Admit you don't know: 'I have no idea, I don't watch reality TV.'

You shrug against the restraints, the metal cool against your wrists. "I have no idea. I don't watch reality TV."

The admission hangs in the air for a beat before the audience erupts into a mixture of gasps and delighted laughter. Derek's face lights up like a kid on Christmas morning, and you notice his hand drift up to adjust his tie—a gesture so smooth it seems ****.

"Oh, Lexi," Derek practically purrs, his voice thick with mock sympathy that doesn't reach his predatory eyes. "That's... well, that's just unfortunate. The correct answer was Brittany Chen. She became quite the viral sensation, actually. But hey—" he spreads his hands in a theatrical shrug, "—you signed up for this, didn't you?"

Before you can respond, Crystal bounces forward, her enormous breasts threatening to spill from the latex as she giggles. "Ooh, first transformation! This is so exciting!" Her finger hovers over the red button, and she glances back at Derek with an expression that's part eagerness, part desperation for approval.

"Do the honors, Crystal," Derek commands, stepping back with obvious anticipation.

Crystal slams her palm down on the button with unnecessary enthusiasm. The booth around your podium hums to life, panels sliding into place with mechanical precision. A fine mist begins spraying from hidden nozzles, and you feel a tingling sensation spreading across your skin—not painful, but undeniably invasive.

"Now, viewers at home," Derek narrates like he's describing a nature documentary, "what you're witnessing is our patented transformation technology. Since Lexi's first question touched on reality television, we're giving her a taste of that world. A modest enhancement, really—just to get us started."

The tingling intensifies around your chest and lips. You feel your breasts swelling beneath your designer athletic top, the fabric growing uncomfortably tight as they push forward, adding at least a cup size. Your lips plump noticeably, gaining a pouty fullness that feels foreign. Then comes the bondage—a second set of shackles materializes from the podium, locking around your ankles with definitive clicks.

"There we are!" Crystal claps her hands together as the booth retracts. "Doesn't she look pretty, Mr. Sinclair?"

Derek circles you slowly, appraising. "Very nice. Though I suspect we're just getting started. The money counter remains at zero, I'm afraid. But look on the bright side, Lexi—nine more questions to go! And since you clearly need some education in pop culture, let's move on to something more... specialized."

He produces another card, his smile widening.