Clubwear Craze

"You're kidding me!", Cindy blurted out, practically seething at the fucking game. It was a match the color thingie! It shouldn't even be hard! It must've been fucking- rigged or something. And now she couldn't wear panties, and some other thing, so she'd have to win two rounds! God.

Fine.

Cindy looked over her options. Descriptive Fashion sounded terrifying as hell. The vague ones, her mind suspected, were the most volatile ones. Those, and the innocent-sounding ones, were presumably the worst. So she had no intentions of going for that one. Slippery When Wet also sounded like it had the potential to be real bad - so - no, not that one either. Which just left the first one, which also didn't sound good, but it sounded more like she could imagine what it did - which - well. Fine. That'd be doable. Better the devil you know, and all that....

Cindy clicked the top button, and felt an immediate sense of discomfort - not too dissimilar from what she'd experienced just moments ago, but - definitely different. She felt- she felt yucky. Disgusting. The same kind of nastiness that might come over one when they're feeling ill, or when they'd stuffed themselves with junk food and lazed around just a bit too much. Looking down at herself, she immediately realized what the problem was.

And she knew that the game had delivered as promised.

Her t-shirt was dull as fuck. There was no way she'd let herself be seen in something so- so dull. So lifeless. Ugh. Fuck.

See, she knew that was the work of the fucking game. She knew she should be absolutely fine with wearing a simple fucking t-shirt, but - she also knew that t-shirts were the fucking worst, lest she aggressively went at them with a pair of scissors, then maybe they could be salvaged. Fine. Fuck.

"This fucking game...", Cindy mumbled to herself, practically ripping off the t-shirt she wore, prancing into her bedroom in the nude, opening her wardrobe - which, indeed, as a part of her suspected, now was full of exclusively a single kind of clothing.

Clubwear. Not the modest kind, either. Tube tops, leather micro-shorts, fishnets, dresses with cutouts in them. She took a few moments before she pulled out a dress, at which point a gnawing, rolling feeling of discomfort rolled around in her stomach. She couldn't just wear the dress. She'd have to wear an entire outfit. Because of-fucking-course she did. The fucking app wasn't happy with just forcing her to wear some sexy clothes, it wanted her to really look the part, didn't it? To look like some floozy you'd pick up at a nightclub.

Cindy grabbed a few more items from the wardrobe, and angrily threw on the outfit. It was about as modest as she could justify it without feeling like incredibly uncomfortable. Even this outfit was at the edge of acceptable fashion, but it was better than looking like some floozy. Wandering back into the living room, she gave herself a once-over in the bedroom. This was better. Much better.

Cindy was now wearing a set of shiny black pleather leggings, which hugged her legs tight, the shiny material sucking attention to her actually somewhat long legs. Up top, she now wore a hot purple bustier top, which did, unfortunately, shove her tits up and out a little bit, but otherwise managed to offer her a bit of decency. She'd considered wearing a dress, but - not only did she not really have (nor want...) any dresses long enough to provide much modesty, but she'd also then have nothing covering her perma-bare pussy. Finishing the outfit, of course, she'd slipped into a set of matching purple pumps - shiny ones, of course - with a strap around the ankle to provide some extra stability.

She really did look like she was about to hit the town, if one ignored the lack of makeup and hair. She could've nixed the heels, of course, but-- Then the outfit wouldn't be complete, now would it? But-

This was better.

Undeniably sluttier, but - she could at least wear this without feeling so horrible all the time. She'd just- she'd have to tank the questions for why she was dressed like that when they arrived. If they arrived. She'd just need to win a round, then she could go back to her normal taste in fashion, and no longer look like a high-end escort for hire.

That was doable.

Right?

Cindy's heels clicked and clacked as she made her way towards the couch, gnawing on the inside of her cheek as she fished up her phone. Inside, of course, pixel-Cindy had changed into an outfit that was almost entirely identical to her own, though - somehow it looked sluttier on the pixel-Cindy than the real-Cindy. She felt like a joke. It was 7PM and she looked like she was prepping to head out.

But- At least that was it. She could try the app again, which- seemed like a bit of a gamble. But- then again, what choice did she have? She could wait it out, sure, but there was no way she was showing up to the group meeting tomorrow in a sequined two-piece and platform pumps. Not a single person there would listen to a word she said about feminism if she did it whilst dressed up as the local party-slut.

Cindy looked at her phone, and, with gritted teeth, picked it back up again, setting herself back on the couch. Looking down, she could just barely see the outline of a cameltoe through her pleather leggings. Fuck. Yeah, no - this had to go. There was no way she was going anywhere like this.

And so, Cindy booted up the app once more, and - after a moment of hesitation - tapped the [Play] button in the center, starting a new game. The gacha-y music blared at her whilst she played, matching gems up - and - doing surprisingly well, as it so happens. 94%, 96%, 99%-

[Game Over! Time Ran Out!], the game informed her, alongside a loud klaxon noise. Cindy stomped one of her heels down into the floor.

"Come on! I had it!", she yelled at her phone, pouting like a spoiled brat. The smug little pixel-Cindy smirked back at her, gesturing towards the punishment options.

[Upgrade] Clubwear Craze Lvl. 2

Girl For Hire

Looking Used