Dual Pranked

Tyler was fucked. He knew it the moment his bedroom door swung open and she walked in—long light brown hair cascading over her shoulders, that playful tongue poking out between glossy lips, white zippered top straining against tits that shouldn't exist on anyone he knew.

But he did know her. He knew her better than anyone.

Because underneath all that soft, feminine perfection was his stepbrother Kyle.

---

Kyle had found the folder three days ago. "Tax Documents"—as if Tyler was clever enough to actually have taxes worth hiding. Inside: dozens of screenshots. Chloe Martin's Instagram, her TikToks, candid photos Tyler had snapped at school when he thought no one was looking. Pathetic simp shit. The kind of desperate worship that made Kyle's stomach turn with secondhand embarrassment.

"Dude," Kyle had laughed, scrolling through the collection. "She doesn't even know you exist."

Tyler's face had gone crimson. He'd stammered excuses, tried to grab his phone back, but Kyle was bigger. Stronger. Always had been. The alpha of their blended family, the one who got the girls while Tyler jerked off to screenshots like a fucking loser.

That should've been the end of it. A bit of mockery, some brotherly humiliation, move on.

But then Kyle's dealer had mentioned Dupli-8.

---

The pill was small and pink, almost innocent-looking. Eight hours as anyone you wanted—mind, body, personality. All you needed was something of theirs to touch. A piece of clothing. A strand of hair.

Kyle had both.

He'd broken into Chloe's place the night before—slipped through an unlocked window while she was at cheerleading practice. Her room smelled like vanilla and expensive perfume, all pink and white and girly in a way that made his dick twitch despite himself. He'd grabbed a white zippered top from her closet, plucked a few hairs from her brush, and left without a trace.

Now, standing in his own bathroom with the pill dissolving on his tongue, he waited.

The first change was his height—three inches dropping away as his spine compressed with a series of wet pops. Kyle gripped the sink, watching his knuckles shrink, his fingers becoming delicate and slender, nails extending into perfect ovals.

"Fuck—" His voice cracked. Hitched higher. "Fuuuck—"

His shoulders narrowed with a grinding sound, collarbones pushing forward as his chest began to swell. Kyle gasped—a breathy, feminine sound—as two mounds of flesh budded beneath his shirt, nipples hardening, areolas widening, weight accumulating until he was cupping actual tits. Chloe's tits. Round and firm and heavy in his shrinking hands.

"Ohhh my God," he—she—whispered, and the voice was perfect. High and sweet and dripping with casual confidence.

Below the waist, the transformation was more intimate. Kyle felt his cock twitch, then begin to retract—pulling up and in like it was being swallowed by his own body. His balls tightened, lifted, seemed to migrate upward as his pelvis cracked and widened. There was a moment of terrifying emptiness—and then heat. Wet, aching heat between thighs that were suddenly smooth and soft and pressed together around something new.

A pussy. He had a fucking pussy.

Kyle's—Chloe's—hand drifted down automatically, fingers brushing over puffy lips that sent electric sparks up her spine. She was already wet. Already needy. The sensation was overwhelming, so different from the focused urgency of a hard cock. This was diffuse, hungry, a hollowness begging to be filled.

"Mmmmmh…" The moan that escaped her lips was pure Chloe.

She looked up at the mirror and gasped.

The face staring back wasn't Kyle anymore. It was her—that light brown hair falling in perfect waves, those teasing eyes, that pouty mouth made for sucking cock and talking shit. Chloe stuck out her tongue, exactly like the Instagram photos, and giggled at how natural it felt.

Because it did feel natural. That was the Dupli-8's real magic—not just the body, but the mind. Kyle's thoughts were still there, lurking in the background, but they were muffled now. Buried under layers of Chloe's personality—her bitchy confidence, her casual cruelty, her absolute certainty that she was the hottest girl in any room and could destroy anyone who thought otherwise.

"OMG," she breathed, cupping her new tits, watching them jiggle. "This is going to be sooo much fun."

---

Tyler's heart stopped when she appeared in his doorway. For a moment he thought it was really her... then he realised the horrible truth.

"Heeey, stepbrother," Chloe sang, popping one hip against the frame. The white top was unzipped just enough to show the swell of her cleavage—no bra, nipples visible as hard points against the fabric. "Whatcha doin'? Thinking about me?"

"K-Kyle?" Tyler's voice came out strangled. His cock was already hardening in his jeans, a Pavlovian response to that face, that body, even knowing—especially knowing—who was inside it. "What the fuck did you—"

"Kyle's taking a little nap." She pushed off the doorframe and sauntered into his room, hips swaying with a rhythm that Kyle had never possessed but Chloe owned effortlessly. "It's just you and me now. Just you and your crush."

She climbed onto his bed on all fours, crawling toward him across those stupid Star Wars sheets. Her tits swayed beneath her, heavy and real. Tyler scrambled backward until his shoulders hit the headboard, nowhere left to go.

"God, you're so fucking pathetic," Chloe giggled, sitting back on her heels right in front of him. She could see the tent in his jeans, the way his hands trembled at his sides. It made her wet—made that new pussy throb with hungry anticipation. "Getting hard for your own stepbrother? That's so… twisted. Although I guess right now who wouldn't get hard? Just look at this body..."

Her hand found the zipper of her top. She pulled it down—slowly, deliberately—letting the fabric part to reveal more and more of those perfect, stolen tits. Tyler's breath caught. His cock twitched visibly.

"You want to touch them, don't you?" Chloe leaned forward, close enough that Tyler could smell her perfume—vanilla and something floral, exactly like the real Chloe. "These tits that used to be your step bro's chest? You want to see if they feel real?"

"This is fucked up," Tyler whispered. But he didn't move away. Didn't look away from that teasing cleavage.

"Mmmmmh, so fucked up." Chloe stuck out her tongue—that playful, mocking gesture from every photo Tyler had saved—and ran it slowly along her upper lip. "But you love it, don't you? You're rock hard for it."

She reached out and cupped the bulge in his jeans, feeling the heat of him through the denim. Tyler let out a choked moan, hips bucking involuntarily into her palm.

"Seven hours left," Chloe purred, squeezing gently. "Plenty of time to make you beg. To make you worship me." She pulled her hand back and cupped one of her own breasts instead, lifting it, letting it drop with a soft jiggle. "And maybe… if you're a really good boy… I'll let you watch when I find some real dick to play with. You can sit in the corner while your crush—while your stepbrother—gets railed by someone who actually knows how to fuck."

Deep in the back of Chloe's mind, Kyle's voice screamed in protest. This was supposed to be a prank. A bit of teasing. He wasn't supposed to enjoy this—wasn't supposed to feel his new pussy clenching at the thought of getting fucked while his stepbrother watched.

But Chloe's voice was louder. So much louder.

"Shut up, loser," she thought at her former self. "You're me now. And I always get what I want."

She giggled again—high and cruel and pure Chloe—and pointed at the floor beside the bed.

"Now… get on your knees, little brother. Chloe's got some demands."

Tyler hesitated for one long, trembling moment. Then—slowly, shamefully—he slid off the bed and knelt.

Chloe smiled down at him, tongue poking out between glossy lips, and felt Kyle's last resistance crumble into nothing.

Seven hours. Plenty of time to ruin them both.

Both boys just got pranked...