Bodyswap Stories Novels & Stories

I lay on a lounge chair by an empty pool as two strong men arranged me into different poses. The overwhelming sensations were like nothing I'd ever felt before, and I couldn't help tensing. My back arched and trembled before collapsing again. Before losing consciousness, I thought, "I'm sorry, honey!" … My name was Tracy Sandler, and I'd recently gotten married. When I thought about it, I realized that the first time I came close to having an affair happened under my husband, Chuck Bowden's orchestration.

“Yes, Mommy. Isn’t this car awesome? Daddy gave me apple juice!” Daddy. I turned my gaze to the man beside me, the one who was holding me—Alpha Alaric. His expression was unreadable, eyes fixed ahead. I pulled away from him, pressing myself against the door. “What is going on? Where are you taking us?” He glanced at me briefly. “To my home. We need to get started on the paperwork.” “Paperwork?” I echoed. “What paperwork?” His Beta, who was driving, glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “Ms. Spencer, six years ago, your biological daughter, Ella, and Alpha Alaric’s daughter were switched at birth.”

A new place, a new chapter. A few years later, Sophie was also arrested—charged with defrauding Jayden's family. Her case opened a floodgate of investigations, uncovering countless other scams. The amount of money involved was staggering. She was sentenced to life in prison. I felt nothing about it. Maybe this was what people meant when they talked about karma. Years passed. One evening, pregnant and calm, I walked along the river with Nick. The scenery was gentle, and we breathed it in quietly. I had slowly stepped back from my family's business and was ready to devote myself entirely to our new life, to the child soon to arrive. Nick seemed content with that. He held my hand as we walked,

Because I knew my fate might be worse than those oysters'. I opened the letter with trembling hands. Sure enough, no matter how graceful Sarah's handwriting tried to be, it couldn't mask my mother's wrath boiling beneath the lines. Switching grooms without notice—Strike One. Running off and getting married on my own—Strike Two. Then vanishing without a word to the family—Strike Three. The kind you don't come back from. By the time I reached the end, where Blake was frowning hard at the page, a strange sense of calm settled over me.