I was just jacking off in my room when the ray hit—a shimmering purple fuck-you from space. My computer screen flickered. My reflection warped. The guy in the mirror? Gone. Now it was a blonde bombshell with tits the size of cantaloupes, legs that went on for days, and a pouty pink mouth begging for cock.

I looked down at my body. Still the same. Flat chest, hairy stomach, my dick still half-hard in my hand. "What the fuck?" I muttered. But the mirror showed her—wiggling her hips, winking. My ID in my wallet now said "Diana Ray" and a new photo of me as a perfect doll with collagen lips and bolt-on tits stared back.

"Oh my god, Di!" Mark texted. "You always got so wet when you were horny. Remember our first time when that massive dick of yours was just for me? I miss it, babe."

I blinked. I didn't remember that. But when I tried to picture my past, my brain offered new memories: myself in a tight black dress, cupping my tits in a Victoria's Secret dressing room. My voice in my head softened to a giggle.

"Have you been," I whispered to myself, "always meant to be a greedy little cum slut?"

I started exploring her body. My hands traveled down, feeling my new silicone tits so firm and bouncy inside my flat chest. I could almost smell the perfume on my skin. "Fuck," I groaned, fingers sliding down to my pants. I felt my own dick, but suddenly the thought felt... wrong. "No, this isn't mine,"