An upgrade to Sales

Elizabeth paused in the corridor, her fingers still fidgeting with the hem of her turtleneck as the HR door clicked shut behind them, the transformed team's eager voices fading into a muffled hum. She glanced up at Peter with those wide brown eyes, a shy smile tugging at her lips despite the faint flush lingering on her cheeks. "Well, since we're already in this wing, maybe Sales next? They're just around the corner—super close, and honestly, it'd be a smoother transition after... all that energy in HR."

Peter nodded absently, his mind already whirring, but curiosity—and a spark of suspicion—piqued as they turned the hall. "How many in Sales these days? Big team?"

Her steps slowed a touch, heels clicking softer on the linoleum as she adjusted her glasses, the motion pulling her turtleneck taut once more. "Oh, um, not as big as before. The new initiative slimmed them down—from fifteen to just five now. But don't worry, Peter—these five women are absolute pros at what they do. They close deals like nobody's business, keep the clients happy... really efficient."

The words hit like a jolt—the "new initiative." Peter's jaw tightened subtly, memories flashing of his bombed interview, the subtle dismissal, the all-female push that had quietly edged out men like him from the running. This slimdown? It screamed of that same agenda, gutting the department under the guise of efficiency. No, that wouldn't do—not if he was reshaping this place into something truly effective, a powerhouse where skills trumped biases. Sales needed to thrive, not limp along with a skeleton crew handpicked for optics.

As Elizabeth led him toward the frosted door marked "Sales Department," Peter slipped the remote from his pocket again, fingers dancing over the dials with focused intent. He cranked the enhancement settings, layering in a suite of upgrades tailored for a killer Sales team: razor-sharp Communication & Active Listening to read clients like open books; unshakeable Moral Integrity to build trust without sleaze; deep Empathy & Emotional Intelligence for forging genuine connections; masterful Relationship Building to turn one-offs into loyal networks; ironclad Resilience & Persistence to bounce back from rejections; seamless Adaptability for pivoting on a dime; creative Problem-Solving to turn obstacles into opportunities; and killer Negotiation Skills to seal deals with finesse.

For the hard skills, he amped up Product & Market Knowledge to make them walking encyclopedias; CRM Proficiency for effortless pipeline management; Time Management & Organization to juggle leads without dropping a ball; Prospecting & Research to hunt down golden opportunities; Data Analysis & Digital Fluency for leveraging insights like pros; and Objection Handling to dismantle barriers with surgical precision.

In his grip the remote hummed faintly as he locked in the not the wide-beam multi-target from before but a continuous target allowing him to move from one target to the next, thumb hovering over the button, adjustments complete just as Elizabeth reached for the door handle.

Nodding thoughtfully at Elizabeth's words, Peter’s fingers lingering on the remote's final adjustments as they approached the Sales Department's glass doors, the hum of voices and ringing phones seeping through. With the settings locked in—enhancements primed to forge a powerhouse team brimming with charisma, integrity, and unyielding drive—he pushed the door open, stepping into the open-plan space where five women worked at their desks, oblivious to the golden storm about to reshape them into the ultimate sales ****.

Standing just inside the doors of the sales office, Peter was unnoticed, a small matte-black remote resting in his palm. Its single golden lens glowed like a cat’s eye in the dark. He pressed the trigger once more, savouring the soft click that sent another spear of molten light streaking across the room.

The beam struck the first woman (nametag: EMILY) dead centre as she bent over her desk. Everything froze. Then her blouse began to lose the fight against what was happening beneath it.

Emily gasped, her pen clattering to the carpet. A wave of liquid heat rolled through her body, pooling behind her sternum before surging outward. Her skin prickled as if dusted with warm gold leaf, every pore glowing faintly. The modest white blouse she’d worn that morning tightened across her shoulders, the fabric straining as her posture straightened involuntarily, spine arching with impossible elegance.

Her chest was next. The gentle, professional curve she usually kept tastefully hidden beneath cardigans and high necklines began to swell, slow at first, then faster, fuller, rounder, until the buttons of her blouse surrendered one by one with soft pops that echoed like gunshots in the stunned silence of the office. Black fabric (where had that come from?) replaced the white cotton, stretching, pressing against, plunging into a daring V that framed the new, breathtaking weight of her breasts. The material hugged her like it had been tailored by a lover who knew every secret inch of her skin.

Her hair came alive next, loosening from its sensible low ponytail in a cascade of dark silk shot through with warm caramel highlights that hadn’t existed moments ago. The strands lengthened, curled, framed a face that was still Emily’s (same dark eyes, same faint scatter of freckles across the bridge of her nose) but sharpened, refined, impossibly polished. Lips plumped into a soft, perpetual half-smile; cheekbones lifted; lashes thickened until each blink felt like the flutter of raven wings.

Peter’s thumb hovered over the trigger again. He tilted his head, scanning the frozen tableau for the next tag.

SARAH.

It slid across the open-plan office, lazy and deliberate, leaving a ribbon of molten light in its wake. Sarah was halfway out of her chair, mouth open to ask Emily what the hell had just happened, when the beam struck her full in the chest.

The light soaked through her blouse instantly, turning the modest white cotton translucent for a heartbeat before it rewove itself entirely. The fabric darkened to a tailored black blazer, sharp and expensive, falling open over a creamy ivory top that plunged so low it seemed held together only by wishful thinking and a single, delicate knot just beneath her ribs. Her breasts surged forward to fill the new space (fuller, higher, impossibly round), pressing against the soft wrap until the knot strained with every breath and the deep V framed a smooth, golden expanse of cleavage that hadn’t existed seconds earlier.

Her shoulder-length brown hair ignited in a ripple of midnight. Every strand thickened, lengthened, and darkened until glossy black waves spilled down her back and over one shoulder, tousled and perfect. A few strands clung to her newly sharpened cheekbones like they’d been arranged by a stylist who charged by the hour.

Then her lips.

They burned, swelled, darkened to a slick, deep cabernet that looked wet even in the fluorescent office light. The pout was obscene it was plump, glossy, made for slow kisses and whispered promises. Sarah’s tongue touched the lower curve instinctively, tasting cherry and heat, and her eyes (once ordinary hazel) smoked into near-black, lashes lengthening until each blink felt deliberate.

The beam traced the final touches: a thin gold chain settling into the hollow of her throat, its tiny pendant nestling perfectly between her new curves. Then it slipped away, satisfied.

Sarah let out a sift sight (a low, sultry sound that belonged in a penthouse, not a cubicle) and rolled her shoulders back, letting the blazer slide just enough to emphasize everything the light had given her. She glanced down at herself, one crimson-nailed finger brushing the edge of that precarious knot, and a slow, wicked smile curved those impossible lips.

The golden light lingered on her a moment longer, as though admiring its work, then slipped away, already hunting.

Emily watched from across the room, arms folded beneath her transformed chest, lips curved in a small, approving smile.

Sarah turned toward the others, the movement slow and feline, and gave a soft, breathy laugh that didn’t sound like the old Sarah at all.

Two down.

Three to go.

Peter’s eyes narrowed behind the remote, scanning for the next tag.

ASHLEY.

She was still buried in her spreadsheets, glasses reflecting rows of green numbers, blonde hair tucked neatly behind her ears, the top button of her white blouse fastened all the way up like armour.

He didn’t hesitate.

Click.

The golden beam lashed out and punched straight through her sternum.

Ashley’s head snapped back. A strangled gasp tore from her throat as the light flooded her, hot and relentless. Her glasses cracked down the middle, then shattered into glittering dust. The white blouse began to drink the gold, colour bleeding downward in molten streaks until the fabric turned a deep, glossy crimson that clung like liquid latex. The collar dissolved; the placket split wide open, buttons pinging across her keyboard as her chest surged forward (slow, then faster, fuller, heavier) until two perfect, gravity-defying breasts strained the shiny scarlet material to its absolute limit, the neckline plunging so low the inner curves gleamed with a faint sheen of sweat.

Her hair exploded from its sensible tuck, lengthening in thick golden waves that spilled over her shoulders and down her back like molten sunlight. The colour brightened, shifting from office-blonde to a rich, honeyed platinum that caught every reflection in the high-rise windows behind her. Her lips (once pale) flushed a slick, wet red that matched her blouse perfectly, parting in a soft, shocked “oh” that turned into something hungrier.

Ashley’s hands flew to her chest, fingers splaying over the impossible new weight, testing, pressing, marvelling. She rose halfway out of her chair, spine arching, hips rolling forward as if her body already knew how to move in these new proportions.

Emily bit her lip and watched with open appreciation. Sarah let out a low, approving hum. The transformed trio exchanged slow, conspiratorial smiles.

Peter’s thumb brushed the remote again, already searching. until his eyes slid across the floor and locked on the next tag: LILY.

She was standing by the printer, one hand still resting on the warm paper tray, head tilted as she watched Ashley settle back into her chair with that new, predatory grace. Lily’s soft lavender blazer and modest white blouse looked almost innocent now, like tissue paper waiting to be torn open.

Peter lifted the remote.

With a click golden beam leapt, thinner this time, almost playful, striking Lily just beneath her collarbone. She gasped (a small, startled sound) as the light soaked through the fabric and into her skin. Instantly her blazer darkened from pastel lavender to a rich, bright plum, the wool tightening, shrinking, tailoring itself into a perfect hourglass that cinched her waist and flared at the hips. The white blouse beneath lost every button in a single ripple, folding open into a daring halter of snow-white satin that plunged between breasts already beginning their slow, luxurious expansion.

They grew with exquisite patience, fuller, heavier, rounder, until the satin could only just contain them, the fabric gleaming like fresh cream against the deep plum of her jacket. Lily’s breath came faster; her shoulders rolled back involuntarily, offering the new weight forward as though presenting a gift.

Her hair (once a simple chestnut brown) ignited into warm, molten caramel shot through with rose-gold highlights, lengthening in thick, glossy waves that spilled over the plum blazer and down to the small of her back. The strands shimmered with every tiny movement, catching the overhead lights like liquid silk. Her eyes widened, then softened into a sleepy, heavy-lidded gaze framed by lashes that had tripled in length and darkness. Lips parted, plumping into a delicate rose-pink pout that looked perpetually kissed.

The trembling hand Lily lifted to her throat drifted lower, fingertips skating over warm satin and the impossible new curve beneath. A soft, needy moan slipped free half in shock, half half in surrender

Emily’s smirk sharpened into something wicked. Sarah dragged the tip of her tongue across that dark burgundy lip, eyes glittering. From her station, Ashley leaned forward, crimson blouse straining as she drank in every second of the show.

Hips rolling with a rhythm Lily had never owned before, the newly forged vision in plum and satin turned toward the last woman still untouched. The smile that curved her rose-pink mouth was slow, sweet, and merciless with no trace left of the quiet junior analyst who had walked in that morning.

Now there was only one left and as soon Peter's found her his gaze locked on the last nameplate: MADISON.

She stood pressed against the conference-room glass, arms folded hard across her ribs, knuckles white. A single loose strand of hair clung to her damp cheek. Her chest rose and fell in quick, shallow pulls.

Peter pressed the button.

The golden beam flashed, thinner and hotter than before, and punched straight into her sternum.

Madison’s back bowed. A sharp gasp tore out of her as the light poured over her gray suit like molten metal. The wool blazer flared crimson, then liquefied, sliding down her arms in glossy rivulets that hardened instantly into mirror-bright scarlet latex. The fabric shrank, sucking tight against her waist, her hips, her thighs, until every breath made it creak softly. Her white blouse vanished in a shimmer of gold, leaving only a plunging, glossy neckline that dipped lower, lower, as her chest began to rise.

Her breasts swelled in slow, deliberate pulses, pressing outward, rounding, lifting, until the scarlet latex stretched drum-tight across them. The material gleamed like wet paint, reflecting the ceiling lights in perfect, obscene curves. Each breath pushed them higher, fuller, until the edge of the bodice barely clung to the upper swell.

Her hair ripped free of its chignon with a soft snap. Pins scattered across the carpet as the dark strands thickened, darkened further, then spilled down her back in heavy auburn waves. Fresh bangs swept across her forehead in a perfect retro arc, framing eyes that flashed from startled blue to a sharp, icy sapphire. Lashes lengthened, thickened, curled. Her lips parted on a silent cry, then flushed a slick, brazen red that caught the light like fresh gloss.

She staggered forward one step. Scarlet latex heels formed beneath her feet, lifting her higher, forcing her spine into a slow, involuntary arch that thrust her chest forward. Her hands rose, hovered, then settled over the glossy swell of her breasts. Fingers spread wide, testing the impossible weight, the impossible heat. A low laugh rolled out of her throat, husky and brand-new.

Madison’s gaze lifted, found Peter, and held.

She took another step. Then another. The click of those new heels echoed across the silent floor.

Emily leaned back against her desk, arms folded beneath black fabric, lips curved.

Sarah’s tongue traced her burgundy mouth.

Ashley’s crimson nails drummed once on her desktop.

Lily’s plum blazer creaked as she shifted, watching.

Madison stopped just in front of Peter. Close enough that the heat radiating off the latex brushed his shirt. She tilted her head, bangs brushing her lashes, and smiled, slow, wicked, certain.

The remote’s golden lens dimmed, spent.

Five women stood in a loose half-circle around him, breathing in unison, every inch of them gleaming, every curve remade, every gaze locked on the man holding the now-silent device.

Mustering up his confidence Peter tried to give them a wining skirm, "hello girls,' he managed, but Peter felt like he fumbled it his voice comign of a tad too croaky and forceful.