Back to business

"Up you get officer Weston," Professor VonNeudman instructs suddenly all brisk efficiency, "this is no time for laying down on the job. Get dressed and report to your Captain. He has a final briefing for you before you begin your assignment. Oh, and needless to say, never mention anything that happens in this room."

You nod dumbly, feeling the **** of his command deep in your core.

With the fog of pleasure slowly fading, you want to launch yourself at the mad old pervert and beat some respect into him. But even just think about harming your body's creator is enough to send your artificial muscles into painful spasms. You can only move freely again once you mentally agree to follow his instructions. He points you to a small pile of what is technically clothing, although lingerie might be a better term for it.

You don the lace thong, PVC micro-mini and spaghetti strap crop top, your new body moving instinctively to make a seductive show of even that simple chore.

Tugging at the thin fabric, you attempt to make yourself decent, only to find your treacherous hands undoing your efforts the second you stop. Candi, it seems, is an exhibitionist and no matter how hard you try you can't fully cover your tits and ass.

Professor VonNeudman watches the whole time, a lustful gleam in his eye that makes you worry he might take the opportunity to play with his new toy again. Grimacing, you **** yourself to again suppress the thought of what you pan to do to the old creep when you get your body back.

Instead, you toss your hair back and flip him the bird as you strut out into the hall, your platform heels marking your passage with a steady metronome click.

It's not until you're out of his sight and around the corner that it really hits you. Stumbling, you brace your self against the wall, feeling dizzy and sick at the disgusting reality of who and what you are now.

"Oh fuck!" you breathe in Candi's baby doll voice, "What the hell do I do now?"