Sorority Sisters' Service Project - The Morning After free porn video

Sorority Sisters' Service Project - The Morning After By Lenal Brody woke up feeling like she had the world's worst hangover. She rubbed her aching head, then noticed that her hair was much longer than usual. The previous day's weirdness rushed back as she shook the grogginess, sitting up in bed. She looked down, fearing that she might see the enormous pregnant belly that had made it so hard to fall asleep, that had made her get up every hour in the night to stumble toward the bathroom, but her stomach was mostly flat beneath the satin nightie that Her Majesty had given her. An irrational hope bubbled into her groggy mind, but a quick exploration with her hands indicated that she was mostly flat down below as well. "Fun," she said flatly. "I'm still a fuzzy chick." She rubbed at her breasts, wincing at how swollen and tender they felt. She yawned and stretched, feeling soreness in her cheeks as well. She rubbed them and noticed that she was smiling. In fact, she couldn't stop smiling, and she couldn't tell if it was a physical limitation or if she just couldn't muster enough desire to make it happen. She might have thought more on the subject, but a wave of nausea overtook her. She slid out of her pink-covered bed and walked calmly toward the bathroom, where she lifted the toilet seat and began vomiting. Brody had no idea how long she'd been kneeling there when Samantha appeared in the doorway. "Gotta tie your hair back before you do that next time," she said dryly. Brody wiped her mouth on the back of her hand and looked up at Her. "How's it going?" "Just great, Your Majesty," Brody said with a grin. "Really?" Samantha asked. "No, Your Majesty, I feel like fluffy sheep." Samantha snorted. "Then why are you smiling?" "Because you told me to, Your Majesty." Samantha stared blankly for a moment before she remembered that she'd ordered Brody to smile and calm down last night. She'd have to be mindful of how she used this authority. "You don't have to keep smiling, and you can express whatever feelings you're actually feeling. But no more of that sarcasm; you can have whatever attitude you like with anyone else, but when you're talking to me, you will only ever speak the truth." "Yes, Your Majesty," Brody said. Her mouth straightened, and she massaged her sore cheeks until nausea forced her over the toilet once more. Samantha grabbed her hair and held it back, wrinkling up her nose at the dampness at the ends, the little bits of food caught in the strands. "Good. When you can talk again, tell me how you feel compared to last night." Once Brody finished heaving, between panting breaths, she spoke. "I feel fluffy g-gross. I'm tired of fluffy barfing, and everything fluffy hurts. My head hurts, my ta-ta's hurt, my s-stomach hurts, but at least I'm not a f-fuzzy blimp anymore, Your Majesty." "Why do you think I did this to you?" Samantha asked. "Because you're fuzzy crazy! You're a man-hating dynamite beauty, Your Majesty!" Brody replied before heaving again. "Well, we've definitely got a lot of work to do still," Samantha said, letting Brody's hair fall back down around her face. "When you're done here, clean yourself up and get dressed. You can pick out your outfit for breakfast." The thought of food turned Brody's stomach again, and she gagged on the rising bile. *** Carlos woke with a yawn, and noticed that while the weight on her chest was heavier than usual, it was considerably lighter than it had been the previous evening. She tried to push away thoughts of the previous evening. She sat up in bed and examined herself. When she'd come to bed, she'd realized that she couldn't lay on her back unless she wanted to be suffocated beneath her mammoth mammaries, and there wasn't enough space to fit both her body and her breasts on the bed if she laid on her side, so she took a face-down position, lying mostly on her breasts, which spilled over both edges of the twin mattress. There wasn't a shirt in the house (or possibly in existence) that could cover her boulder-sized tits, and the shorts she'd worn the day before were loose and soaked with sweat from lugging all that weight across campus to the sorority house (and other fluids she wanted to ignore from the part of the night she wanted to forget). So she slept naked with a sheet draped ineffectually over her backside. At some point in the night, her breasts must have shrunk. They were still huge, especially with how slim and petite her body had become, but she estimated that their volume had decreased by a factor of fifty, leaving them roughly the size of cantaloupes, if a bit heavier and not as firm. She hefted them in her hands, and somewhere in the scent of stale sweat from yesterday's exertions, she caught an intoxicating odor. Her heart raced, and she rushed to the vanity to examine herself in more detail. Was there some left? Had she missed a bit? Even a little dried residue would be amazing. The memories flooded back as the craving made her mouth water and her stomach rumble. Not long after Carlos had arrived at the house (with an aching desire for something that she couldn't quite place), Tiffany brought Marcus down to the living room, showing that he'd been changed, too. Marc was no longer the pudgy bald guy who would come over to Carlos's room to play computer games, but an attractive young woman with a truly enormous penis, slick and shiny with lube. "Marcus, Carlos, you two know each other already," Tiffany said. "Right?" "Yes," Marcus said in a breathy voice. "They got you too, huh?" "I suppose they did," Carlos had replied. "That craving you have," June said. "We're going to satisfy it. You just need to get on your knees in front of Marcus." "I don't understand," Carlos had replied, but some part of her did. Some part of her looked at that inhumanly large cock and saw satisfaction, even then, and that's why she knelt down on the floor of the sorority house's common area, her breasts flattening out against the cold wood in front of her. Marcus walked forward at Tiffany's urging, positioning herself just in front of Carlos. "Lick her cock," June said. "What?" Carlos responded, disgusted. Or, more accurately, trying to feel the disgust she knew she should have felt. But some growing part of her felt exactly the opposite. "You want to satisfy your craving, right? Lick her cock." Carlos looked at the appendage, its head thick and dusky pink, and wrinkled up her nose. She didn't want to do it (part of her wanted to do it) but she wanted the urge to go away, and if humiliating herself was what it would take to make June release her from her desires, then so be it. She brought her face close to the tip, knowing that there was no way she could fit even the whole head into her mouth (why did she want to?), and took a deep breath. And in that breath, in that moment, every part of her understood. This wasn't some kind of test, this was the source, this was what she wanted. When she licked from the underside of its massive frenulum up to the tip, she did so eagerly, passionately. The taste of precum hit her tongue like the first drop of rain in the desert. Her massive nipples stiffened, and her whole body broke out in goosebumps. She licked around the rim of the urethra, desperate for more of that fluid, and Marcus shuddered with pleasure. "Oh fuck!" Marcus moaned. Another bit of the fluid trickled out, and Carlos whimpered as she drank it in, desperate for more. Despite the futility, she wrapped her mouth around as much of the head as she could fit, licking all around as though there were a secret spot she could hit that would open the floodgates. "All right, Marc," Tiffany said. "You can come now." Marcus's whole body stiffened, and the head of her dick swelled. The first spurt of cum filled Carlos's mouth entirely. It hit her tongue--hot, thick, salty, sweet, musty, acidic, and not entirely unlike soap--but it was the most incredible thing she'd ever tasted. In that moment, her first female orgasm shuddered like a lightning bolt through her body, but she barely even noticed because the pleasures in her mouth were so much stronger than the pleasures down below. She'd had neither the chance nor the inclination to swallow by the time the second jet forced the first further down her throat. She choked on the delicious stuff, breaking away from Marcus's delicious penis, semen dripping out of the corners of her mouth and spurting from her nose. She swirled it around with her tongue and swallowed slowly, and even then, only because she needed to breathe if she was going to have any hope of tasting more of it. All the while, Marcus was coming, moaning and grunting as she shot jet after jet, coating Carlos's face and hair and of course her massive breasts. A white puddle pooled at her collarbone and began running slowly down the valley formed by her enormous cleavage. Once Marcus stopped, she nearly collapsed. Breathing heavy, weak in the knees, she rubbed her hand over the head of her cock and gasped at the sensation. She pulled her hand away, a long string of semen still connecting her fingers to the tip. "No no no no *nononono*," Carlos said, trying to lean forward and nearly somersaulting over her breasts. She grabbed Marcus's hand and yanked it toward her mouth, licking and sucking on her fingers until they were clean. She did the same for her cock, making Marcus shudder and twitch again. "Fuckin' crazy," Marcus panted, backing away. Tiffany led her off, but Carlos didn't notice. She was too busy meticulously scooping every bit of semen from every part of her body into her mouth, savoring every drop as it swirled on her tongue and ran down her throat. Her body felt electrified, awash in pleasure, and every spot where the delicious stuff still lingered on her skin tingled erotically. Eventually she'd consumed it all, much to her disappointment. After that, June had helped her upstairs, where all the new girls were confined to their rooms for the night. Carlos had hesitated when passing the door with Marcus's name on it, but June led Carlos on to her own room, the next one along the hall. Through the shared wall, Carlos could hear Tiffany and Marcus fucking. They went on for what seemed like hours. Carlos tried to imagine the scene, to imagine Marcus filling Tiffany's pussy with cum, how it would drip out and roll down her thighs. She wasn't going to use it, it was just going to go to waste. Maybe...maybe if she knocked on the door, maybe if she asked very nicely, they would let her drink it, lick it up, let her have one more sweet taste of it just to get her through the night. June had told her to stay in her room, and who knows what she'd do if Carlos disobeyed, but in that moment she was willing to endure any humiliation for the chance at just another drop of that glorious elixir. She hefted her breasts off the bed and stumbled to her door, but no matter how she tried, it refused to open. She'd gone back to bed then, and eventually managed to fall asleep despite it all. Now, in the bright light of morning, Carlos wondered how she'd ever gotten that desperate. Just yesterday she had been a straight young man with a girlfriend; the very thought of sucking a (delicious) dick, of swallowing (delicious) cum should disgust (delight) her, not have her pawing at the door at midnight in hopes of having a second helping. Her examination in the mirror failed to turn up anything, and she shook her head at the silliness of it all. But the way a few of the strands of her hair stuck together...without hesitation she shoved the strand of hair in her mouth and began sucking on it, and her head tilted backward in an expression of ecstasy. She let out a ragged breath as the taste hit her tongue once more, not quite as good as it was when it came from the source, but still the best thing she could imagine. She saw her reflection again, and felt suddenly self-conscious. But she was a girl now, she told herself. She had long hair, and girls with long hair sometimes put their hair in their mouths. It's just a thing girls do. Nothing wrong or ridiculous or gross (or delicious) about it. *** A knock on Marcus's door woke her up, but she hadn't been in a particularly deep sleep to begin with. She felt much the same as she had when she'd finally slipped into unconsciousness: tired, sore, horny, and frustrated. After seeing what happened to the other girls last night, she'd begun to think that she got off easy. Sure, she looked like a girl, and for a little while she'd lost her dick, but once she got back to the house it came back better than ever. Plus, she still had a pussy, and after the orgasm Tiffany had given her on the porch, she wanted to get to know that new part a whole lot better. She'd then gone upstairs to start masturbating her giant dick, and it seemed even better. It was so much bigger and more sensitive than the one she'd had before, and her pussy was a lot more fun to play with than balls ever were. She took her time rubbing lube all over her dick, slipping fingers in and out of her new opening, playing with her tits, and feeling a whole host of wonderful new sensations. Not only that, but she was hard as a rock the whole time. She felt like she'd hit the jackpot. But after an hour of masturbating, she still hadn't hit the jackpot. She'd tried everything, different speeds, changing up her grip, fingering herself while she stroked, fingering alone, she even fulfilled an old teenage dream by giving herself a blowjob (it's not gay if it's your own dick, *duh*), but while it all felt amazing, and the pleasure kept building, she never managed to reach climax, not until Tiffany had her come all over Carlos. She shuddered to think about that. Who knew Carlos was such a perv? Plus with those huge tits...compared to her, Marcus felt lucky, even if she hadn't yet figured out how to come on her own. And then Tiffany brought her up to her new room, to her new bed, and despite the marathon masturbation session and drenching Carlos in her spunk, she wasn't tired at all, and her dick was as hard as ever. She and Tiff fucked for a couple of hours, and she was sure Tiffany came at least two or three times. But Marcus didn't. The pleasure and pressure kept building, but there was never any climax, never any release. Eventually Tiffany climbed off and kissed her on the forehead. "Thanks baby, that was amazing," she'd said, and then she'd sauntered out of the room, leaving Marcus wired and turned on and unsatisfied. She started masturbating then, trying to finish herself off, but over the course of the next few minutes her dick shrunk away, leaving her with a wet pussy that throbbed and ached to be filled, to be pushed over the edge into orgasmic bliss. She rubbed her clit and fingered herself and tweaked her nipples and did everything she could think of, but an hour after Tiffany had gone, she was still just as horny, twice as aroused, and even more exhausted. She tossed and turned and rubbed herself idly for what felt like half the night before sleep finally took her fitfully into unconsciousness. And, what felt like only a few seconds later, Tiffany was opening her door, not waiting for Marcus to answer the knock. Marcus squinted in the bright sunlight and rubbed at her face. "Good morning, sleepyhead," Tiffany said cheerfully. "Thanks again for last night. I can't remember the last time I slept so well, felt so relaxed." Marcus grumbled something that never quite became words and rolled over, pulling her pillow over her head. "Oh, what's the matter?" Tiffany sat on the bed and rubbed Marcus's shoulder. "Didn't sleep well? What, were you too turned-on? Did I get you all revved up and just leave once I was satisfied? Sucks, doesn't it?" Marcus's whine was muffled by the pillow. "It's okay, we can stay in bed for a little bit still," Tiffany said, sliding into Marcus's bed. "I skipped out on cuddling last night, and look, now I get to be the big spoon!" With how they left things last night, Marcus was loath to admit that she liked the feeling of Tiffany's body up against hers. It wasn't exactly normal, but it was soothing. She slipped back off to sleep wrapped in Tiffany's arms. It didn't last long. Marcus was awakened again not long after by Tiffany's hand running up and down Marcus's naked side. "God, you're so soft now," she whispered. She nibbled Marcus's ear and kissed her way down her neck. Marcus broke out in goosebumps all down her body. "You know, I wouldn't mind an encore if you're up for it," Tiffany cooed. Her hand caressed Marcus's body, her fingers slowly rubbing across Marcus's stiff nipples as she slipped her hand down to her naked pussy. Marcus was torn between fatigue and the residual arousal from the night before. Her pussy grew wet again in spite of her conflicted feelings. And then she felt her cock swelling to fill Tiffany's waiting hand. Tiffany gripped it firmly. It was that sensation that really woke Marcus up. She flipped off the covers to look at herself, and saw that her once horse-like appendage was human-sized once more. "What did you do to my dick?" she shouted. "It's so small!" Tiffany laughed. "Okay, first? It's eight inches, babe. Not only is that huge for your petite little body, it's still bigger than the one you had as a man." She traced a finger up and down the length of the cock. "And second, haven't you figured it out yet? This isn't *your* dick. It pops up when I'm horny, it gets as big as I want it to be, and it only comes when I say it can. It's all mine, Marc. It's my new favorite sex toy, it just happens to be strapped to you." The totality of Marcus's punishment hit home in that moment, and all her experiences over the last day finally made sense. She was too tired to hold back the tears. Tiffany held her close. "Oh, don't worry baby, I'm a merciful mistress. Come on, sit up." She helped Marcus into a sitting position and wiped the tears away, then reached for a paper on the nightstand. "I mean, after last night we're still fifty-to-five for giving each other orgasms, but it's not like you were my only way to get off while we were dating. So I'm going to give you a little release valve. Here, read this." Marcus sniffled and took the paper. There was a list of words, and next to each two or three, there was a description of a different kind of female orgasm. Clitoral, vaginal, squirting, screaming, single, multiple, sometimes one-word descriptions, other times going into significant detail. "Any time you hear or read one of these words, you're going to immediately have the orgasm associated with it," Tiffany said. "So, if I said, for instance, 'fascinating'..." Marcus drew in a sharp breath, feeling the pressure suddenly build in her abdomen. Her muscles tightened all over her body, and her legs writhed as her hands gripped the sheets tightly. Her pelvis bucked and twitched, and she let out a series of short, sharp squeaks, before finally relaxing. "Right, you'd do that," Tiffany said with a smile. "Shit, I needed that," Marcus sighed. "Oh believe me, I know. Now we're fifty-one and five," Tiffany took the list back and crumpled it up. "But I can't have you just writing down these words or asking people to say them so you can come. Orgasms don't come that easy; I should know." She tapped Marcus's forehead with two fingers. "So your brain's going to forget them. Only your pussy gets to remember." Sure enough, Marcus couldn't recall any of the words on the list. She couldn't even remember what word Tiffany had just said to make her come. "But this guy's all for me," Tiffany gave Marcus's dick a tweak. "Nobody else gets to make that come." She hopped out of bed and headed for the door. "Anyway, get dressed and come downstairs. House meeting at 9:00. *Au revoir*!" The phrase shoved Marcus onto her back and into another orgasm. *** Zach stood looking in the mirror for the first time since everything had changed. Her hair, wild and frizzy and unkempt, stuck out in every direction from her head and hung down to tickle the top of her now round and bubbly butt. She had a beard again, longer and bushier than the one she'd worn as a man, but not by much. Her body hair, on the other hand, was longer and thicker than any she'd ever seen before outside a Star Wars movie. She thought she might be able to braid her armpit hair, and a thick coat of leg hair covered the multitude of nicks, scrapes, and other razor cuts she'd endured the previous night. She couldn't even see her sleeve tattoos through the thick coat of hair on her forearms. She scratched again at the thick tuft of hair that spread out from the center of her chest, wedged between her sizeable tits. They kept shifting and rubbing against each other as she moved, and every time it started the itching up again. Her bushy pubic hair was long enough to hang down between her thighs in a fuzzy caricature of the equipment she'd had dangling there until the previous afternoon. Despite all this, it seemed like the hair had stopped growing, or at least slowed down considerably. When she'd gotten to the sorority house, she'd gone up to take a bath and shave, as per Katrina's instructions. Maybe, she'd thought at the time, if she did what Katrina asked, Kat would change her back to normal. What Kat asked of her was easier said than done. Zach had shaved her face before, though she'd stopped sophomore year when she decided to grow out her beard and start getting tattoos. She hadn't had any experience shaving anything else, particularly not the strange and sensitive new parts she now sported. But eventually she'd managed to finish. She'd sat in the bath surrounded by a floating layer of hair, with watery blood trickling from dozens of little cuts on her legs and arms and face and chest and a nasty one in her left armpit, but she'd managed to make herself fairly smooth from the neck down. And then she'd rubbed her face and felt a three-day growth of stubble. She'd put so much effort into shaving, not to mention literal blood, sweat, and tears, when all she'd wanted to do was shove anything, even the bulbous handle of the ladies' razor, into her aching snatch to sate its overwhelming urges. And it was undone before she'd even gotten pruney in the water. She'd given up at that point. She threw the razor across the room and ran the faucet over her pussy until the hot water ran out. By the time she got out of the bath, she had a full beard, a full bush, and body hair that looked like hers had since puberty. The only signs she'd shaved at all were the red spots that rapidly disappeared under the coat of dusty blonde. The hair that dangled heavily from her head was soaking wet, dripping a trail of water from the bathroom to her bedroom, but she couldn't bring herself to care. She'd used all her willpower on the Sisyphean task of shaving, and now her pussy was in control. She climbed into bed, squeezing water out of her hair and into the sheets in the process, and she'd masturbated until she passed out, damp and cold, sometime in the middle of the night. God, her libido. She could still feel it now, in the warm light of morning, begging for pleasure, for fulfillment, stronger than it ever had been when she was a man, but it was nothing compared to the previous night. Even while shaving, she'd had to keep one finger on her clit, furiously rubbing just so she could form enough coherent thought to move the razor. The way the inadequate pleasure made her body twitch and tense up was responsible for at least half of her injuries. There was a point when she'd first transformed, while she was still sitting at her desk in her apartment, that the new sensations were pleasant and exciting. Her first few orgasms as a woman were intoxicating. By the time that she reached the Mu Gamma Kappa house, she'd lost count of how many she'd had, and the novelty had quite worn off. She suspected that the only thing which kept her from jumping any of the men she passed along the way was the same strange power which had changed her body and compelled her to keep moving toward the sorority house when all she wanted was to lie back and finger herself until someone came along with something bigger than a finger for her. A finger slipped inside, and she gasped. She hadn't even noticed that she'd been rubbing herself, but the thought of fucking a guy out on the quad was apparently too much to handle without a little manual stimulation. She was surprised to realize that she remembered every single man she'd passed on her half-naked walk, and she'd mentally sorted them into "guys I want to fuck" and "guys I *desperately* want to fuck." She'd made note of the women, too, and had sorted them similarly, but few of them had what she really wanted, at least without added accessories. She wanted to be filled, and if all someone could offer her were fingers...well, she had fingers of her own. But then a memory bubbled up of a woman she saw talking on the phone, a tongue stud glistening when she opened her mouth. Zach imagined that woman going down on her, rolling that stud around her clit, slipping a finger or two or three inside as she worked the meaty areas between her labial lips with that metal ball and her tongue. She stumbled backwards and fell onto her bed, moaning as she pushed her fingers deeper. Maybe she'd been too quick to write off women, to embrace a rigidness of sexuality that her new body just didn't possess. She cried out as she came, but kept rubbing. Maybe if she came once or twice more, it would stave off the craving for a little longer. "Awake for almost thirty minutes without touching yourself," a voice said from the doorway. Zach turned to see Katrina leaning against her doorway, looking at her watch. "Longer than I expected." Zach's fingers worked her clit faster, and her face twisted into a look of anguish and delight. Even if she wanted to respond, she couldn't do more than moan at the moment. "And look at that. No 'that's what she said,' no attempt to correct my grammar. I should have cast this spell ages ago." Zach made a high-pitched whimpering noise. "Anyway, there's a house meeting in half an hour. We're having breakfast afterwards, so make sure you clean yourself up." "Oh yes!" Zach cried. Katrina laughed and walked out of the room. *** Devon yawned and stretched as she sat up in bed. She looked down and giggled. "Oh yeah, boobies!" She grabbed them and kneaded them with her hands, bouncing them up and down. "I bet I can lick them!" She lifted them to her face and did just that, then fell back in a fit of laughter. When she sat up again, she noticed the smears of makeup on her pillow. "Was I coloring in my sleep?" After pondering that a moment, she looked around, then gasped. "My bed got smaller!" She jumped out of bed, stark naked. "Everything got smaller! Am I a giant?" At that point, she stood a few inches shy of five feet tall, right next to the twin-sized bed that occupied much of the space in her new room. But the night before, she'd been one-fifth that height, and had fallen asleep on the plastic-framed bed in the bedroom of her new dollhouse, which sat in one corner of the floor. She bounced over to the mirror. "I don't look like a giant," she said doubtfully. "But my makeup is, like, broken." She cocked her head, frowned, then stuck her tongue out, then made faces in the mirror for several minutes. She sat down in front of the vanity, where a bewildering assortment of makeup bottles and containers were spread all over its surface from her experiments last night. But as soon as she settled into the seat, she felt a not-entirely-unfamiliar pressure in her abdomen. "Uh-oh, I think I have to tinkle!" She popped off the seat and opened her door, looking both ways down the hall. She saw an open door and walked toward it, discovering the bathroom to her great relief. "Ew, it smells like barf in here," she said. She shut the door and walked up to the toilet, lifting the seat. She stood in front of it and moved her hands to her groin, then looked down in confusion when her hands met her trimmed pubic mound. She looked back and forth between the toilet and her empty crotch with confusion. She squeezed her legs together and hopped from one foot to another. "Oh yeah!" she said finally. "I'm a girl now! Girls sit down to tinkle!" She walked forward and straddled the toilet bowl. "Eep! That's cold!" She leaned forward, resting her arms on the top of the toilet tank, then relaxed her pelvic muscles and released the flow. After a few moments, the spray turned into a trickle. "Gosh, I'm, like, *super* wet down there," she said, scrunching her face up in concentration. She put her hands on either side of her vulva and shook them back and forth, then tried shaking her whole pelvis, hardly the most comfortable thing to do while on the hard porcelain of the toilet bowl. She hopped off and some urine dripped down her legs, but she just shrugged. She washed her hands, and said "Oh!" as an idea occurred to her. She reached down and rubbed a soapy hand between her legs, then rinsed her hands off and cupped water down to rinse off her sopping wet vulva. She dried everything off with a hand towel and left the bathroom. Arriving back in her new bedroom, Devon began exploring. She opened up the closet to find more clothes than she'd ever seen outside of a department store. She squealed in delight. "There's so many colors! I wanna wear them all!" She spent the next several minutes trying on the dresses and skirts and blouses and heels and leggings that filled her closet. By the time Wanda arrived at her door, there was a pile of clothes on the floor half as tall as Devon, and she was dressed in a garish combination of leopard- print tights, a leather miniskirt, bright red four-inch heels, and a shiny purple tube top over a pink v-neck Mu Gamma Kappa shirt. "I see you've been busy," Wanda said. "Wandy! I, like, got big, and now all these clothes fit!" Devon shouted. Wanda laughed. "Yeah, all these clothes will always fit. It's part of the house magic; can't have you walking around naked all the time, and nobody's got money for new wardrobes." "Oh," Devon said. She looked up sadly. "Do we have money for panties?" "What?" "Girls wear pretty panties, right? And, like, I'm a girl now? But I've got no panties?" She added hastily. "I, like, don't *really* need them if we don't have money." Wanda hesitated for a moment, looking around at the disarray in the room. "Oh," she said, walking over to a dresser along the wall. She opened the top drawer, which was nearly overflowing with colorful underwear. "The panties are in here." Devon squealed and rushed to the dresser. "I have *more* clothes? Oh my gee, I'm gonna try things on forever!" "Well, we're going to have a meeting downstairs in a few minutes, so you should probably just try on one pair and finish getting dressed," Wanda said. "Aww, do I have to?" Devon pouted. "Yes, you have to," Wanda said, rolling her eyes. "Be down in fifteen minutes." She walked away. "I thought magic was supposed to make things easier," she muttered. Devon looked again into the drawer of panties, then dug both her hands in and tossed a whole pile up into the air over her head, giggling. *** Brody stood in front of the open closet, feeling her stomach grumbling. Her Majesty had given her the option to choose her own outfit, and now she saw why. There wasn't a single piece of clothing in her room that could pass for manly, or even androgynous, not that either of those terms described Brody at the moment. Her underwear drawer was divided between skimpy and extremely skimpy, while her closet...well, her closet was obviously part of Samantha's whole fluffed-up revenge scheme. About a quarter of it was typical sorority girly-girl stuff, t-shirts and skirts in various shades of pink and lavender and denim. The rest, though, was shockingly familiar to Brody; she'd helped fill a closet like this one at the frat house. It was all costumes: maid uniforms, nurse outfits, light bondage gear, tight cheerleader sweaters, basically anything that might be sold at a Halloween shop with the word "sexy" on the tag, all there for the theme parties that Alpha Chi Epsilon threw nearly every week. Her Majesty wanted Brody to wear one of them, to humiliate herself for Her entertainment. A part of her wished she could just go naked, like she had last night, but she couldn't disobey Her Majesty's order to get dressed, nor did she find herself able to even really *want* to disobey. But she didn't want to dress up like some cheap sloth either, and she didn't want to give that fluffy cutie the satisfaction. That's when she found the bikini. It was tiny, but it counted as being dressed as far as she was concerned. Doing the bare minimum still counted as following orders. She slid the stringy bottom up her smooth legs, pulling it into place so that the triangular strip of fabric barely covered her new mound, and the string slid disquietingly between her butt cheeks. The top was more difficult; she eventually managed to get it tied behind her, but it wasn't very tight, and her swollen breasts threatened to slide out of it one way or another every time she moved. The seams felt like sandpaper when they rubbed against her over-sensitive nipples, but she figured nothing she wore would actually be comfortable. Brody was dressed, and that's what Her Majesty wanted. She left the room and headed downstairs.