To Change the World with Her Music

"I just want there to be more beautiful music in the world," you say. "I want to give you the power to change the world with your music, but first I need you to sign this contract that allows me to change you." Of course you don't really need her permission for anything, but you're trying to play the part of "the devil."

"Change the world?" she asks. She looks over the contract, looks up for a minute as if recalling the brief glimpse of fame you gave her, and then looks back down again. She leans down onto the teacher's desk and signs her name.

"Excellent," you say, taking the contract, folding it, and putting it in a pocket. "Enjoy your new life."

Within seconds, she's back on the arena stage in the sexy pink outfit, the crowd cheering for her as she sings -- fortunately for the ears of the public at large, you've improved her singing voice drastically.

After the show, you're waiting for her in her dressing room. She comes in, towel around her neck, chugging a bottled water. "Oh, hey there," she says. "That was awesome."

"And it's only the beginning," you say. "You'll have more concerts worldwide, recording sessions, photo shoots, videos..."

"Wow, I can't believe it," she says, sitting down on the dressing room couch. "I just wish my feet didn't hurt so much." She leans forward and takes off her pink high heels.

"Oh, let me fix that," you say. She had started to rub one foot, but stops. "Whoa, that's great. Thanks! Of course, what I could really use is a different pair of shoes."

You say, "From now on, high-heeled shoes won't cause you any discomfort, no matter how long you wear them or what you do in them..." There's a pair of slippers on the floor, which Cindy puts on. As she does so, they immediately transform into shoes very similar in style, if not color, to the pink high heels she was just wearing. As she looks flabbergasted, you continue, "...which is a good thing, because any shoes you put on will transform into a sexy pair of heels, and you'll find that you won't be able to stand, let alone walk, if you're not wearing high heels."

"What?!" she exclaims.

"And any clothes you put on will transform into something skimpy like this," you say, indicating the short pleated skirt and tiny cleavage-revealing top she's wearing. "Cold weather won't be a problem -- oh, and you could use some more accessories." With that, a ring appears on every finger, several bracelets appear on each arm, a dangling charm fills a new piercing in her navel, and various rings appear to fill other new piercings, including ears, nose, and places that aren't quite visible.

"How can you --"

"Oh, and your makeup and hair will always look perfect." Your definition of "perfect" includes colorful, heavy paint on her face, of course.

"Why are you doing this?!" Cindy exclaims.

"Simply put, I want you to be the ideal pop singer slut," you say. "A fantasy object for both guys and girls. Speaking of the latter, remember how I told you that I'd give you the power to change the world with your music? Well, any girl who downloads one of your songs, buys a CD, goes to one of your shows, anything -- she'll magically turn into a slut like you."

"What?!" she exclaims once again.

"Even now, it's affecting the women who were in the audience tonight," you say. "As they walk to the parking lot, their shoes get higher heels with each step. Socks become fishnet stockings. Jeans become miniskirts. Short hair grows longer. Flat chests turn into big tits. Sex drives become stronger --"

"I've got to warn them!" Cindy gets up, but you grab her wrists to prevent her from going anywhere.

"It's too late for that," you say. "Besides, you'll find yourself unable to tell this to anyone. And don't think you can prevent it by not performing -- you'll find yourself compelled to do shows, record albums, act like a normal pop princess."

"You're a bastard," says Cindy.

"No, just someone with absolute power," you assure her. "Oh, and there's one more thing you'll be compelled to do, for your male fans -- that is, those who are masturbating while looking at your picture. Some of them, at random, will get very lucky indeed. There was an ad for this concert in the newspaper today with a nice full-color photo of you, so..."

Cindy disappears, magically teleported elsewhere. You smile, thinking about her having sex with whoever would be **** enough to masturbate to a newspaper ad.