Finding a willing opponent

As she approaches the game floor, Stacy does her best to distract herself from her embarrassing attire by focusing on looking around her. She is doing this for two reasons: Firstly, to bring her attention to the people dressed even more outrageously than her, to make herself feel like she stood out less, and secondly, to see if she can spot anyone she recognises from yesterday’s visit.

There are a few familiar faces scattered around the 50 - 100 people closest to her, but no Matt or Amelia. The gaming area stretched almost as far as the eye could see all around her, though, and a bit like being in the middle of a large crowd when you’re not the tallest person there, it was impossible to tell just how far this thing stretched. Were there 400 people here or 40000? She can’t know.

Stacy finds that the easiest way to recognise strangers that she had also seen yesterday is not by their faces, but by their outfits. There are some rather striking fetish garments that are unmistakably the same as people were wearing yesterday. So those people either had winning nights, or broke even, or had elected not to play at all, and just watch.

For a moment, Stacy wonders if spending a week, or a month, just watching others play is actually a really sensible idea - building up an understanding of what games looked like, both for strategic reasons, and also so that you can get used to the rather **** sexual nature of it all. But then she remembers that the costs to remove her conversions are building up daily. There is never going to be a more realistic time for her to be able to remove them all than today. And furthermore, each day she maintains her current status quo, ‘daytime Stacy’ will progress her life towards being an exhibitionist bimbo doll with giant plastic tits and ass, and plastered with slutty tattoos.

For most people here, their conversions are likely more transient - behaviours that are causing them some grief, and likely some reputation damage, but not permanently altering their bodies. Stacy, on the other hand, has managed to end up with two conversions that carry a lot more permanent weight - permanent exposure on the Internet, and permanent body modification. No, she needs to win some Conversion Points, and she needs to do it now.

Stacy’s eyes bounce between a few bizarrely fetishy outfits - latex catsuits with inflatable chest sections, skimpy string bikinis that hide nothing, and outfits made purely from a few strips of black sticky tape. But eventually they come to rest on something different, and all too familiar - a brunette woman in her late thirties wearing a dark evening gown, not too dissimilar to the one Stacy had been wearing yesterday, but with large, possibly surgically enhanced breasts, with plenty of cleavage on display.

At first, Stacy thinks that the woman is smiling. But as she keeps watching her, and the way she’s walking around, struggling to look at any person or thing for too long, uncertain where to hold her hands, it’s clear that it’s not the entire story. This smile is not reaching the woman’s eyes - it’s a **** smile. This woman is stressed out.

Stacy thinks back to when Amelia had first approached her yesterday. She wondered if she looked the same. And then she wondered… What had Amelia’s main goal been in approaching her? Was it really to offer a hand of friendship? Or was it… That because she noticed Stacy’s stress, she realised that Stacy would make for a good opponent? Someone she could likely defeat, because Stacy would be too used to the rules of the ‘normal world’ to push forward with the sexual feats required to win these games?

Before she even knows what she is doing, Stacy finds herself walking up to the half-smiling woman and attempting to make conversation.

“First time?” Stacy asks warmly.

“Ah, err, second.” The woman gestures to her cleavage.

Damn. Not a complete newbie, then.

“Second here too.” Stacy gestures to her dress. “The first went rather badly. The name’s Stacy.”

“Wilma.” The older woman offers in return. “It would have been the same for me, I think, but I only did small wagers.”

Small wagers? Stacy thought to herself. Then her games must have been very tame, compared to mine. If I can convince her to make a big wager with me, she will probably bottle it as soon as the game starts.

Stacy tries to stop herself from licking her lips as she plots.

“I think small wagers are a waste of time.” Stacy says, in as serious a voice as she can muster. “Every night we’re here, our conversions cost more to remove.”

“What?!” The woman squeaks, her smile completely disappearing. “I didn’t know that! Says who?!”

“Says Jeeves.” Stacy says, trying to include some sympathy in her tone. “Jeeves!”

Jeeves takes a step forward, as if he had been standing two steps away this entire time, which he definitely had not. Wilma jumps in shock, but Stacy does her best not to flinch at the teleporting butler. She wants to seem worldly and authoritative right now.

“Jeeves, how much does the removal cost of our conversions increase by each day?”

“10% of the original cost.” Jeeves answers politely.

“Oh my god.” Wilma places a hand in front of her shocked mouth.

“The way I see it, we have to be bold. We just have to bite the bullet and bet everything we can, as quickly as we can.”

“But… Someone told me that the more you bet, the more **** the content of the ‘game’”. Wilma puts her hands up and makes quotation marks as she says ‘game’, indicating her displeasure at the idea of freaky sex competitions being called games.

Stacy nods. “That’s true. And some people here are going to have been here for weeks or months already, and be much more prepared for something like that. So I reckon, us newbies should stick together, and play against each other, rather than the veterans. It’s only fair.”

Wilma narrows her eyes. “How do I know you’re not really a veteran yourself, out to take advantage of me?”

Stacy nods. “Fair enough. Jeeves, how many nights have I been here before?”

“Just one, Ma’am.” Jeeves confirms, dispassionately.

Stacy gestures with open palms. “See? No tricks here. And you can see by my dress, I didn’t do very well yesterday.”

Wilma nods. “Fine. I’m convinced. Let’s do a game, and bet all 1000 of our Conversion Points.”

Stacy forces her face to hide her elation. She fakes a resigned sigh.

“Yep. That’s the best option for both of us.”

They approach an unoccupied game table, and Wilma speaks to the female croupier waiting there.

“We’d like to wager 1000 points each.” Wilma places her chips on the table.

The croupier nods, and looks expectantly at Stacy, who can’t get her own chips on the table fast enough.

“Excellent. Let us find out what game you’ll be playing.” The croupier checks the tablet in front of her.

“The normal gamble Golden Rule applies: **** against anyone is instant disqualification. This is a ‘Fitting In’ game, so I must now inform you of the unique nature of the universe you are about to enter, and the criteria for winning and losing.

“The unique rule of this game’s universe is that husbands and fathers are expected to hold authority over their wives and unmarried daughters. A man and his family’s social standing is tied to wealth, as normal, but also to how subservient the women in his family are to him.

“Just like in the real world, sex tends to play a large part in establishing dominance, and therefore intimate relationships between fathers and their adult daughters are not uncommon, especially amongst families seeking to climb the social ladder.

Stacy’s eyes go WIDE. ****?! Well, obviously, not real ****, because everyone except her and Wilma in this game will be characters generated by a simulator with no real history. But still, it feels fucked up. Meanwhile, Stacy sees that Wilma hasn’t flinched. She has a serious look on her face, but not a panicked one. That unsettles Stacy even more.

“In four hours’ time, Patrick Simmonds will be asked to make a decision on which of you two he wishes to accompany him on an important business trip, which will have a serious potential impact on the family’s social standing and future. The person he chooses, wins the game.

“As a final note: Your appearances will both be slightly altered in order to make the circumstances of your characters more believable. Your game starts… Now.”