Her Race

You brought up the console, which spun a 3D figure of Cory's brain in the background. It was only for aesthetics, but you liked it anyways. Part of you felt that it made it seem more 'scientifical,' whatever that meant. Opening up a new text document, you typed out the next transformation and read it aloud.

"You are Kori, spelt 'K-O-R-I,' and both of your parents are Okinawan."

Cory paused mid-breath, nearly calling his command a load of interracial-fantasy bullshit. But the visor kept assaulting her cornea, and the colors kept multiplying, and the trance held. She was Kori. Her parents were Japanese immigrants hailing from Okinawa. She was Japanese. The roots of her hair darkened, and what remaining blonde color turned bleach-platinum, as if treated the week before by a cosmetologist. Her skin darkened into a sun-tanned golden brown, leaving tan-marks on her tits and crotch. Apart from the sound of rapidly thickening hair rubbing against her clothes, and the mild bubbling of the hypnosis machine, it was quiet. And that too, faded after a couple seconds.

You stare at her. Nothing really changed, except she looked tan, and obviously Asian. You could still recognize her though---her spiky eyebrows, her gym-girl physique, and her resting bitch face---all still made her distinctly herself. You wondered for a moment if her past parents would still recognize her. Was it possible to make her unrecognizable? Kicking your chair back towards Kori, you read:

"You are Kofi, a Black woman from the Inner Bronx; nine generations of your family have lived in America."

Kori tensed, her muscles flaring as fat rapidly bubbled up in her chest. With the beat of her heart, her chest expanded, stretching her bra and top to the limit. It held for a second, then gave way with a SNAP, sending cotton and polyester fabric flying across the room. Simultaneously, cracks and pops filled the room as soft bone gathered and calcified in her legs, making the chair that held her seem all the more smaller. Her tan skin darkened even further, starting from her face and spreading down to her toes. Her hair frizzed up into an afro, as if someone had sheared a black sheep and glued the wool onto her head. Soon a tall, lanky, and busty Congolese woman lay in that chair, mouth still slack under the induced trance.

All the while, you stood there with your jaw half-open in shock, awe, and horniness. Part of you wanted to stop here and have a fun night with race-changed Cory.

The other half wanted to keep pushing.