Dressing for the job you want

“Wow… this is a lot more comfortable than I was expecting.”

My voice was teasing as I checked myself out, my confidence peaking higher. It was only natural that Jane’s outfit would match me perfectly, totally covered, absorbed inside her skin. But knowing that and seeing it, feeling it, were two different things.

I did a twirl in front of the mirror, enjoying the sight of her grey jacket on me, appreciating it’s stylish little embellishments such as the metal ornaments engraved with “Stab” on the upper arms. More attractive still was how tightly her shorts hugged my ass, showing off my hips, my thighs, the curve of my butt. I gave it a slap and gasped at the way it jiggled, feeling so hot and slutty.

I pulled back the garter strap connected to my tights, letting it rebound against my skin, the subtle sting from the impact feeling good in a lightly masochistic way. I turned on my heel, walking back before reversing it, checking out my runway model strut, and the powerful way the chunky platform heels changed my posture, emphasizing every inch of my beautiful, newly acquired femininity.

At the bottom of the box had even been surprisingly real looking recreations of Jane’s daggers, appearing hypnotically skillful as I twirled them in my fingers with a level of grace and co-ordination I don’t remember having. I posed in the mirror, re-creating Jane’s moves from her character screen, my tail curling around my thigh in an effortlessly lazy way. I was a little concerned with how naturally I seemed to command it now, but for whatever reason there was an intense, crushing mix of pleasure and embarrassed enjoyment in my heart when I thought about how much I was embodying Jane right now.

“Manager… did you like me so much you decided to wear my skin and become me? So naughty~”

Jane’s voice dripped with seduction as I said it, drilling my reflection with the heat from her “fuck me” eyes, before I started squirming and hugging myself. I rocked on my heels, squeezing myself tight, so embarrassed, so happy, so horny.

“Mhmmfff… oh my God. I really wasn’t expecting this to feel so good. Fuck. I need to cool down and relax.”

I opened the door to my room, stepping out into the cooler air of the hallway outside. At this time, Clarke is probably going to be lost doing gacha dailies or something, so there wasn’t that high a chance of running into him in the kitchen. Still, I was grateful for the floor of the hall being carpeted, as I knew it would help disguise the sound of my heels as I walked closer to his door.

It wasn’t just that aiding my stealth though. It had happened so swiftly, so instinctively, that I had barely noticed, but I was walking different now. There seemed to be some innate knowledge, inbuilt muscle memory honed with experience Jamie didn’t really have, that meant I was walking so quietly now. I wasn’t creeping either, no over the top movements like something from a pantomime; rather, the normal walk I defaulted to in Jane’s skin had just been upgraded, making little sound as I moved.

Being so stealthy… it’s like I’m really her.

The kitchen was quiet, lights off. Normally I’d shine my phone’s flashlight if I went to get water in the night, or just switch on the overhead light any other time. I didn’t feel like I needed to this time, every cupboard and counter top edge and bowl left by the sink seeming clear to me.

This is pretty amazing…

I smirked as I approached the fridge. I’d had an exciting day, full of fun and pushing outside of my comfort zone. I deserved a little treat. I didn’t usually drink soft drinks, generally keeping it to water, but I did always try and keep some cans of Fanta lemon in the fridge. That chilled, bright taste was like a fun reminder of summer, bringing back memories of holidays to Spain, relaxing in the sunshine beside the beach.

“I wonder if it will taste different on Jane’s tongue…?”

I wondered aloud, opening the fridge. I peeked in, looking for a moment before squinting. I reshuffled the contents, moving condiments and leftovers and mince out of the way. I frowned.

Gone… and there’s only one possible suspect.

Clarke. How could he? Stealing my fanta lemon, and the final can, no less.

He must be punished…

My lips curled into a sadistic smirk, a strange confidence overcoming me as I began thinking of all the things I could do to him…