A Gentle Slip Into Submission

— There's no one here, don’t worry. I’m alone, — Charlie said with mild irritation, pulling the phone out of the purse and glancing around the women's restroom one more time, just in case. — I’m turning on the video call now.

The phone screen flickered, and almost instantly, a familiar yet strangely foreign image appeared — his own face, now controlled by someone else entirely. More precisely, a girl named Monica, who was at his home, all the way over in distant Denver.

— Charlie, what the… — Monica’s voice, coming from his own face, sounded unusually soft, with a hint of mockery. — That dress… You seriously wore it? I was joking when I said I wear stuff like that every day.

She giggled, and Charlie sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, adjusting the neckline of the dress that kept trying to slide off his shoulder, baring too much.

— Your jokes are fucking stupid, — he muttered, trying to pull the fabric up higher, but in the mirror, he could still see two round shapes shamelessly hanging in the frame. — And that’s not even why I’m calling...

Monica nodded silently, her eyes drifting away with a touch of sadness, while Charlie struggled to find the right words.

— Thing is, I… noticed something weird, — Charlie mumbled, looking straight into the camera, though his eyes kept darting off to the side — to where the mirror still showed the deep cut of the dress and that tense roundness he just couldn’t come to terms with.

— Weird? — Monica raised an eyebrow, sarcastically. — What do you mean? The fact that you look so cute in that dress? Or the fact that in the last three days you’ve probably already stuffed everything imaginable into my—oh, sorry—your body?

— What the hell does that have to do with anything?! — Charlie snapped, though his cheeks started to betray him with a flush of pink. — I’m trying to have a serious conversation here… I… well… I think there’s something wrong with this body.

Monica frowned.

— What do you mean “wrong”? Are you out of your damn mind? — Monica’s voice turned sharp, but there was a thread of worry in it.

Charlie felt something twist uncomfortably inside him… and he couldn’t tell why: was it fear? Or her tone — still his old voice, but suddenly carrying more authority than it ever had when it was his?

— No, I’m not… — Charlie hesitated, lowering his voice to almost a whisper. — That’s not what I meant. It’s just… well, when I… — he glanced at the mirror again, — if I, like… do this… — he raised his free hand to his face and froze for a second, as if afraid to go too far.

Monica on the screen froze too, either already guessing what was coming, or genuinely intrigued and eager to see.

— …and then if I press a little… here, — he placed his fingers just above his cheeks and started gently pressing, lifting his chin a bit. Even though he tried to be gentle, just the touch alone sent a wave of goosebumps through the body. He inhaled sharply, like he’d been burned.

— That! That’s exactly what I’m talking about! — he exhaled. — My legs go weak. Everything tightens up inside, and between my legs… — he cut himself off, biting his lip. — This isn’t normal. I can barely breathe! What the hell is this?!

Monica laughed — short, raspy, with something almost sadistic in it:

— Well congratulations, looks like you just found out my little secret, — Monica chuckled, her voice low and hoarse with a playful sense of triumph. — My body… let’s just say, it’s very responsive, if you know where to press.

Charlie froze, still holding his fingers to his cheeks, feeling the heat burning under his skin. His eyes flicked to the mirror: the blue floral dress clung to the body, highlighting curves he still couldn’t accept as his own. He swallowed hard, trying to ignore the warmth blooming deep in his belly.

— Know where to press? — he repeated, trying to keep his voice from shaking. — What… What do you mean?

Monica smirked on the screen, leaning back in the chair in his apartment in Denver. Her posture was relaxed, but there was a wicked sparkle in her eyes.

— Oh Charlie, you have no idea what kind of Pandora’s box you just opened, — she lowered her voice like she was sharing a secret. — I like it when things… get a little out of control. Like when someone grabs your chin, squeezes your cheeks, gives commands… — she paused, clearly enjoying his reaction. — And sometimes, you know, I imagine myself… like a little dog. On a leash, on my knees, waiting for an order. It’s just so… freeing.

Charlie felt the blood rush to his face. He suddenly let go of his cheeks and turned away from the mirror, as if the reflection might betray the storm inside him. His heart was pounding, and between his legs — and he couldn’t deny it — it was getting warmer with every word she said, almost unbearably so.

— Jesus, Monica, — he muttered, pressing the phone closer to his face. — Are you serious? So now I’m gonna… react to everything like that in your body?

— Not to everything, — she giggled. — Just to the stuff that hits the right spots. Like, say, if a man told you, "On your knees, bitch. Now!" and you’d instantly—

Monica didn’t finish the sentence. A loud thud in her earphones cut her off — the sound of Charlie’s phone, her phone, hitting the floor.

— Charlie? You there?.. — her voice still came through the speaker, now laced with concern and a hint of mockery. — What’s wrong, babe, did you faint?

No. He didn’t faint. He… was on his knees. More precisely — he was already sitting on them. The cold tile of the women’s restroom scraped at his skin, but his body didn’t seem to care. It was driven by something else. It was burning. He felt everything inside him clench and tense all at once. His throat opened on its own, his tongue slipped out, and his hands — his hands rose all by themselves, wrists bent inward, like… like a dog waiting for a command.

He didn’t realize how he ended up in that position. It just... the moment Monica said out loud, “on your knees, bitch,” something inside him snapped. His mind was still resisting, screaming that this was ridiculous, that this wasn’t him, none of this was him… but the body. Monica’s body. It responded differently.

The panties were soaked, clinging to him, the tits rose and fell heavily with each breath, and the neckline of the dress seemed to beg for a touch. He couldn’t move. Only his tongue. Only the pose. Only the tension… between his legs.

— Oh God, — he muttered, coming back to his senses. — What am I… what am I doing…

He straightened up slowly, like dragging himself out of a swamp. Every movement felt shameful, like not just he, but the mirror and even the tiled floor had witnessed his disgrace. His legs trembled, and he didn’t know what to do with his hands. His chest pounded, heart thudding in his ears. He bent down and picked the phone up from the floor.

On the screen — still the same smirking Monica in his body.

— So, little bitch, now do you get what I was talking about? — she whispered. — My body loves to submit. It’s almost… animal instinct. Just press the right button — and boom, you’re on your knees. I warned you.

— Monica… — Charlie swallowed hard, avoiding the camera. — This isn’t funny. I… I just... I need to go back. I can’t live with this. With this body. With these feelings. I... I’m not me.

— Uh-huh, — she drawled. — I’m not exactly thrilled either, shaving my chin every damn day, wearing those ugly-ass jeans and waking up to a morning boner. We’re both fucked. But we’re in this together. And we made a deal. You keep living my life, I live yours. Until we figure out how to switch back.

He only nodded silently. Monica went on:

— You were supposed to go to my friend Jessie’s for the documents. Did you?

— Yeah, — he muttered, adjusting the dress strap that had slipped off his shoulder again. — She even wanted to do my makeup. Said, “What’s this, no gloss, no eyeshadow? Unacceptable.” I made an excuse, but… she looked at me like… like she knows.

— You should’ve let her. She might get suspicious... — Monica smirked with a hint of bitterness. — I hope you won’t screw this up.

— Me, screw up? — Charlie gave a bitter laugh. — I just sat on my knees and stuck my tongue out on command. If someone had walked in...

— But no one did, — she cut him off. — And you looked fucking adorable. If I were there… — she leaned closer to the camera, — I’d praise you for that. Maybe even… pat you on the head. Like a good little bitch.

— Fuck... — Charlie covered his face with his hand, realizing that Monica’s words were getting to him again, stirring up those same feelings all over. He wanted nothing more than to get his body back, his life back, but he knew it probably wouldn’t be that easy — and that the things he’d just discovered about this body were far from the last.