal linebacker, six foot and four inches of hulking muscle and oozing masculinity, and she was mincing. She was the statuesque embodiment of everything that every desperate guy has ever struggled in the gym to be, and she was mincing. You could hang four separate girls off of her like she was a jungle gym and it wouldn't even slow her down, and she was mincing.

Here she was, Atlas in the flesh, and she was mincing through the crowd, bag upon brightly colored bag of clothes hanging daintily from her hirsute arm, brimming with confidence and completely oblivious to how strange of a sight she was.

God I hate cheerleaders.

Obviously, this was the result of my sloppy handiwork last night, when I had drunkenly swapped around the cheer squad and the football players. I hadn't even considered what that would look like the next day, and yet, here it was. How could I turn somebody into something so different without them even noticing? How could she be so insufferably conceited when she now looked like that?

I imagined that, much like Evan and myself, when she had woken up this morning she had realized that none of her clothes fit save those she had worn to the bar last night. She was lucky, I guess, at least they offered a modicum of modesty. If I didn't get some pants soon I was going to throw a fit.

But still, what thoughts were going through her head? Did she think she had just gained a few pounds? Like tripling in mass overnight was no different from waking up a little bloated after a night of heavy drinking? Surely she had to realize something was amiss.

And yet, there she was: dainty and feminine in deed if not quite in form. Hell, the way she carried herself was downright flirtatious. I could see the way she was walking, the way she was wiggling her butt at that passing pack of frat-boys, the way she held herself as they stopped to check her out. She wasn't just feeling confident, she was feeling sexy.

This was so typical. Even today, with me in my wet dream of a new body, with my perfect beautiful boyfriend Evan by my side, and with her in that awkward slab of beef, even today I was somehow jealous of some stupid bimbo-slut cheerleader.

God I hate cheerleaders.

I guess that's not quite accurate. My new sex drive liked cheerleaders quite a bit, much to my dismay. On a more conceptual, fundamental level though, cheerleaders, and what they stand for around here, were the bane of my college existence.

See, the university that Evan and I attend is great. It's got fantastic student support plans, lots of great professors, well funded facilities, and one of the most well-respected graduate programs in the country. In so far as I'm concerned, it's the perfect school. There's just one teensy little all-encompassing exception.

The school's reputation on an undergraduate level is a little shallower. It's a party school. Hrm, that doesn't quite do it justice does it? It's a slutty party school. In fact, it's the slutty party school. It's the number one premier educational organization for every horny young slut and stud looking to go wild and get the full college experience.

See, around the turn of the millennium, an informal study in some torrid magazine had declared our school to have the most sexually permissive student body in the country. For a while, the school tried to bury this report, but of course this just made matters worse. Soon, wave after wave of sex-minded freshmen began applying in hopes of finding their way into the party utopia they imagined the campus to be, adding more and more truth to the school's sordid reputation.

As the administration was quick to find out however, there's a lot of people willing to pay a lot of money to attend the sluttiest campus around. The school started actively (if subtly) encouraging the image and over the past few decades the school has tripled in size all the whole making a fortune catering to its horn-dog freshmen.

The long and short of it is that the school has a disproportionately high population of party animals and sluts of both genders. While most of them tended to get filtered out before they could attend a second year, their presence as a demographic is still painfully felt and catered to in almost every aspect of campus life, even (and perhaps especially) in the sports teams.

Which brings us back to cheerleaders.

While I'm sure that most cheerleaders at most schools are perfectly nice people who happen to be into gymnastics and pom-poms, the ones at our school are a collection of walking stereotypes. They're the perfect embodiment of the school's attitude, walking advertisements for the party-slut lifestyle, and, well, let's just say they aren't exactly very nice to those who don't buy into their worldview. They're the biggest, most judgemental sluts I've ever had the displeasure of sharing classes with.

What really pisses me off though is that I can't even call them bimbos. At least in high school all the pretty people were dumb. Here, the sad fact is that most of them were frustratingly intelligent. I guess nobody wants the cheer team to fall apart just because half of the rookies keep flunking out each year. Competition to get on the cheer squad, I understand, is fierce, and pressure from the school ensures that only the biggest whores get in. The school had to maintain its reputation, after all.

That same selective pressure can be seen in every club, team and organization on campus. Our sorority houses look more like Playboy mansions, our swim team competes in bikinis, and, hell, even our chess club's win record has as much to do with cleavage as competence.

This has made life rather difficult for someone like me, who applied to the school based on its academic merits. I mean, I'm hardly at the top of my classes or anything, but I study hard and I've got plans for the future and I'm not going to let a bunch of horny sluts get in the way of that. Thank God I met Evan when I did. I don't know how I'd have survived all the emotional stress for so long without him.

Back in high-school, I had always felt very self-conscious. I had never come anywhere close to measuring up against the other girls. I wasn't ugly, but, well, I was a five by any reasonable metric. Here though, in the world of sex-minded party girls, I was an optimistic three on a good night. Not only could I not compete socially with the girls I encountered on a day-by-day basis, but compared to the new average I was downright ugly. Not that I was I bitter or anything, but most days I couldn't even get the time of day from a boy without him getting side tracked by some hyper-sexed bimbo walking half-naked down the road.

But today was not most days.

Today, thanks to liberal use of my new swapping device, I was the hottest, sexiest goddamn woman on campus. Today I would not only outshine everyone, but I was going to get revenge on anyone who got in my way. Today I was invincible.

At least, that's what I kept telling myself anyway.

The truth was that I felt anything but. I kept catching myself tugging at my microskirt nervously. Last night I had worn a skirt like this with confidence, daring the world to see how amazing I looked. Now, cold and sober, I just wanted to find some damn pants as soon as possible.

At least I was wearing Evan's skirt. His hips were a little bigger than the skirt was about an inch longer, so it was at least able to keep my new bulge from hanging out. It was a bit of an odd thing for the wardrobe swap to have done given that we were only wearing them as a result of the body swaps, but he now seemed to think I had been the one in it last night. I wasn't complaining,

On that note, I was also lucky to have found a pair of Evan's old underwear - well, it was my old underwear now, I guess - that had actually fit me pretty well. They were far from the most comfortable things of course, but they were stretchy, and they saved me the embarrassment of going commando in a skirt. Frankly, I was having a hard time getting used to them, but I was trying my hardest to imagine that they were just a normal pair of boy shorts. I was also really happy they had room up front for my new friend.

Sadly, that was about the only thing I could find at Evan's that would fit my new body. The only other thing that I could even get over my new tits was one of Evan's old hoodies, which I felt like I was constantly about to burst out of. One of the weird little quirks of having enormous boobs, I was discovering, was that no matter what you wear, you always fill it out well enough that you look like you're advertising for a hot steamy night of fucking.

Annoyingly, I had to make due without an undershirt. My bigger, more sensitive nipples were getting worn raw from the constant bounce and jiggle of my huge, unrestrained breasts. The poor things were so hard and sore they were practically poking holes through the fabric. Anyone looking could see them, I was sure, even through the thick fabric.

It was also a struggle to keep my new, more sexually body from getting turned on. Despite the best efforts of Evan and myself I'd been unbearably horny all day, and it seemed like every little jostle and every little caress was somehow feeding directly into the maddening build-up of lust in the back of my brain. It's like, my body didn't care where it was, it didn't care that now was not the time, and it didn't care who was watching - it wanted out and it wanted to play.

This was, of course, entirely exasperated by Evan's complete inability to not look like some kind of wanton fuck-machine. Seriously, how was I supposed to get anything done with him looking like that?

After much fruitless digging around for something to fit over his enormous breasts, he had finally settled on an enormous hockey jersey that my ex-boyfriend had left with me years ago. I guess I had never really gotten around to getting rid of it, and now here Evan was, wearing it like some kind of loose dress. Where did Evan think he had even gotten that jersey? He and my ex had never met. He seemed entirely unconcerned with the way the thin material clung to his huge swaying tits and his tight little body. It hung to just below his thigh, all but obscuring the fact that he too, was wearing something that could generously be called a skirt.

The thing that kept stiffening my dick however, was the fact that he wasn't wearing any underwear. He had laughed when I had offered him some of what was now mine, even though it would have probably fit him alright. He said he'd rather have worn nothing at all than wear girl's underwear. I had laughed at the irony, but now I couldn't stop thinking about how there was nothing keeping his bare pussy from the world but a few inches of fabric and grace of god.

And that was why, despite having cum four times already, I still had half a mind to just ditch shopping entirely and pull him off behind some random shrubbery somewhere so I could just stick it in him again and again.

The ten-minute walk to the mall was torturous. I liked my new body, I really did, but damned if it didn't have a mind of its own. Every step I took sent my tits bouncing and my ass jiggling in strange and exotic ways; every gust of wind threatened to flip up my skirt for the whole world to see - a problem now exasperated by the fact that I now hung quite a bit lower; and every person we passed gave us funny looks. My face was hot with embarrassment. The walk of shame was not an uncommon event around campus, but it was late afternoon.

The entire walk I had been making a very concerted effort to avoid looking at Evan and to try not to think about how much I just wanted to turn him around and spend the rest of the day in bed as nature intended. The click click click of his stilettos, however, kept me acutely aware of his sexiness at all times. I was grateful, at least, that I could get away with wearing his old sneakers, even if they were a few sizes too big. Now that I had a body to show off, I found I didn't mind the idea of wearing heels, but I didn't envy Evan for having to wear them the whole day.

The mall was about as busy as you'd expect for a college town on a Friday afternoon, and while it felt like all eyes were on Evan and I as we strode through the crowd, I was surprised to see that we weren't even the most indecently dressed people there. It seemed that quite a few people were hitting up the mall as the prelude to a wild Friday night out and were dressed accordingly.

Even more to my surprise, the stares we were getting weren't judgemental, but appreciative. A couple of freshmen were even going so far as to check me out. I blushed. I don't know what they were thinking. When the swaps had made it so no one noticed anything different about me, that meant no one was supposed to notice that I was any sexier. Maybe it was the clothes? I guess some people just have low standards.

I suppose though that I didn't really have the moral high ground when it came to standards. I don't think it had occurred to me until I was surrounded by a sea of beautiful girls - many of whom were dressed to party - just how big of a lesbian I now was. Hmm.. that's not quite the right world, is it? Lesbian implies a kind of soft sensuousness. No, I had the sexuality of a horny athletic jock, and right now I was getting a first-hand lesson in the male gaze. Wherever I looked my eyes landed on someone's cleavage or legs, every inch of soft creamy skin called out to me. I was like a dog in a meat market and I was on a very short leash.

I swallowed, hard.

While historically I had hated the fact that my school was basically slut central, I was starting now to see that it had a few perks. Lots of what my gaze was being drawn to was rather perky, as a matter of fact. I couldn't believe that all this time girl's had been so... sexy... and I hadn't noticed. I tugged my hoodie down as low as it would go in the hopes of hiding the growing bulge in my skirt, but all I seemed to do was draw attention to how hard my nipples were. I felt so exposed, and yet... aroused.

And there, adrift in my sea of insecurity and lust, was where I saw her: one of the girls I had swapped the previous night. She was standing head and shoulder above the crowd, and with all the confidence in the world. Heads turned to check her out as she passed, blind to her oddity, but not, apparently, her beauty.

And she was mincing.

I'd have killed for that confidence right about now.

Were any of the other girls from last night here too? Girls like that tended to travel in packs, didn't they? Maybe some of the guys were here too. I suppose they'd all be having the same clothing dilema. I guessed the guys probably didn't care that much about what they wore though, as long as it fit, right? They had probably swaggered down to the mall in their micros and crop-tops without a shame in the world, all bluster and bravado, trying to hide their confusion as they realized they couldn't get their perky prodigious asses into a men's pair of jeans. I laughed. I wished I could have seen that.

It bothered me, on a deep-down level that I wasn't sure I liked to admit to, that this girl was getting all the attention. I had a killer body now, I was hot, and yet once the initial surprise over how we were dressed wore off, no one seemed to give Evan or I a second glance. I mean, I understood why, but what good was being a total knockout if you couldn't knock people out? I wanted heads to turn and jaws to drop as I walked by. I wanted girls to look at me with the same feelings of envy and inadequacy that I had been forced to live with every damn day since orientation.

I took a deep breath and unclenched my fist.

I looked at the way everyone was looking at the stupid perfect cheerleader. As much as I hated it, I wanted that.

I tried very hard to convince myself that I didn't just want it for myself, but for Evan as well. Evan meant the world to me, and I wasn't always the best at expressing it. He was always going out of his way to do sweet little things for me, and I... well, I didn't. I didn't really have the confidence for that sort of thing.

I chastised myself for thinking so selfishly about the device. Evan was amazing, and if anyone deserved to be super attractive, it was him. After all, hadn't he been curious about what being in a jock body was like? What good was that if no one but me noticed?

The device slid eagerly into my hands.

How could I make it so that people would find us attractive while still not noticing anything was out of the ordinary? I pondered the question as I fiddled with the dials. It wasn't just physical features I was after, it was more social, it was the way people reacted to those features. Not attractiveness per se, but attraction.

So far I'd only used it to move body parts around. Could the device do something so abstract? I guess there was only one way to find out.

I felt that familiar zzzzttttt noise as I pressed the button, and the device suddenly grew hot in my hand. I almost dropped it in surprise. Okay, that was weird.

Everything seemed the same. I could have sworn that the cheerleader wasn't quite mincing with the same confidence as before, but that could have been my imagination. Had it not worked? She looked the same. I had half expected her to get uglier somehow. Maybe she had and me being aware of the changes made it impossible for me to tell.

The device cooled gently in my hand. It had never gotten hot before. I looked it over but nothing seemed out of place. Was it broken somehow? Oh god, I don't even know what I'd do if that thing broke. I liked my new body but I didn't want to live in it forever. Not to mention I'd probably want Evan back to normal at some point, and my sexuality.

That's when I noticed a group of guys staring at us. Was this about the device? Did they see what I had just tried to do? No... they weren't staring at me, they were staring at Evan. They glanced away as he looked in that direction. I laughed. They were trying to be coy, but they were clearly checking him out. It had worked!

Evan didn't look any different. That is to say he still looked like someone had beaten him severely with the sexy stick, but now every guy that walked past seemed to be craning their head to get a look. I laughed. In a way, he was probably the second hottest girl around, and while he wasn't exactly dressing to show it off, there was something about a guy's shirt dangling off dainty shoulders that clearly inspired a kind of primal lust in the crowd. If only they knew how little he was wearing under that shirt.