Olivia has a photo shoot!

Joana’s legs didn’t stop moving.

They crossed and uncrossed. They shifted restlessly on the couch. Her bare thighs pressed together, then separated, then brushed again as she adjusted her posture. Everything was soft. And electric.

And real.

“You’re fidgeting,” Olivia said from the kitchen, sipping coffee. Joana looked down at herself - plush, curvy, and barely contained in a fitted white tee that had already betrayed her by letting one pink nipple ghost through the fabric.

“I’m not used to… having so much body,” she muttered. “It feels like I’m wearing myself.”

Olivia smirked. “You are. And you look good doing it.”

Joana flushed. “I feel like I shouldn’t go outside like this.”

“Oh,” Olivia said, suddenly far too calm. “That’s funny.”

“Why?”

“Because I have a photoshoot in twenty minutes.”

Joana blinked. “What, like… a real one? With cameras?”

“And lights,” Olivia said, slipping on a blazer. “And bikini models. You should come. It’ll be fun.”

Joana’s heart jumped. “Olivia-”

“You said you wanted to see the world,” Olivia interrupted, grabbing her bag. “Well, this is what my world looks like. Come on, cute stuff. We’ll get you some shoes.”

The ride was quiet-Joana too stunned to speak, Olivia too casual to explain.

They arrived at what looked like a converted warehouse. White brick walls. Blacked-out windows. A discreet sign above the door that simply read: Studio Lumi. Joana’s heels clicked across the pavement-again conjured by reality's new rules to match her barely-there sundress. Her breasts bounced with every step, restrained only by the thinnest bra she’d ever not remembered buying.

Inside was chaos. Controlled chaos. Lights, reflectors, racks of clothing, makeup kits, folding chairs. Half-dressed models swanned around in thongs and glossy lips. Everyone was beautiful. Everyone was busty.

Joana froze just inside the doorway.

She felt like a toddler lost in a lingerie ad.

“This was a bad idea,” she whispered.

But Olivia, already removing her coat to reveal a turquoise bikini, turned and gave her a slow, wicked smile. “No,” she said. “This is the perfect idea.”

The photographer was mid-pose with a girl who looked like a literal hourglass brought to life - Joana couldn’t stop staring. Her waist had to be twenty inches. Her boobs were insane. Joana instinctively crossed her arms.

The photographer noticed them immediately. Olivia got a quick wave.

Then his eyes landed on Joana. He blinked. Paused. And walked over.

“New talent?” he asked Olivia, not taking his eyes off Joana.

“She’s not talent,” Olivia said smoothly. “Just watching.”

“Mmm. Shame,” he muttered. “Face like that, figure like that? She’d book in a heartbeat.”

Joana opened her mouth to protest, but Olivia gently touched her back.

“She’s shy,” Olivia whispered. “Let her watch.”

Joana barely remembered walking, but suddenly she was seated on a folding chair near the set. People - models - buzzed around her. A makeup artist handed her a bottle of water. A stylist gave her a once-over and muttered, “Great base curves.” Joana blinked.

She didn’t speak. She just watched.

Olivia was radiant in front of the camera. Confident. Playful. Her breasts bounced with perfect precision as she shifted poses, arching her back just enough, parting her lips just so. The camera adored her.

And Joana?

Joana was slowly melting into her seat.

She couldn’t stop touching her own thigh. She crossed her legs, only to feel the pressure shift to her hips. She shifted again, and her breasts swayed in her dress, drawing more attention from the models passing by.

One, a redhead with absurdly perky cleavage and a barely-there pink bikini, walked by and winked.

“New girl?” she asked, teasing.

Joana stammered. “Just… observing.”

“Let me know when you’re done observing and ready to pose,” the redhead smirked. “I always like a challenge.”

She vanished before Joana could reply.

Olivia returned between shoots, breathless but beaming, glistening slightly from the warm lights. She handed Joana a strawberry protein bar like they were back at home watching TV.

“Well?” she asked. “Culture shock?”

Joana took a shaky bite.

“I don’t think I’m just watching,” she said quietly.

“Oh?”

“I don’t mean I want to pose. I just mean… I feel like I belong. Not here. Not yet. But in this skin. In this world.”

Olivia nodded, pleased. “Good.”

Joana looked up at her. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

“I wanted you to feel it. Not just the boobs and hips,” she said, kneeling so they were eye-level. “The gaze. The way the room shifts when you walk in. The heat in your thighs when someone stares too long. The way your own body reminds you what it can do. Who you can be.”