“Ah, damn it,” Daveigh groaned, leaning back in his chair with his head in his hands.

Henry’s chuckle was a low rumble. “You’ve seen it, then?” he said with a smug smile.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve seen it. The ‘fucked either way’ trap.”

“You wish you were getting fucked either way.”

Daveigh blushed at his boyfriend’s crude joke, making a grumbling noise as he reluctantly slid his yellow counter into the top of the frame. It landed in a slot beside three red counters, preventing Henry from placing a fourth there. But he could now achieve four in a row by putting a counter directly above, and proceeded to do so.

“I win,” he said simply, his muscular frame looming over the game from the other side.

“I thought for sure I had that,” Daveigh sighed. “I’m elite at this game, I’ve lost like three times in twenty years. You must’ve been practicing.”

Henry laughed. “How do you practice at Connect 4?!”

“No idea, but you must’ve been.”

“Or maybe you just really like losing to me.” He winked. “Especially when we’re gambling.”

Daveigh shook his head, but couldn’t make eye contact. Had he subconsciously wanted to lose? To hand victory, and the right to choose what happened next, to his partner? To put control entirely in his hands...?

Yeah, it was pretty plausible.

“OK, what’s it gonna be?” he asked, as nonchalantly as possible. “Who’s switching, me or you... or both, or neither?”

“Both,” Henry said decisively.

Daveigh swallowed, and then made a vague gesture beneath the table. “And, uh, keep or trade?”

“Keep. I think it’s cute,” Henry grinned, eliciting a small involuntary squeak from his boyfriend.

“Fine. Are you good to go?”

Henry glanced at the clock. “Yeah, it’s been more than 24 hours. You?”

“I haven’t changed since Wednesday.”

“I know,” he smiled, raising an inquiring eyebrow. Seeing this, Daveigh gave a nod of understanding. This was Henry giving him an opportunity to safeword, if he really needed to.

Declining to do so, he shrugged and got to his feet. “No time like the present, I guess.”

The two men stripped off everything except their boxers, then went to lie down on the couch, Daveigh’s pale, skinny body being spooned by the more muscular, tan-skinned Henry. Most people would rather not make physical contact with anyone or anything when going through this process, but the boyfriends preferred physical touch.

They had been lying there, cuddled up together with their eyes closed, concentrating intently, for almost a minute when it happened. Light began to play over their skin - and beneath it, too. Henry’s flesh seemed to burn a fiery yellow and orange, while Daveigh’s crackled blue, green and purple. The light shone brighter and brighter, until the image of the young men was almost lost.

Then, almost as suddenly, the blaze diminished, dimming and dimming until it disappeared. Daveigh and Henry still lay on the sofa, but they looked quite different. Their features had softened, their skin had smoothed over, and their body hair had mostly vanished, while the hair on their heads had grown longer. Also, they each now sported noticeable breasts - Henry’s were solid C-cups, squishing into Daveigh’s back, while Daveigh had a pair of cute A-cups.

Daveigh only had time to blink and exhale, before her partner’s arms squeezed tighter around her torso and she murmured into her ear, “Well, hello, gorgeous.” She whimpered, struggling feebly in Henry’s embrace, the taller, stronger woman holding onto her with no effort at all, her voice still deep but more of a sultry purr than the manly growl it’d been a minute ago. Henry’s hands slid over Daveigh’s tiny tits and began to play with her nipples, and she gasped and mewled, her little girlcock straining against her shorts.

She always felt so pathetically weak as a woman - not that she was particularly assertive as a man, either. And besides, Henry was so big and strong and confident, whatever gender they were, that it seemed impossible not to submit to them.

Had Daveigh won the game of Connect 4, she would’ve remained male and had Henry change, but the tall South Asian beauty would still have spent the day dominating him. So she supposed she didn’t have too much right to complain - she probably would’ve ended up in the same position, just without the two extra buttons Henry could push to make her melt in her arms.

‘Gender-gaming’, as it was commonly known, was a natural attribute of humankind, their ability to shift across the sex spectrum whenever they felt like it (though no more frequently than once a day) as commonplace and unremarkable as putting on clothes in the morning. But as she lay trapped in her domme’s grasp, writhing and whining at her caresses, Daveigh idly wondered if anyone else decided who or what they were going to be on a given day by playing an actual game.

She could feel a hard-on nudging her backside - Henry had clearly kept her cock, too. But hers was unequivocally more impressive than Daveigh’s, whether they were male, female, or anything in between. With Henry’s fingers still twiddling her sensitive nipples, the flustered submissive could do nothing to resist as her partner’s other hand slid south and eased down the back of her boxers.

“Happy International Women’s Day,” Henry sniggered, as she slipped into the waiting slot.