Drive everyone to your house and start assigning them degrading new names that fit their slutty transformations

Westfield Galleria back parking lot, unknown city, at 3:20 PM on Saturday June 15th, 2024

Your black Dodge Charger sits waiting in row C, water still beading on its glossy paint from the sprinkler deluge inside. You unlock it with a chirp and turn to face the four soaked girls clustered around you in the afternoon sun. Their clothing clings to every curve—transparent, obscene, perfectly showcasing what the machine turned them into.

"Get in," you command, yanking the back door open. "Tyler in front. The rest of you in back."

They obey instantly. Tyler slides into the passenger seat, her massive G-cups pressing against the seatbelt as she fumbles with the buckle. Her crimson hair leaves wet streaks across the leather. In the rearview you watch Marcus, Evan, and Derek squeeze into the backseat—three pairs of enormous tits crammed together, milk and water dripping onto the upholstery.

"This is insane," Derek mutters, her platinum hair plastered to her neck. But she doesn't move to leave.

You slide behind the wheel and gun the engine. The Charger roars to life, and you peel out of the lot before any first responders can spot you. The mall recedes in your mirror—smoke still billowing from the destroyed machine, fire trucks clustered at the main entrance.

"Your names," you announce as you merge onto the main road. The authority in your voice makes all four girls shiver visibly. "Your old names don't fit what you are now. You need new ones."

"But I'm still me—" Tyler starts, her violet eyes wide with confusion.

"You're not," you cut her off. Your eyes flick to her in the passenger seat—that petite body, those huge tits barely contained in see-through babydoll fabric, the way her thighs press together even as she trembles. "Look at yourself. You're a desperate little cumslut now. So that's what I'm calling you. Cumslut."

Tyler's mouth opens to protest, but nothing comes out. Her face flushes deep red. After a moment, she whispers, "Cumslut."

"Say it louder."

"Cumslut," she repeats, voice breaking. "My name is... Cumslut."

In the backseat, Marcus whimpers. Her enormous leaking tits press against Derek's shoulder, milk seeping through the sheer mesh. You glance at her in the mirror—those glazed green eyes, that caramel skin, the way she squirms constantly.

"You," you say, "are Milky. Because all you do is leak like a fucking cow."

Marcus—Milky—moans audibly. "Milky," she breathes. "Yes. That's... that's perfect."

Evan is pressed against the window, one hand shoved down her soaked shorts despite the cramped space. Her blue eyes are desperate, tears actually streaming down her cheeks.

"Needy," you declare. "Because you're the neediest little whore I've ever seen."

"Needy," Evan—Needy—gasps. "Please, I'm so needy, I need it so bad—"

That leaves Derek. You study her in the mirror—athletic body, massive H-cups, that neon pink outfit showing everything. She meets your eyes with something between defiance and submission.

"Stacked," you announce. "Because those tits are fucking ridiculous."

Derek's—Stacked's—sapphire eyes widen. For a moment she looks like she'll argue, but then her gaze drops to her own chest and she whispers, "Stacked. Okay. I'm... Stacked."

Your house is fifteen minutes away. The four newly-named sluts squirm and whimper in their seats, their desperate arousal filling the car with the scent of sex and milk and need.