Jimmy lounged on the couch in his apartment, scrolling mindlessly through his phone, when it buzzed with Holly's name on the screen. He answered with a lazy grin. "Hey, babe. What's up?"

"Jimmy, I need a huge favor," Holly said, her voice a mix of urgency and that sweet pleading tone she knew worked on him. "Mom's got this house contract she needs delivered to a client by 4 PM sharp. She's swamped at the office and asked me, but I'm stuck at work. Could you swing by her place, grab it from her bedroom, and drop it off? The address is in the envelope with the papers."

He checked the time-10:30 AM. Plenty of buffer. "Sure, no problem. I'll head over now."

"You're the best. Love you." She hung up with a kissy sound.

Jimmy grabbed his keys and drove the fifteen minutes to Catherine's upscale suburban home. Holly's mom was a sharp real estate agent, always impeccably put together, and her place reflected that: manicured lawn, fresh paint, the faint scent of lavender from the entryway as he let himself in with the spare key Holly had given him months ago.

The bedroom was at the end of the hall, sunlight streaming through sheer curtains onto the king-sized bed. The manila envelope sat right on the nightstand, labeled "Contract-123 Oak Lane." He picked it up, feeling its weight, and turned to leave. But then his eyes drifted to the walk-in closet door, slightly ajar. Curiosity tugged at him, that familiar itch he'd felt before when sneaking peeks at Holly's things-but this was different. Catherine. Elegant, confident Catherine, with her polished style that always made his pulse quicken in ways he didn't admit.

He stepped inside, the air cool and scented with her perfume-something floral and expensive. His fingers brushed hangers, and there it was: the red tailored blazer and matching pencil skirt, the exact outfit he'd seen her wear to that open house last month. Sleek, professional, utterly feminine. Nearby hung a light pink blouse with a modest neckline, demure yet alluring. He swallowed hard, heart racing.

He opened the top lingerie drawer. His fingers brushed silk and lace until he found what he wanted: the firm black shapewear, the delicate pink bra, and the sheer taupe pantyhose still in their little plastic sleeve. At the bottom of the closet, in the shoe tree, sat the glossy black pumps with the three-inch heel. He knew he shouldn't. But the house was empty, Holly was at work, Catherine at the office... and it was only 11:00.

With trembling hands, Jimmy stripped off his jeans, T-shirt, and boxers, folding them neatly on a chair. The cool air raised goosebumps on his skin as he stepped into the shapewear, the fabric hugging his legs, waist, and chest like a second skin, cinching him in and smoothing everything out. He slipped on the pink bra, stuffing the cups with a handful of her silk panties from the drawer-soft, lacy bundles that gave him a subtle, feminine swell. The pantyhose came next, rolling up his smooth legs with a whisper, the sheer taupe tint making his calves look toned and sleek.

He padded to the en-suite bathroom, the heels clicking tentatively on the tile as he carried them. Her vanity was a treasure trove: foundation, blush, eyeshadow in soft neutrals, mascara, and a bold red lipstick that matched the suit. He worked methodically, blending the base to even his skin, contouring his jaw into softness, defining his eyes with liner and shadow until they looked wide and inviting. The lipstick was the final touch-creamy, vibrant, transforming his mouth into something pouty and polished.

Back in the bedroom, he dressed fully. The blouse first, its silk gliding over his fake curves, buttoned to the top. Then the skirt, zipping it up his hips with a satisfying snugness that made his breath catch. The blazer followed, its structured shoulders giving him an hourglass silhouette, the red popping against his made-up face. He stepped into the pumps-size 9, a perfect fit for his feet-and wobbled only slightly before finding his balance. A quick rummage in her jewelry box yielded silver hoop earrings and a delicate gold necklace that nestled in the blouse's V.

Jimmy stood before the full-length mirror, turning this way and that. The woman staring back was stunning-poised, professional, with Catherine's exact style down to the details. The skirt hugged his thighs, the blazer accentuated his cinched waist, and the makeup made his eyes sparkle. A thrill shot through him, electric and forbidden. He posed, hand on hip, imagining striding into an office like this. His reflection smiled back, red lips curving in delight. He felt alive, powerful in this secret skin. Time slipped away as he practiced walking, the pantyhose swishing, the heels clicking rhythmically. It was intoxicating.

The front door clicked open downstairs.

Jimmy froze, mid-pose, heart slamming against his ribs. Footsteps-confident, familiar-echoed up the stairs. "Hello? Anyone here?" Catherine's voice, crisp and surprised.

He scrambled, but it was too late. The bedroom door swung open, and there she stood: Catherine, in her work attire-a navy suit, hair in a sleek bun-keys in hand, eyes widening as they locked on him.

For a frozen second, neither moved. Jimmy's face burned under the foundation, his fake curves suddenly feeling ridiculous, exposed. Catherine's gaze traveled from the red blazer to the pencil skirt, the heels, the perfectly made-up face. Her lips parted, but no words came at first.

Then, slowly, a faint smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "Well, Jimmy," she said, voice low and even, stepping inside and closing the door behind her with a soft click. "I see you've made yourself... quite at home."