Hangout with Casey

You decide not to waste any more time. You still need to get ready for your hangout, after all! You rush over to your closet to grab clothes, and find that while you have a lot of the same clothes you used to, your wardrobe has been expanded in a world where you have a bit more to flaunt.

You quickly get dressed in a pair of baggy black cargo pants, a grey crop top that squeezes to your breasts and accentuates them more, and an open blue and grey flannel. Your chubby tummy sticks out between the high-waisted cargos and crop top, but it's a good look and you feel nice so you don't mind. You polish off the look with black and white Converse high tops, and strike a few poses in your mirror.

'God, I look fucking good without an ounce of makeup.' You admire your new face, while one of your hands shamelessly reaches up and squeezes a handful of your supple titflesh. You feel amazing, and as you snatch up your leather satchel bag, wallet, phone, and now your keys (you don't notice that you know exactly where they were, you just... knew), you rush out of your room.

"Mom, Pops, I'm gonna go hang with Casey!" You call, and receive two echoing responses from the kitchen and home office.

Rushing outside, you feel giddy all over again at the sight of your car. Your car! Ten minutes ago you didn't even know how to drive one, and now as you unlock it and slip into the driver's seat, you can't help but feel so at home.

You expect to be nervous, but since you made yourself a perfect driver, you calmly start the car and back out onto the road. There's no hesitation or question in your actions as you drive, feeling almost concerningly comfortable behind the wheel.

'Should I tell Case about the app?' You wonder. Casey has been your friend for years, you've been through thick and thin together. If anyone deserves to know about it, it'd be her... but you also understand that this is a lot of power to have, to give someone, and it could be a problem if Casey starts to go a bit overboard with it.

You haven't made up your mind yet when you arrive at Casey's house to pick her up, waving to your friend when she comes rushing out. Casey is about 5'2 and slim but bottomheavy. She has straight, shoulder-length brown hair, olive skin, and brown eyes. She's wearing a plaid black and white jacket and black leggings when she slips into your car.

"No makeup today?" Casey asks.

"Oh- uh, nah. I look good without it, right?" You ask, not realizing you should've worn any. Maybe you're more vain in a world where you grew up curvy?

"Oh totally, girl." Casey grinned, before burying her face in her phone. Your own phone feels heavier in your pocket somehow with the knowledge of what you have on you, what you can do. What you can do to her, if you want, your own intrusive thoughts echo in the back of your head.