Girlfriend with Testing Device Ch. 22

I sighed. Looks like I couldn't hide in here forever. It was time.

I stared down at the closed drawer, silently willing the contents inside to just be something normal, for all this to still somehow just be a dream. The drawer had other ideas in mind.

The collar's fabric was cool against my skin as I put it around my neck. It was tight and uncomfortable - a constant reminder of my humiliation. I heard the thing click and I adjusted it so that it sat right, the little tag in the front proclaiming for all the world that I was Slut. Theoretically, this was the perfect disguise. I just hoped it would be enough if I ran into Elizabeth. If yesterday was any indication, she was probably still out there somewhere, looking for me, hunting me.

I hesitated one last time as I stood there at the threshold. My subconscious was screaming at me that I was about to step outside completely naked, that everyone would notice. I clenched my fist. Intellectually, I knew that no one would care, that it would be considered normal, but what if I was wrong? God, this was so humiliating. Maybe I could just hold up in here for a little while longer? But no. No, I couldn't let this stop me. I had to do this. Humiliating or not, if it meant putting an end to this madness, if it meant getting Evan back, I could do anything. I had to.

I stepped out the door.

I blinked. Cold air danced across my exposed body. I had expected some kind of big dramatic moment, but no one was around to look.

I was going to take the long way to campus. There's a sort of a shortcut that involves cutting through the park which I like to use if I have class on that side of the grounds, but right now I just didn't want to deal with the whole leash thing.

It was still relatively early - I had needed to get some sleep, but I didn't want to waste the whole day - so the streets were pretty quiet, at least here away from campus. This meant it was a surprisingly long while before the normality of my nudity could be put to the test. I flinched as an old lady rounded the corner up ahead and started walking in my direction. I imagined that the only reason she didn't immediately freak out and snap at me for being dressed like some kind of harlot was because her eyesight simply wasn't that good. I blushed in preparation, her imagined words already bouncing around inside my head. But no, she just passed me by like it was nothing. She hadn't even given me a second glance.

I breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Obviously, that's what I'd been expecting to happen, but it was still nice to confirm it. Not that that made me feel any less embarrassed about all this. I just... I had to get used to it, I guess. If I was going to pretend to be Slut, I couldn't let something like this stop me.

As I got a little closer to campus, I started to realize that I wasn't being ignored quite as hard as I'd expect. Most of the guys - and a surprisingly large number of the girls too, come to think of it - turned their heads to look at me as I went past. Hell, some of them were quite obviously staring. I pretended not to notice, and some of them looked away, but others just kept on staring. They weren't freaking out or anything, there was no laughter or derision - they weren't looking at me like I was naked - but I definitely stood out.

I'm a little embarrassed to say that it wasn't until a guy walked face first into a streetlight because he'd been too busy ogling my tits to pay attention to where he was going that I realized what was happening: I was hot. Stupidly, aggressively hot. I was hot enough to turn heads. For Slut, who people had been lusting over her whole life, this was all just background noise, but to me it was a foreign situation. Prior to the device I could on one hand the number of people who had ever looked at me like that.

I'll admit I was a little intimidated by all the attention. I found my arms self-consciously crossing over my chest, trying to hide what percentage of my tits didn't spill out over them. But that's not what Slut would do, is it? She wouldn't be shy about all this. I had to be like her, I had to keep forcing my arms down, to act like this was natural.

It was ironic. Back when this had all started, the first fucking thing I'd used the device for was to make myself sexy. I'd wanted to be hot. I'd wanted to stand out. Well, now I had all that and more.

Slut, of course, had loved this. She had taken people's lustful attention as a compliment. If some guy was staring at her ass, she'd stick it out to give him a better view. She knew she was a hot and she knew how great it felt to look at someone who was hot, and she had wanted to share. It was like she was in on the joke. To her, getting lusted over was like getting a high five from a passing stranger.

She didn't even see anything wrong with this. She liked making people feel good. It didn't matter to her if that meant fucking them or just giving them something nice to stare at. For her, these sorts of things just brought more happiness into the world. Her being a slut was like her little way of making the world a better place, one blowjob at a time.

I think, most importantly, she was never passive about it. Presenting herself as a sex object was a choice that she made. Being viewed in a sexual light, being seen as a creature in tune with her sexuality... that's the context from which she was perhaps best prepared to face the world - its where she felt the most right. She wasn't a sex object, to use the grammatical term, she was the sex subject. It was her flexing her agency, her exercising freedom to be who she was and wanted to be.

I shook my head. Where the hell had Elizabeth managed to find a mentality like that? Did she even realize what she was doing, or had she just found some slutty girl to trade my... my... whatever with? What had I had to give up in that trade? Was there some sorority girl suddenly having a hard time because she got saddled with my sexual mores? Or maybe it was just some kind of emergent personality quirk that resulted from a weird combination of other traits all piling up into something new.

Of course, I, Ellen, was a one boy kinda girl. I didn't want anything to do with that side of Slut's life. So when a few of the guys I was passing on the street as I crossed over onto campus proper had tried to actively solicit me for sex, I had no idea how to respond. I laughed it off at first, then balked and shook my head when I realized they were serious. Was I that lust-inducing, that guys would just approach me like that? No, maybe it was just slut's reputation, or maybe those were people she had actually slept with before. Oh my god, I had no idea Slut's sexual history, she could have slept with half the campus for all I knew.

I was so preoccupied trying to think through my anxieties that at first I didn't even notice all the weird shit that was going on. It took the sight of two guys giving a girl a tag-team blowjob while she sat on a bench reading a book that I actually stopped and looked around.

Holy shit, it was chaos. What kind of swaps had Elizabeth been making? What trail of destruction had she left in her wake? There was no way this could have been just her... But what had that machine said? Over five hundred swaps? That was way more than I could account for. I was on the campus proper now, and from the looks of it, the first round of morning classes had just let out. Everywhere I looked something was seriously wrong. It wasn't every last student, thank god, but in any given group, at least one person was seriously out of whack.

The most obvious changes of course were the headswaps. Nerd heads, jock heads, girl heads, guy heads: mom bodies, kid bodies, fat bodies, thin bodies. A staggering number of people were walking around with zero continuity between what was above and below their neck. I don't know why the device seemed to default to swapping everything from the chin down, but that's what it liked to do if you didn't set the damn thing right. Maybe Elizabeth had found that out the hard way? Maybe she just thought it was funny?

A dark thought snuck up in the back of my mind. Maybe this wasn't Elizabeth at all. I'd had that thing loose in my bag - what if the device had been dummy firing the entire time and I'd simply been too oblivious to realize? How could I have been so irresponsible with it? It was literally a magical box. Why hadn't I treated it with the care it obviously deserved?

Most of these poor headswapped people were dressed in their old clothes - ill-fitting though they now were - so the swaps could have happened anytime in the past week. Some though were still wearing what they had been when they swapped, meaning the swap was still fresh. One guy in particular stood out for having, beneath his chiseled square jaw and piercing blue eyes, the body of a young girl complete with pink tutu and ballet shoes. He was flirting aggressively - and successfully - with one of the other head swaps, a demure girl who's shoulderless crop top did very little to hide the bulging muscles of a varsity rugby player.

On one of the lawns nearby, a game of pickup football was taking place. About a third of the players were normal (in so far as I could tell) but the other two thirds looked like someone had put their bodies through a randomizer.

A small crowd had formed along the sidelines. One woman in particular stood out. She had an athletic male body, but was holding her belly very carefully like she was - wait, now I recognized her. She was that math professor who had gotten pregnant a few months back. Where was her - oh. Oh no. running down the field, ball clutched to his chest, was the boy with her old body, his swollen milk-heavy tits flying each and every way as his pregnant belly was tackled to the ground. I flinched. No one seemed to regard this as at all dangerous. What was going to happen when the baby came due?

Two of the guys who had just completed the tackle stood up and chest-bumped, their enormous tits smashing together as they dd so. Then they blushed awkwardly. I guess their tits were on hair triggers too.

A fashionably dressed girl, probably a girlfriend to one of the players, let out a loud belch that was greeted with hollers and high fives from her similarly dressed friends.

I looked around some more. While the head swaps were easily the most noticeable swap, for sheer volume, the dicks were impossible to ignore. Maybe I was just over-extrapolating, but it was a warm day and the girls around here liked to dress kinda slutty - it wasn't hard to figure out that the weird tent in a girl's skirt was her nursing a thong-defying boner, or that the baseball-sized bulge in a girl's short-shorts was her cramped and heavy testicles carefully squeezed into a space that was never designed to comfortably house them. I felt bad for them - I knew from experience how unpleasant that could be. Like, half the girls I was looking at right now had to have fallen victim to this. Some of them weren't even subtle about it - one girl was walking around in jeans so tight that you could see the veins on the outline of her dick snaking down her legs.

You know its funny. I think I felt a twinge of nostalgia. Not that I'd want my dick back. They were a huge pain in the ass. God, what a weird experience that had been. The stupid thing had always been so needy, so desperate for attention, so... mmm... I bit my lip as I remembered Evan's expert oral ministrations under the sheets that first morning. My nipples stiffened as I thought about all the ways I'd fucked him silly since then. I blushed, then shook my head. Okay, maybe it had been pretty fun. But still.

Oh fuck, it wasn't just my dick I had lost. It had been Evan's. I lost Evan's Dick. Fuck, okay, he'd probably want that back. Another thing to worry about fixing.

If half the girls were walking around with dicks, and if that was a proportionate sample, that meant half the guys had to be following suit, right? It was trickier to get a good read that half of this swap, but I could imagine it. Not that you could tell. A lot of them were still acting like they had dicks, based on the cat calls and wolf whistles I'd been hearing, but it changed the context a little knowing that a surprising number of these guys just wanted to take me home and scissor with me. Or maybe they'd want me to use a strap-on? I wondered how they thought this worked.

Would this change the dating dynamic at all? Would people favor people who could compliment their genitalia? Or would the obliviousness extend so far that they just wouldn't care? I laughed a little at the sight of some jock who was putting the moves on a girl with an obviously bulging skirt, completely failing to not glance down at her huge dick every few seconds. I pictured the two of them back in his room, him wine and dining her and seducing her only for her to be the one to fuck the shit out of him instead of the other way around.

I bit my lip, then shook my head again. Fuck, why was this getting me all horny again?

As I passed by the Central Campus building my attention was drawn to a clique of attractive girls who seemed engaged in a serious discussion about boys while eyeing up a group of shirtless examples nearby. They weren't quite cheerleaders - they weren't athletic enough for that - but they certainly held themselves with a kind of regality, so I'm sure they were important socialites or whatever. They almost looked perfectly normal. Fashionably dressed and well put together, they'd have escaped my notice entirely if it weren't for the fact that the cleavage sticking out of their designer tops was all fat and hairy. They must be very proud of them none the less, based on the way they were dressed to show it off, but it was painstakingly apparent that these were somehow man-boobs. They looked like they belonged more on some overweight guy than on any woman. The whole effect was weirdly amplified with the way their clothes and bras were designed to support and enhance their cleavage. Not that this stopped them, of course. The shirtless boys nearby had started to look over at them and suddenly they were each trying to outdo the others in terms of subtly calling attention to their endowments.

I looked around. They weren't alone. I could see many other girls in a similar situation, though none were quite so hefty as those. I guess with all the guys walking around with tits, it just made sense.

Suddenly, an older looking gentleman, probably a professor, walked past, trying to keep pace with a young stoner girl at his side. She was berating him for giving such a poor lecture and about how he needed to shape up if he wanted to keep teaching here.

They were heading towards the Media building, where a hunky looking guy in high heels bowed and held open a door for a sort of awkward looking nerd, then ogled his perfectly flat ass as he went by.

I was starting to feel dizzy. It felt like the whole damn campus had been turned upside down.

I stopped dead in my tracks as the door to the Social Sciences building opened. Stepping out was a trio of bitchy looking girls, each naked save for a pair of extremely high-heeled fuck-me boots and an enormous strap-on dildo. My jaw dropped. The smallest of the strap-ons had to be a foot at the least, and they just got bigger from there. The massive silicone wangs bounced and swayed and flopped as the girls walked, knocking into things as they turned. Jesus, and I thought walking around with these boobs was tough. I winced as one of them accidentally dickslapped a passing girl in the balls.

Putting some more speed into my step, I rounded the corner to see a little yoga class taking place on the lawn in front of the Fine Arts building. All of the participants had the bodies of severely overweight men squeezed into yoga pants and sports bras.

One of the older and more severe librarians passed by on the way to the library. He had his hair up in pig tails and was skipping, the teen romance novel he was holding clutched tight to his chest.

Shortly after him ran a freshman, late for class. A tramp stamp reading "Anal Princess" in cute girly writing was just visible as his shirt rode up.

Of course, a lot of the changes I was looking at were a little more subtle, a little trickier to nail down. There were a bunch of people, for example, running around in the wrong clothes. Maybe it was a guy in a skirt and blouse or a girl with men's running shoes and khakis. Sometimes the only indication the clothes weren't part of their regular wardrobe was how poorly they fit. At first I assumed they were wardrobe swaps of kind of some kind, but the more I watched them the more little clues I started to pick up on. The way the guys were swinging their hips as they walked, for example, or the way they held their hands. One guy was acting demurely while another guy with tits even bigger than mine was chatting him up. Honestly, I'm surprised it took me so long to realize - these weren't guys dressed up as girls, these were girls who had been completely turned into guys, and vice versa. Complete physical swaps.

At least, that's the best conclusion I could come up with. I suppose any given one of them could have been victim to both a body language swap and a wardrobe swap and that would have created the same effect. Hell, for all I knew, they could have fallen prey to something even more insidious, something creative. I shuddered.

In a corner, where they probably thought no one could see them, a rather cute looking couple was making out. The guy raised his foot delicately and the girl pressed the advantage by snaking a hand down his pants to grope at his butt.

Before I could see what happened next, my focus was drawn to another professor walking by, this one explaining some topic or another to a small flock of pigeons who were waddling as fast as they could to keep up, listening intently. One was struggling to take notes.

I guess it was around then that the gravity of the situation started to hit me. This was all... this was all really fucked up. What was I supposed to do about all this? I didn't even know if I was going to have the time to turn myself back, let alone fix all - or any - of this.

I felt dizzy. I had to sit down.

Sitting on a bench when you're not wearing anything is a bit of a surprising experience. The alternating bands of cold wood pressed into my skin like a brand.

I closed my eyes and just tried to focus on my breathing, tried to avoid thinking about what was going on. This was absolute chaos. Total anarchy. No wonder the company had wanted to get a team in to deal with this. Had Elizabeth really done all this? It had only been a few days. The alternatives - that there had been someone else running around with a device this whole time, or that I was somehow responsible for some or all of this - were too scary to consider.

"Slut."

Some of these people's lives were going to be in shambles. Like they were oblivious, sure, but still. As someone who had been on the other end of that not too long ago, obliviousness wasn't the sort of comfort I had once thought it was. I wanted to help these people, but I just... what was i supposed to do in the face of such complete disorder?

"Slut!"

I let out a deep breath. Okay, worrying about these people wasn't going to do me any good, not now at least. After all, I had my own survival to worry about first and foremost. Get the device back, save Evan and myself. That was my priority. Then I could afford to start worrying about fixing all this.

"Slut?"

My eyes sprung open as hand tapped me on the shoulder. I jumped to my feet.

"Slut, are you okay?"

Standing before me were two of the girls from the cheerleader team - Stacey and... Jenny? Their feminine heads were a stark contrast to the sculpted musculature of their footballer bodies. They wore concerned expressions.