Ask Morgan what she wants you to do

The words come out naturally, instinctively. "What do you want me to do?"

The question hangs in the air between you, and you watch Morgan's expression shift. Those enormous pale blue eyes widen slightly, processing what you've just asked. Not 'what should we do' or 'what's next'—but what does she want you to do. The distinction is everything.

Her wings rustle, spreading slightly as she straightens to her full height. At five-ten, she towers over your compact five-two frame. The height difference sends another jolt through your rewired nervous system. She's so much bigger than you now. Stronger. Superior.

"Stand up," Morgan says, and her voice has found a new edge. Not cruel, but commanding. Testing.

You obey immediately, rising from the medical pod. Your body moves with perfect coordination, and standing this close to her, you have to tilt your head back to meet her eyes. Her scent wraps around you—pheromones flooding your brain with need. Your cock is painfully hard, and you make no attempt to hide it. She can see exactly what she does to you.

Morgan circles you slowly, those long legs carrying her with predatory grace. You feel her eyes cataloging every inch of your new body. When she passes behind you, her fingers trail across your shoulders, down your spine. The touch makes you shiver.

"You're so small now," she murmurs, coming back to face you. One hand reaches out, fingers wrapping around your bicep. She could probably overpower you easily with her fitness model frame and enhanced strength. The thought makes your cock twitch. "You made yourself small for me. Made yourself need me."

"Yes," you breathe. The admission feels like release.

Her free hand moves to your chest, palm flat against your sternum. You can feel your heart hammering against her touch. "And you can't even get hard for anyone else now, can you? Only me."

"Only you," you confirm. The psychological modifications make it impossible to lie to her, impossible to hide. "I need you. I need your approval like—"

"Like oxygen," she finishes, and her smile is radiant and terrible. "I know. I can see it in your eyes. The way you're looking at me—like I'm everything."

"You are everything," you say, and mean it with every cell of your reconstructed body.

Morgan's hand slides down from your chest to wrap around your cock. Her grip is confident, possessive. You gasp at the contact, your hips jerking involuntarily.

"This is mine too," she says, stroking slowly. "All of you is mine. My property. Say it."

"I'm yours," you manage, your voice breaking. "Your property. All of me."

She releases you suddenly, stepping back. The loss of contact is almost painful. "Good boy," she purrs, and the praise hits your brain like pure dopamine. You actually sway on your feet from the rush of it.

Dr. Tanaka clears her throat from across the room. "The wardrobe deliveries arrived during your transformation. Everything is in the bedroom closets. You should probably dress before engaging in any... activities. The cameras are recording everything, but the studio did provide some guidance on pacing your first stream."