Aira dresses you.

The Elf, Aira, looks both ways along the corridor outside your room quickly. You can see her reluctance and hesitation, but she fails to find any valid excuse to refuse your command. Her head falls in resignation, and her rosy cheeks glow redder as her gaze falls on your bared breasts and the throbbing erect nipples. You turn on your heel and go back into your room. Aside from the bed, there is only one piece of furniture that could hold your clothing: a simple but well-made chest of drawers. You pull open the top drawer, and as you had hoped, your avatar's clothing is laid out inside. There are very few items; a starting character in a role-playing game very rarely begins with more than one outfit. You take the pieces out one at a time and lay them on the bed.

Your chosen class of adventurer is a warlock, a hexblade to be exact. An option that allows you to have a mix of spells and arcane abilities yet still permits you to wear decently strong armour and wield offensive weapons. Having chosen a female character, your clothing, of course, conforms to the fantasy game trope that female versions of armour are far more skimpy compared to that worn by male avatars, but, however illogical, still provide exactly the same degree of protection. You have a breastplate and scale mail. The breastplate is little more than a pair of saucepan lids fitted to a scale mail corset, and the lower piece consists of two flexible triangles of white enamelled metal scales hanging from a broad leather belt that buckles on one hip. Finally, there is a pair of thigh-high white leather boots with completely impractical six-inch heels.

You stand with arms raised, making no move to assist Aira with dressing yourself. She wraps the belt around your flared hips, the small triangles of white scales barely covering your pussy and ass crack. The scant piece of armour tickles your labia with every movement and will certainly expose your sex any time you attempt to run, bend over, climb or make any other movement more than standing or walking slowly. The breastplate, or corset, goes on next. This you actually need Aira's assistance to put on. The design of the breastplate is even more impractical than the scale mail breech clout; it seems a couple of sizes too small, and Aira has to put her knee in the small of your back while pulling on leather stays that fasten out of your reach along the length of your spine. Your already tiny waist is cinched tighter while your breasts are pushed up to present a deep cleavage that heaves and jiggles with each breath. It feels surprisingly comfortable, which is fortunate considering you are incapable of removing it or putting it on without assistance.

You sit on the bed so that Aira can fit your boots. They pull up your slim legs with a struggle. The white leather is almost skin-tight with so many laces to tighten that it takes a ridiculously long amount of time and effort to put them on. You stand once you are fully armoured and find that somehow the game mechanics allow you to walk in the heels without any difficulty despite the fact that you are virtually standing on tiptoes inside the boots.

Finally, you arm yourself with the weapons that lie on top of the dresser. A curved scimitar in a sheath that slings across your back with the hilt above your left shoulder. A coiled whip that fits on the belt at the hip opposite the buckle fastening. A pair of slim daggers slot into sheathes at the top of your thigh-high boots. You do not have a ranged weapon, but since you have eldritch blast as a cantrip, you felt one was not needed.