Wait, Wait, Wait...

You hurriedly tap at the app interface as the seconds count down, your fingers dancing across the screen in desperation.

"SHIT. Um, Red Hair. 5'0. Cute as a button. Irish. and once again NOT A SLUT," you blurt out, typing frantically into the customization field.

Becky's animated avatar tilts her head, her enormous breasts bouncing with the motion as she processes your input. "Oooh, someone likes 'em fiery!" she giggles, twirling a strand of her blonde hair. "Let's see what we can do with that..."

The 3D model in the center of the screen begins to transform before your eyes. Her height shrinks down to a petite 5'0" frame, her proportions adjusting to maintain a balanced look. Rich, copper-red hair sprouts from her scalp, cascading in gentle waves to her shoulders. Her features soften into something undeniably cute—bright green eyes, a delicate nose dotted with light freckles, and a sweet smile that radiates warmth rather than seduction.

"Irish, hmm?" Becky muses, tapping a long fingernail against her plush lower lip. "Adding those Celtic genes, sugar..." The model's skin tone shifts to a fair, creamy complexion with a light dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose and cheeks. "And you really want her not to be a slut?" Becky pouts dramatically, but the sliders for "Sexual Forwardness" and "Exhibitionism" slide down to their lower settings regardless.

"Boring," Becky sighs theatrically. "But it's your fantasy, I guess."

The countdown timer flashes more urgently now: 00:00:15 remaining.

"Last chance to change your mind, handsome," Becky purrs. "Sure you don't want to boost those titties a little? Maybe add some daddy issues? No? Fine, fine."

The "LOCK IN" button pulses insistently, growing larger on the screen until it's almost impossible to ignore.

"Time's up!" Becky announces cheerfully. "Ready or not, here... she... comes!"

With no further input from you, the app automatically presses the "LOCK IN" button. The screen flashes blindingly bright, forcing you to shield your eyes as a wave of heat surges through your body. The sensation is bizarre—like being dunked in hot water while simultaneously feeling electric tingles race along every nerve ending.

The phone slips from your suddenly numb fingers, clattering against the kitchen counter before sliding to the floor. A dizzying rush of vertigo hits you, and you clutch at the edge of the counter to stay upright as the room spins around you.

Your body feels wrong—shifting and compressing in impossible ways. Your hips widen while your waist narrows; your chest tightens and then swells with a strange weight; your hair lengthens, tickling your shoulders as it cascades down in coppery waves.

Between your legs, an indescribable sensation of loss and inversion makes you gasp—your most intimate anatomy folding inward, reshaping itself into something entirely new and alien to you. The feeling is so intense, so overwhelming, that a moan escapes your lips—but the sound is higher, softer than your normal voice.

Just then, the kitchen door swings open.

"Hey, you making coffee?" David asks, stepping into the kitchen. He freezes mid-stride, his eyes widening comically as he takes in the impossible transformation happening right before him.

You try to speak, to explain, but all that comes out is a soft, feminine whimper as the final waves of change sweep through you.