Turn 9 of 17

The tan darkenss preading out from your new thong, no longer the natural warmth, darker and more even. This could only be acheived in a salon. No tanl8nes are left as you feel a change in your tits. They grow again, this time into high tight masive fake titties. Mia silences you again by twisting one your new large nipples

You're still staring at yourself, mouth open around the start of an answer, when the warmth begins again — low, at the edges of the thong, and spreading. You watch it move up your body in the mirror like a tide: the soft golden tan you woke into darkening, deepening, evening out across your stomach, your hips, your thighs, until it isn't sun-warmth anymore at all. It's the unmistakable bronze of a salon booth, flawless from shoulder to ankle, not a line anywhere — no pale band across your chest, no lighter curve where a swimsuit would sit. The kind of tan that takes appointments, that costs money, that announces itself. Your own skin now smells of coconut under the florals, and it looks painted on.

Then your chest tightens, hot and insistent, and you feel them go again. The modest firm breasts swell outward, higher and rounder, growing past anything exercise or luck could draft — full, taut, massive, sitting impossibly high and close together with that particular rounded, gravity-defying silhouette that everyone in the room knows is bought and paid for. They strain against nothing, bare in the bathroom light, perfect in the way that invites a second look and then a stare.

"No— no, stop—" you start, the little voice cracking upward, your pastel nails rising to cover yourself —

And Mia's hand comes around from your hip, unhurried, and twists one of your new nipples, firm and precise. The sound that comes out of you isn't a protest at all. It's a high, breathy gasp that ends in a giggle, your knees dipping, your huge eyes fluttering in the mirror — and she holds it just long enough to make the point before letting go.

"That's better," she says, smoothing your hair back over your shoulder like nothing happened. "Every time you argue, we continue. You understand that now, don't you?" Her eyes find yours in the glass, calm and patient.

"So. Look at yourself. Tell me what you see."

The doll face in the mirror stares back at you, flushed bronze, lips parted, and there's nothing left to hide behind. Even the last natural thing — the plain softness you woke up with this evening — has been upgraded, finished, made unmistakable. You are every girl you ever described to your friends, assembled in one body, and she's gorgeous.