Chapter 3

The Mercedes hums beneath me as I pull into Emma’s driveway, the engine’s purr fading to a soft whisper when I cut it off. I step out, slinging my mall haul over my shoulder, and the evening air brushes cool against my skin. Emma’s house is a modest two-story, all clean lines and beige siding, the kind of place that screams suburban normalcy. I head up the walk, my sneakers scuffing the concrete, and ring the bell. The door swings open almost instantly, and there’s Emma’s mom, Linda, all lean angles and warm smiles.

“James, good to see you!” she chirps, her voice bright and clipped. She’s got that runner’s build—thin, wiry, no curves to speak of—and her short blonde hair bounces as she steps aside to let me in. “Come on in, dinner’s almost ready.”

“Hey, Linda,” I say, nodding as I step into the foyer. My eyes catch on another woman lounging against the kitchen counter, chatting with Linda like they’re old pals. She’s got late-30s energy, radiating a Marisa Tomei vibe—dark hair tumbling in loose waves, a sultry edge to her smirk—but with a rack that could stop traffic. Her tight top hugs those generous curves, and I have to force my gaze back to Linda before I stare too long. “Uh, who’s your friend?”

“Oh, that’s Carla,” Linda says, waving a hand. “Old college buddy. She’s in town for the week.”

Carla turns, giving me a once-over with eyes that spark with mischief. “Hey there, cutie,” she purrs, her voice low and smoky. “You must be Emma’s boy.”

“Yeah, that’s me,” I mutter, shifting my weight. Her chest juts out as she leans forward to grab her wine glass, and I swallow hard. Focus, James. I’m here for Emma, not her mom’s sexy friend.

“Emma’s upstairs,” Linda says, oblivious to my wandering thoughts. “Go on up, I’ll call you when the pasta’s done.”

I nod and bolt for the stairs, taking them two at a time. My sports bra keeps Cindy’s chest—still mine for now—in check, but every step reminds me of the weight. I push open Emma’s door without knocking, and there she is, sprawled on her bed, scrolling her phone. She’s petite, all sharp edges and boyish charm, her short brunette hair tucked behind her ears. Her green eyes flick up to me, bright and teasing, and she grins.

“Took you long enough,” she says, tossing her phone aside. She’s in a loose tank top and shorts, her flat chest barely hinting at anything beneath. Tiny A-cups, if that. I’ve always liked her look—cute, not flashy—but seeing her now, I can’t help comparing those little bumps to the heavy curves I’m lugging around. She’s effortless, unburdened, and there’s something sweet in that.

“Hey, traffic was a bitch,” I lie, dropping my bag by her desk and flopping onto the bed beside her. “New car, though. Drove it here.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “No shit? You finally got a car?”

“Yeah, a Mercedes,” I say, smirking at the half-truth. “Hatchback. Pretty sweet.”

“Fancy,” she teases, poking my side. “What’s next, a yacht?”

I laugh, shoving her hand away. “Nah, just needed something to get around. Bus was killing me.”

She scoots closer, resting her head on my shoulder. “Well, I’m glad you’re here. Been a boring day. Mom’s been gushing about Carla all afternoon—apparently they were wild back in the day.”

“Carla’s got that vibe,” I say, picturing her downstairs. “Your mom’s chill, though.”

“Yeah, she’s alright.” Emma shrugs, then grins. “So, what’s in the bag? You went shopping?”

“Oh, uh, yeah.” I reach over and unzip it, pulling out the bras I snagged earlier. “Picked these up.”

Her eyes light up, and she snatches the lacy pink push-up bra, holding it against her chest. “Holy crap, James, this is gorgeous!” She stretches it across her tiny frame, the cups dwarfing her A-cups, barely filling halfway. She bursts out laughing, the sound bright and unrestrained. “Look at this—I’m swimming in it!”

I grin, leaning back on my elbows. “Yeah, it’s not exactly your size.”

She tosses it down and reaches over, giving my chest a quick, playful squeeze. “Goddamn, you’re so lucky. These are perfect. Heavy, though, huh?”

“They’re a workout,” I admit, shifting under her touch. Her fingers linger a second too long, and a spark zips through me. “Not as easy as they look.”

“Let’s see you in this one,” she says, picking up the push-up bra again and waggling her eyebrows. “Come on, it’s sexy.”

I hesitate, then shrug. Why not? “Fine, but don’t laugh.” I stand, peeling off my t-shirt and sports bra, letting my borrowed curves spill free. The air’s cool against my skin, and my nipples perk up instantly. I grab the push-up bra, sliding my arms through the straps, and fumble with the clasp until it hooks. The cups lift and squeeze, creating a deep valley of cleavage that wasn’t there before. I catch my reflection in her mirror—my lean frame topped with these lush, feminine mounds, framed in pink lace. It’s absurdly hot, and my pulse kicks up a notch.

Emma whistles low. “Damn, James. You’re working that.”

“Yeah?” I turn, striking a mock pose, and she giggles. The bra’s tight, pushing everything up and out, and I can’t deny the rush it gives me. “Feels kinda good.”

“Now my turn,” I say, eyeing her dresser. “Got one of those bralettes you wear?”

She blinks, confused. “Uh, sure? I don’t really need bras, you know.” She hops up, digging through a drawer, and pulls out a soft gray bralette, all stretchy fabric and tiny cups. “This one’s comfy. Why?”

“Just curious,” I say, keeping it casual. She hands it over, and I strip off the push-up bra, letting my chest bounce free again. I tug the bralette over my head, stretching it tight across my C-cups. The fabric strains, squishing my boobs into the too-small cups, and the sensation is wild—constricting but erotic, like a secret I shouldn’t enjoy this much. My nipples press hard against the thin material, visible and sensitive.

Emma tilts her head, smirking. “Okay, that’s kinda hot. You look like you’ve never seen your own boobs before.”

I freeze, then force a laugh. “What? Nah, just messing around.” Shit, she’s sharp. I need to dial back the newbie act—reality’s shifted, but I’m still the only one who knows the truth.

She flops back onto the bed, her grin fading into something softer. “I’ve always wished I had more up top, you know? Like, curves in general. But look at my mom, my sisters—flat as boards. I never stood a chance.”

Her voice dips, a quiet ache in it, and my chest tightens. Then it hits me. The device. I could fix this for her. Swap my—Cindy’s—chest with hers. She’d get the perfect tits she’s always wanted, and I could give Cindy Emma’s tiny ones later. No one loses anything permanently; I know where all the parts are. If it ever goes sideways, I can swap everyone back. It’s win-win—Emma’s happier, and I get to enjoy her new curves too.

I fish the device from my pocket, keeping it low so she doesn’t notice. “Hey, hold still a sec,” I say, casual as I can manage. I select “chest,” target her and me, and press the button.

A faint buzz hums through the air. I glance down, and my t-shirt’s loose again, the bralette barely filled by Emma’s tiny A-cups. My chest feels light, almost boyish, and I stifle a laugh. I look up, and Emma’s tank top is stretched to its limit, her new C-cups spilling out of her tiny bra, nipples poking through like they’re begging for freedom. She shifts, oblivious, and the sight’s so absurdly sexy I nearly choke.

“What’s so funny?” she asks, frowning.

“Nothing,” I say, grinning wider. I flick to the ownership setting—same trick I pulled with the car—and swap our bras. The bralette’s hers now, and the push-up bra’s mine, technically. Reality adjusts; she doesn’t blink.

She sits up, chest bouncing with the motion, and there’s a new spark in her eyes—confidence, subtle but real. “Anyway, you staying for dessert too?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” I say, my voice rougher than I mean it to be. My jeans tighten as I watch her, arousal creeping in fast. Her nipples—well, Cindy’s now—are stiff under that overstretched bra, and mine, Emma’s old ones, perk up too. Female nipples are a fucking trip.

She catches my stare and smirks, closing the gap between us. Her lips crash into mine, soft and eager, and I pull her close. Her bigger boobs press against my smaller ones, a warm, plush weight that sends heat pooling low. I slide my hands up her sides, brushing her bony hips—still too sharp for my liking—then focus on her chest. My fingers dig into the soft flesh, and she moans into my mouth, the sound vibrating through me.

We stumble backward, shedding clothes as we go. Her tank top hits the floor, then my t-shirt, and we’re skin to skin. Her C-cups dwarf my A-cups, pressing firm and heavy against me, the contrast driving me wild. Her nipples graze mine, a jolt of sensation that makes me groan. I cup her breasts, thumbs circling, and she arches into me, all heat and need. My hands roam lower, tracing her flat ass, and a pang of disappointment hits—she’s still so angular everywhere else. I shove it aside, losing myself in her chest instead.

She tugs at my jeans, and I kick them off, her shorts following fast. We’re a tangle of limbs on the bed, her lips on my neck, my hands everywhere. Her big tits slide against my small ones as she moves, a delicious friction that’s almost too much. I’m hard as hell, and she’s grinding against me, her breath hitching with every press of our bodies.