Skin selection not unlocked.
“Skin selection? That… Better not be as terrifying as it sounds…” Jon winced at the honey-sweet timbre that eased through his lips, sighed, and looked around the room. It was as big and gaudy as he’d always expected Sarah McMillan’s room to be, but no sign of the stone.
Great. For all intents and purposes, he was stuck riding out this bizarre wet dream of a “game,” with no real idea on how to go about doing it.
He contemplated his new body. Sarah’s new body. Its softness and lithe, feminine curves, how each and every of his movements caused an array of uncontrollable swaying and jiggling. He was smaller, but the gravity and hair and everything made it so much busier than before.
He raised his hands. They were pretty and petite, with long, delicate fingers, and perfectly manicured, lavender-colored nails. They looked painfully feminine.
Karyn wasn’t ever gonna let him live this down, was she?
…But he made the dumb-ass wish with the stone, and waiting around all humiliated wasn’t bringing him any closer to fixing this mess. So, with the tentative resolve of the baffled young man-turned-woman he was, Jon took a clumsy step towards the door…
New Passive Skill! [Princess Strut]
And squeaked in surprise as his body cocked its hip out, swung a shapely leg forward, and slid elegantly along the floor like a runway model.
He stopped, and gazed downwards.
Sarah’s body was not holding itself as he meant it to. It was posing; arms held out just so, leg bent ever-so-slightly, head tilted upwards to emulate Sarah’s trademark haughtiness.
It looked really, really sexy. And Jon could do absolute nothing to stop it.
Well, this day just keeps getting better and better.
“What. The. Fuck.” The voice was slow, sultry, and musical enough to hum along to.
The owner was a stunning adult woman in her early forties, with long blonde hair cascading down her back in gentle waves, and the kind of high cheekbones and piercing eyes that left you feeling poor and unimportant. She was… Excessive, in the way her massive breasts hung effortlessly like floating planets, or how her hips and thighs were the type that liked to tear through most attempts at pants.
She was naked. Specifically, she was naked on a pristine king-sized bed in a gaudy, postmodern nightmare of a room, nearly-but-not-quite posing as one leg elegantly crossed over the other and as one hand unconsciously ran itself through her hair.
Zoe Gibson had many opinions about this.
“What. The. Fuck.” She repeated, wide-eyed and open-mouthed at the ludicrous new body she’d woken up in. “Am I Susan McMillan?”
Sarah McMillan’s mom was the only person in town with boobs this big, hair this bright, and enough money to own this sort of furniture. But even still, things were wrong. Her body was even more exaggerated than it already was. And there were the floating mannequins and glowy letters…
Pick a subclass. 15 seconds.
The Homemaker A 1940s style sleeveless button dress, coupled with a delightful silk neck scarf and flowery apron, all on top of the tallest, reddest pair of pumps she’d ever seen.
The Cougar Animal print tight pants that struggled to fit the mannequin’s curves. Louboutin platform sandals. A simple button top that left the belly exposed. Some might’ve described it as “trashy-chic.”
The #GirlBoss A white blouse, purple blazer combo, with a similarly colored pencil skirt. The shoes, a classy pair of suede slim heels, were just as tall as the first two outfits’.
Pick a subclass. 10 seconds.
“This has to be a dream, right?” No answer. “Or a joke? Or…”
Pick a subclass. 5 seconds.
“C’mon already! Can someone please tell me what the hell is happening!?”
No subclass chosen. Randomly selecting…
