How the Other Half--Nope, Too Obvious

Now and then, everyone has one of those nights where they aren't quite certain if they are asleep and dreaming, or awake and delirious, or more likely just slipping between the two over and over. That's certainly how you feel at the moment, and good shit are you over it. Intense out of body experiences, mixed in with the feeling that you've been tossing and turning in sweaty sheets for an endlessly nighttime eternity? Fuck this right in the ear; you're out.

Willing yourself out of your incoherent stupor, you grumpily toss your bedding off and shakily get to your feet, stretching in an attempt to build up to a fresh start at this whole 'sleeping' thing.

Wait. Weren't you...oh, right. You passed out during the paperwork, didn't you. They actually sent you back to your place? Well that's friendly...and, uh, sort of creepy? You guess they had your address from when they sent you your invitation, but did they break into your house? That's got to be some sort of...you're not a lawyer. Privacy...invasion...uh, tort? Brief?

You'd spend some more time figuring it out, but you think they might actually be off the hook. Because as you begin coming into your full faculties, it's clear this is not your room.

And in fact, it's a girl's room. Uh, probably. Maybe? It certainly looks like it was at one point a girl's room. Like, a baby girl. The bed you were just on has a frilly pink canopy, and there's a massive teddy bear shoved into a corner, facing a wall. That's...you don't know. Creepy? But whoever's been living here recently clearly has different tastes than the flowered wallpaper would imply. A muddy pair of boots have been carelessly piled up in at bedside, and a makeshift dartboard has been set up using a treacly painting of a unicorn. And is that a sword? You pick the sheathed weapon up in fascination, the hilt surprisingly comfortable in your hand. So...this is the room of a girly girl sword-enthusiast who hates unicorns and tracks mud everywhere? You don't know who that person is, exactly, but you'd fucking swipe right.

Oh wait, are those portraits?

Sure yeah, you guess this is her? Or at least a younger her. The first portrait is of a perfectly cute little girl, maybe ten or eleven, wearing a poofy blue dress and a giant bow in her sandy blonde hair. Wow, she must have really not enjoyed posing for this, because this is a portrait, not a photograph, and the painter couldn't even come close to making the expression on her adorable face anything other than pure loathing. She's much happier looking in the next one over, dressed in riding gear as she beams with one hand on the mane of a frankly massive destrier. It's funny, she looks sort of like you did at that age. Do you have an awesome girl cousin no one ever told you about? Better check out the next portrait. Huh, she actually looks sort of shocked in her next one, a good bit older and and OH MAN, why is she naked?!

Oh. That's not a portrait. Um. That's a mirror

Before you is the reflection of a girl near your age, and and while you can sort of see how her features are close to yours, she's certainly the hottest girl you've ever seen. Big blue eyes, lustrous yellow hair bobbed then undercut on one side, full lips and devastating cheekbones.....you have to admit, if that is you you make a fucking amazing girl. You shakily take hold of the top of the mirror to steady yourself, accidentally tilting it down and revealing the rest of your body. And what a goddamn body it is.

First off, she's....er, you are in better shape than you have ever been in your life. You've never been toned like this, with lithe, feminine muscle enveloping your leggy, runway model-infuriating frame. And what a goddamn pair of tits! You have to bring your hands up to cup the proudly fat breasts that wobble on your otherwise athletic chest, letting out a hiss as your pert little nipples twitch and flood you with feelings that are...uh, let's just say that they are. You could only guess what cup size they are, turning your eyes back to the mirror to try and get a better view. Double Dees? Bigger? You're struck with the thought that the stunned girl in the mirror looks like the coach just told her that if her boobs get any bigger, she's going to have to quit the varsity volleyball team. And that goddamn girl is you.

Every single part of this feels wrong....except one thing. Furrowing your chunky eyebrows, you cautiously slide a hand down your firm stomach and are beyond relieved to wrap your hand around your still-existent cock. Er, and it's rather more existent than you remember it being? You glance downward, annoyedly pushing your rack aside to reveal that yes, your dick is significantly bigger. It looks like a goddamn gag prosthetic; you're bigger flaccid than you ever were at your hardest! And it looks...fuck, it looks nicer. You know girls don't have dicks, but this is a godamn big thick girly dick, smooth and plush looking with fat balls primly cradled in a tight little (relatively) pouch.

Your upgraded dick starts to awaken under your inspection, and you shift your grip around in to give room as it twitches and swells. You're **** to shudder when you twist your fingers below your shaft, however, as your knuckles slip through something plump, hot, and increasingly wet nestled snugly underneath your big yet trappy sack.

Okay. That is a pussy. You want to get off Misses Bone's Wild Ride.