Cosplay & Costumes

Cindy could feel her heart thumping in her chest. As-fucking-always none of these options were even remotely desirable. One would seemingly give her the reputation and renown of the local slut, whilst another would presumably have her talk like one. The only meaningful difference between that, and the remaining one - the one that'd have her dress up - is that she wouldn't be able to excuse it, nor even use her phone. Fuck! Cindy looked down, the bottom region of her vision invaded by the valley of silicone-enhanced titflesh, whilst the center region had a set of neon-colored nails that stole every shred of visual focus. Fine. Fuck!

She really did look like a slut. Her massive titpillows visually declared her as a walking piece of sexmeat, and her pointed 'claws' only helped sell the image of a plastic-loving, vain bimbo-doll. Gawd.

It was fine. She'd- she'd manage, somehow. She just needed to win a game on the app, or- or find some help. Surely she couldn't be the first person who'd actually had this sent to her, right? Some- magical reality-fucking app intent on turning people into porned-up wobbledolls? The internet had to contain something about this, from someone. Maybe on a forum somewhere.

"Fuck you.", Cindy hissed at the app, to which the little pixelated skank blew her a kiss.

She tapped the 'Cosplay & Costumes' option, and - well - nothing seemed to happen, at least instantly. Her little avatar, now dressed with about as little as she was, stood there near-naked and smug as always, playing with her hair, acting all 'innocent' - somehow managing to perfectly give the vibe that she was everything but.

She tossed her phone into the couch, and took a deep breath - using her hands to massage her temples, before lowering them, looking at herself in the reflection.

To which a shriek left her mouth. While she had been nude a moment before, and half-expected the change to only affect her wardrobe - since nothing had seemed to happen - something absolutely had happened a second later. She wasn't naked, but she really wasn't far from it, either. Her porned-up figure now looked back at her in the reflection with a mixture of shock and horror. She was dressed in what should absolutely be a role model for women all over the world, but it'd been perverted to stand for the exact opposite. In her reflection, she saw her rounded, sensitive silicone tits stretch and strain a skimpy boob-tube top, blue with white stars scattered across it, skimpy enough on its own to expose a healthy amount of cleavage, and at least a size too small, to make sure that not only did her massive mounds spill forth, but as she shifted her stance a little, had the sensitized nerve endings tingle with delight with every slight movement. At the top of her head, the classical Wonder Woman crown-thing had been reworked to have a heart instead of the classical star. Cheap, golden plastic bracers hugged her wrists. Further down she wore a provocatively short, firetruck red cotton miniskirt, with an absolutely whorish slit on the side that provided an opportunity for someone at the right angle to see the string-like thong she could feel buried between her asscheeks. Fishnet stockings clung to her legs the rest of the way down, until just below her knee, where a set of matching red boots with a golden trim at the top took over - of course, indeed with a solid four inch stiletto heel to them, to really hammer down the point that the only 'wondrous' thing about the woman was just how fuckable she looked.

In truth, she looked like your typical Halloween-ready tease.

"Oh my god..", Cindy mumbled, wholly unaware of the little twirl the pixelated version of herself did, flashing half her pixel-cunt with just how little the scaled-down thong covered up.

"You've gotta be kidding me!", she then added, shock fading, leaving the vacuum to be filled by anger and frustration. With powerful clicks and clacks she marched into her bedroom, whipping open her wardrobe - to indeed, reveal that it, too, had gotten a makeover. There wasn't a single mundane t-shirt or set of pants left. It was all costume-material. Leotards, shiny pants, frilly (short) dresses, fishnets and metallic materials and - was that a fucking maid uniform?! No no no. This wasn't- This wasn't acceptable. She had to stop. She had to - get help. The internet was probably the best bet - and the option least likely to have her pride shaved away into crunchable little pellets of humiliation.

As if reading her thoughts, her phone _buzzed _from the couch she'd tossed it into. She stood still for a few seconds, chewing upon her bottom lip - if it was the app, maybe it wouldn't punish her if she just - just didn't interact with it? What if not engaging was the best way to engage?

Cindy stared at the couch.

At her phone.

Feelings and thoughts swirled around in her stomach like an uncomfortable, sloshing vortex of considerations and what-ifs.

"Fuck," She quietly mumbled, annoyedly marching over towards the couch. Click clack click-

And she picked up her phone, her guady plastic nail tapping against the glass of the screen. She knew damn well there was no such thing as good news from this fucking app, but she'd learned to take the notifications seriously. Her hypersensitive plastic titties were evidence of that and then some...

[Challenge! Take the bus to the nearest mall. Reward: Remove a punishment. Failure: +200% Breast Size]

PLUS TWO HUNDRED-

Cindy stared in absurdist awe and shock at the text on the screen. TWO HUNDRED PERCENT?! Like, as a boost?! So they'd be three times as big as they currently were? Or just - double?! Fuck! There wasn't even any 'just' in this image, either of the two possibilities would leave her with more tit than head! Cindy stared at the app with tear-flanked eyes, pressing her lips together tight. "Please. I- I don't know why you're doing this, or- or why me, but-", Cindy begged the app, staring at it pleadingly. Pixel-Cindy didn't seem to react, idly twirling her hair and swishing her barely-there skirt. "Please, I'll - Please don't do this. I don't deserve this, I-"

Her phone buzzed.

[Time's Ticking! Complete the challenge before time runs out, or face the automatic punishment. ]

"Fine!", Cindy yelled, stomping one of her high-heeled boots into the floor of her apartment. A ball of discomfort and dread sloshed around within her belly, like a growing pit of despair that refused to let go of her. She grabbed her purse by the door, and from it, fished out a set of sunglasses. She could humiliate herself by prancing around like a wannabe Onlyfans-doll, but she could at least try to hide her identity...

She put on the glasses.

Except for the fact that she didn't.

Cindy stared at her reflection, frowning. Why couldn't she put them on? Much as she willed her hand to, it simply refused to put the sunglasses on her.

That's not part of the costume, a voice reminded Cindy inside her head, just chiding and taunting enough to make a few more tears well forth. Pressing her lips together again, she threw the glasses back to the couch, threw on her bag, and slammed the door behind her.