Chastity Pill Ch. 04

"So let me get this straight," you say, trying to keep your voice steady despite its new higher pitch. "You hired contractors to renovate our bathroom, and they're showing up today?"

Veronica at least has the decency to look slightly embarrassed, her eyes darting to her phone rather than meeting yours. The cab swerves around a corner, jostling you against the door.

"It just made sense," she says, scrolling through emails with one hand while the other adjusts her blazer. "I've been wanting to redo that bathroom for ages. The timing worked out perfectly--they'll be done right when I get back."

"What was wrong with our bathroom?" you ask incredulously. The master bath was already a marble paradise compared to the dingy shower stall you had in your old apartment.

"The floors aren't heated," she says, as if explaining something obvious to a child. "And the lighting makes me look sallow. Plus, the tub isn't deep enough."

You stare at her, momentarily speechless. Your entire body has been transformed into a goth pinup fantasy, and she's concerned about bathtub depth.

"You could have mentioned this before I agreed to take the pill," you say.

She finally looks up from her phone, offering a small, apologetic smile. "I know, I'm sorry. I just... I didn't want you to say no to both things. And honestly, it's perfect timing! You'll be home all day anyway, and this way when I get back, we'll have a gorgeous new bathroom to celebrate in."

Her phone rings--her assistant, based on how quickly her expression shifts to professional mode.

"Liz, hi. Yes, I'm on my way. Did the Matsuhisa group confirm the dinner?" She holds up one finger to you in the universal "just a minute" gesture, completely absorbed in work mode.

You turn to look out the window, acutely aware of how your ass spreads wider on the seat than it used to. The jeans Veronica picked out are tight enough that you can feel every curve of your new lower body, the denim hugging places that never needed hugging before.

The cab pulls up to your building, and Veronica is still on the phone, now discussing presentation slides and how they "flow". She absently passes her credit card to the driver while continuing her conversation, then motions for you to get out.

Stepping onto the sidewalk is a new experience in itself. The Doc Martens Veronica got you are at least practical--flat and stable--but your legs move differently now, your hips naturally swaying with each step.

The doorman--Miguel, who's known you for months--doesn't give you a second glance as Veronica breezes past him, still talking on the phone. You follow in her wake, keeping your head down, heart thundering at the thought of being recognized.

"Good morning, Ms. Valentine," Miguel says, holding the door.

"Morning, Miguel," Veronica responds automatically, then adds, "This is Alice, she'll be staying with me for a while. House-sitting."

Miguel nods politely in your direction. "Welcome to The Azure, miss."

You mumble something that might be "thanks" and hurry after Veronica, who's already at the elevator, tapping her foot impatiently.

"I understand that, Liz, but the projections need to reflect the Q3 adjustments," she's saying, holding the elevator for you without looking up. "Tell Davis I'll call him from the airport."

The elevator doors close, and you're suddenly hyperaware of your reflection in the mirrored walls. The girl staring back at you is pale and curvy, with heavy-lidded eyes that make her look perpetually bedroom-ready. Your breasts, even compressed in the sports bra, create an unmistakable shelf beneath your t-shirt. A shelf that moves.

"Yes, I have the Stevenson brief in my carry-on," Veronica continues, fishing out her keys as the elevator reaches your floor. "I'll review it on the flight."

She unlocks the apartment door and walks in, kicking off her heels by the entryway. You follow, feeling like a visitor in your own home. Everything seems slightly larger from your new, shorter perspective.

"Listen, Liz, I need to go. Email me the revised agenda." Veronica finally ends the call and turns to you with a sigh. "Sorry about that, babe. Work is in-sane today."

"It's fine," you say, though it's not. You feel abandoned, like a pet being dropped off at a kennel.

Veronica glances at her watch--a sleek Cartier that was a "gift to herself" after landing the Prismatic Games account. "I've got about twenty minutes before the car comes. Let me show you what I got you."

She leads you to the walk-in closet, which has been rearranged to accommodate an entirely new wardrobe on what used to be your side. Where your suits and casual wear once hung, there's now a collection of black, purple, and dark red items that look like they were sourced from a Hot Topic fever dream.

"Okay, so this section is everyday wear," Veronica explains, gesturing to a row of band t-shirts, ripped jeans, and what appear to be several variations on fishnet stockings. "This is loungewear--" she points to some black leggings and oversized sweaters, "--and these are for sleeping." The sleep section consists mostly of tiny shorts and camisoles that would barely cover your new assets.

"Where are the normal clothes?" you ask, rifling through hangers. "Like, regular jeans? T-shirts that don't have skulls on them?"

Veronica laughs. "This is what goth girls wear, Alex. I had the personal shopper at Bonwit Teller put together a complete package. She was very thorough."

She reaches into a drawer and pulls out what looks like a leather dog collar with spikes. "I got you some accessories too. You know, to complete the look."

"I'm not wearing a collar," you say flatly.

"It's not a collar, it's a choker," she corrects, setting it aside. "And you don't have to wear anything you don't want to. I just thought it would be fun to fully commit to the aesthetic."

She moves to another drawer, pulling it open to reveal an array of black lace underwear. "These are all your size. The bras are front-clasping--easier to manage with those monsters."

You feel your face heating up. The idea of wearing lacy underwear is somehow more embarrassing than the transformation itself.

"Oh, and these are for when the contractors are here," she adds, pulling out what appears to be a normal hoodie and sweatpants. "So you can be comfortable and covered."

"How thoughtful," you mutter. You plan to wear those ALL THE TIME.

Veronica checks her watch again. "Shit, I need to finish packing my toiletries."

She hurries to the guest bathroom, motioning for you to follow. "I set up all your stuff in here since the master bath will be under construction."

The guest bathroom is small but elegant, with a walk-in shower, single vanity, and toilet. On the counter, Veronica has arranged a collection of products with labels like "Gentle Facial Cleanser" and "Hydrating Body Lotion."

"I got you the basics," she explains, opening the medicine cabinet to reveal even more bottles. "Cleanser, toner, moisturizer. Oh, and dry shampoo--trust me, you'll need it with that hair."

You stare at the array of products. "I've never used more than soap and shampoo in my life."

"Well, girls need more," Veronica says matter-of-factly. "Especially pale girls. Your skin will get blotchy if you don't take care of it."

She grabs her own toiletry bag and starts filling it with her higher-end versions of the products she's left for you. "There's some basic makeup in the drawer if you want to experiment, but nothing crazy. Just mascara, lip gloss, that kind of thing."

"I'm good," you say quickly.

Her phone chimes. "Car's downstairs," she says, zipping up her toiletry bag. "I've got to go."

You follow her back to the entryway, where she slips into her heels and grabs her carry-on.

"The contractors will be here at eleven," she says, checking her phone again. "Their company is called Elite Renovations. The lead guy is Marco. Just show them to the bathroom and stay out of their way."

"What if they ask me questions about the renovation?"

"They have all the specs. If there are any decisions to be made, tell them to call me." She reaches into her purse and pulls out an Uber Eats gift card. "This is for food delivery. I felt guilty. Please don't go grocery shopping looking like that--the last thing I need is some creep following you home."

You take the card, feeling simultaneously infantilized and relieved at the excuse to avoid public outings.

"Oh, and one more thing," Veronica says, her expression softening slightly. "Thank you for doing this. I know it's weird and inconvenient, but it really does mean a lot to me."

Before you can respond, she leans in and kisses you. It's different from this angle--you have to tilt your head up instead of down--but her lips are still soft, still taste like the expensive lip balm she always uses.

As she pulls away, her hand connects with your ass in a playful but firm spank, making you yelp in surprise.

"That's for luck," she grins, opening the door. "I'll call you tonight. Try not to burn the place down or seduce the contractors."

"Very funny," you mutter.

She blows one last kiss and then she's gone, the door clicking shut behind her.

You stand in the entryway, suddenly, overwhelmingly alone in your new body. The apartment feels too big, too quiet. You catch your reflection in the hallway mirror--a petite, pale girl with heavy-lidded eyes and a body that belongs on a pin-up calendar.

"Fuck my life," you whisper, and your reflection's dark lips move in perfect sync.

---

You've been alone in the apartment for exactly forty-seven minutes, and already it's a disaster.

"Mother FUCKER," you hiss as the sugar canister topples sideways, white granules spilling across the marble countertop like a miniature cocaine bust. You reach for a paper towel, but your unfamiliar proportions betray you again--your tits swing forward like wrecking balls, knocking over the mug you'd just filled with coffee.

Hot liquid cascades across the counter, creating a muddy brown river that carries sugar crystals to the edge and onto the floor. In your rush to grab more paper towels, your hip clips the edge of the open cabinet door. Pain radiates through your new, wider hipbone.

"Goddammit!" You clutch your side, bending forward, which causes your chest to pendulum downward, nearly dipping into the coffee puddle.

Coffee-making shouldn't require this much spatial awareness. Before the transformation, you operated in the kitchen on autopilot--grab mug, add coffee, done. Now your body extends into space in ways your brain hasn't mapped yet. Those heavy tits arrive at the counter edge before your hands do. Your ass knocks into cabinets you thought you'd cleared. Your center of gravity is completely fucked, leaving you perpetually off-balance.

After cleaning up the mess and remaking your coffee (this time standing a calculated three inches farther from the counter), you decide to distract yourself with work. Veronica may have turned you into a goth girl pinup, but your brain still functions. Maybe you can knock out a few freelance gigs on Fiverr while waiting for the contractors.

You settle into your desk chair--the ergonomic Herman Miller that Veronica insisted on buying because "proper posture is essential for creative thinking, Alex"--and immediately sink several inches lower than expected. Right. Shorter now.

You reach for the height adjustment lever, yanking it upward. The chair rises with a pneumatic hiss, but now your feet barely touch the ground. You're like a child at the adults' table.

"Perfect," you mutter, scooting forward.

Your monitor looks enormous from this vantage point. You open your laptop instead--more manageable. Logging into Fiverr feels like connecting to your real life, the one where you're still Alex Mercer, UI/UX designer with a 4.9-star rating.

There's a new message in your inbox:

DripKingz: Hey man, just checking on the shopping cart interface we discussed. Need it by Friday for our beta launch. Nothing fancy, just functional and clean. Lmk if we're still good.

The project--a simple e-commerce checkout flow for a streetwear brand--should be straightforward. You've designed dozens of these. Your fingers hover over the keyboard, then falter.

Your hands look alien--small, pale, with those glossy black nails that catch the light like beetle shells. Your fingers are slender, almost delicate, making your keyboard feel oversized. You type a quick response:

AlexMUX: On track for Friday. Will send preview tomorrow.

As you hit send, you notice something odd. The keys feel exactly the same under your fingers--the muscle memory remains intact--but your typing speed has decreased slightly. Your fingers have to stretch farther to reach certain keys, creating tiny hesitations in your flow.

You open Figma and pull up the project files. The interface design principles haven't changed--clean navigation, minimalist aesthetic, intuitive flow--but something feels... different. You stare at the color scheme you selected last week. Were those grays always so bland? Why didn't you add more contrast between the buttons?

"Focus," you mutter, adjusting the chair again.

Your new ass is creating unfamiliar pressure points. Where you once sat directly on your sit bones, now you're cushioned by a layer of soft tissue that distributes your weight differently. You shift, trying to find a comfortable position, but your thighs keep spreading sideways on the seat, taking up more space than you're used to.

The sports bra digs into your ribs as you hunch forward, compressing your chest uncomfortably. You straighten up, then slump again, unable to find a posture that accommodates your new proportions.

Twenty minutes into redesigning the checkout flow, your phone buzzes. An unknown number.

Unknown: Hi Alice, this is Marco from Elite Renovations. We'll be arriving at 11am as scheduled with Ms. Valentine.

You stare at the text, heart suddenly pounding. Your brain snags on the name "Alice"--right, that's you now. You pick up the phone to reply, then hesitate. What would Veronica say? What would a normal housesitter say?

You: Ok thanks for letting me know!!

Too many exclamation points? Too friendly? You hit send before you can overthink it further, then immediately regret your choice. The contractors are coming in less than an hour, and you're sitting here in a band t-shirt and jeans that might as well be painted on, with tits that enter the room five seconds before the rest of you.

You rush to the closet, intent on changing into the hoodie and sweatpants Veronica pointed out. But as you rifle through the drawers, your phone rings.

It's the unknown number--Marco calling, not texting this time.

You stare at the vibrating phone like it's a live grenade. Each ring sends your heart rate higher. On the fourth ring, you finally swipe to answer.

"H-hello?" Your voice comes out as a breathy squeak.

"Is this Alice?" The voice on the other end is deep, authoritative.

"Yes," you manage, cringing at your high-pitched reply.

"Marco Vega, Elite Renovations. Just wanted to confirm we have access to the service elevator when we arrive. We're bringing up some large equipment."

"Oh, um." You have no idea. "I think so?"

There's a pause, then Marco says with exaggerated patience, "Could you check with the building management? We need a service key."

"Right, of course," you say, trying to sound competent. "I'll call down."

"Great. Also, just FYI, there are three of us coming up--myself, Luis, and Jake. Ms. Valentine mentioned you'd be alone, so I wanted to give you a heads-up."

Three strange men coming to the apartment where you're trapped in this unfamiliar body. Perfect.

"Thanks," you say weakly.

"See you at eleven." He hangs up.

You call the front desk, your voice cracking as you identify yourself as "Alice, Veronica Valentine's friend." The concierge assures you the service elevator will be available for the contractors.

With that crisis averted, you rush back to the closet, determined to change into something less revealing before they arrive. You're pulling out the hoodie when your phone chimes again--this time with a Fiverr notification.

DripKingz: Actually, can you hop on a quick call? Need to discuss a feature change.

Shit. You glance at the time--10:42. Probably just enough time for a quick call before the contractors arrive.

You message back:

AlexMUX: Can call now for 10 mins. Number?

The response comes immediately with a phone number. You dial, hyperaware that your voice doesn't match the profile picture your client is expecting.

"Yo, Alex!" A young man's voice answers. "Thanks for jumping on."

"No problem," you say, trying to lower your voice slightly, which just makes you sound like you have a cold.

There's a pause. "Uh, is this Alex?"

"Yes, sorry--fighting a cold," you lie, voice still unmistakably feminine despite your efforts.

"Oh, damn. Feel better. Anyway, we're thinking about adding Apple Pay integration to the checkout. Can you work that in?"

You launch into an explanation of implementation options, trying to sound as professional as possible despite your Minnie Mouse voice. The client seems to buy your cold excuse, and you're just wrapping up when the doorbell rings.

"I have to go," you say abruptly. "I'll send mockups with both options tomorrow."

You hang up without waiting for his response and stare at the front door. The hoodie is still in your hand, but there's no time to change now.

Taking a deep breath, you walk to the door. You peer through the peephole and see three men in work clothes, holding tool bags and some other stuff.

Another deep breath. You open the door.

"Hi," you squeak, immediately hating how high and breathy your voice sounds.

The three men on your doorstep are exactly what you'd expect from a high-end renovation crew, yet somehow more intimidating than you anticipated. Marco--clearly the leader--is tall and broad-shouldered, with olive skin and dark hair styled in that perfectly messy way that probably cost $200. He's wearing a fitted gray Elite Renovations polo that stretches across his chest and a smile that's professionally friendly but with an undercurrent of something else when his eyes meet yours.

Behind him are Luis and Jake. Luis is shorter but powerfully built, with forearms roped with muscle and a neatly trimmed beard. Jake is lanky with a buzz cut, younger than the others, maybe mid-twenties.

"You must be Alice," Marco says, extending his hand. "Marco Vega, lead contractor. These are my guys, Luis and Jake."

You take his hand, yours completely disappearing in his grip. "Nice to meet you," you manage, stepping back to let them in.

"Nice place," Jake comments, looking around the apartment with appreciative eyes.

"Thanks," you say automatically, then add, "It's not mine. I mean, I'm just staying here while Veronica--Ms. Valentine--is away."

Marco sets down his bag, his eyes doing a quick sweep of your body--professional assessment or male appraisal, you can't tell. "Ms. Valentine briefed me on the project, but we have a few decisions to make before we start demolition."

"Decisions?" you echo weakly.

"Marble selection, fixture finishes, that kind of thing." He pulls out a tablet. "She mentioned you'd be our point of contact while she's traveling."

Shit. Veronica definitely did not mention this part.

"I, um, I don't know anything about bathroom renovations," you admit.

Marco chuckles, the sound surprisingly warm. "Don't worry. We just need someone to sign off on a few details. Ms. Valentine gave us most of the specs."

Luis and Jake are already moving toward the master bathroom, carrying tool bags and what looks like protective floor covering.

"We'll need to take some measurements before we start," Marco explains, gesturing for you to follow. "Then we can show you the material samples and get your input."

You trail after him, uncomfortably aware of your jeans clinging to every curve. The band t-shirt suddenly feels too thin, too revealing, despite covering you completely. Marco holds the bathroom door open, and you have to turn sideways to avoid brushing against him as you pass--a maneuver made more complicated by your new proportions.

The master bathroom is already being transformed into a work zone. Jake is laying protective plastic over the marble floors while Luis takes measurements of the shower enclosure.

"So the main changes will be replacing the tub with a soaking tub, expanding the shower, and installing heated floors," Marco explains, consulting his tablet. "We're also upgrading all fixtures to brushed gold, per Ms. Valentine's request."

You nod as if any of this matters to you.

"The big decision is the marble selection," he continues, setting a sample board on the counter. "Ms. Valentine narrowed it down to these three options for the shower walls, but wanted final approval on-site."

The sample board shows three nearly identical slabs of white marble with different gray veining patterns. They all look exactly the same to you.

"They're... nice?" you offer helplessly.

Marco smiles, seemingly amused by your confusion. "The main difference is in the veining pattern. This one--" he points to the first sample, "--has more dramatic movement. This one is more subtle. And this one has those gold flecks Ms. Valentine mentioned liking."

You stare at the samples, trying to channel your inner Veronica. What would she pick? The most expensive one, probably.

"Which one costs the most?" you ask before you can stop yourself.

Marco laughs, a genuine sound that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners. "They're actually all the same price point. It's just aesthetic preference."

Behind you, Luis mutters something to Jake in Spanish. You catch only a few words--"curvas" and something that sounds like "gótica"--but their ensuing chuckles make it clear they're talking about you.

Your cheeks burn. You reach up to point at the sample with gold flecks, stretching slightly. "Maybe this--"

"Nice ink," Jake comments, causing you to freeze mid-gesture.

Your t-shirt sleeve has ridden up, exposing the "DADDY'S LITTLE DISAPPOINTMENT" tattoo on your inner arm. Mortification crashes over you in a hot wave as you quickly lower your arm, tugging the sleeve down.

"Thanks," you mutter, wishing the floor would open up and swallow you whole.

An awkward silence falls. Marco clears his throat. "Why don't we get Ms. Valentine's input directly? I know she's traveling, but maybe a quick video call?"

You seize on this lifeline. "Yes! Great idea. I'll call her."

You retreat to the living room, fumbling with your phone. Thank god she should have landed by now. You tap Veronica's contact and hit FaceTime, praying she answers.

After four rings, her face appears on screen.

"Alex? Everything okay?" She's in what looks like an airport lounge, her hair perfectly styled despite the long flight.

"The contractors are here," you say in a hushed voice, aware of the men still in the bathroom. "They want me to pick marble."

Veronica's expression shifts from concern to amusement. "Put Marco on. I'll tell him exactly what I want."

You carry the phone back to the bathroom where the three men are now discussing something over a blueprint.

"Ms. Valentine wants to talk to you," you say, holding out the phone to Marco.

He takes it, his face lighting up with professional charm. "Ms. Valentine! How was your flight?"

You step back, relieved to be out of the decision-making loop. Marco carries on an animated conversation with Veronica about veining patterns and honed versus polished finishes--details you couldn't care less about.

Luis sidles up beside you while Marco is occupied. "So, you're house-sitting?" His voice is friendly but his eyes linger on your chest a beat too long.

"Yeah," you say, folding your arms across your breasts, which only serves to push them up and together.

"Must be nice," he comments. "Place like this. You friends with Ms. Valentine?"

"Something like that," you mutter.

Jake joins the conversation. "You live in the building?"

"No," you say, then realize you don't have a ready answer for where you do live. "I'm just staying here while she's gone."

"Cool, cool," Jake nods. His eyes drop to your jeans, then back up, not even trying to be subtle. "You like, a model or something? You got that whole goth vibe going."

Your face heats again. "No, I'm a... designer."

"Like fashion?" Luis asks.

"UI/UX," you correct automatically. "User interfaces."

They both look at you blankly.

"I make websites and apps look good and work well," you explain, immediately regretting the oversimplification.

"So you're a computer nerd?" Jake grins. "Wouldn't have guessed that."

Before you can respond, Marco turns back to you, holding out the phone. "Ms. Valentine wants to speak with you again."

You take the phone, grateful for the interruption. Veronica's face fills the screen, her expression a mix of amusement and impatience.

"Having fun, Alice?" she asks, emphasizing your new name.

"Loads," you reply dryly.

"I've given Marco specific instructions. The Calacatta Gold marble for the shower walls, polished finish. Brushed gold fixtures--the Kohler Purist line, not the Artifacts. And I want the heated floor system extended into the water closet area."

You nod as if any of this matters to you.

"Oh, and Alice?" Her voice drops lower. "Maybe put on something less... revealing? Your nipples are practically poking through that shirt."

You glance down in horror to see that she's right--the air conditioning has made your nipples harden, creating two distinct points against the thin fabric of your band t-shirt.

"I'll call you later to check in," Veronica adds with a smirk before hanging up.

You turn back to find all three men studiously avoiding looking at you--which somehow makes it worse than if they were openly staring.

"I'm going to change," you announce to no one in particular, fleeing to the bedroom.

In the walk-in closet, you frantically grab the hoodie and sweatpants Veronica showed you earlier. You peel off the tight jeans, relieved to be free of their constrictive embrace, and pull on the soft sweatpants. They sit low on your hips, the drawstring barely containing your new curves.

The hoodie is oversized, but even so, your breasts create a distinct tent in the fabric. Better than nothing. You zip it up and return to the bathroom, where demolition preparations are now underway.

Marco looks up as you enter. "Perfect timing. We're ready to start removing the fixtures. It'll get noisy, so you might want to work in another part of the apartment."

"Right, good idea," you agree, eager to escape.

As you turn to leave, you hear Luis mutter to Jake, "Damn, girl is THI-ICC."

Jake's response is too low to hear clearly, but you catch a chuckle.

Your face burning, you retreat to your office and close the door. The sound of tools and male voices filters through the walls as you sink into your chair, adjusting it again for your new height.

You stare at your computer screen, the checkout interface still open in Figma. The design problems that seemed so engaging earlier now feel distant and unimportant compared to the immediate crisis of navigating the next few hours with three strange men in the apartment.

Your phone buzzes with a text from Veronica:

Veronica: How's it going with the hot contractor crew? ???? Marco's arms, right? Just kidding! Don't make any decisions without calling me first. Bathroom is going to be AMAZING.

You type back:

You: It's awkward as hell.

Veronica: Of course they are, you're hot AF. Just stay out of their way and let them work. And DON'T flirt!

You: AS IF! I can barely make eye contact!

Veronica: Gotta board my connection. Don't let them overcharge for anything! Love you! ????

You set your phone down with a sigh. The drilling from the bathroom intensifies, joined by the sound of something heavy being dragged across the floor. You try to focus on your work, but your mind keeps drifting to the awareness of strangers in the apartment--strangers who see you not as Alex, the laid-off UI designer, but as Alice, the hot goth girl with jumbo titties.

A knock at your office door makes you jump.

"Sorry to bother you," Marco says when you open it. "Do you know if Ms. Valentine keeps any additional towels? We need to cover the vanity."

"Um, linen closet in the hall," you say, pointing.

He nods, his eyes briefly dropping to where your hoodie fails to disguise your chest. "Thanks. We'll be done with the demo by three, then we'll clean up and be out of your hair until tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?"

"It's a five-day job," Marco explains. "Demo today, plumbing rough-in tomorrow, tile on day three, fixtures on day four, final details on day five. Ms. Valentine approved the schedule last week."

Of course she did. Five days of contractors in the apartment while you're trapped in this body.

"Great," you say with forced enthusiasm. "Can't wait to see it come together."

Marco's professional smile warms slightly. "We'll try to stay out of your way as much as possible. I know having workers in your space can be disruptive."

"It's fine," you assure him, though it's anything but. "I'll just be working in here."

He nods and turns to go, then pauses. "By the way, I love your shirt. The Sisters of Mercy, right? 'Temple of Love' was my gateway song."

You glance down at your chest--now covered by the hoodie--remembering the band shirt underneath. Veronica must have included it in your goth girl wardrobe.

"Thanks," you say, having no idea who The Sisters of Mercy are or what 'Temple of Love' sounds like.

"Classic," Marco grins. "You don't see many real goths anymore. It's refreshing."

He heads to the linen closet, leaving you standing in the doorway, confused by the unexpected moment of connection over music you've never heard.

You close your office door again and sink back into your chair. Five days of this. Five days of navigating this new body, this new identity, while strange men invade your space.

You open Spotify and search for The Sisters of Mercy. Might as well know what's on your own shirt.

---

When the contractors finally pack up for the day, you collapse onto the couch with a mixture of relief and lingering humiliation. The renovation plans look impressive on paper--Veronica's taste is impeccable, even if her timing is catastrophic--but right now all you care about is that they're gone.

Marco was the last to leave, pausing at the door with his tablet tucked under his muscular arm. "We'll be back at 8 tomorrow. Veronica gave us the entry code."

"Great," you replied weakly, forcing a smile that felt more like a grimace.

As they filed out, Luis muttered something to Jake that wasn't meant for your ears but carried anyway: "Did you see those tattoos? Definitely the submissive type."

Now, alone in the apartment, you curl your legs up underneath you on the couch, still not used to how they fold differently--thighs squishing together, ass spreading wider against the cushions. Your phone buzzes with a text from Veronica:

Veronica: Made it to the hotel! ✨ How'd it go with the contractors?

You type back:

You: Humiliating. They treated me like I was some clueless bimbo. One of them saw my tattoo and said something about me being "submissive."

The phone immediately rings--Veronica calling rather than texting back. You hesitate before answering.

"Hey," you say, still not used to how high your voice sounds.

"Those assholes," Veronica says, but there's a hint of amusement in her voice. "Which tattoo did they see? Please tell me it wasn't the property one."

"No, the 'daddy's little disappointment' one on my arm. My sleeve rode up."

Veronica's laugh is warm, genuine. "Oh babe, I'm sorry. That IS funny though."

"Easy for you to say," you grumble. "You're not the one stuck in this body with a bunch of construction bros eyeing you like you're on the menu."

"Were they cute at least?"

"Veronica!"

"Just kidding! Mostly." She chuckles. "Seriously though, are you okay?"

You sigh, sinking deeper into the couch. "I guess. It was just... weird. They kept looking at me when they thought I wasn't paying attention. And everything they said felt condescending."

"Welcome to being a woman, baby," Veronica says, her voice softening. "Look, I just checked into my room. Let me set up my laptop and we can FaceTime instead? I want to see you."

Five minutes later, your laptop pings with an incoming call. You accept, and Veronica's face fills the screen--perfectly made up despite her travel day, hair falling in glossy waves around her shoulders.

"There's my girl," she says with a grin. "Let me see the whole look."

You angle the laptop back to give her a view of your full outfit--still in the band tee and tight jeans, having shed the hoodie once the contractors left.

"Not bad," she assesses. "Those tits look massive in that shirt. No wonder they were staring."

You cross your arms over your chest, face heating. "Can we talk about something else?"

Veronica's expression shifts to something more sympathetic. "Hey, I really am sorry if today was rough. I should have told you about the contractors earlier."

"Yeah, you should have," you agree, still irritated.

She purses her lips, seeming to consider her next words carefully. "I know. I fucked up. But look, I've got a solution that will make you feel better."

"What, are you going to fire them and hire an all-female crew?" you ask sarcastically.

"No," she laughs, "I'm going to help you cum."

Your eyes widen. "What?"

Veronica sets her laptop down and stands up, the camera capturing her as she begins unbuttoning her blouse. "Have you played with your new equipment yet?"

"No! Jesus, Veronica, I've been a little busy trying not to die of embarrassment!"

"That's your problem," she says, shrugging off her blouse to reveal a black lace bra that makes your mouth go dry despite yourself. "You need to release some tension. I always have an orgasm before big client dinners--keeps me from being bitchy."

"You have client dinners tonight?" you ask, trying to focus on anything other than her exposed skin.

"Matsuhisa Group at 8," she confirms, kicking off her heels. "Which means I have about an hour to have an orgasm and help you have one too."

You shift uncomfortably, suddenly aware of a strange sensation between your legs--a warm tingle that seems to pulse in time with your heartbeat.

"I can't--" you start, but Veronica cuts you off.

"Yes, you can. Remember that black vibrator I gave you? Go get it. It's in the nightstand."

You hesitate, but the authoritative tone in her voice compels you to comply. You retrieve the sleek black device from the drawer where you'd shoved it, embarrassed, and return to the couch.

"I've got mine too," Veronica says, holding up a rose gold vibrator that looks like an expensive piece of tech. "Mine's from LELO. Cost me $300. Yours is the Hitachi knock-off I got you--more powerful, less finesse."

She sets her laptop on the bed and adjusts the angle, then sits down in just her bra and underwear--matching black lace that looks painted on her perfect body.

"Now," she instructs, "take off those jeans. They look uncomfortable as hell anyway."

Your face burns. "Are we really doing this?"

"Yes," she says firmly. "I need to cum before this dinner, and you clearly need to release some tension after your day with the contractors. Two birds, one stone."

You stand up and awkwardly shimmy out of the tight jeans, nearly losing your balance as they catch around your ankles. Your t-shirt is long enough to cover your panties, barely.

"The shirt too," Veronica directs, unhooking her own bra. "I want to see all of you."

Your hands shake slightly as you pull the t-shirt over your head, leaving you in just your sports bra and black panties. The cool air hits your exposed skin, raising goosebumps.

"God, those are magnificent," Veronica says appreciatively, eyes fixed on your compressed breasts. "Take the bra off too. They need to breathe after being stuffed in there all day."

You hesitate, then reach behind to unhook the sports bra. Veronica laughs as you fumble with it.

"Front clasp, babe. Between those gorgeous tits of yours."

You find the clasp and undo it. The release of pressure is immediate and intense--your breasts literally fall out of the confines with a distinct PLAP-PLAP sound, swinging heavily against your ribcage before settling into their natural pendulous state. The sudden freedom makes you gasp, the weight of them pulling at your chest muscles in a way that's both relief and strain.

"Holy shit," Veronica whispers, eyes wide. "They're so fucking big."

You look down, cradling one. They're massive, pale orbs that seem to glow white in contrast to the dark room. Where they've been compressed all day, red pressure marks ring the underside of each breast. A light sheen of sweat glistens in the valley between them.

"They're sweaty," you mutter, embarrassed.

"Of course they are," Veronica says matter-of-factly. "Tits sweat. Especially in a sports bra. It's normal."

She stands up to slide her panties down her long, toned legs. The camera angle captures every perfect curve--her flat stomach, the neat triangle between her legs, her taut thighs.

"Your turn," she prompts, settling back on the bed.

You hook your thumbs into your panties and slowly peel them down, oddly shy despite the fact this is technically your girlfriend seeing your naked body.

"Spread your legs a little," Veronica instructs as you sit back down. "I want to see what I got you."

Your face burns hotter as you comply, knees falling open slightly.

"More," she encourages. "Don't be shy. I need to see what we're working with if I'm going to talk you through this."

You spread your legs wider, feeling exposed and vulnerable in a way you've never experienced before. The cool air hits your new anatomy, creating an unfamiliar sensation.

"Bring the laptop closer," Veronica directs. "Between your legs."

You adjust the screen, angling it up from between your spread thighs so Veronica has a direct view of your new pussy while you can still see her face.

"Mmm, I got you a nice one," she hums appreciatively. "Your lips are really puffy--much puffier than mine. And look how pink it is against your pale skin! Do you see how it's already getting wet? That little gleam between your folds?"

You glance down, totally mortified to realize she's right--there's a slickness gathering between your labia, catching the light from the screen.

"I'm not--" you start to protest.

"It's okay," Veronica soothes. "It's normal. X-Change bodies usually get super wet at first, as you're getting used to the hormones. Touch yourself."

You hesitantly bring your hand between your legs, fingers hovering over your new anatomy.

"Put your middle finger right at the opening," Veronica instructs, demonstrating on herself. "Just feel how wet you are."

You do as she says, and are shocked by the slippery heat that greets your fingertip. It's like nothing you've ever felt before--soft, silky, and incredibly, embarrassingly wet.

"Wait," Veronica says suddenly, her tone shifting. "Let me see your face."

You angle the laptop up, confused by the interruption.

Her eyes narrow, a slow, predatory smile spreading across her lips. "You know what I just realized? Those contractors were right about you."

"What are you talking about?" you ask, heat creeping up your neck.

"That you're the submissive type," she purrs, her voice dropping an octave. "Look at you--flushed, embarrassed, waiting for me to tell you what to do with your own body." Her smile widens. "I wonder if that's just the female hormones... or if you've always been this obedient?"

"Fuck you," you snap, genuinely annoyed. "I'm not--"

"Oh?" She arches one perfect eyebrow. "Then why are your thighs still spread for me? Why are your nipples hard? Why is your pussy visibly dripping on my expensive couch?"

You move to close your legs, but she makes a sharp sound.

"Don't. Keep them open." Her voice is steel wrapped in velvet. "You know what? I think I want to play a little game. Since everyone thinks you're so submissive in that body, let's find out if they're right."

The authority in her voice sends an electric current straight between your legs. You hate that your body responds this way--a fresh gush of wetness that you can actually feel seeping out.

"I'm not playing games, Veronica," you protest weakly.

She dangles something small and glinting in front of the camera--the reversal pill, still in its vial, now hanging from her locket chain.

"Remember this? Your ticket back to manhood?" Her smile is wicked. "I could flush it right now if I wanted to. One little tug, down the toilet, and you'd be stuck with those fat tits and wet pussy forever."

Your heart pounds. "You wouldn't."

"I wouldn't," she agrees, tucking the vial back between her breasts. "Because I'm a good girlfriend. But it's funny how complete my control over you is right now, isn't it?"

The realization hits you like a physical blow. She's right--she has total power over your body, your future, your identity.

"Now," she continues, her voice dropping to a sultry command, "let's try this again. Pick up that vibrator."

You comply, fingers trembling slightly as you lift the sleek black device.

"Good girl," she purrs, the praise sending another jolt between your legs. "God, your face when I said that--you LIKED it, didn't you? Being called a good girl?"

"No," you lie, but your cheeks betray you, burning hotter.

"Liar," she laughs. "Your whole chest is flushing. Look at that--those big pale tits are turning pink. Arousal looks good on you, Alice."

She positions her own vibrator between her legs, the rose gold device gleaming against her tan skin. "Turn yours on. Lowest setting first."

You press the button, and the device comes to life with a soft hum. The vibration travels up your arm, making your oversized breasts jiggle slightly from just that minimal movement.

"Hold it against your thigh first," Veronica instructs. "Get used to the sensation. Then we'll move it where it really counts."

You press the vibrator against your inner thigh, the buzzing creating a strange tingling that radiates outward. It's... nice.

"Now, move it higher," she directs. "But don't touch your pussy yet. Tease yourself. Run it along the crease where your thigh meets your lips."

As you follow her instructions, Veronica positions her own vibrator, letting out a soft moan that makes your mouth go dry.

"Look at me, Alice," she commands. "Look at your girlfriend pleasuring herself while you just watch and drip. Is this what you imagined when you agreed to take that pill? Being a helpless little goth girl with your legs spread, showing your wet cunt to your girlfriend?"

"Jesus, Veronica," you gasp, shocked by her crude language.

"What?" she grins wickedly. "Don't like your girlfriend talking dirty to her submissive little toy? Because that's what you are right now--my toy. My cute little goth doll to play with."

There's something in her voice--a raw edge of power--that makes your entire body respond. Your nipples harden painfully, and your pussy throbs with each beat of your heart.

"Now," she says, eyes heavy-lidded with lust, "move the vibrator to your outer lips. Don't go inside yet, and don't touch your clit. Just run it along those puffy lips of yours."

You do as she says, and the effect is immediate and overwhelming. The vibrations against your sensitive labia send shockwaves through your entire pelvis. Your hips jerk involuntarily.

"Oh fuck," you breathe.

"That's it," Veronica encourages, her own vibrator circling lazily. "Now, spread yourself open with your other hand. I want to see everything."

Mortified but aroused beyond reason, you reach down and use two fingers to part your folds, exposing the glistening pink center of your new anatomy.

"Holy shit," Veronica whispers, leaning closer to her screen. "Your clit is massive. Look at that thing--it's like a little pearl, all swollen and ready to be played with."

You glance down, surprised to see she's right. Where you expected something tiny is instead a distinctly pronounced nub, protruding from its hood, visibly engorged.

"That's... normal?" you ask uncertainly.

"It's bigger than mine," Veronica says with a mixture of admiration and jealousy. "Fuck, it's like all your dick nerves got compressed into that one spot. Touch it. Just lightly at first."

You bring the vibrator to your clit, and the world explodes. There's no other way to describe it--a nuclear blast of sensation that makes your back arch and a strangled sound escape your throat. Your entire body convulses.

"TOO MUCH!" you gasp, pulling the vibrator away.

Veronica's laugh is throaty, pleased. "I thought so. Try again, but next to it, not directly on it. Circular motions around it."

You follow her guidance, moving the vibrator in slow circles around but not directly on your hypersensitive clit. The pleasure builds differently this time--less shocking, more layered, a mounting pressure that makes your thighs tremble.

"Look at you," Veronica murmurs, her own movements becoming more focused. "Your tits are bouncing every time you breathe. Your whole chest is flushed pink now. Are you getting close already, baby? Is your little girl-clit that sensitive?"

"I don't--I don't know," you stammer, unfamiliar with the building sensations.

"Your body knows," she says confidently. "See how your hips are rocking? You're fucking yourself against that vibrator. Such a needy little slut in that body."

The degradation should anger you, but instead, it sends another surge of wetness between your legs. The slick sounds of your arousal are audible now, obscenely wet.

"Up the intensity," Veronica commands. "Second setting."

You press the button, and the vibrations intensify. The change wrenches a moan from your throat--a high, feminine sound you've never made before.

"You sound so pretty when you moan," Veronica says, her own breathing becoming labored. "Do it again."

"I can't just--"

"Do. It. Again." Each word is a command.

You let out another moan, this one even higher, more desperate.

"Good girl," she praises. "Now, I want you to dip the vibrator inside, just a little. Get it wet with your juices, then bring it back to your clit."

The moment you slide the vibrator into your opening, a different kind of pleasure radiates outward. It's deeper, hollower--a sense of emptiness being briefly, tantalizingly filled. When you withdraw it, it emerges glistening with your arousal, the wetness making the vibrations feel even more intense as you bring it back to your clit.

"Oh my god," you whimper, head falling back.

"Don't you dare cum yet," Veronica warns. "We're going to finish together, you understand? You don't cum until I say so."

You nod frantically, struggling to hold back the mounting pressure building in your core. It's like nothing you've ever felt before--a gathering storm that seems to occupy your entire lower body, radiating outward in pulsing waves.

Veronica increases her own pace, her free hand moving to pinch one of her nipples roughly. "Look at me, Alice. Eyes on me while you fuck yourself with that vibrator."

Your gazes lock through the screen, creating an intimacy that transcends the digital barrier. Her pupils are dilated, lips parted, cheeks flushed with arousal.

"You're going to cum so hard," she promises, voice ragged. "Your first orgasm as a girl is going to fucking break you. But you don't get to cum until I do, understand? Not until I say so."

The pressure builds to an almost unbearable level. Your thighs shake uncontrollably, and strange, desperate sounds escape your throat. Your free hand moves to your breast, squeezing the soft flesh and feeling how the weight of it fills your palm completely.

"Please," you whimper, not even knowing what you're begging for.

"Not yet," Veronica gasps, her own movements becoming erratic. "Almost. I'm almost there."

Your entire body is drawn tight like a bow, every muscle tense with the effort of holding back. The pleasure has become almost painful in its intensity, your clit throbbing beneath the vibrator's relentless stimulation.

"Veronica, I can't--I'm going to--"

"Wait," she commands, but her voice breaks on the word. "Wait... fuck... okay, NOW. Cum with me, NOW!"

Permission granted, you surrender to the tidal wave of sensation. The orgasm that crashes through you isn't just intense--it's mind-shattering, reality-altering. Your vision actually whites out for a second, your body convulsing as if electrocuted. A keening wail tears from your throat, a sound so feminine and desperate it's barely recognizable as coming from you.

And then it happens--pressure builds and releases in one explosive moment. A gush of liquid erupts from between your legs with a distinct PSSSSHHHHH sound, soaking the couch beneath you in a warm flood.

"HOLY SHIT!" you scream, completely overwhelmed by the dual sensations of the most intense orgasm of your life and the shocking release of fluid.

Through your delirium, you see Veronica's back arching, her mouth open in a silent scream as her own orgasm claims her. Unlike your messier climax, hers is controlled even in its intensity--her body rigid, face contorted in beautiful agony, thighs trembling but nothing squelching or spraying.

As the initial wave passes, aftershocks continue to ripple through your body. Your breathing comes in ragged gasps, your entire frame shaking. The vibrator slips from your grasp, still buzzing against the soaked cushion.

When awareness gradually returns, you're greeted by the sound of Veronica's laughter.

"You fucking SQUIRTED!" she exclaims. "Oh my god, you made such a mess! That was the hottest fucking thing I've ever seen!"

You look down at the dark wet patch spreading beneath you, mortified. "Is that... normal?"

"Fuck, Alex, you soaked the couch!" she says, still catching her breath.

"I--I don't--" you stammer, unsure whether to be embarrassed or proud.

"It was amazing," Veronica assures you, her voice gentling. "You're amazing. How do you feel?"

The question makes you take stock of your body. Your limbs feel heavy, languid, like they're filled with warm honey. The tension that's been knotting your shoulders since the transformation has melted away. Your brain feels fuzzy, pleasantly numb.

"I feel... good," you admit, surprised by the understatement. "Really, really good."

Veronica's smile softens, the dominant persona fading into something more tender. "That's the magic of orgasms. Better than any anxiety medication."

She shifts, reaching for something off-camera, then returns with a robe draped around her shoulders. "Sorry for getting a little intense there," she says, a hint of vulnerability breaking through. "I just... When you said the contractors were calling you submissive, something clicked. I wanted to see if it was true."

"And?" you ask, suddenly shy despite what you've just shared.

"And I think we both discovered something about you," she says with a knowing smile. "But don't worry--it'll be our little secret."

You should be annoyed, but the post-orgasmic glow makes it impossible to summon any negative emotion. "I need to clean up," you say instead, looking at the wet spot beneath you.

"There are waterproof mattress protectors in the linen closet," Veronica says. "I use them during my period sometimes. You might want to put one down before you go to bed tonight."

The casual reference to periods makes you suddenly grateful that at least that aspect of femininity isn't something you'll have to deal with in your two-week adventure.

"Thanks for this," you say, gesturing vaguely between you both. "I actually do feel better."

"Cumming is the best stress reliever," Veronica says sagely. "And now I won't be a bitch at my dinner meeting tonight." She glances at her watch. "Speaking of which, I need to get ready. Will you be okay?"

The question holds more weight than its simplicity suggests. Will you be okay in this new body? In the apartment alone? With the contractors returning tomorrow?

"Yeah," you say, surprised to find you mean it. "I think I will be."

Veronica beams at you. "There's my brave girl," she says, the pet name sending a residual tingle through your oversensitized body. "Call me before bed?"

"Of course."

---

After cleaning up the evidence of your explosive self-discovery session (which required THREE towels and leaving the windows open), you finally collapse in bed with your laptop. You're exhausted but weirdly energized, like your body can't decide whether it wants to pass out or run a marathon.

Maybe multiple orgasms will do that to you. Because yes, after Veronica hung up, you might have experimented a bit more. For science.

Discord is blinking with notifications--all from Devon. Shit. You've been dodging his messages all day, and tomorrow was supposed to be the start of your Epic Gaming Week that you'd planned months ago.

You click on his icon--his usual avatar of some anime girl with impossible proportions and cat ears--and see a flood of messages:

RadicalD3v: yo where u been all day

RadicalD3v: helloooooooo

RadicalD3v: don't tell me veronica made you go with her

RadicalD3v: bruh answer me im staring at like 6 pizza rolls getting cold

RadicalD3v: srsly you better not have bailed on epic gaming week i already told my boss i had covid

You hesitate, fingers hovering over the keyboard. What the hell are you supposed to tell him? The truth seems insane, but lying means turning down the one thing that might actually make this cursed situation bearable--hanging out with your best friend.

AlexMUX: Hey, sorry. Crazy day.

His response is immediate:

RadicalD3v: HE LIVES!!!!!

RadicalD3v: wtf man i thought you died

RadicalD3v: or worse, veronica made you go antique shopping or something

You laugh despite yourself. Devon has never made his feelings about Veronica subtle.

AlexMUX: Something came up. Might need to reschedule our gaming marathon.

RadicalD3v: no fucking way dude we've been planning this for MONTHS

RadicalD3v: i bought a new graphics card specifically for this

RadicalD3v: what could possibly be more important than destroying 12yr olds in warzone

You stare at the screen, trying to formulate a response that doesn't sound completely insane. Before you can type anything, Devon continues:

RadicalD3v: wait

RadicalD3v: did veronica actually make you go with her??

RadicalD3v: bro you are so WHIPPED lmaooooo

AlexMUX: No, I'm not with Veronica.

RadicalD3v: then wtf??

RadicalD3v: are you sick?

RadicalD3v: if you're sick just come over anyway, my immune system is god tier

AlexMUX: It's complicated.

RadicalD3v: uncomplicate it

RadicalD3v: unless you got someone over there?? ????????????

AlexMUX: No! Nothing like that.

RadicalD3v: then what's the big deal??? just tell me what's up

You take a deep breath. Devon is your best friend. If anyone would understand--or at least try to--it would be him. Plus, you could really use someone to talk to who isn't Veronica.

AlexMUX: Promise you won't freak out?

RadicalD3v: uhhh that's literally the worst way to start a convo

RadicalD3v: but fine i promise

RadicalD3v: did you kill someone?? need help hiding a body??

AlexMUX: I took an X-Change pill.

There's a long pause. The typing indicator appears and disappears several times before his response finally comes through:

RadicalD3v: bullshit

AlexMUX: Serious. Veronica asked me to take one while she's gone on her business trip.

RadicalD3v: WHAT

RadicalD3v: THE

RadicalD3v: ACTUAL

RadicalD3v: FUCK?????????

AlexMUX: I know.

RadicalD3v: no fucking way dude

RadicalD3v: you're fucking with me

RadicalD3v: this is some elaborate prank

AlexMUX: It's not a prank.

RadicalD3v: prove it

RadicalD3v: send a pic

AlexMUX: I am NOT sending you a pic.

RadicalD3v: video call then

RadicalD3v: i won't believe this shit until i see it with my own two eyes

You hesitate, pulling the hoodie tighter around yourself. The thought of Devon--your weightlifting buddy, your drinking companion, the guy who's seen you puke after too many tequila shots--seeing you like this makes your stomach knot with anxiety.

AlexMUX: You're going to laugh at me.

RadicalD3v: dude if this is real I'M GOING TO FUCKING KILL VERONICA

RadicalD3v: i'm not gonna laugh

RadicalD3v: okay i might laugh a little but only because this is INSANE

AlexMUX: Fine. But you can't screenshot this or record it or ANYTHING.

RadicalD3v: scout's honor

You hit the video call button before you can overthink it further. There's a momentary connection delay, and then Devon's face appears on screen--scruffy beard, perpetually messy hair, eyes widening as he takes in your appearance.

"Holy. Fucking. SHIT." His voice comes through tinny on your laptop speakers. "You weren't kidding."

You pull the hood tighter around your face, but there's no hiding the fundamental changes--your smaller features, the plumpness of your lips, the way your hoodie tents outward over your chest.

"So... yeah," you say awkwardly, your high voice making Devon's eyes bug out even further.

"Dude, you sound like--I mean--what the FUCK?" He leans closer to his camera. "Is that really you in there?"

"Unfortunately."

"How did this--why would you--" He shakes his head vigorously, like he's trying to reset his brain. "What the ACTUAL FUCK, Alex?"

"It was Veronica's idea," you explain, the words tumbling out in a rush. "She got paranoid about leaving me alone while she's on her trip, and she somehow got it in her head that I'd cheat on her if I stayed a guy, so she gave me an ultimatum: chastity device, X-Change pill, or break up."

Devon's mouth hangs open. "And you picked GENDER SWAP over just telling her to fuck off? Jesus Christ, dude, she's got your balls in her purse literally and figuratively now!"

"She has the reversal pill," you admit. "I have to wait until she gets back to change back."

"SHE TOOK YOUR BALLS AND LOCKED THEM IN A FUCKING SAFE!" Devon explodes, his voice cracking. "That is PSYCHO behavior! I don't care how hot she is!"

"Lower your voice," you hiss, though there's no one around to hear. "It's not that simple."

"It IS that simple! She turned you into a chick because she doesn't trust you! That's like, restraining order level crazy!"

You sigh, tugging at your hoodie strings. "Look, what's done is done. I just need to get through the next two weeks."

Devon runs his hands through his hair, visibly trying to process. "So what, Epic Gaming Week is just canceled? Because Veronica turned you into..." he gestures vaguely at the screen, "whatever the hell this is?"

"I don't know," you admit. "I haven't exactly been in a gaming mood."

"Fuck that!" Devon sits up straighter. "This is exactly when you need gaming the most! Distraction! Plus, I already told everyone at work I had COVID."

"You want to come over and play games while I look like this?" you ask incredulously.

"Why not? It's still you in there, right? Just with..." his eyes drop to where your chest bulges under the hoodie, then quickly dart away. "Different equipment."

"It's weird, Devon."

"It's only weird if we make it weird! Come on, man. Don't let Veronica win by making you hide out alone for two weeks."

You chew your lip--a gesture that feels strangely natural in this body. "I don't know..."

"Look," Devon leans forward, suddenly serious. "You're obviously going through some shit right now. As your best friend, it's literally my job to help you through it. Plus, I'm kind of morbidly curious about this whole situation."

"You just want to see if I'm hot," you accuse.

He has the decency to look offended. "Dude! That's disgusting! You're like a brother to me!" He pauses. "Sister? Whatever. The point is, I'm not attracted to you in any form. I just want to help."

"By playing video games."

"Hell yeah by playing video games! What better therapy is there?"

You consider it. The thought of spending two whole weeks alone in the apartment, with only the renovation crew for human interaction, is pretty bleak. And Devon, for all his faults, has been your friend since college. If anyone can make this situation less terrible, it's probably him.

"I don't know," you hedge. "It might be really awkward."

"More awkward than being alone with your brand new vagina for two weeks?" He raises an eyebrow. "Come on. I'll bring snacks. We can still crush our Elden Ring run like we planned."

The familiar ritual of gaming with Devon does sound appealing. A slice of normalcy in this completely fucked-up situation.

"Let me think about it," you say finally.

Devon groans dramatically. "What's there to think about? It's just me! I've seen you blackout drunk trying to pee in a houseplant. How much worse could this be?"

"You have no idea," you mutter.

"Actually..." Devon's face suddenly lights up with an idea that immediately makes you nervous. "I know how to make this less weird."

"How?" you ask warily.

"What if I took an X-Change pill too? Then we'd be even! Two bros experiencing the female side of life together!"

"Are you serious?"

"Deadly serious! I've always been curious anyway, if I'm being honest." He shrugs. "Plus it would take the pressure off you if I was going through it too."

"Where would you even get a pill on such short notice?"

"Dude, you can literally just buy them at the mall. Like candy. Where have you BEEN?" Devon's eyes are gleaming with the manic energy he usually reserves for all-night gaming sessions. "Come on, it would be an adventure! Think of the stories we could tell someday!"

Part of you is touched by the offer--it's a level of friendship commitment you didn't expect. Another part is horrified at the thought of corrupting Devon too. And a small, shameful part thinks it might actually be fun to have someone to share this bizarre experience with.

"I'll think about it," you repeat.

"Fine, fine." Devon holds up his hands in surrender. "But at least let me come over tomorrow. As my normal self. We can just hang out, no pressure. If it gets too weird, I'll leave."

You weigh your options, suddenly aware of how tired you are. The emotional and physical toll of the day--the contractors, the video call with Veronica, the mind-blowing orgasm(s)--has finally caught up with you.

"I need to sleep on it," you say finally. "I'll text you in the morning."

"That's not a no!" Devon pumps his fist. "I'm taking that as a win."

"It's not a yes either."

"Yet!" He grins. "Seriously though, whatever you decide, I'm here for you. This is some fucked-up shit Veronica pulled, and you shouldn't have to deal with it alone."

His sincerity catches you off guard. For all his crude humor and hyperactive energy, Devon has always had your back.

"Thanks, man," you say softly.

"Don't mention it. That's what friends are for." He pauses. "Even friends who suddenly have massive milkers."

"Aaaand we're done here," you say, moving to end the call.

"Wait!" Devon calls. "Just tell me one thing--does it feel weird to--"

You hit the disconnect button before he can finish the question.

Alone again, you close your laptop and flop back against the pillows, mind racing. Devon coming over could be a disaster or exactly what you need right now. But which is it?

--SUBSCRIBER VOTE--

Option 1: No Visitors - Tell Devon you'd rather not have anyone over until you're back to normal. Gaming can wait. You're not ready for anyone to see you like this, even your best friend. It would be too humiliating, and who knows if he'd actually be cool about it or make you feel worse?

Option 2: X-Change Condition - Tell Devon he can only come over if he takes X-Change too. Misery loves company, and it would be easier to deal with this if you weren't the only one experiencing it. Plus, it might actually be fun to discover this new perspective together. And if he's not willing to do it, then he doesn't get to gawk at you either.

Option 3: Face the Music - Let Devon come over as himself. He's your best friend, and his normalcy might be exactly what you need right now. Yes, it'll be awkward at first, but maybe having someone treat you like regular old Alex will help ground you in this surreal situation. Just make him promise not to be weird about it.