Round 1 Day 2 - Morning

The sun rose around the hotel, simultaneously through almost every window, and in the dawn light a nude woman gradually awoke to find the bedsheets stuck to her skin with a copious quantity of dried semen. She grumbled sleepily as she tried to get comfortable again, but the growing brightness and the uncomfortable crustiness denied her attempts to return to sleep. She wriggled and arched her back in a big stretch that thrust her small breasts up and out, then her ears twitched around to track and identify the many tiny noises that surrounded her.

“Mrow?” April trilled to the empty room, sitting up and assessing her situation. She was in the Harem Hotel, she remembered. She was alone because her roommate had spent the night with her husband instead. She was sticky because...

“Oh no,” she whispered, aghast, as she took in the state of the bed. The red sheets were very obviously stained with white splodges exactly where her crotch was while sitting up. She grimaced, screwed her eyes into a tight squint as she peeled them away from her body to look underneath, then winced and slammed the sheets back down. It was even worse underneath.

April’s ears pressed flat to her head and her brown cheeks burned pink. She’d already been a little turned on yesterday evening from imagining what Sarah might have been up to in the master suite, and her whim to spend the night naked hadn’t helped. Then she'd let herself get carried away after finding her phone, tucked away in the bedside table just like Eleanor had said, and spent far too long exploring the kinds of websites that were available on the Hotel’s network. She should really have gone to get some tissues at least, but she’d been distracted by a livestream of three women raising money for some kind of plush toy charity on another season, and once she’d started she couldn’t summon the willpower to stop.

She glanced at the shower, visible through the large glass window. At least she could get herself cleaned up without worrying about her roommate seeing her naked, but how often did the bedding get cleaned? Her eyes went wide and snapped back to the stains, and her tail shot up straight behind her with the fur puffed out. Her roommate. If Sarah came back and saw this, she’d know exactly what had happened. She’d know April was a pervert who took advantage of her night alone to masturbate messily and repeatedly. Her gaze flicked down to the tent which had sprung up in her lap as she imagined exactly how that confrontation would go.

“Oh, go away,” she grumbled at it, still blushing hard, “This is your fault in the first place. Real girls don't have to worry about this.”

The tent twitched in reply, reacting to the self-degradation. April hid her face in her hands and quietly screamed in horny embarrassment.

---

The sun didn’t rise in the Sci-Fi room, or if it did then it was too impossibly distant from the window that looked out onto space to make a difference to the light levels. Instead, the panels in the ceiling began a slow glow, ramping up intensity in an artificial dawn that kept exact pace with the rest of the Hotel.

Grace groaned sleepily as the simulated sun roused her from her slumber, then tried to roll over and bury her head in a pillow that wasn't there only to end up slowly rotating in the antigravity of the high-tech bed. She huffed in frustration, rubbed her eyes, then opened them to see a muscular back and a pair of broad shoulders spin into view. She screamed.

Emma hit the ground with a thud, adrenaline zapping her body awake as her brain desperately tried to catch up with the waking world. She was on the floor. Her backside hurt, but nothing major seemed damaged. Something had shoved her out of bed. She looked up. Grace was still floating there, her ludicrously long ginger hair sticking out in all directions, thrashing and writhing under its own power, with the woman herself curled up somewhere in the middle of it all.

“I'm sorry,” Grace whispered in a thin gasp.

“Nightmare?” Emma asked groggily as she pieced together what had happened. She grunted as she picked herself up off the ground, sore but uninjured, then paused as she made eye contact. The green orbs peering back from behind the defensive barrier of hair were wide, feral, and afraid. “...really bad nightmare?”

Grace swallowed hard in between shaky breaths. “Something like that,” she forced out. She clutched the hem of her oversized sleep shirt where it gathered below her knees, and pulled at it until she felt the seam start to give a little.

“Want to talk about it?” Emma offered awkwardly.

“No,” Grace answered quickly and quietly, “Living it once was plenty.”

The blonde drew in a sharp breath, and looked around as though seeking something that might help her work out what to do, but the sterile room held no comfort and no answers. She was on her own for this, trying to figure out what her roommate needed from her.

“You don’t mean living it in your dreams, do you?” she tried. She got no answer, but for some reason she felt the need to try again. “Did something bad happen to you?”

Furious hair whipped around, lashing out aggressively even though there was nothing within its reach. In the middle of the angry chaos, Grace squeezed her eyes shut and buried her face in her knees.

“Okay,” Emma said slowly and calmly, with the tone of someone trying to pull the thorn from a lion’s paw, “I know I probably can’t fix this, but let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”

“Thanks,” came the muffled, breathless reply, “Just give me a minute. Please.”

“Alone?”

The hair shifted enough to indicate that the head it was connected to had nodded.

“Alright, I’ll just be in the bathroom then,” she said, backing away, “Shout if you need me.”

Grace heard the bathroom door slide open, then closed, then the sound of running water. She focused on her breathing: slow, ordinary breaths. Not fast, not deep, no matter how much she felt like she was suffocating. Gradually, her heart rate began to return to normal.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled to the closed door.

---

The morning sun was smothered by storm clouds outside the Horror room, rendering the dawn into a dull grey, so it was a crash of thunder that woke its occupants instead. Chrissy flinched hard enough to make the mattress bounce, then curled herself up into a ball. Poppy’s eyes snapped open, but she otherwise didn’t move a muscle until her brain had finished cataloguing the world around her and concluded that she was (most likely) awake now. With that mystery (probably) solved, she extracted herself from the covers, carefully lowered herself from the bed to the ground, and began to get herself ready for the day.

The small woman selected some comfortable clothes, standing on her tiptoes to reach into the drawers, then bundled them up under her arm and went to the bathroom. In her head, an imaginary version of her girlfriend reminded her of all the things she needed to do to look after herself properly: a quick wash in the claw-footed bathtub, brush her teeth, comb her short hair, a drink of water, then put on her underwear (the real Emma didn’t seem mind too much if she sometimes forgot that step, as long as she pretended it was deliberate) and her clothes.

When she returned to the bedroom, her roommate had only moved as far as covering her head, though the way the sheets draped left Chrissy’s breasts still exposed to the air. Poppy stopped and stared, partly because they were actually quite nice to look at if you ignored the person they were attached to, but mostly out of confusion as to what the other woman was doing.

“Aren’t you going to get ready?” she asked, cocking her head to one side.

“No,” came the muffled reply from beneath the sheets.

“Oh,” Poppy blinked slowly, “Why?”

“Because there’s no point.”

“Why?”

“Because everyone hates me,” Chrissy growled, though the anger of the sound was undercut by the wet sniffle that immediately followed it.

Poppy nodded to herself. She didn’t need to ask why that was the case, but she wasn’t done with her interrogation just yet.

“Why don’t you try not being awful? That might help.”

An arm extended out of the covers and hurled a pillow in Poppy’s direction. She didn’t react as it sailed cleanly over her head and landed on the bathroom floor with a dull thump. Chrissy sat up, her bleach-blonde hair a messy haystack, her teeth clenched in rage, but her eyes shining with suppressed tears. Her pyjama top stayed bunched up around her collar bones, regardless of her attempts to pull it down.

“Why don’t you try not being a gay weirdo!” she snapped.

Poppy didn’t often get emotional, and it didn’t show on her face, but her hands curled into tiny fists by her sides and her voice shook a little when she spoke again.

“I did try,” she said as flatly as she could manage, “It wasn’t very nice. I’m happier like this.” She relaxed very slightly as the words left her lips, a little surprised but pleased that her transformation had confirmed the truth for her. “You don’t seem like you’re happier like this,” she pointed out.

Chrissy seemed taken aback for a moment, then scoffed and crossed her arms, pushing her breasts together. “Why the fuck do you care?”

“I d-” Poppy’s attempt at a reply was cut off before she could speak it. She paused, considering why her first answer had apparently been a lie.

“I’m only saying the truth anyway,” Chrissy bulldozed onward, “It’s weird, doing stuff with girls like that.”

“Why is it weird?” Poppy abandoned her train of thought to resume her interrogation.

“Because it just is.”

“Why?”

“Because normal people don’t do that.”

“Why?”

“Because... shut up,” she scoffed, scowling hard, “Why do you do it in the first place then, if it’s not because you’re weird?”

Poppy stared in silence, and Chrissy glared back at her. The bully would have stood a better chance winning a staring contest against a statue.

“Well? Nothing to say for yourself?” she demanded as her nerves failed and her eyes flicked away.

“Do you want me to shut up, or do you want me to answer your question?” Poppy asked.

Chrissy’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What?”

“Never mind,” she shook her head, “I know I’m weird, but that’s nothing to do with me being a lesbian. I like women. I like Emma. We’re not hurt-” her words cut off. She blinked and tried again. “We’re not harming anyone. It makes us both happy. If I have the choice, then I choose to do things that make me happy.”

Chrissy went quiet. Her hands bunched up in the sheets, drawing up crumpled fistfuls of fabric. “Why do you get to choose that, and I don’t?” she muttered, almost without seeming to realise it. When she did realise she’d voiced the vulnerability aloud she went almost as still as Poppy, and her knuckles turned white as she gripped the sheets even harder.

Poppy made several attempts to answer the question, but whether it was her transformation or her underdeveloped common sense, something stopped her every time. She tried a different approach.

“Everyone should have the chance to do what makes them happy, as long as it’s not hur... harming anyone else. People might not hate you as much if you stopped upsetting them on purpose, then maybe you could choose to do something else.”

“I’m not going to take advice from you on how to get people to like me,” Chrissy sneered, though her heart wasn’t fully in it. She seemed to calm down a little, rather than getting angrier.

“I didn’t say it would get people to like you,” Poppy pointed out, “You could talk to Emma if you want better advice though. She’s good at stopping me from saying things that upset people. Plus, she told me yesterday that she used to be a bit like you back in school, but now she isn’t. She knows how to do that.”

Chrissy scowled, and looked away. Poppy examined her curiously. She wasn’t good at reading people at the best of times, but she was pretty sure that her terrible roommate would have been confusing to anyone.

“Are you going to come to breakfast?” she asked after a while.

“Maybe,” Chrissy grumbled.

Poppy nodded in satisfaction at the marginally more positive answer, and turned to leave the room.

“Wait!” Chrissy called out while she was reaching up for the door handle. Poppy waited. “...don’t you dare tell anyone about this. Got it?”

“I won’t, I promise,” Poppy said. A weight settled over her as the transformation took hold, then she heaved the handle down and slipped outside.

---

The sparkling light of the rising sun crept across the floor of the Fantasy room, then up onto the bed, and over Eleanor’s pale arm where it lay above the sheets. The goth girl shifted in her sleep, her lips parting slightly. Her breathing deepened. A faint moan caught in the back of her throat.

“Oi, princess! Can you not do that while I’m still in the fucking room?”

Eleanor snapped awake in an instant, her red eyes flying open. She sat up in bewildered confusion, wondering where the incredible feeling burning through her veins was coming from, then she saw the beam of sunlight dancing on her skin and stiffened. An involuntary whimper escaped before she could stop it.

“If you’re gonna jill off then do it on your own time,” Max grumbled from over by the dressing table.

Eleanor hissed a gasp between her teeth and snatched the arm towards her chest, back into the shadow.

“I wasn’t,” she sniffed, trying to recover some dignity from someone who barely recognised the concept, “What are you doing up already anyway?”

“Practicing the violin,” came the deadpan reply, “What does it look like?”

Eleanor sneered and prepared to pitch an insult back at her annoying roommate, but then her mind caught up to the scene that was actually playing out in front of her. “Are you putting on makeup?” she asked incredulously, then realised that the designer makeup bag lying open on the side looked remarkably familiar, “Are you putting on my makeup?!”

“Nah, this is mine,” Max snorted, somehow keeping her face perfectly still as she ran the small, bristly brush over her eyelashes, “Your mascara’s waterproof. That’s no good if I want it running down my cheeks.” She sat back, ran through a series of grimaces as she relaxed her facial muscles for a moment, then leaned back in to do the other eye. “The lipstick is yours though,” she added as an afterthought.

With a huff, Eleanor threw the covers back and swung herself out of the bed, strutting over to the dresser. Her roommate was fully dressed already in ripped jeans, a faded band t-shirt and her usual studded leather jacket, while the heiress was in black silk pyjamas that definitely cost more than Max’s entire outfit.

“Get that lipstick off your face right now,” Eleanor snapped, digging her hand into the makeup bag to pull out a pack of makeup wipes and hurl them down in front of the older woman. “Use this one instead. It will work better with your skin tone and your hair colour.” A tube of aggressively purple lipstick landed next to the wipes.

Max was smirking already at the first demand, but then nearly stabbed herself in the pupil when the follow up came. She flinched the brush away from her face at the last second, glanced down at the lipstick, then up at her roommate.

“Really?” she simultaneously raised both a pierced eyebrow and a defensive shield of snark, “Purple lips with green hair? You trying to make me look like the fucking Joker?”

“It’s a contrast colour, they’ll make each other pop more,” Eleanor insisted, “Purple will stand out against darker skin better than black as well.”

“Doesn’t have to stand out against my skin, just leave a nice ring on the base of Matt’s pasty white dick.”

“Purple works for that too,” she mumbled and looked away, trying not to blush too hard at the image brought to mind, “Just try it.”

Max squinted at her suspiciously, but picked up the packet of wipes and plucked one out.

“Wha’re oo up to?” she asked as she began pulling the black stain off her brown lips.

“If you’re going to steal my makeup then at least do it right,” Eleanor sniffed, then a small smirk crossed her face as she walked away to pick out her clothes for the day ahead, “Besides, it’s nice to see you so excited for your little date today.”

“Yeah, I’m looking forward to getting railed. Does the virgin princess find that funny somehow?” Max scoffed, checking she’d cleaned off the worst remnants of her first attempt, then opening the new tube that had been offered to her. It was a purple that looked ready to smack someone in the face for looking at it wrong, and she grunted in begrudging approval before beginning to apply it to her lips.

“You were dressed and doing your makeup before the sun had finished coming up,” the teenager pointed out with a snicker while flipping through the dresses that hung in her side of the wardrobe, “That doesn’t sound like you’re just looking forward to a fling. I think someone might have a little crush.”

“What are you, twelve?” Max resisted a scowl as she finished painting the purple. She hated to admit it, but the brighter colour actually looked pretty good. “I’m looking for a couple of decent orgasms, not a boyfriend. He’s got a wife anyway.”

“If you say so,” Eleanor smirked even though her back was turned, then made her selection and carried it over to the bathroom. It was a little weird, showering beneath a warm waterfall and then getting dressed in a room that looked like a woodland clearing, but less weird than getting naked in front of her roommate.

“Hey!” Max called out just as her hand reached the door.

Eleanor considered ignoring her, just out of spite, but stopped and glanced back over her shoulder. She arched one imperious eyebrow.

“If you want to make it anywhere with Matt tomorrow, maybe wear the same lippy,” Max held up the tube of lipstick, “Then he’ll see your mouth and be thinking of what he did with mine,” the punk winked salaciously, and ran the tip of her tongue around the perimeter of her colourful lips.

“Don’t be gross,” Eleanor scowled and left the room in a huff, but she found herself already considering what outfits she had that would complement the colour.

---

The sun rose around the hotel, simultaneously through almost every window, and in the dawn light a nude woman gradually awoke to find the bedsheets stuck to her skin with a copious quantity of dried semen. She grumbled sleepily as she tried to get comfortable again, but the growing brightness and the uncomfortable crustiness denied her attempts to return to sleep. She wriggled and arched her back in a small stretch that thrust her large breasts up and out, and then her husband’s arms reflexively tightened around her.

“Matt?” Sarah murmured sleepily, the memories of last night slowly returning to her. Had she really done all of that?

“Morning, beautiful,” Matt croaked, barely awake, then pressed his lips into her shoulder and his body against hers.

Sarah managed not to panic at the reminder of her nakedness, but the remnants of sleep were chased well away as the half-dreaming Matt tried to put every inch of his skin in contact with every inch of hers. She forced herself to remain calm, to not be afraid he would find something unpleasant in her perfect new body, and to avoid disturbing his much-needed rest. Whether it was because she didn’t do a good enough job, or if he was already past the point of no return, Matt gradually drifted the rest of the way to wakefulness nonetheless.

“Sorry for falling asleep on you,” he mumbled into her shoulder, then snorted a laugh, “Literally, I guess.”

“It’s fine, you needed it,” Sarah smiled and kissed his forehead.

“Needed more than just the sleep,” he commented, then stiffened and suddenly lifted his head as he realised what he’d just said, “Wait, I didn’t mean-”

“It’s fine, Matt,” she interrupted before he could start spiralling, “I’m glad I could do that for you, and I enjoyed it too.”

“You did?” a flicker of a smile crossed his face.

“You know I did, with those magic eyes,” she smiled back, and tapped him gently on the bridge of the nose.

“That’s true,” Matt’s smile widened, and he let out a soft laugh of relief. The only time she had broken eye contact with him for any significant time had been when she was pulling him closer out of desperate desire, and when she had been contorting in pleasure when he finally brought her to her peak. It was a pretty safe assumption she hadn’t suddenly become disgusted with him at either of those times.

“It was amazing, really, and we can definitely do it again sometime,” Sarah continued to reassure him, then hesitated as a thought occurred to her. “Why didn't you ever mention wanting that before? Back when we were... exploring more?”

Matt’s laugh turned into a wistful sigh, but not an unhappy one. He rolled onto his back, one arm still wrapped around his wife but his gaze fixed firmly on the ceiling.

“That's kind of a new one, actually,” he admitted, his cheeks flushing a little, “Relatively speaking, at least. I spent a lot of time over the last few years fantasising about things I'd like to do with you. Do to you. I kept coming back to edging because... I guess I kind of wanted to feel what it was like to make you as desperate for me as I am for you.”

“Matt...” Sarah whispered sadly, her heart sinking into her stomach.

He winced and gave her a one-armed squeeze. “Sorry. You didn’t need to know that much.”

“No, I’m glad you told me,” she shook her head. It had hurt to hear, but it wasn't as if it told her anything about what she'd been like that she didn't already know. On the other hand, it was actually reassuring that he was still comfortable enough to share thoughts like that with her. “I’m sorry I made you feel that way,” she apologised softly, “It was never that I didn’t want you.”

“Then what was it?” Matt propped himself up on one elbow and looked at her with curiosity, but not judgement.

Sarah swallowed back the guilt and looked down at herself, and the body that wasn’t really hers. The sheets were wrapped around her tightly, stuck to her back with last night's climax, showcasing every one of the perfect curves. It was the body she’d always wanted. The body she’d dreamed of. A body that she didn’t feel the need to cringe away from when she saw it.

“I didn’t want me,” she whispered, thin and emotional.

Matt nodded slowly. It wasn’t a surprising answer to him. Sarah hadn’t been subtle in her self-image issues.

“I’m sorry if I didn’t make you feel desired enough,” he said softly.

“It’s not about you!” she snapped, then recoiled from the unexpected anger into something small and meek, “It’s me. Just me.”

With no idea what to say, Matt just stayed silent instead of risking saying something else accidentally hurtful. Sarah gradually recovered by enough to explain herself further.

“It didn’t used to be so bad, but then I put on weight when we moved for your job, and one day it hit me all at once,” she looked up, her eyes shimmering with a pain that was both old and and recent, “Do you have any idea what it’s like to look in the mirror and realise you’re not your own type?”

“Probably not in the way you mean, given I’m the wrong gender to be my own type,” he said with an apologetic shrug and another gentle kiss on the shoulder, “So that was it? You weren’t attracted to yourself, so you didn’t see how I could be? No matter how much I tried to make it clear?”

“I said it wasn’t about you,” she insisted, with a little force behind it, “I never thought you didn’t want me. I just don’t like thinking of myself like that.”

“Okay,” Matt nodded, not fully understanding but not wanting to upset her any further, “I’m sorry for trying to talk you out of this transformation then. Hopefully it helps.”

“It’s a start,” Sarah replied with a shaky smile.

“Was there anything else?”

“I think that’s everything,” she lied with a half-hearted shrug, burying the rest deep down where it belonged. Hopefully things would start to get better now anyway. Even if they didn’t, then at least she could avoid making it worse by saying something they’d both regret.

Matt lay on his side, peering closely at Sarah, smiling faintly as he tried to figure her out. His transformation wasn't any help, but he liked to think he was still reasonably good at reading her even without it. She was holding something back, but he could see the pleading in her eyes for him to leave it be. She probably wanted to avoid upsetting him, and he wondered what it was that he had done wrong.

“Shower, then breakfast?” he suggested instead of pursuing the topic further and risk damaging the progress they had already made.

“Okay,” Sarah smiled in relief, “Do you want to go first?”

“It’s big enough for two,” Matt said, his voice not uneven but lacking the confidence his words would usually have merited.

Sarah withheld her instinctive response and looked down again at the new body. It wasn’t her body. She was safe to let her husband enjoy it. She could even enjoy it herself.

“Okay,” she agreed with a small giggle of nervous excitement.

The couple extracted themselves from the sticky bed, and walked hand-in-hand to the en-suite bathroom. Unlike the rush of the previous morning, Matt could take his time to appreciate the luxury, though he spent most of his attention on appreciating his wife instead. The wide head of the rain shower was large enough to soak them both simultaneously, and the cubicle larger still so that there was no risk of bumped elbows or treading on each other’s feet.

Sarah moved in close as soon as the spray began, picking the familiar body wash off the shelf to the side and beginning to soap up Matt’s body without him asking or telling her to. He simply relaxed and allowed her to do what she wanted.

He was thin, that much was true, but not unfit. Wiry, not malnourished. His muscles were stretched out over long limbs, his stomach toned as well as lacking in fat, his chest hard not because it was bony. It was a body that spoke of effort and commitment, rather than the shortcut she had been gifted. She tried to forget about her own body, her real body, as she touched and explored. She’d missed this feeling more than most of the things that had been lacking for the last few years.

When the soap had gone, when cleaning had turned into groping and Matt was breathing deep and hard, Sarah finally allowed her fingers to drift between his legs and wrap around his throbbing shaft. It was only then that he finally moved, taking hold of her wrist and looking at her questioningly.

“You don’t have to,” he said softly.

“I want to,” she insisted, “I didn’t get a chance last night.”

“The state of the sheets says otherwise,” he smirked, just a little.

“I didn’t really do much for that one,” she insisted, squeezing him slightly until he let out a quiet groan, “Please, Matt. Let me do this.”

“It is very hard to say no to a pretty girl who’s holding my cock,” he murmured, reaching up with his other hand and running it along the side of her body.

“Then don’t,” she gave the obvious answer.

Matt laughed with the joy of being wanted, then released Sarah’s wrist and grabbed her waist with both hands instead. She stroked him slowly to begin with, and stared up into his eyes with such intense adoration that he couldn’t help but kiss her. His hands roamed as their tongues duelled. He couldn’t quite reach down between her legs due to the height difference, and she didn’t seem inclined to let him, but he touched everything else that he could. It was strange, unfamiliar, but the reactions were the same. It was still his wife.

“Did you miss this?” Sarah whispered the question into his lips.

“More than you know,” he whispered back.

“Am I doing good?”

“So good,” he sighed.

“Are you going to cum for me?” she asked, speeding up.

“Getting there,” he grunted, pulling her closer until her breasts were pressing into his chest and the tip of his cock was brushing against her flat stomach with every downstroke.

“Yeah? You want to?” she sped up further, eager to please.

“Yesss,” was the hissed reply, as Matt ducked his head to kiss her neck, sucking the clean water from her skin.

“Ah!” Sarah gasped at the attention, but didn’t let it interrupt her, “Are you sure you’re going to have enough left for today’s date?”

Her voice cracked slightly on the final word, and she immediately realised her mistake. The realisation was reinforced when Matt stiffened against her, then pulled away.

“Wait, no!” she whimpered, trying to follow after him, but he placed a hand on her shoulder to maintain the distance while the other gently but firmly pulled her off of his cock. She gave up in the face of his expression of pure, pained concern, letting her arms fall limply by her sides.

They stood and faced each other, in silence apart from the falling water that suddenly felt more like a symbolic rainfall than an intimate shower. Sarah tried to keep eye contact, but ended up letting her gaze fall to the job she had been prevented from finishing. Matt just stared without really seeing anything, too busy inside his own head trying to work out the best way forward.

“I think,” he said eventually, when the silence had passed beyond uncomfortable, “We need to have another talk.”

Sarah nodded slowly in reluctant agreement, and gave him a sad smile. “I think you’re probably right.”