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Jojo lay gasping on the mat, her sailor outfit disheveled and damp with sweat and fluids, her small body still trembling from the aftershocks of her orgasm. The Indian Z-girl—Princess, her pendant read—nuzzled against her thigh, panting softly, her dark skin flushed and glistening.

The crowd’s applause thundered around them, but Jojo’s mind was a whirlwind. That was… incredible, she thought, her cheeks burning as she savored the lingering taste on her lips, the way her partner’s clit had throbbed under her tongue.

Jojo wondered who Princess had been before her ill conceived rule creation. Had she been Indian? Had she been a woman? She didn’t know. But the Z-girl was all woman now. Just like her.

She shook off that thought. No! Josh! Remember, you’re Josh. A guy. This isn’t you. You have to get the app back, undo this mess before it’s too late.

But the warmth in her womb from the earlier cum, the electric sensitivity of her swollen nipples brushing against Princess —it all felt so right, so fulfilling. Being Jojo was simple, pleasurable, a life of endless bliss without the weight of decisions. Why fight it? Master’s approval made her heart flutter; losing that would be devastating.

In confusion she shook her head, forcing herself to sit up on wobbly knees. No, focus. Win this. Make master proud so he doesn’t sell you. Then… get the phone. Change it all back.

But her ZZ girl instincts tugged at her, whispering that pleasing Master was everything, that swelling with his babies would be her ultimate joy.

A faint echo of Josh’s voice persisted: You’re not this dim, horny pet. Fight it.

“Excellent performance, Jojo,” her master said, approaching with a proud smile that sent a thrill through her core. It felt so good to be praised by master. He helped her to her feet, his strong hand on her waist making her feel safe, protected. He looked down at her petite form with pride. “You outlasted them all in abandon. High marks across the board.” He adjusted her outfit, his fingers grazing her hardened nipples, and she bit her lip to stifle a moan. The phone was still in his pocket—she could see the bulge. So close, yet untouchable without his permission.

“Thank you, Master,” she murmured, her voice high and breathy, eyes downcast submissively.

Play the part. Be the best Z-girl. For… him. No, for the app. Her pussy clenched at the thought of more, her new needs urging her onward.

She glanced at the other Z-girls being toweled off, some disqualified with stamps on their skin, others eyeing her with awe. She had to keep winning.

“Next up: Paizuri,” the judge announced, gesturing to a row of padded benches where male drones stood erect, their thick cocks glistening with lube. The crowd murmured in excitement, cameras zooming in on the giant screens. Jojo’s heart raced—tit fucking, Master had called it. Her massive, sensitive breasts heaved with each breath, already aching for touch.

I can do this. Josh had been… no… is… a guy. I know what feels good on a cock. But the idea of wrapping her soft, pillowy tits around one, milking it until it erupted… it made her thighs slick with fresh arousal.

Her master led her to the bench, clipping her leash to a hook. “Remember, pet: Squeeze tight, use your mouth if needed. Show them why you’re premium breeding stock.” He patted her ass, and she nodded eagerly, her ZZ submissiveness making obedience feel like ecstasy. The drone assigned to her was tall and muscular, his cock throbbing inches from her face as she knelt, her small hands cupping her heavy breasts.