Ive got a new outfit

I woke up with a pounding headache, my mouth tasting like I'd been sucking on a goddamn cotton ball soaked in regret. The room was dim, but even in the low light, I felt the familiar, tight squeeze of my favorite tube top. I tried to sit up, and the usual, intrusive pressure in my ass made me gasp and freeze mid-motion. It felt bigger than normal this morning, but that was probably just the hangover.

Blinking hard, I **** my eyes open and looked down at myself. Okay, the top. It was my go-to, the one that showed off my nipples. I loved it. My face felt caked with my usual makeup—thick, smudged eyeliner, my signature red lipstick, and the layers of glittery shit that I never left the house without. And the skirt? My micro-skirt, barely grazing my upper thighs. It always rode up this high. I'd have to be careful not to flash anyone on my way to the kitchen.

No underwear. No bra. Never wore them with this look. I reached down instinctively, my fingers brushing against the smooth, bare skin of my pussy, and then further back to feel the base of the plug lodged deep in my ass. It was my constant companion, the one I always wore. I shifted slightly, and a wave of confusion crashed over me as I realized how wet I was, my body betraying me with a slickness that made the whole thing even more confusing.

"John, you little shit," I muttered under my breath, piecing it together. That shiny thing he'd been waving in my face—had it been some kind of hypnosis trick? Or maybe he'd slipped something in my drink while I wasn't looking? My mind raced, fuzzy memories flickering like a broken film reel: him smirking, me feeling suddenly dizzy, and then... nothing. Now here I was, dressed like I always was, with my usual plug jammed up my ass.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed, my usual high heels clicking against the floor. They were my sky-high platforms, but I wobbled a bit more than usual, probably from the hangover. Every step sent jolts through my body, the plug shifting inside me, rubbing against spots that made my knees weak and my breath hitch. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror across the room—hair a tangled mess, makeup smeared like I'd just been face-fucked, and my standard outfit hugging my curves perfectly.