No

No way. This game might be intent on shaving away her self-respect and modesty, but that didn't mean that she was. She cleared her throat, and momentarily dispelled the cobwebs that had aggregated between her neurons, presenting the aforementioned charger. "Here you go.", she replied, watching intently as he chuckled, and plucked the little device from her palm.

She crossed her arms underneath her tits, which had the unfortunate effect of pushing up the already-enormous silicone funbags, as if they even needed a push-up effect. It nonetheless made the tall glass of sexist before her ogle her tits, of course.

He liked her tits...

"Was there anything else?", she positively sung, momentarily running on autopilot. She sounded like a newbie trying to break it as a very specific type of actress.

"Nah, sweets. View's good, though.", he replied cheekily, prompting a feeling of soothing contentless to fill Cindy's being, and an even-more-flirtatious "Thanks~" to slip right out of her. She cleared her throat and looked down, failing to see anything but the valley of fuckmeat her breasts produced. God...

"We're having something of a party later, over at Chris' place. You're welcome to come over, if you want. You look like a good time, y'know?"

She wanted to rip that fucking voicebox out of his throat, to punch the smile out of his so fucking punchable face- she might look the part of a slut in training, but she was most definitely NOT-

"Guess there's only one way to find out, isn't there?", Cindy practically purred, taking a step forward - before she snapped out of the trance, clearing her throat a bit, breaking eye contact once more. "Uh, I'll see if I have time, if that's okay?"

She got a chuckle in response.

"Sure, babe. Door's open all night."

She closed the door afterwards - and the second she did, her phone buzzed angrily.

The anger and bravado that'd filled Cindy's psyche for the past 30 seconds fell through the floor.

[Challenge Failed! Punishment: +450% Breast Sensitivity!]

Immediately, Cindy let out a breathy moan as she took a step - now feeling how her shirt, loose as it was (despite being reduced to a crop-top by virtue of her plastic mammaries), rubbing against her bare breasts underneath, up-and-down with every slight motion.

"Oh god, no...", Cindy mumbled to herself, hands tentatively reaching up to cup her tits - at which point, another involuntary moan spilled forth from her with an intensity comparable to water spilling forth from the top of a waterfall. They weren't just sensitive, it was a kind of pleasure genuinely reminiscent of touching her clit. It felt fucking good. She held her hands just an inch away from her now hypersensitive silicone fuckjugs, before she once more tentatively cupped them, letting another soft moan spill forth from her lips. Gawd, how the fuck was she going to manage this?

She looked down at herself, then up and over towards the mirror on the opposite wall. Her massive titties were jutting out from her chest obscenely, with a perkiness that made it oh-so-clear they weren't real. They tented her t-shirt up, reducing it to a crop top. Maybe that was the first order of business, find a top that actually covered something.

She got up, and wandered back towards her bedroom, starting to rummage through her drawers. She momentarily flashbanged herself when she opened a drawer to reveal a barely-there red PVC microskirt with a white 'belt' attached to it, and promptly slammed the drawer shut, before moving on to the next one. After not too long, she managed to produce one of her trusty old buds - a slightly oversized grey hoodie, the kind she'd wear on the days after a big protest if her face had ended up in the media, or on the days where she just didn't feel all that social. She gingerly got to work removing the t-shirt she was wearing. Which. Wasn't as easy as she'd imagined.

Because she couldn't merely remove it. She had to peel it off the plastic orbs mounted on her chest, with how tight they'd stretched her top. And so, she carefully got to work, wiggling the top here and there as she begun to pull it off, in a motion that required for it to briefly push in against, almost squeeze her fat tits even more, which made her cry out in pleasure, and made her pussy throb in need. Fuck. She kept at it, feeling her heartbeat hasten, pulling, tugging, peeling away the top until, all-at-once, her tits were free, erect, puffy pink nipples licking at the ambient air around her. God.

Cindy looked down at herself. Clad only in her socks and the barely-there microskirt _which didn't even properly hide her panties, _with a rack like that, she really did look like a walking piece of porn, huh? Cindy chewed on her bottom lip, looking down, chest heaving, willpower wrestling with the burning arousal that her new 'upgrade' had given her. It was fine, she was alone, right? No one would know. And the fucking game - she didn't even have to touch the game.

She laid down on the bed, crawling upwards until she found the pillow, which she nestled behind-underneath her head. Her other hand slid down, with ease slipping underneath her micro-mini trampwear piece, bypassing the panties and carefully - starting to rub herself, frustratingly slow. Her nails were so long, she couldn't even finger herself - but she could play with her clit, if she was careful, and took her time. And so she did - with wet squelches filling the room every now and then, the soundscape speckled with the positively whorish moans that spilled from her whenever she groped one of her porn-pillow titties, fantasies of a forbidden nature flooding her brain - fantasies that went straight against so much of what Cindy fought for. It wasn't her fault. It was biology. She wasn't into the idea of being bent over and fucked until she couldn't remember her name, or to be shoved down on her knees and used as a makeshift onahole with a pretty rack. It was - it was her body that was into it. She just - really needed to touch herself about it, to knead, squeeze, grope, to superimpose her face on the kind of degradation-porn sexist jerks watched whilst they were pumping their fuckrod. Cindy wasn't into this, it was just - just her body.

She wasn't a slut.

She wasn't a slut.

She even started saying it out loud. Well. Some of it.

"...Slut...."

Her phone, still in the living room, lit up, showcasing pixel-Cindy rubbing her brains out, while the words 'GOOD GIRL' spread across the screen.

Cindy awoke the next day, groggy and... for the first time in a while, with just a bit of a smile on her face. It had, admittedly, been a while since she gave in to her more... carnal urges. She'd forgotten how nice it was. She remembered - vaguely - some of the... problematic subjects she'd thought about last night, but it made sense. Of course her brain would go there when the better part of the day before had turned her into more and more of a walking sex doll. Which-

Cindy shot up from her bed in an adrenaline-fueled panic. She raced to the living room, standing in her bare panties in front of the mirror. No. Shit. It was real. Not a dream. She stood there for several moments, eyes trailing over her pretty nails, before settling back over her gargantuan silicone orbs, feeling- feeling small. Helpless, in a way. Like she'd already been reduced from a person to a sex-thing.

Because she had.

A hand tentatively rose up to one of her breasts, gently cupping it - sending shivers of pleasure down her spine, with a followup-feather-squeeze eliciting a string of quiet a's to spill out from her throat.

"Shit..", she mumbled, staring at herself. How the fuck was she supposed to- to fix this?! And she was meeting the others - her protest group - later today. No way she could do it. She'd have to call in sick. For the meeting she set a few days ago.

But then again, they wouldn't like that.

Cindy whined, a whine that almost resonance-matched the buzzing sound coming from her couch. Huh?

She raced over to her phone, which she'd seemingly left there. A timer was ticking down in her notifications section.

[Warning! Play a game in 0:00:47 to avoid 3 automatic punishments!]

What the fuck?! There was a timer?! She had to keep playing with an or else attached in tiny writing?!

Shit! Shit shit shit shit!

Standing there, she didn't move - didn't sit down, she didn't do _anything _except carefully tap the [Play] button next to it, starting up a new game. Pixel-Cindy woke up, and promptly started to openly massage her titties. She, too, was near-naked, freakishly identical to the real Cindy - though pixel-Cindy's panties were visibly wet, exaggeratedly so. "Shit shit shit shit shit...", Cindy mumbled, rapidly doing her best to try to match the stupid gems in the stupid gems. C'mon c'mon c'mon c'mon. How was she supposed to fucking do this when her pretty nails keep getting in the way! How the fuck is this meant to be fair?!

The familiar buzzer sounded, crushing what little hope Cindy had felt like a cigarette butt under a high-heeled boot.

[Choose A Punishment!]

Vile Vocabulary

Cosplay & Costumes

Slutty Reputation