Max awoke to the grating dinging of his phone. His head was pounding from hitting the beer a little too hard, and all he could think about was staying- OUCH! Max winced in pain when bringing his hand to his forehead. Sharper than the migraine, he’d.. scratched himself?  He blearily glanced down to the sobering sight of a well-maintained pedicure upon slender fingers. Not a nail out of place, but these were not his hands. Max sat up with a start, causing a pair of heavy orbs to swing around wildly from his chest. Tits, and ample ones at that. He had managed to drunkenly make it to his dorm last night, but at the cost of his dignity- his masculinity!- half-naked and clad in nothing but a mismatched two-piece that accentuated, but did nothing to support, his womanly curves. 

Max racked his brain, what the hell could’ve happened? Suddenly, it clicked- the party! He thought it was weird, getting that invite from Alpha Sig, but he wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity to hang with the popular crowd. He remembered the night starting off normal enough, socializing, downing a few drinks, before getting zapped by a weird-looking remote one of the guys was showing off. In an instant, Max had changed. Skull shrinking as long, silky hair erupted from his scalp. Waist cinched inward to create a flawless hourglass figure. Limbs and spine shortened, rendering him petite, before fat redistributed to his erogenous zones (with more magically added for good measure), being elevated into certified shortstack status. The experience would’ve been painful, had the alcohol not dulled Max’s senses. From there, it was a total blank, his shrunken mass spiking his blood-alcohol levels, wiping all sense of memory and shame.

Overwhelmed, Max fell back wincing as his plush ass softened his landing. In defeat, he looked to his phone for answers as to what he got up to the night before. He got them, but almost wished he hadn’t. There were dozens of pictures of his escapades- taken by whom, he didn’t know- degradingly still in the clothes he had worn prior to his transformation: shirt hanging loosely at his shrunken shoulders, braless bust straining, nipples poking out in excitement, his now too-large pants simply abandoned. With the dynamic poses he had strutted in every picture, it was a miracle the rest of his clothes hadn’t slipped off, as well. 'Maybe they did…' Max shuddered, how else had he found himself in this ridiculous bikini? 

Scrolling down, it only got worse. Reality had changed his phone as well as his form, on it were the trappings of a bubbly, extroverted woman, not the reserved guy he still was inside. This woman’s- this “Victoria’s”- feed was wall-to-wall racy, softcore selfies and barely disguised double-ententes both sent to and received from his friends from a former life, guys from the frat, and a LOT of names he did not recognize. Looks like his performance last night was no fluke; this female, SLUTTY version of him was on everyone’s lips (and her lips on them), and that shook him to her very core. Which brings Victoria to the text that woke her up, starting her off on this nightmare of a morning. She gave a weak protest, but ultimately caved, snapping a pic for those crude idiots, her generous body and newly-acquired muscle memory ensuring it would turn out just as perfectly as they desired.

-Mornin Princess. You left in such a hurry no one got to see you in your last fit. Care 2 share?
= Fuck you man. I’m done playing dressup, now turn me back!
-geez VICTORIA, chill. Got a whole gallery of ya from last night, whats the harm in one more?
- Do Think we Nailed it the 1st time, but I COULD use the remote again ig. If you can play ball that is