Steve is made a sleazy offer

The last couple of hours had been a struggle. Having no women's clothing in his flat, Steve had to cram his tits into a baggy blue hoodie and now-oversized jeans, heading down to the market to find the jackass who'd sold him the phony product. But he couldn't find the guy, and was struggling to ask around: whatever had happened to him, it had left him not especially fluent in English.

What he had found was some sleazy guy, in a leather jacket and shades, furtively lurking on the edge of the market, and they'd got to talking.

"... like this, you'll have no ID, no one'll believe it's you, you can hardly go to your job. Hell, you look like that actress," he was saying, as Steve nodded, trying his best to understand the explanation in a now-unfamiliar language.

"So new ID help, da?" Steve haltingly said, in his unfamiliar feminine voice and thick accent.

"Da," the man said mock-seriously. "All you'd have to do is a little... favour." Steve shuddered as the big man caressed Steve's plump, feminine lower lip. "You work for us as a spell. Paid, of course." The man's eyes sleazily roamed Steve's hot new body. "We have a club that's in need of dancers."

Steve's blue eyes went wide. "You make me шлюха?!"

The man's lips curled. "No, not quite that. Just some stripping." Something about that appealed to Steve's altered new brain. What could be more perfect than showcasing his body, working the pole, as a dirty stripper? But... surely this wasn't his only option, surely? And just because whatever had happened to him made it seem like a good option, didn't mean it was. But... he was ****.