Waking up…

Her eyes rolled back, Tifa woke in the midst of a screaming climax.

When it finally ebbed, she found herself lying on the floor of her bar. Head pounding from a massive hangover, Tifa groaned sensually as she gathered her bearings.

Tifa’s eyes gradually widened as fragmented memories of her dream and what happened last night settled chaotically in her mind.

‘The collar,’ Tifa thought.

’My sexy, latex collar,’ the thought continued, in a throaty, version of her own voice, which positively dripped sex.

‘Wait, what? I mean…That…Oh shit,’ Tifa thought, a touch panicked, ‘It must be the collar!’

With the thought of the collar, that sexual parody of her voice intruded again, ‘My wonderful latex collar is doing such arousing things to me.’

That prompt had Tifa realizing how horribly horny she was, despite the screaming orgasm that she had woken to. It almost distracted her completely from the insane voice in her head, but she caught herself in time.

With a few experimental thoughts, Tifa found that the voice seemed to surface whenever she thought about the collar. The existence of the voice chilled her to the bone, but she found that with a bit of difficulty, she could sometimes muffle the voice.

Sure that she could get the voice under control once her hangover disappeared, Tifa sought to assess the damages brought on by…it.

Tifa slowly crawled on her hands and knees, humiliated at the stains and puddles of still wet fluid left by her body last night. On the floor behind the bar, she stopped for a moment, huddled in a miasma of dread that was fueled by the fragmentary memories of her dream.

When she finally looked at herself in the mirror, Tifa found a sweaty, well-fucked image that more than confirmed her worst fears.

Tifa’s face had that airbrushed look from her dream, and all of her bone structure had become more delicate and refined like her dream. Her nose, which she had no dream recollections of, was smaller and had been reshaped to massively deemphasise it’s presence on her face.

Tifa’s eyes, looked even bigger than in her dream. Their half-lidded gaze invited everyone for an epic fucking. The lashes were just as over-the-top as in her dream and everything else likewise matched.

Except for her lips.

They were huge, thick, pillowy things, worse than what Tifa remembered imagining in the dream. Her lips seemed to be permanently pouty, slightly pursed, and open just enough that she could see a sliver of her white teeth. Brushing her fingers over them showed how pleasurably sensitive they were.

Tifa’s new lips were horrible things. They were the worst, most obscene, and obvious examples of cock sucking lips, far worse than anything she could have previously ever imagined.

Everything added up to a face that only allowed you to focus on two things; eyes that begged for sex, and a mouth that begged for cock.

Tifa stopped holding back the desire to cry and let out a sob. Or at least she tried to let out a sob.

What escaped from her lips was a moan that was dripping with need. Tifa’s face contorted into an expression of pure sexual desire and pleasure, instead of one more suited for the utter despair welling inside of her.

The only evidence of Tifa’s actual feelings on her face, was an almost imagined hint of sadness in her eyes. But, it was overwhelmed by the outright arousal that shone in her dark red eyes. Not able to reign in her internal sobs, throaty moans echoed in the bar which began to arouse her, to Tifa’s horror.

Still crying internally, Tifa tried to clean herself up a bit, moving to wipe off the thick layer of wet drool on her chin. It was thick, slimy and extremely viscous. Her wiping brought her drool coated fingers under her nose, and the smell led her to a terrible realization.

The heady scent of her pussy that permeated the bar, got sharply stronger as her fingers passed her nose. A deliberate sniff confirmed that it smelled strongly of her own juices.

The shock quieted her moans, and left her physically reeling. Tifa slid bonelessly to the floor, where she sat insensate.

After a time, Tifa slowly got up and picked up the sticky letter that she had received yesterday. Reading it over and over, she grappled with the knowledge that to reverse the changes, she’d have to play and win at the sick game that the letter’s author would continue to lay out.

Tifa could only keep playing for now, and hope for an opportunity to win or to put some serious hurt into the letter’s writer. To that end, she stepped out from behind the bar, intending to clean herself up. It was going to be bad, accepting the delivery of the next stage’s instructions with all her changes. But, doing it while smelling and looking of sex would be infinitely worse.

Then, a knock came at the door, and Tifa felt her stomach sink.