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Now on with the story ~

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I wake up to the smell of her—vanilla body lotion and that sweet, musky hint of her pussy from last night’s drunken groping. My cock’s already twitching under the sheets, ready for round two. I roll over, grinning like a horny idiot, expecting to see her pouty lips and those dark, fuck-me eyes.

Instead, a gravelly “Good morning, babe” rumbles out, and my heart damn near stops. I shoot up, sheets flying, and there’s this bearded fucker’s head—neat black hair, sharp jaw, dark eyes—staring back at me from her neck. Below that? Her body, naked and goddamn perfect—full tits spilling over, nipples hard as bullets, that tight little waist curving down to those hips I was gripping last night. My brain’s screaming, but my dick’s still half-ready to go.

“What the fuck?!” I yell, scrambling back, my ass hitting the headboard. “Babe, what the hell happened to your face?!”

She—he?—frowns, thick brows knitting together, and sits up. Her tits bounce with the move, and I can’t stop staring, even though that hairy chin’s bobbing right above ‘em. “What’s wrong, Dan? You’re freaking me out,” she says, voice low and rough like a dude who’s smoked too many cigars. It’s so wrong, but fuck, her body’s still got that glow, skin soft and flushed from sleep, thighs parting just enough to show that sweet, shaved pussy I buried my face in hours ago.

“Your head, babe! You’ve got a fucking man’s head!” I’m pointing now, hands shaking, cock deflating fast. “That guy from last night—the Asian dude with the beard! That’s you!”

She blinks, confused, then laughs—deep and throaty, nothing like her usual giggle. “Stop fucking around, Dan. You’re such a dick sometimes.” She swings her legs off the bed, and I watch her ass jiggle as she stands, every curve screaming her, but that head—those broad shoulders framing it—making my stomach lurch. I grab the mirror off the nightstand, the one she uses to check her lipstick, and shove it in front of her.

“Look! Fucking look at yourself!” I’m practically shouting now, sweat beading on my forehead.

She snatches the mirror, tilts it, and stares. I’m waiting for the scream, the freakout, something—but she just smirks, running a hand over that scruffy beard like it’s normal. “What’s your problem? I look fine. Same as always.” She tosses the mirror back on the bed and crosses her arms under her tits, pushing them up into a cleavage that’d make me drool if I wasn’t so damn horrified. “You’re being a real asshole, Dan.”

“Same as—babe, you’ve got a beard! A fucking deep voice! You’re him!” I’m on my knees now, sheets tangled around my legs, trying to make her see. “That guy last night—he did something! That ‘magic trick’—he ripped your head off, and I passed out, and now—fuck, this is insane!”

Her eyes narrow, and she steps closer, her nipples brushing my chest through the sheet. I can smell her breath—still her minty toothpaste, but it’s coming from that dude’s mouth. “You’re drunk or high or something. I’m me, you prick. Stop playing.” Her voice cracks a little, hurt creeping in, and it twists my gut. She doesn’t know. She really thinks this is normal.

“Babe, I swear, I’m not—” I grab her shoulders, feeling her smooth skin under my palms, but that neck’s thicker, sturdier than it should be. “You’re not you! He swapped your head! That fucker—”

“Fuck you, Dan!” she snaps, shoving me off. Her tits sway as she storms toward the door, snatching her silk robe off the floor. She ties it around her waist, but it barely hides shit—those long legs flashing, that ass flexing with every pissed-off step. “I don’t need this crap first thing in the morning!” The door slams, and I’m left there, naked, staring at the empty bed, her vanilla scent still clinging to the sheets.

I slump back, heart pounding, cock limp as a noodle now. My mind’s racing back to last night—her laughing, tossing her hair, that tight dress hugging every curve. Then that smooth-talking bastard shows up, all smiles and charm, buying us shots. We were trashed, giggling like idiots when he said, “Wanna see a trick?” I remember her head coming off—clean, like a toy—his hands lifting it, her body slumping. He’d grinned at me, said, “She won’t remember,” and then—black.

Now she’s out there, pissed at me, strutting around with his fucking head, thinking it’s always been hers. I can still feel her body pressed against me last night, taste her pussy on my tongue, but that face—those eyes staring down at me—it’s all wrong. My hands shake as I grab my phone, scrolling for through my notifications.

There was a message from a number I wasn't familiar with. I was greeted with an image of my girlfriends beautiful head, but under her neck was a man's body, holding his dick. There was a message under, "Thanks for the head, mate! I'll make sure to keep sending you pics!" I nearly vomit.