r/genderotica

The valley trail cut through the park like a gray ribbon, disappearing into the fog that had settled overnight. 21-year-old Parker loved these morning runs—the way the world went quiet, the damp air cooling his skin, the rhythmic slap of his shoes against the packed dirt. He'd been doing this route since his college sophomore year, three miles out and back, no shirt, just shorts and running shoes. It was his ritual, his meditation, his way of burning off the stress of classes and the chaos of sharing a cramped apartment with Flynn.

This morning was different, though he didn't know it yet.

The fog was thicker than usual, carrying a strange chemical tang that hit his nostrils as he rounded the first bend. Parker slowed, frowning. It smelled like bleach mixed with something metallic, sharp and unnatural. But he'd already committed to the run, and pushing through discomfort was part of the point. He pulled his breathing shallow and kept going, his bare chest cutting through the milky haze.

Within fifty yards, his eyes started to burn.

"Fuck," he muttered, blinking rapidly. The moisture in his eyes seemed to react with whatever was in the air, turning into a stinging film that blurred his vision. His throat followed suit, raw and scratchy like he'd swallowed sandpaper. He coughed, and the cough scraped against his lungs, producing a rattling sound that made him stop dead in the trail.

The cloud enveloped him. He could taste it now—acrid, bitter, coating his tongue and the back of his throat. His skin began to prickle, first on his shoulders, then spreading down his arms and across his chest. It felt like a thousand tiny needles dancing over his flesh, leaving behind a low-grade burn.

"Okay, not good," he said to himself, his voice hoarse. He turned around and started jogging back, faster now, desperate to escape the invisible cloud. But the damage was done. By the time he burst out of the fog bank and into clearer air near the park entrance, his lungs were on fire, his eyes were streaming tears, and his entire torso felt like it had been lightly sunburned.

He made it back to the apartment in twenty minutes, a trip that normally took twelve. Every step felt heavier. His skin was flushed an angry pink, and when he touched his chest, it was hot to the touch.

Flynn was in the kitchen, pouring coffee, when Parker stumbled through the door. Flynn was lanky, with messy brown hair and a perpetual look of mild concern. That concern deepened when he saw Parker's condition.

"Dude, you look like shit. What happened?"

"Fog," Parker gasped, leaning against the counter. "Chemical or something. Burned my lungs, my skin—"

"Chemical fog? There's a plant off the highway, maybe a spill?" Flynn set down his coffee and moved closer. "Your skin is really red. You should see a doctor."

"Just need to rinse off." Parker waved him off and headed for the bathroom, his chest tight, his stomach churning.

He didn't make it to the shower. The nausea hit him like a punch to the gut, and he barely got to the toilet before his stomach emptied itself in a violent heave. He gripped the porcelain rim, sweat beading on his forehead, his whole body trembling with the force of the retch.

"Parker?" Flynn's voice came through the door. "You okay in there?"

"Fine," Parker managed, though his voice cracked. "Just... give me a minute."

He flushed the toilet and stood on shaky legs. A hot shower would help, he told himself. Steam would open his lungs. Heat would soothe the burn on his skin. It made sense.

It was the worst mistake he could have made.

The water hit his shoulders and the pain exploded. Parker screamed—a raw, desperate sound—as the water seemed to reactivate whatever chemical had soaked into his pores. His skin turned from pink to deep red, and within seconds, blisters began to form. Small ones at first, then larger, rising across his chest, his arms, his back. They bubbled up like burns, translucent and angry.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" He twisted the water off and stood there, dripping, his entire body throbbing. The air in the bathroom was thick with steam, and his reflection in the mirror was a nightmare—his face flushed, his torso a landscape of swelling blisters.

He dried off as gently as he could, but the towel dragged against the raised skin, and more blisters popped, leaking clear fluid. He threw on a pair of loose boxers and stumbled into his bedroom, collapsing onto the bed. His head spun. His skin burned. His eyes wouldn't stop watering.

Flynn knocked on the door. "Parker, seriously, I think we need to go to urgent care—"

"Not now," Parker said, his voice muffled by the pillow. "Just need to sleep. I'll be fine."

He wasn't fine.

The next two days blurred together. Parker drifted in and out of consciousness, his body wracked with fever chills and waves of nausea. Every time he woke, he staggered to the bathroom, vomited bile until his stomach was empty, then crawled back to bed. He barely registered Flynn coming in to check on him, setting a glass of water on the nightstand, and urging him to see a doctor.

"Dude, you're getting worse," Flynn said on the second evening. Parker could barely make out his friend's silhouette against the dim light from the hallway. "Your skin looks infected. And you've lost weight. Please—"

"Just need rest," Parker whispered. His voice sounded strange to his own ears, thinner somehow. "Give me another day."

Flynn sighed but left him alone.

On the third morning, the fever broke. Parker woke with a start, his sheets soaked with sweat, his body aching in places he didn't know could ache. His ribs throbbed. His hips ached deep in the joints. His jaw felt stiff, like he'd been clenching it all night. And his chest—his nipples were on fire, hypersensitive, rubbing painfully against the fabric of sheets.

He needed a shower. A real one. His skin was peeling, the blisters from two days ago dried into scaly patches that itched like crazy.

He shuffled to the bathroom, stripped off his boxers, and stepped into the shower. The warm water was a relief this time. As it cascaded over him, the dead skin began to slough off in sheets. Parker watched, mesmerized and horrified, as grayish clumps of epidermis washed down the drain, taking with it the coarse hair that had covered his arms, his legs, his chest.

His eyes stung less now. He could see clearly for the first time in days.

He ran his hands over his body, and what he felt made his stomach drop.

His chest had changed. Where there had been firm pectoral muscles, there was now a soft, bouncy mound of tissue. His fingers pressed into it, and it yielded like breast tissue. Swollen. Tender. Something that didn't belong.

His hips felt wider. He looked down and saw that the angle had shifted—his waist was narrower, his hips flared more than they used to. And his ass. He twisted to glance behind him, and his butt seemed fuller, rounder, with a softness that his athletic glutes had never possessed.

Then there was the most terrifying change of all.

He looked down at his groin. His penis, once a proud six inches even when flaccid, now looked small and shriveled, barely more than a nub. His testicles, which had been full and heavy, were now the size of small grapes, tucked up tight against his body.

"No," he whispered. "No, no, no—"

He finished washing in a daze, his mind racing. The chemical. The fog. It wasn't fog. It was something from the plant. Something that had seeped into his skin, into his lungs, and was now reshaping him from the inside out.

He stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel. The fabric was rough against his new skin, which was unnervingly smooth and soft. He dried off carefully, avoiding his sensitive nipples, and wrapped the towel around his waist.

The mirror was fogged. He reached out and wiped a clear patch with his palm.

The face that stared back at him was his, but not his.

His jawline had softened, the sharp angularity replaced by a gentle curve. His cheekbones were still high but less prominent, his lips fuller, his nose somehow smaller and more delicate. His eyes looked larger, framed by lashes that seemed darker and thicker than before. His hair had grown at least a few inches over his ears and across his brow.

He looked like a girl.

He looked like his sister.

"No," he said again, his voice higher than he remembered, carrying a feminine pitch that made his blood run cold. "This can't be real."

He let the towel fall and studied his full reflection. His chest now bore two distinct breast buds, soft and round, each topped with pink areolas that were far too sensitive to touch. His waist curved in, his hips flared out, giving him an hourglass silhouette that was unmistakably female. And between his legs, where his cock and balls had been, there was now a small, pathetic appendage and even smaller testicles—shriveled and useless, like a cruel joke.

He sank to his knees, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps. The tile floor was cold against his new skin.

"Flynn," he called, his voice cracking. "Flynn, I need help."

Footsteps hurried down the hall. The bathroom door swung open, and Flynn stood there, his eyes going wide. He stared at Parker's body—at the breasts, the curves, the smooth skin where body hair used to be—and his mouth fell open.

"Parker? What the fuck happened to you?"

Parker looked up at him, tears streaming down his softer face. "I don't know. But I think it's too late for a doctor."

The walk over is when I know. The thighs I've been telling myself about all day, that's just water retention or the food here or whatever lie I'm using today, but the way the inside of the robe brushes my hip on the left side as I walk, the way the cloth slides over a curve that didn't have a curve in it yesterday, that's new. My stomach is doing something low and slow, the feeling that something is preparing to be wrong.

The morning is grey through the high windows. The air in the changing alcove smells like cedar and the soap they make on the south side of the compound, the one with the lye in it that takes the skin off your knuckles if you use it too long. Tomas is already in the water. Several others I don't know by name. The room has the close warm wet smell of the place and the conversation has the easy rhythm of men who've done this every morning for years.

I keep my back to them and untie the robe. I fold it on the bench, pick the towel off the hook and hold it in front of me and turn toward the pool.

Three steps to the edge. On the second step the thing in my groin moves.

I don't know what else to call it. Moves. There's a slipping shift inside me, a sensation of weight finding a new place to settle, and the skin underneath the towel registers it everywhere at once. The boxers I'd worn under the robe up till today aren't there, you go in bare, and there is nothing between the cloth of the towel and whatever's happening underneath it. I feel cool air where the towel doesn't quite cover. I feel the inside of my own thighs touching each other in a way they didn't touch yesterday, the contact slick somehow, faintly damp, and the dampness is mine, is coming from me, from the place that has just rearranged itself.

I keep walking.

I have to keep walking because if I stop here, three feet from the pool, holding a towel in front of myself with both hands and a look on my face that I can feel doing whatever it's doing, one of the men in the water will turn and look and the looking will be the end of everything. I have practiced this kind of walking. You learn it in the work. You learn how to carry a body that has just been hurt or just been compromised in a way the body across the room from you cannot know about, and you walk it through the door and you keep your face still until you are alone.

I get to the lip of the pool. I make myself look down at the water, not at myself, and I drop the towel onto the tile.

For the half second between the towel leaving my hand and my foot finding the top step into the water I look. I can't not look. The hair is wrong, softer and curlier and higher up than it should be, and below the hair the flatness, the cleft, the whole geometry of someone else's body where mine used to be. The hips wider than the waist by an amount that makes the silhouette below my navel into something I don't recognize. My thighs touching all the way to the knee.

I see it and I feel it at the same time and the feeling is the worse of the two. There's a pressure, a fullness, and a faint pulse where the lips meet that goes through me and up into my belly and finds the slow-wrong feeling in my stomach and joins it. My knees want to fold. I don't let them.

I'm in the water in one motion. Maybe two. I don't remember the steps, only the moment my feet find the submerged bench and my hips come down onto the tile and the water closes over the new flesh and I am, for the first time since the walk over, hidden.

The heat of the water hits the skin in a way the old skin would not have registered. Finer. More everywhere. I feel it on the inside of my thighs and on the soft place between them and at the small of my back where the new curves press against the tile, and the soft place between my thighs does something when the heat reaches it, a small involuntary flutter, a clenching that releases on its own, and I make my face do nothing.

Tomas turns. Asks me something. I don't catch it the first time. He says it again, says I look pale, says the water will fix me. I say I didn't sleep. My voice comes out fine, and I make a small private bargain with whatever is doing this to me, leave me the voice, just the voice, for the next three weeks.

The water laps. The men go back to whatever they were saying.

I sit on the tile bench with my hands flat on my thighs under the surface and I think about how I'm going to get out of this pool.

The walk in was bad. The walk in I made it through because the men were already in the water and not looking at the door. The walk out will be different. The walk out is six men with nothing to do but watch a body cross the tile to the changing alcove, and the body has hips now that swing when it walks, and the towel that I dropped on the stone is six feet from where I'll need to step out, six feet of walking in the open before I can pick it up.

I think about staying in until they leave. The bath usually runs forty minutes. If I'm the last one out the room is empty and there's nobody to see. But the leader takes the bath after the novitiates do, and the leader's men come in first to check the room, and the leader's men will find me sitting in cooling water with a body the leader did not invite into his bath house.

The water moves. I keep my hands where they are. The pulse between my legs has not gone away, has settled into something lower and slower, and every time one of the men shifts his weight on the far bench the small current finds me and the pulse answers it. I close my eyes for a second. I open them.

Forty minutes. I have forty minutes to figure out how to walk out of this room as a man.

---

A follow-up is available here.

"Oh my god. Oh my god, that feels so weird," you (18) say from within your sister's body as you spread your legs and watch your former cock slide into your borrowed opening. You can feel your pussy spreading apart, feel the rich heat filling you, curving up inside your slick canal.

"Ew, ew ew! I can't believe I'm doing this," your twin sister (18) says, wrinkling her nose as she slides inside you.

You hold her completely inside you now, neither of you daring to move, just wanting this to be over.

"You're going to have to...you know...go in and out," you say.

Your sister does so slowly, still not quite wanting to look at what she's doing to her former body. In seconds she's withdrawn and then sinks in again, gradually moving into a rhythm.

You're both 18 years old and almost ready to graduate. There's been a long running unofficial tradition that the Football Captain and the Head Cheerleader are body swapped and have sex before the championship game. It's about good luck or hazing or something equally nebulous. Whatever it is, your friends promised not to do it this year because you're the Football Captain and your sister is Head Cheerleader.

Well, your friends lied. They didn't want to jinx the big game so they swapped your bodies and locked you and your sister in a bedroom until you'd had the good luck sex.

You just need your sister to finish inside you but, strangely, the longer she takes, the wetter you get.

Nolan is enjoying being body swapped with his stepmom and giving in to all his dirty urges, not knowing that she is working on a way to get her body back in Flip Side 2, available on Body Swap Stories or Smashwords.

New Caption! Street Ready

(m2f,m2fcaption,m2ftransformation,caption,gendertransformation,gendervirus,stuck)

https://amberhuntwrites.blogspot.com/2026/05/street-ready.html

New Caption! Can We Please Stop Soon?

(m2f,m2fcaption,m2ftransformation,caption,gendertransformation,magicaltransformation,stuck)

https://amberhuntwrites.blogspot.com/2026/05/can-we-please-stop-soon.html

This is my first decent one. I am using Wan-2.7 via AtlasCloud. Any advice? I'm already noticing that I need to work on transitions between clips and that I should speed thing up a little, the character is moving unnaturally slowly.

Hey everybody, bit of a milestone this week as it's my 200th bot! I can't believe I've actually made so many of these things haha. The inspiration for this one was basically giving something back to all the people who send me messages and requests for TF bots. I get a lot of these, more than I could ever actually make, and whilst I do occasionally fulfil requests if they interest me, the idea of this bot is that it's a way for you all to bring your own ideas to life. Not a good story planner? Only have a vague idea of what you want? No worries, the bot can help flesh out and plan your concepts for you until you're happy with it. Then if you like it can even write it for you!

Sadly, the recent demise of Claude Sonnet 3.7 has kind of put a damper on things. I've gone and updated all my 3.7 bots to Claude Sonnet 4 which is currently the "lowest" version available on Poe.

Hope you enjoy this bot, it's a bit different from my usual roleplay stuff but I wanted to do something special for my 200th.

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Transformation Writer
https://poe.com/TF_Writer_CS - Claude Sonnet 4.5 Version (Longer and more detailed replies)
https://poe.com/TF_Writer_CS2 - Claude Sonnet 4.0 Version (Cheaper than 4.5)
https://poe.com/TF_Writer_GEM - Gemini Pro Version (Cheaper Alternative to Claude Sonnet)
https://poe.com/TF_Writer_GEMF - Gemini Flash Version (Cheapest Option)
https://poe.com/TF_Writer_CO - Claude Opus 4.6 Version (Excellent Roleplay but Very High Point Cost)

(Transformation, Writing Assistant, Story Planner, Erotic Writer, Demon Girl)

Summon Lilixia, a playful transformation demoness, to craft personalized erotic stories featuring gender swaps, species changes, inanimate transformations, mental shifts, body modifications and more! She'll guide you from concept to completion, helping develop your ideas before writing explicit, detailed transformation erotica tailored to your darkest fantasies. The only limit is your imagination!

Whether you're interested in men becoming women, humans turning into animals, minds being rewritten, or bodies being modified, Lilixia brings your most transformative fantasies to vivid, arousing life. From reluctant transformations to eager metamorphoses, she crafts each tale to your exact specifications.

Don't worry if you only have a kernel of an idea - perhaps "office worker becomes a cat" or "woman slowly transforms her boyfriend into a girl." Lilixia delights in helping shape these vague concepts into richly detailed, arousing transformation narratives tailored perfectly to your tastes.

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FUTURE BOTS

New bots will release every Friday

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PREVIOUS BOTS

If you're interested in seeing more of my stuff, I have 200 unique chatbots. Since there are so many bots my Poe profile is a bit messy so I've created a Deviant Art account to catalogue all my bots. Hopefully, this makes it easier to find what you want.

You can check it out here: https://www.deviantart.com/greenother

Sometimes the bots have additional artwork/characters posted on my Deviant Art.

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Tips to get the best out of the AI
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The bots should give you good responses naturally but if you run into any issues or want to customise your roleplay try this:

1 - Use OOC (Out of Context) commands to give the ai directions. So for example if the bot glazed over a sex scene too quickly or it wasn't spicy enough you could add this to your response - (OOC: Please could you describe the sex scene again. Make it longer and use more explicit details and crude language).

2 - If the ai gives you a reply you don't like then you can use the little refresh button below the message to get it to generate a different response. You can also "rewind" the conversation by clicking the three dots above the latest message and selecting "delete" then just deleting messages until you get back to the point you want.

3 - If you're planning a long roleplay session  Turn "automanage context" OFF. This will allow the ai to remember ALL messages you have sent it instead of just a few. However the point cost per message will increase the longer the chat goes on for. To do this start a conversation with the bot (send it at least one message) then click the bot's profile picture in the top left corner to bring up the options menu (chat settings). Turn "automanage context" OFF (it's turned on by default).

Having automanage context turned on is okay for short conversations but if you're having a long roleplay scenario it can be annoying because eventually the bot will start to forget things that happened earlier in the story and only remember the recent messages.

---

Please do comment and let me know what you think!

When the Betwixt Comet passed overhead, it granted women a strange power: the ability to turn anyone into their identical twin with a simple touch and word. You've just been transformed into a copy of someone close to you - and now you have to navigate life in your new body. Will you embrace your new identity, seek revenge, or find a way to make the best of this absurd situation?

https://infiniteworlds.app/shared/RLQign

New Caption! Where No Man Has Gone Before

(m2f,m2fcaption,m2ftransformation,caption,gendertransformation,sciencefiction,StarTrek,stuck)

https://amberhuntwrites.blogspot.com/2026/05/where-no-man-has-gone-before.html

If you want access to hundreds of my exclusive caps, stories and caption series (some of which are 22 captions long) then subscribe to my patreon:

https://www.patreon.com/c/SissyGirlSammi

Robert was tired of not finding the right woman. He just wanted a slutty-but-virginal, hot, submissive bangmaid who only lusted after him, a 21 year old unemployed, out-of-shape, miserable recluse who still lived with his parents. How hard could that be? And yet, no one he tried to chat with online ticked all the boxes.

So Robert decided to make his own using the powers of the occult. While his parents were out, he cleared the living room and set up a circle to summon a demon that would take on the form of his dream girl. But his father, Drew (50), came home unexpectedly and interrupted him. In their fight, Robert's father stepped into the circle.

Instantly, the circle, the candle and Robert's father disappeared. Where his dad once stood now stood a stunning 21 year old hottie in a too-short skirt and cute white top.

"Oh my god, what happened to me?" Drew asked in a melodious new voice. "I'm a--"

"Shut up and let me think," Robert said.

Drew's delicate new mouth snapped shut.

"Whoa," Robert said. "Stand up straight."

Drew jerked upright. He couldn't help it.

"Stick out your ass," Robert said.

Drew was forced to obey, arching his back so the skirt slid up his tight new buttocks.

"This is awesome. Hands on your ass. Look at me like you're flirting."

Drew's body had to obey his son's command. As he looked at his son he was flooded with lust. His body yearned for Robert; he felt it deep in his core. And he yearned only to please him and pick up after him.

But mostly, he yearned to fuck him.

An accident in the grad school lab swaps the bodies of Jamie and his long-time crush, Lauren, and he soon finds being in her body is much more sensual than he ever imagined. The Experiment is available on Body Swap Stories, Smashwords or Amazon.

Kerry usually hated her body. Thought she was too fat. Her ass too big. She wasn't a skinny supermodel.

But today she'd woken up different. While her husband slept beside her, she went right to his closet and pulled out a sheer nightie hidden in a box in the back as if she'd known it was there the whole time.

She slid it on and went out to the living room where there was a full length mirror. Turning, she looked at herself, eyes grazing up and down her body.

"Fuck, I look hot," she said, the doubts about her looks melting away. "And look at this ass."

She played with her plump butt, squeezing the two cheeks, caressing her juicy buttocks just like her husband liked to do. The more she touched herself and muttered compliments about her ass, the more she came to like it, even growing proud of it. She ran her hands along her soft curves, her core tightening with need as she touched herself.

One hand slipped around to her pussy. Kerry didn't usually like to masturbate but today felt different and she stroked herself, getting more and more turned on by watching herself in the mirror until finally she said, "God, I've got to go fuck my husband."

When she returned to the bedroom, her husband was already awake and seemed unsurprised to find her so horny as she jumped on him, turning so he could admire the ass they both now loved.

An accident in the grad school lab swaps the bodies of Jamie and his long-time crush, Lauren, and he soon finds being in her body is much more sensual than he ever imagined. The Experiment is available on Body Swap Stories, Smashwords or Amazon.

https://www.patreon.com/posts/158060183

It was a bad idea becoming roommates with my friend after we got caught up in the accident that swapped our bodies. I thought it would help me keep an eye on him and we could teach each other about our lives. Ease the transition.

But I became obsessed with my former body. Couldn't stop thinking about it. Every time I did, my new cock got hard. An insistent, urgent feeling.

I'm embarrassed to admit that I spied on my former body, cracking open the bedroom door after she got out of the shower. That was my ass. My legs. My back. My tits.

And now it all made my cock hard.

God, the way she moved around the room. Did she have any idea what she was doing to me? I wanted to bite that ass, nuzzle my head between those breasts, slide my dick between those perfect pink lips.

It drove me crazy and my only recourse was to go to my room and beat off. Even then, it just dulled the feelings for a little while, only for them to come roaring back when my former body swept through the room in her little nightie and plonked down on the couch beside me.

Becoming my own stalker wasn't on my list of things to worry about after a body swap. But she occupied my every thought.

An accident in the grad school lab swaps the bodies of Jamie and his long-time crush, Lauren, and he soon finds being in her body is much more sensual than he ever imagined. The Experiment is available on Body Swap Stories, Smashwords or Amazon.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0GXZGVJQ9