Trading

Soulstones are easy to use.
After a couple swallows a pair of soulstones and goes to sleep, they will wake up in each other’s bodies.
When you’re ready to switch back, wait for the stones to come out, wash them off, and swallow them again.
I don’t know how they work. I just know they work.
What’s it like?
It’s disorienting, seeing yourself standing in front of you.
“A deal’s a deal,” says Natalie, pushing her cock into my mouth.
Her mouth. My mouth.
Pronouns can be so confusing with soulstones.
But you adapt quickly.
“That’s nice,” says Natalie, smiling.

Prawns

For her two hundredth birthday, Syrine threw herself a mermaid party.
The surgical alteration tanks grafted on the fish tails and gills with precision, nanobots coursing through their bloodstreams.
For hours, she and her friends swam in the orbital colony’s water basin, circling and playing.
They returned to her home and had themselves changed back in time for the dinner celebration.
Mermaids. Centaurs. Winged angels.
Although the angel configurations couldn’t actually fly, even with low gravity zone assistance.
Swimming was flying through water, wasn’t it?
She flexed a prawn’s tail in her fingers, twisted it, and took a bite.
Delicious.

In Heels

She hates driving in heels.
“Try my shoes,” I say.
So, we swapped feet.
“Much better,” she says.
She hates how the seatbelt feels on her lap in that skirt.
“You’re not on your period, are you?” I ask.
She says no.
So, we swap a bit more.
And even more when she complains about the shoulder strap across her tits.
We get to the restaurant, but never make it inside.
“Take off my panties,” she says, undoing my belt.
We fuck, and it really hurts.
Ten minutes without her pussy, and she forgets to let it get wet first.

The Devil’s Cock

Once, I knew a guy with a small penis.
Really small.
So, he prays and prays for a bigger penis, but God doesn’t answer, God doesn’t listen.
But me, I do.
“Gimme your soul, and I’ll give you a huge cock,” I said.
No, he didn’t fall for the giant chicken trick. Few guys do anymore. Instead, he worded his request carefully, eleven inches long.
I wrote up the contract, he signed it, and I fixed him up.
Eleven inches long.
And four inches thick.
It takes so much blood, the guy blacks out every time he gets a hard-on.

Nancy’s Face

If you asked her out, Nancy would say “Sure. Let me go put on my face.”
And then she peels off the face she had on, wipes away the glue, and sticks on a fresh face.
She always makes sure she has at least two faces left in the pack.
You never want to run out of faces, and sometimes the last face in the pack ends up squished, like the last slice of a loaf of bread.
Satisfied, she smiles, and tosses the old face into a cage.
The rats chew the face to bits as it screams silently.

Drink Me Baby

Sometimes, Trixie likes to trade bodies with me.
So, I got out the soulstones, handed her one, and swallowed the other.
And then we went to sleep.
The next morning, everything was grey, and I felt strange and awkward.
I tried to feel myself, but I didn’t have Trixie’s hands or body to feel with.
I was in the dog.
She’d covered her soulstone with peanut butter and fed it to the dog!
I’m in the goddamned dog now!
I barked a few times, and that’s when the smell hit me.
A bowl. Filled with anti-freeze.
I… just… can’t… resist!

The Unbecoming

Fred lost his leg in a hiking accident.
The carbon-fiber leg replacement was so good, he had the other one amputated and replaced.
Refinements made them even better, and with intelligent and sensing exoskeleton enhancements allowed him to leap and run in ways he could never imagine.
He underwent more procedures, replacing his limbs and organs to make him a mechanized superman, capable of doing amazing things.
Still, every so often, he’d hesitate. Caution held over from his weaker, biological days.
One robotic hand raised up on its own, yanked off his screaming head, and tossed it into the trash.

Drawers

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Sandy took off her shoes and sat down.
Then she slid off her jeans, took off her top, and tossed aside her bra.
Stepping out of her panties, she opened her drawer and dropped her breasts on a towel.
Then she reached between her legs and peeled quickly.
(It stung less that way.)
Shutting the drawer, she opened another, and put himself back together.
Looking in the mirror, he wiped the makeup from his face.
He checked the clock: a little early.
He smiled, and opened the first drawer.
A gentle, soft caress – and then he got dressed for work.

The Pair

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Teri had the most beautiful blue eyes.
So, she sold them.
You’ve seen them in some fashion magazines, I think. They made the model who bought them famous.
Teri used the money to buy a set of multispectrum sensorpods. She also paid her way through college and grad school.
The rest went to a startup in Silicon Valley, where genetic replicator tanks worked on the challenge of biological replacement technologies.
The research was a success, Teri having volunteered for the first human test.
She looked in the mirror and declared victory at the sight of her perfectly-reconstructed… and now-cancer-free breasts.

Skin Contract

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Awake at 4. Itching, scratching.
The rashes are unbearable.
One more week until my skin contract’s up.
The free ones are nothing compared to expensive designer skins, but with the contract, you get a discount on those.
I look in the mirror. Hideous bags under my eyes, wrinkles like canyons across my face.
And rashes.
Last time, I cheaped out. Ever since, it’s been dermatologist appointments and oceans of cosmetics.
Yak butter creams? Tungsten wire therapy?
I won’t make that mistake again.
I put on my happy-face, the porcelain doll-mask with the vacant, vapid stare, and head to the kitchen.