Microskirt Mania

None of these options were good. None of them. They weren't even bad, they were just straight-up awful. The first would presumably have her prance around with a skirt no longer than a belt, the second have her turn every guy and gal into objectifying sleazebags, and the third wouldn't merely destroy her reputation, she'd forever be taken at a joke.

There wasn't a single option here that left her with any degree of control of her life.

Except, arguably, the first one. Presumably, it'd make her wear short skirts? Or - well, _microskirts, _which were presumably shorter still. The kind that'd be slutty no matter what kind of skirt it was. She'd be just a few degrees of an angle away from flashing her undergarments at strangers all the time. But- She could probably cover it up? Wear something over it? Or maybe wear a pair of leggings underneath, or something. Surely there was a way for it to be manageable, right?

A little exclamation mark popped up on the app screen. [Time's Running Out! Decide quick!].

She didn't have more time to contemplate, and with the clack of her acrylic tapping against the phone screen, she made her choice. Almost immediately, her little avatar - the uncanny lookalike - underwent a change. Specifically, through some fluid animation, her pants merged together into a skirt, which then started to shrink, climbing up, up, up, exposing more and more of her bare legs underneath - until it settled just at the edge of her upper thighs, if one defined upper thighs somewhat liberally. She looked like a porn actor.

She found herself almost enthralled for a moment, looking at the avatar, until an intense feeling of discomfort washed over her. Something akin to a kind of naueea, an itch or the likes along her entire legs- and looking down at her pants, it didn't take long until she then took the hint, and rapidly, almost manically, peeled herself out of her slim-fit jeans.

And she let out a sigh of relief. Much better. But she couldn't be naked, either, and there's no way she was walking anywhere in those pants. God. She'd have to do it, huh? She got up, and marched into the kitchen - preemptively grabbing a pair of scissors, and making what decidedly felt like a walk of shame to her bedroom, pulling out a drawer.

The next second, there was a clattering noise as the scissors hit the ground.

Stunned, with her jaw dropped, Cindy looked down at the drawer that indeed contained her skirts - but at the same time, they were not her skirts. This was- They were so scandalously.....pornographic, that calling it anything else than skankwear would be factually incorrect.

Gingerly, she pinched together her thumb and index finger, and begun plucking out some of the garments. To her horror, she instinctively recognized all of them as comfortable. Her brain was happy to inform her that she'd feel good in these, every single one, whilst another part of her brain was silently whimpering with the imagined mortifications.

The bed behind her had some skirts tossed upon it.

A micro-mini denim skirt, with a rose gold, heart-shaped buckle on it.

A black PVC(?) pleated miniskirt. Flared, of course, so as to make whoever wore it look even more like a sex object.

A flimsy red metallic piece, that could surely double as a barely-there boob tube for all the aspiring porndolls of the world.

God.

Cindy sat down, shaking, at the edge of the bed, holding what might be the most 'decent' garment she could get away with wearing.

A white cotton, almost cutesy miniskirt, with a few ruffles that made it seem like it had more volume or coverage than it really did - the same way that vertical stripes could make one seem slimmer, and so on.

Technically, of course, it was a microskirt, but her head started spinning less as long as she called it a miniskirt instead. Tentatively, she moved in front of the mirror, and begun to slip it on - stepping in one leg at a time, before starting to pull the skirt itself upward. It was the strangest sensation- a kind of relief that ascended in potency the higher she pulled it on. It felt right, it felt comfortable, and as she let it go so that the elastic waistband snapped in, she let out a pleased, almost dreamy sigh - before gasping, catching herself.

"Fuck," she mumbled to herself. Her phone buzzed out in the living room, as an unseen notification popped in.

[Dirty Language In Private: +5% Bad Girl]

Cindy spent at least fifteen minutes checking herself out in the mirror that same time. Mortified of how she looked, and worried by just how much some new part of her mind finally felt at ease, as if a burden had been lifted. Worst of all, though?

She kept wondering if Chris and his friends would like it.

But it wasn't as if she was gonna go outside. At least like this. Even if she really, really did wonder what they'd think of it. If they'd like it.

If they approved.

No. She wasn't going to do it. No way she was going to reduce herself to some shameless sex-object purely to satisfy a craving that some absurd, outrageous app had instilled in her, to not only invite the male gaze, but to request it? To ask that some men give opinions on how fuckable she looked? No. Never. It wasn't going to happen.

Five minutes later, the door to her apartment closed behind her, phone in hand.

In one hand, her phone, still unlocked, showed the Cindy-avatar giggling.

"Woah, who's that?" someone asked from behind her. Oh god. No.

Cindy turned on her flats in the hallway, facing a trio of what could best be described as bros. Generic. Hunky men in shorts and tank tops, one of them even carrying the signature six-pack of beer in a hand. Cindy looked - and felt - like a deer caught in headlights.

She needed to make a good first impression.

Wait, no, that means-

"Hiii guys! You must be Chris' friends, right?", she asked, in a tone of voice she'd never caught herself using before. She hated how much it felt like it mattered that they liked her.

Following their gaze, she looked down at herself - and saw one of her neon-clawed hands idly playing with the absurdly short microskirt she wore, drawing attention to it.

It took a few seconds, but their collective gaze soon enough ascended - and with it, a slight look of confusion, and- disappointment, perhaps, in their eyes. Understandably, of course. If one cropped out everything but her legs, one might indeed assume they were watching some porn star candid or horny subreddit post. But the rest?

Forgettable didn't even cover it.

And it hit like a gut punch to Cindy's ego. She felt underdressed, but, ironically, not as a result of the fact they could see her panties if she bent over a little.

"Huh? Oh, yeah. We won't be too loud, probably?", came the response from one of them - the blonde one - before the black-haired wonderstud chimed in affirmatively. "For sure. You won't even notice we're here," came the add-on. For some reason, Cindy felt- not insulted, but.. disregarded. It hurt. Her phone, held in her other hand, buzzed. She looked down again.

[Quick Action: Gain 50% more time by asking: "Does this skirt make me look fuckable?"]

No. God, no, not here. Not now. The timer next the popup was ticking down. She desperately needed to win a level. She had to remove one of these fucking changes to her. Just being able to wear fucking pants would be enough to-

"Uh, excuse me?"

Cindy snapped back to reality. The trio of testosterone stood much closer to her, one of them up in her face. He was tall. The blonde one. She found herself almost looking directly into his chest.

"Huh?", Cindy replied, blinking, looking up with doe-like eyes of genuine confusion.

"Can we pass?"

"Oh- I- Yes, just, one moment," she replied, opening her door. Time to retreat back in and never return to the world. Unless she could beat a level and remove a punishment and it was now or never-

She stopped halfway in the door, and admittedly, through a half-choked voice, asked the question, "Uh, question? Do you think I look sexy in this skirt?", she asked, with a mixture of self-loathing and shame swirling through the tone of her voice. The worst part about her was how that new part of her was **** for one of them to say yes.

They gave a laugh among one another, some of them looking at the rest as if inaudibly asking if this girl was for real.

"Uh, sure. Top half could use some work though.", came the response.

And normally that'd be cause for Cindy to smack him in the face so hard he'd suffer a whiplash injury. But not only could that cause her to break a nail, but what's worse is that unlike before, it _didn't _fill her with boiling rage. It filled her with a pang of shame. For the first time in her entire life, the very idea that she wasn't hot enough made her feel like a weight had materialized in the pit of her stomach.

She slammed the door shut. God. If this game had some internal tracker for her level of self-respect, it just took a significant dent. Her phone buzzed.

[Task Failed: +5% Bad Girl]

[10% Threshold Reached: Click To Resolve]

What?! But she did it! She asked a complete stranger if her absurdly short skirt made her look-

No. No no no no no. Please. No.

Her finger carefully met the screen. Carefully. She wouldn't want to break a nail, after-all.

And just like that, the little avatar-Cindy poked her tongue out. And a new game started up, with the timer above ticking away, with what the game labeled as a 'Bad Girl Modifier' - which was making the countdown timer go down 10% faster. Shit. No.

Click. Click. Clack. Click, Cindy's finger tapped against the screen, as she stood there in her apartment, with her almost-entirely bare legs on display, modesty maintained only by a flimsy, micro-mini cotton skirt with a few ruffles to it. She felt water build up in her eyes as the timer expired, the familiar buzzer informing her of how she'd failed. Again. And had to choose another punishment.

[Choose A Punishment]

Helpless Tease

Man-Made Tits

Surrounded By Dildos