Oh, These Future Technologies...  (12-суббота?) bodyswap mindswap lifeswap timetravel science busty

Part 1

Michael had never been with a girl. Yeah, he was already pushing forty, and sure, he had landed a pretty decent job at a large home appliance company, but despite all that, the fact remained — he was a forty-year-old virgin who didn’t know how to deal with women.
He didn’t understand them, didn’t know how to talk to them, avoided their gaze, and even in messages to female coworkers he kept things as formal as possible — brief, dry, and emotionless. Michael Banks was a reclusive, almost asexual tech guy, and at thirty-nine, the thing he was most proud of was his work in the R&D department at NuroLink Industries.
— Mike, did you sync your profile to the new “NeuroHomeSync”? — asked Jason, his office neighbor, with a smirk. — They say now you can just think about coffee — and the coffeemaker turns on by itself.
— I’m not a fan of that crap, — Michael grumbled, not even looking up from his screen. — The brain should stay autonomous. No interference.
But that exact “interference” was what he’d done last night — purely out of professional curiosity. He had connected the module to his temporal lobe, let the device read his “cognitive imprint” to test the synchronization speed with home devices. The protocol didn’t just upload commands — it pulled subconscious patterns... And he hadn’t realized he forgot to disable memory upload, and by the time he figured something was off, it was already too late. His consciousness had fully transferred into the cloud and got archived.
This wasn’t the first case of such “archiving.” The secret department at NuroLink Industries was aware of these incidents, and when the cops found Michael’s body, specialists had already worked on it to make it look like just another case of “severe burnout.” They had already accessed it, understood that the body was no longer functional, and redirected his consciousness from the module into an isolated test container on the Cognitive Security Division’s server. Dr. Emma Collins, head of the “NeuroHomeSync” project, made an indifferent note in the log:
— Thirty-sixth case of unintended transfer. Recovery protocol not possible. Archived.
Michael Banks, once a nobody engineer, became just “Cognitive Image No. 36.”
But decades later, unknown hackers breached one of the servers, pulling off a sabotage against the company that had taken too much of the market. Maybe it was the work of competitors, or maybe just some enthusiasts, but they dumped everything into the open network — including the encrypted cognitive images.
…
— Siri, post-workout stretching playlist, — Mila mumbled as she peeled off her jeans. She had just returned from an intense morning jog through the park by the lake, and her muscles were pleasantly aching. The jeans slid down to her hips, revealing snow-white hipster panties and a tight sports top that accentuated her firm tits. She stretched, about to slip them off completely, when suddenly...
A sharp, throbbing pain pierced her temples. Mila froze, one hand still gripping the waistband of her jeans, the other instinctively clutching her forehead.
— Oh... fuck, — she hissed through her teeth, eyes squinting from the uncomfortable sensation. The pulsing in her temples didn’t subside — on the contrary, it was getting stronger, as if someone was banging inside her head, demanding to be let in.

Part 2

Mila tried to straighten up but couldn’t — a sharp pain stabbed her back, and a wave of goosebumps ran across her body. It felt like someone had lit a small, slowly growing flame in her lower belly. And in that moment, she realized clearly and unmistakably that something was wrong. Seriously wrong.
She blinked, and everything suddenly felt strangely unfamiliar — even... foreign. The fabric of the tight panties felt too vivid, her large breasts too unfamiliar, firm and soft at the same time, now resting heavily inside the top, slightly bouncing with every move.
Breasts.
The word hit her like a thunderclap. She wasn’t supposed to have breasts!
— What the fuck?.. — she muttered hoarsely, then froze, as if hearing her voice for the first time. It was hers — and yet it wasn’t. Too high, too clear, too damn feminine.
She looked down — and her eyes widened the moment she saw them. Her breasts. Real. Big — no, huge, barely restrained by the white top, and so damn noticeable in places where nothing was supposed to be felt. She realized she’d never felt anything like this before. Like two warm pillows glued to her chest, now constantly swaying with every breath, every tiniest movement.
— Wh-what is this?.. — she exhaled, dropping straight to the floor. The jeans slid off her hips and pooled around her feet.
At that moment, a soft click came from the kitchen — the coffeemaker, as if sensing her inner confusion, turned on.
— Where am I... — she rasped, and without taking her eyes off her own tits, slowly reached out a trembling hand to touch them, as if checking if this was a dream or reality. Warmth, softness, weight — it was all there. Even the slight twitch of her nipples under the fabric from the chill in the room felt too real, too... intimate.
— Mila, you done already? — came a male voice from somewhere both near and far.
She was still staring at her tits, breathing heavily, as if realizing for the first time just how real they were. Every breath made them move — everything under the top responded. A projection appeared before her eyes — a man with messy chestnut hair and a light stubble.
— Mil? Turn your projection on? — the voice had a hint of flirtation. — I missed you so bad.
Mila jerked. It wasn’t just a video call. It was a live hologram, projected directly into her visual nerve.
How did she even know that? She’d never... known that before. Never used this feature. But somehow she knew it now, just as she knew the caller was Roger — her boyfriend.
— P-p-projection? — she stammered, then instantly felt dumb for asking such a ridiculous question.
— Mil, you okay? — Roger’s voice carried a flicker of concern, but still with that teasing smile. — You didn’t forget it’s our “no-clothes morning,” did you?
Mila blinked.
What the... morning of what?

Part 3

Right then, a message flashed in front of her eyes — "Request for Level 3 Intimacy from user — My Dumb Boyfriend."
The notification blinked right inside her vision, like it was hardwired into her brain:
"Request for Level 3 Intimacy from user — My Dumb Boyfriend"
— Accept / Decline / Adjust Access Level —
Mila instinctively blinked — accidentally selecting "accept" — and immediately a new level of projection shimmered before her eyes. Roger was now standing in front of her not as a regular hologram, but fully naked. His body was athletic, muscles well-defined, a tattoo on his collarbone, and a soft tan glow on his skin. He stretched lazily, never taking his eyes off her — eyes hungry, confident, and completely at home.
— Mmm… there you are, kitten, — his voice dropped a tone, almost velvety. — You look… delicious, as always.
Mila realized that, apparently, this Roger could now see her completely naked. And more than that — she could feel it, as if someone had connected invisible sensors to every inch of her skin. The air in the room changed… it stroked, wrapped, scratched. And none of it was abstract — every sensation was physical, real. Even Roger’s gaze, though just a hologram, felt tangible. Like he was touching her with his eyes — and she felt it. Already felt him touching her. It terrified her and turned her the fuck on.
She instinctively tried to cover herself with her arms.
It looked utterly ridiculous — she was still wearing a sports top and panties.
But under her hands, she could instantly feel her massive, soft, and springy tits. Pressing against her palms, swelling under the tight top. She yanked her hands away like she’d touched something forbidden.
— Mil, what’s going on? — Roger’s voice got more insistent. — Is your system glitching or what? I’m already so... fucking hard over here.
— I… I’m not Mila, — she whispered, her voice trembling. — How do I turn this off?
Now the knowledge was fading, bit by bit, like the consciousness swap process was still going. And if at first there had been more of Mila in her, now he — Michael Banks — was slowly, inevitably filling every cell of this body. Every new realization triggered his logical thinking, his engineer’s meticulousness… and horror.
— Baby, I’m doing it anyway, — Roger’s voice said inside Mila’s head, and in that same moment she felt an invisible hand squeeze her nipple, and someone’s wet, moving tongue inside her mouth.
— A-ah… — escaped from her lips. She gasped, clutching the windowsill, her nails scraping the glass near the crimson vase. Her head spun, and she tensed her abs like she could push the sensations out of herself, but it only made her tits stretch tighter against the top, and she felt her nipples nearly poke through the fabric. The twisted physical reaction hit her with a wave of horror and… arousal she couldn’t control.

Part 4

— Ro… Roger… — she whispered, trying to somehow regain control. — Stop. I… I’m not…
— Hey, baby, — his hologram drew closer, and she felt her mouth firmly pressed by an invisible warm hand. He seemed to see her trembling. — It’s all good, I know you love this.
— I… fuck… — She didn’t know how to explain that she wasn’t her, but she had to end this somehow. At that moment, the invisible warm hand began caressing her between her legs, and she jolted, her whole body reacting as if struck by lightning. Her thigh muscles tensed reflexively, her stomach clenched, and a wave rolled down her spine that Mila, now realizing herself as Michael, couldn’t classify. He couldn’t handle it, couldn’t understand where this reaction came from. It wasn’t just a touch — it was as if someone had sewn a “turn on” command into her/his body, triggered by activating a sensory zone. And now this body had turned on. The wetness in her panties wasn’t just a physical fact anymore; it was a humiliating reminder that he/she was reacting like a woman.
— Ah-h-h… Mhmhmh — suddenly, something long, very tangible, but still invisible, appeared in her mouth, and she tensed, choking on confusion, disgust, and a sudden, animalistic wave of arousal that exploded in her lower belly. Every cell of her new body, every nerve ending, seemed to joyfully respond to this act, as if her body accepted it as natural.
She tried to pull away, pushing at the air in front of her with her hands, but nothing happened — her lips closed around the dense, hot shape on their own, the sensations growing more vivid. Her tongue moved by itself, her mouth began to water, as if she didn’t just like it — as if she’d been waiting for it. Saliva flowed freely, coating the invisible cock, while her throat reflexively tightened and relaxed, mimicking a deep blowjob. Every movement of her tongue, every touch to her palate or the inside of her cheek sent a new electric shock deep into Mila’s — no, now his — belly, filled with this alien but overwhelmingly intense arousal.
— Mmm, that’s it, baby… deeper… — Roger’s voice sounded right in her ears, dripping with satisfaction. — How’s this for you?
She didn’t even have time to process what he meant before both her nipples were suddenly enveloped by two hot mouths, and down between her legs, an invisible cock hit her G-spot directly, while another cock was now in her ass. Her mouth was still occupied, but now her hands gripped something hard and warm — as if two more phantom cocks were pulsing in her palms.
— Mhmh… mmm! — she moaned, nearly blacking out from a pleasure she’d never fathomed before, now moving in rhythm with these phantom touches, unable to control her body or her breathing.
One single thought spun in her head: “This is fucking incredible!”