Possessed by swimming instructor Yuri Asakura, I masturbate once a day♡ Day 1 (Patreon)

I was supposed to be dead, yet my eyes opened. At first, I didn't realize it. I never believed in ghosts. But no one bumped into me as I walked down the street. No one heard my shouts. My reflection didn't appear in mirrors. That truck had definitely killed me.

Glancing down, I saw bloodstains on the asphalt—mine. But it didn't hurt. I just phased through everything. So this is what being a ghost is like? At first I was shocked, then I got used to it fast. Didn't even scare me. Honestly, it was more liberating than the real world, where I never got money or women.

But then, something strange happened. When I got close to a drunken salaryman, my body suddenly burned up. Before I knew it, I was inside his body. Possession—that's what it was. Sure, I freaked out at first, but I could move his limbs freely. Then bam, I got kicked out almost immediately.

After a couple more tries, I figured out the trick. Possessing weak-willed people, those with dulled senses, was easy. Strong-willed folks resisted and threw me out. And some bodies just didn't click. Then it hit me—what if I possessed a girl?

The thought sent shivers down my (nonexistent) spine. A dead old man taking over some young girl's body? Goddamn exciting, right? But I didn't want just any girl. I wanted a cute one. Pretty. Fit. Ever since becoming a ghost, my taste in women had somehow gotten even pickier.

For days, I searched. Drifting through the streets, scouting targets. But none fit the bill. Everyone was too alert, too sharp—harder to possess. A drunk girl or someone feeling sick would've been easier.

Then it clicked—big crowds. Of course. Places full of girls. The mall crossed my mind, but security was tight there. Still, what about a swim class? Dozens of girls in swimsuits. Some lounging by the poolside. If any were squinting from the sunlight, they'd be perfect.

With that, I headed to a nearby swim school. Through the glass, I could see girls swimming inside. Some resting poolside. Perfect. Today's the day I get my ideal body.

My heart raced as I phased right through the walls of the swim school. Felt like a damn movie protagonist. Even waltzed past the guard at reception—didn’t even blink. This freedom? Addicting.

But the pool area caught me off guard.

(Not as many people as I expected.)

A few couples and a handful of serious-looking girls. Weekday afternoons, I guess. Better this way—less competition for my pick.

Then I spotted her.

In the far lane, a girl cutting through the water in a racing suit. Short green hair floating on the surface. When she turned, that face—gorgeous. A body like a professional swimmer, long limbs slicing through the water like she was straight out of a painting.

(That's her. Definitely her.)

I didn't say it aloud, just shouted it in my head. Ghost perks, huh? As she climbed out of the pool, I couldn't tear my eyes away. Water droplets rolling off her skin, the racing suit clinging to her curves. Those soft, perky tits, ass high and round from behind—

I got insanely lucky. Never thought I'd be glad to be a ghost. She had been practicing her freestyle, and now she was resting on the edge of the pool, catching her breath. I positioned myself right in front of her, able to look down at her from above at the perfect angle.

So close I could hear her heavy breathing—"Haaah… haaah…"

That salty scent mixed with sweat and pool water. The valley between her breasts, still glistening with droplets where her swimsuit dipped low. There's no way I could’ve seen this up close when I was alive—I’d have been arrested for sure.

Her stretching made things even worse. Arms raised overhead, that soft underarm flesh peeking out, slightly damp with sweat. The way the snug seams of her swimsuit dug into her sides, making the overflowing flesh look even more sinful? My damn nonexistent heart was pounding. Then she twisted, reaching for her towel, that narrow waist flexing—knockout.

"Wait, if she starts stretching properly, what the hell am I supposed to do…?"

Of course, she did. Slow, deliberate stretches, legs spread, bending forward until her racing suit strained against her curves, the back threatening to split. The way her spine curved into an S, the exposed skin between her shoulder blades, sweat trailing down along it—it was too much.

And then she kept touching herself, completely oblivious. Rubbing her arms, rolling her neck, even sighing as she squeezed the tension out of her biceps. Seriously, what the hell?

I couldn’t take it. I circled her, drinking in every angle—the curve of her back from behind, her collarbones from the side, and the perfect view of the slight gap between her swimsuit and chest from a 45-degree angle. I don’t even have lungs anymore—why does it feel like I can’t breathe?

(Ah, dammit… I’ve never seen a girl this hot before.)

Drips fell from her short hair, tracing down her neck—pure art. I checked the poolside mirrors (which, of course, didn't reflect me), but they gave me a perfect frontal view of her profile. Every deep breath made her chest rise and fall slowly, the swimsuit’s straps leaving faint red lines on her flushed skin.

I waited, barely containing myself as she swam lap after lap. Finally, ten dragging minutes later, she climbed out, toweling herself off roughly. The way she rolled her neck, exhaled hard—way too sexy. The post-workout flush on her cheeks made it impossible to look away. The water clinging to her swimsuit, inching downwards with every movement—fuck, that was art.

"Oh! Shower time!" I cheered inwardly. Yeah, wash off, take your time—I’m not missing a second of this.

She draped the towel over her shoulder, walking toward the outdoor shower area. Still in that racing suit, she fumbled for the faucet, then—splash! The spray hit her full force, instantly soaking her head to toe.

I pressed in close, way too close, staring like a starving man. Water sluiced through her green hair, tracing the nape of her neck, pooling in her collarbones before spilling lower—gathering in the dip of her chest. Every splash made the swimsuit cling tighter, the seams pressing into her skin, every curve outlined in perfect detail.

"Damn, racing suits don’t hold back on that second-skin fit!"

She tilted her head back, letting the water run over her face, droplets clinging to her lashes, slipping down her cheekbones. Her shoulders, toned and slick with water, were hypnotic. My fingers twitched—I wanted to touch, but what good were ghost hands? Only good for watching. And damn, was the view worth it.

Then she turned, giving me her back. Perfect. The deep cut of the swimsuit framed her spine, water coursing down the grooves, splitting at the dip of her waist. Lower… lower…

(I’d never get this angle in real life.)

She twisted her hips slightly, shifting her weight to one leg, and the shockingly voluptuous curve of her ass came into full view, marked faintly by the elastic lines of her swimsuit. Keeping a fist-width's distance between her feet, she tilted the shower spray to carefully rinse the back of her thighs. Every time she lifted a leg, I could see the muscles in her calves tensing and relaxing beneath the flush of water.

(Heh… she’s exhausted.)

That realization sent a thrill through me. Fatigue was the perfect state for my abilities to take hold.

But this was still too risky—someone might walk in. No, for now, just watching was enough. But even as a ghost, just imagining what lay beneath that thin fabric was enough to make my phantom body thrum with heat.

She shook her head sharply, flinging water from her hair before turning off the shower. With a deep sigh, she scrubbed the towel roughly over herself, damp green locks clinging to her skin. I caught the sharp jut of her collarbones as she worked, delicate but strong, like everything about her.

(Yes… the moment’s coming soon—)

She left the shower area, finally heading toward the changing rooms. But I hesitated for a split second.

…The girls' locker room. A place no living man could ever enter. My nonexistent pulse spiked.

But then—

The very real problem hit me: What if there were other girls inside? That would ruin everything.

(Shit… what then?)

Still, I followed her closely, only to watch with surprise as she bypassed the main changing area entirely. Instead, she turned toward a smaller door labeled STAFF ONLY.

So she’s an instructor here? That meant—a private locker.

I pumped a fist in silent victory. Perfect. No witnesses. No risks.

Down the dim hallway, a sparse little room awaited—just a bench, a mirror, and a locker. She sank onto the seat with a quiet groan, rolling her shoulders as she exhaled hard—

And that’s when I struck.

"Now!"

Without hesitation, I lunged straight for her chest. The air tore around my formless body as I surged forward—

—For a single, suspended heartbeat, time slowed. I felt it, the dip between her toned pectorals, the warmth of skin barely concealed by damp fabric, the exhaustion making her defenses weak—

She gasped.

"H-huh…!?"

A bizarre sensation enveloped her entire body—like ice-cold electricity radiating outward from both nipples. Her body jerked violently, instantly aware of my invasion.

"Hya—ahh!♡"

A muffled cry escaped her as her hands flew to her chest. Her pupils shrank to pins, breath hitching in ragged gasps. I was still halfway in, straddling the boundary between spirit and flesh, but I shoved the rest of myself deeper inside with a rough thrust.

"Nggh—♡ Hiyii…!♡"

This time, her moan was unmistakably tormented. Her back arched violently, lifting her clean off the bench as full-body tremors wracked her. Her arms spasmed, fingers clawing at nothing, while her legs kicked in erratic jerks—like she’d been tasered.

My awareness unfurled inside her, licking its way through every inch. First, the hollow of her chest—her heartbeat hammered against me like a drum, the rush of blood through her veins a visceral pulse. Beneath it all, the dense, yielding softness of breast tissue… God, the heat here was unreal.

"Ahh… N-no… what’s… h-happening…♡"

Her voice shattered into a broken whisper. Eyes glassy, unfocused. Her hands scrambled up to clutch at her hair, yanking desperately as drool spilled unrestrained down her chin. Every joint in her body convulsed—her thighs twitched the hardest, muscles seizing in helpless spasms.

"Ugh… ahn! Aaahh—♡♡"

Then—snap. Her entire frame locked rigid, suspending her in a taut, quivering arc. The light in her eyes flickered out; her slack jaw hung open, drool cascading freely now. Below the neck, her skin burned fever-red, damp with sweat.

"Hah… hhah…"

Piece by piece, I took her apart. Her nervous system folded under my touch like a puppet clipped of strings. Her heartbeat, her lungs—mine now. Vision blurred, then sharpened again—but now, it was my vision, not hers.

The last holdout was the pitiful flicker of her consciousness, shoved into some dark, shrinking corner of her own skull. Too late.

"Who… is…"

Her whisper was brittle as parchment before her eyelids slid shut with finality. Her lashes trembled—one last phantom struggle—then stilled. A sigh trickled past her lips as the tension leaked out of her limbs.

Silence.

When her eyes opened again, it was me looking out.

The mirrors in the changing room reflected her—no, me—with cruel clarity. Green hair damp, pupils dilated and empty, lips parted slack around a string of saliva. Only the occasional twitch in her right hand betrayed the ghost of resistance.

"Hell yeah…"

Her voice. High, clear, strong—yet tainted now with the ugly edge of my own malice.

I clenched her fist. Small, damp, knuckles bleaching white from the pressure. Weaker than my old body, sure—but smoother, unburdened.

I tried to stand—only to wobble unsteadily. The center of gravity was… different. Higher. The weight of her hips threatened to topple me until I finally steadied myself in front of the mirror. The cling of the racing swimsuit against my skin was intoxicating—the way it compressed, squeezed, sculpted every curve. The high neckline strained against the swell of my chest, the suit's taut grip cinching my waist just so.

"F-fuck… it’s huge…"

I couldn’t help but stare. The top of my cleavage threatened to spill over the suit’s edge, droplets catching the light along the delicate lines of my collarbone. Each deep breath made my chest rise and fall—a mesmerizing, jiggly weight that sent tiny shocks of sensation through my nerves.

I studied myself—no, no hesitation now, this was me—fully. My green-tinted short hair clung damp, giving off a faint, clean scent. The smooth taper of my neck, the soft indentations where the swimsuit straps dug into my shoulders, the dramatic dip of my waist before flaring into hips…

"This… this isn’t… wrong," I murmured, as if convincing myself. I gave an experimental roll of my hips. God, the fluidity. The way the muscles from my back to my thighs moved in a single unbroken wave—feminine grace, now mine.

A spasm flickered through my calf—proof this body wasn’t fully acclimated yet. I stretched my fingers; they trembled slightly, the nerves and muscles not quite in sync.

"Heh… this body’s becoming mine more and more…♡"

My voice came out honey-sweet. Was that her natural tone, or just the thrill of ownership? I pitched it higher experimentally—a strange, giddy warmth spread through me at the sound, like being praised.

The sensations around my neck were the most alien. Every strand of hair brushing my skin registered as electric. A tilt of my head sent tingles skittering down my spine.

"Ah… ngh…♡"

A moan slipped out before I could stop it, and I clapped my hand over my mouth. This wasn’t pleasure I’d ever known as a man. A glance in the mirror confirmed it—my cheeks had pinkened, eyelids fluttering.

I braced my hands on my hips, testing the weight distribution. Everything centered in my pelvis now. Time to try walking.

One step—wobble. Two—balance. Three—suddenly seamless. The way my lower body moved was alien yet precise, as if controlled by some deeper, instinctive wiring.

"Damn… gravity feels completely different…"

Then, my chest started to itch. The swimsuit’s fabric had begun to dry, chafing against my nipples in a way that demanded attention. Without thinking, I jiggled slightly—

"Hyahn!?♡"

The friction lit me up like a live wire. Since when did this feel so…?

The realization hit. I grinned.

"Ehehe I’ve been possessed Some nasty guy hijacked poor little me~♡♡"

I struck a pose. The reflection was undeniably, flawlessly feminine. Mine. Stolen, claimed—and now, the fun could finally begin. The thought alone made my pulse race, my stolen heart hammering like it belonged to no one else.

I stood motionless before the mirror, slowly bringing both hands up to my chest. My fingertips—her fingertips—pinched the edge of the racing bikini, stretching the waterlogged fabric between thumb and forefinger. The material clung with surprising weight, its elasticity pushing back against my touch.

"Whoa… it stretches so much…♡"

A light pull made the suit lift slightly from where it hugged my breasts. The moment I let go—snap—it slapped back into place. The impact sent a sharp jolt of pleasure radiating from the taut skin just above my swelling flesh, a tingling heat pooling at my stiffening nipples.

"Oh—oh shit, this spot’s sensitive…!"

Next, I gripped the suit at my hips, tracing the curved seam with my nails before tugging experimentally. The bunched-up fabric rubbed against the base of my spine, sparking a completely new kind of ache. But the most electrifying part? The pinch of the suit's hem right where it hugged the dip of my waist—even a graze there made goosebumps erupt.

My right hand trailed down, fingers rolling over the strap on my shoulder, then lower—collarbone, the side of my breast, ribcage. When I brushed a finger along the soft flesh beneath the suit’s underarm gap, her body jolted under my control.

"Hah… girls feel things this intensely…?♡"

My left hand drifted lower on its own. The hem of the swimsuit skimmed dangerously high on my inner thigh. A single stroke and my breath caught—like touching a live wire. My lower half pulsed, throbbing with unfamiliar heat.

I pressed both palms flat against the front, sliding the suit up and down just to feel the friction. Every shift teased open a floodgate somewhere deep, an entirely foreign pleasure coiling hotter between my legs. As a man, I’d never known sensation could start this low—this all-consuming.

Finally, my fingertip dared to trace the tightest edge of the suit’s crotch. My pulse hammered; my throat went dry. Just the barest flick of my nail along that seam—

"Ngh—!♡"

My hips lurched forward on their own. No obvious protrusion like before, yet this… this was overwhelming. Even imagining what lay beneath the fabric made me dizzy. The subtle dip of her folds, faintly detectable through the suit—

I dragged my finger downward.

"Hah—ah-ah!♡"

Fireworks. Instant, full-body detonation. Nothing in my old male existence compared. Heat swallowed me whole, concentrating, burning between my legs. I nearly recoiled—but curiosity won. This time, I pinched the fabric there, rocking it up and down. Every micromovement lit new nerves.

"So this… this is a girl’s…♡"

I was panting. My flushed face in the mirror glowed with arousal. Sweat made the suit stick obscenely to my chest. Beyond the fogged glass, my reflection dripped with something sinful.

I paused—should I try lifting the hem? Just a peek—? No. Too soon. But…

One tiny nudge. My thumb slid under the edge, lifting it a whisper.

"Hyah—ah!♡"

The second that ultra-sensitive skin met open air, my back arched violently. My legs shook; I barely caught myself before collapsing. Yanking my hand back, the suit snapped into place again—the impact alone sent another wave cresting through me.

"Haaah… fuck, this is… this is bad…♡"

Sweat beaded everywhere. I staggered to a bench, collapsing onto it only to discover even sitting felt illicit. My thighs pressed together too much. The chair cradled my ass all wrong. Yet the warmth pulsing between my legs wouldn’t let me forget.

This was hers. No—mine now. Every unbearable, alien pleasure—stolen, owned, mastered. What used to be an abstract fantasy in videos now controlled my every shuddering breath.

The hunger coiled deep in my gut wouldn't be refused. My fingers crept back to the swimsuit’s edge. What began as tentative strokes grew reckless, needy. I pressed down with my index finger, tracing the outline of what lay beneath the fabric while my breath hitched.

"Hnn… ah… this is… insane…♡"

The suit was bafflingly thick—far denser than normal swimwear, designed for competition, built to swallow water. It should’ve dulled sensation, but the opposite happened. That fraction of separation made it worse. I tugged the hem up, revealing—

"Seriously…? A fucking liner—?!♡"

A white modesty panel was stitched inside, blocking direct access. Cheating me. I ground my thumb against it, peeling it aside until slick skin gloated under the light. The sheer obscenity of surrendering to my own exposed folds amped my pulse into frenzy. I was never supposed to see myself like this. Not from this angle. Not commanding it.

My fingers moved without permission.

One exploratory press—right where the fabric sagged into the hottest, tightest seam.

"Hyah—!♡ No way—this is a girl’s—ah—!♡"

Not even comparable. Not the sharp spikes I knew as a man, but something thick and fluid, coiling deeper with every second. Pleasure didn’t strike—it colonized, until every nerve in my body pointed there. I shoved my left thigh wider, yanking the suit higher.

"Ahn—! N-no, this is really—♡"

My voice betrayed me—high, shameless, dripping with sticky-sweet tension. The sound alone fed the fire. I paused, panting. Even through the fabric, the shape of me was unmistakable—undulating, reacting to every microtouch. No longer the simple mechanics I knew before. This was alive.

"Hah… nnh…♡ More…"

I hooked both thumbs under the suit’s sides, stretching it open, leaning in to watch in the mirror. The sight ruined me. From this angle—

There.

A tiny, swollen peak. Clit.

The moment my nail grazed it in a slow circle, my back arched off the bench.

"Nngh—!♡ H-here—right here—♡"

I flicked it faster, harder, while my free hand groped at my chest, twisting both nipples because they were mine to ruin now. Everything was linked. Every pinch sent shockwaves straight down, drowning my hips in liquid fire.

"Guh—! Hah—ah!♡"

I couldn’t stop. The pleasure didn’t build—it multiplied, an endless crescendo where my old male limits meant nothing. My thighs convulsed. The suit’s fabric clung, soaked through with sweat and something stickier.

"Nn—ah! Fuck—!♡"

Funny. Would they know?

The chances? Zero. Nearly every female locker room in this country pretends privacy matters. No prying eyes. No cameras. Just my perfectly stolen sanctuary.

(But indulge me—)

Hypothetical feed. Imagine the phantom lens.

The fisheye frame dominated by a girl—short green hair stuck to her forehead, knees splayed shamelessly across the bench. Every pixel would show it: her fingers clawing into racing-swimsuit fabric, nails scraping where polyester borders slick skin. Hips lifting. Back snapping into an arc—her ass half out-of-frame like prey caught mid-struggle.

"Ah—! Hnng…! Fuck—can’t—stop—♡"

A nonexistent camera would still show nothing damning. Just some desperate bitch, grinding into her own hand.

Microphones? Sure. The squelch of soaked fabric. Gasping. Moans bouncing off tile walls. She’d look outright feral—beyond morals, past shame, consumed.

(I had plans beyond this.)

"F-Fuck!!♡ God, feels too good—ah!♡♡"

The answer was simple:

Her pussy ruined me first.

"…Just rip it off.♡"

On-screen—

One violent peel. Straps yanked past ankles. The suit launched off-camera, leaving bare thighs slamming back onto the bench. Gaping. No barriers left.

"Haah…♡ This—this is real—♡"

First touch? Fireworks. No fabric-dulled tease—just raw, clenching heat. Her folds quivered, drenching my fingers in proof. Male pleasure was kinetic—a flashbang. Hers was drowning in oil, each stroke dragging me deeper.

"Nhha—!♡ There—there—!♡"

Hands gripped her own hips now. Two fingers slid inside, knuckle-deep. Freedom. No resistance—just ambient squelches, her thighs twitching with every curl of my fingers. The entire lower half of her body rewired for pleasure.

(Not like before—)

Male orgasms ended.

Hers?

Built.

Clung.

"……♡"

The whiteout hit.

"NGAH—!! ♡♡ HHYEESS—!!♡"*

Her spine arched inhumanly, heels kicking air. Cum painted the bench beneath her, dripping louder than her voice. First climax? Just the start. Waves knocked her skull sideways, drool smearing cheeks. Every spasm birthed a new pulse—

(Holy—♡)

Everything paled compared to this.

I was hers now.

Drowning.

Ruined.

And loving it.