Robyn excuses herself first :)

The moment Joana turned her back to finish locking down the RAC console, Robyn’s pulse spiked. Her body felt too warm. Too present. Every subtle motion brought awareness she didn’t know what to do with. Her clothes clung in new, delicious ways. The inner curve of her thighs brushing with each step sent flickers of sensation up her spine.

“I’m just going to hit the bathroom,” she said, forcing her voice steady. Her tone was a little huskier than she expected—a warm, sultry velvet.

Joana barely glanced up. “Go ahead. Take your time.”

Take your time. Like she had any choice.

The lab’s staff bathroom was narrow but clean, lined with faux marble tile and humming with cheap fluorescent light. Robyn slipped in, locking the door behind her with a sharp click. She stared at the full-body mirror above the sink—and her breath hitched.

Goddamn.

She’d seen glimpses already, reflections in glass, in Joana’s eyes, in her own hands. But now—with privacy, solitude, silence—she could finally look.

Her mocha skin was flawless, smooth and supple, glowing like warm cinnamon in the harsh light. Her cheekbones had risen into a gentle sculpt, her lips lush and kissable with a natural gloss that shimmered subtly. But it was her body that commanded her attention—beyond what she expected, beyond even the stunning curves Joana had given herself.

Robyn leaned closer to the mirror, watching the way her snug turtleneck molded over the swell of her chest. Her breasts were… generous. More than generous. Huge, perfectly shaped mounds that rose and pressed tight against the fabric. She could see the outlines of her bra—no, her bra—underneath, the fabric stretched taut, the hint of lace peeking near her collarbone.

And her waist… God, her waist.

She turned sideways, gasping softly at the contrast: narrow and cinched, flaring out to wide, full hips. Her high-waisted cream slacks clung lovingly to her backside, lifting and showcasing each bounce and sway she hadn’t noticed before. She turned again, twisting her hips slowly, biting her lip at the sensuous motion of her own reflection. This was her now.

She tugged the turtleneck up—slowly, carefully—and slipped it over her head. Her bra was a soft cocoa lace demi-cup, elegant and academic but undeniably sexy. She reached back, unclipping it with practiced ease her brain didn’t remember learning, but her body did.

Oh…

Her breasts spilled free, and the cool air made her nipples tighten into dark, pebbled peaks. She cupped them, testing their weight, their softness. They filled her hands completely. Every brush of her thumb sent little sparks of pleasure through her chest.

“Fuck, these are ridiculous,” she murmured, grinning. “No wonder people were staring.”

She pulled off the slacks next, kicking off her shoes with quiet urgency. Her thighs were thick and powerful, the kind that pressed together when she walked. Her ass—Jesus—it was obscene. Round, firm, a shelf of plush perfection that her panties gripped like a second skin.

She paused. Heart pounding. Breath catching.

Then she slid a hand between her legs.

Her panties were already damp.

The fabric clung to the heat of her center, silky and soft, and the moment her fingers pressed there—just the gentlest pressure—her knees buckled slightly.

“Oh… god…”

She braced herself against the sink, hips swaying as she massaged slow, curious circles. The texture, the response, the way her body melted under her own touch—this wasn’t just arousal. This was discovery. A new feedback loop. Every motion became data. Every tingle became theory.

She slipped her fingers beneath the waistband, pushing the panties down, letting them fall to her ankles. She stepped out of them, completely naked now, staring at the goddess looking back in the mirror.

One hand returned to her breast, gently squeezing, teasing the nipple as it tightened again. The other explored the slick warmth of her folds—new terrain, soft and inviting, already flushed and begging.

She found her clit, and nearly cried out.

“Oh my god, Joana… what the hell did you make me into…”

She rubbed gently, steadily, hips rocking. Her breast jiggled with each breath, thighs trembling. She leaned into the mirror, forehead touching the glass, panting softly as waves of pleasure built. Every stroke sent fire through her veins. Every twitch of her fingers was amplified, magnified by the novelty, the rightness of it all.

Her orgasm was slow—deep and molten. No sharp peak, no single explosion. It blossomed, radiating from her core outward, pulling moans from her throat that echoed in the tiled room. Her body shook, thighs trembling, breath caught in her chest as the climax rolled through her like ocean surf.

She stayed like that for long minutes, trembling, gasping, heart hammering. Her reflection slowly came back into focus—flushed cheeks, glossy lips parted, breasts heaving, skin shimmering with light sweat.

And a look in her eyes that she didn’t recognize.

Confidence. Power. Craving.

Robyn stood tall, slowly redressing herself. Her bra cupped her breasts like a lover’s hands. Her slacks hugged her hips as she buttoned them up with trembling fingers. The turtleneck slid back into place like armor, the curve of her breasts pressing against it with quiet insistence.

She tied her hair back into a low, professional knot, reapplied a touch of lip balm she found in her pocket (wasn’t there before—how did she know it matched?) and smoothed her hands down her sides.

When she stepped out of the bathroom, Joana was waiting just outside the door, pretending to scroll her phone.

Robyn arched a brow. “You waited for me?”

Joana looked up, meeting her gaze. “Just wanted to make sure you didn’t pass out from… reality shock.”

Robyn stepped closer, her heels clicking softly. She leaned in, lips brushing just near Joana’s ear.

“Shock? No,” she whispered. “But I may need a second round of data collection later.”

She pulled back, flashing a wicked grin.

“And this time, you’re helping!”