“I feel...” you start, and find your voice catching in your throat. How do you feel? What do you feel? You feel... warm. Oddly warm. A tingling in your chest, almost like a rumble. You feel energized, like you drank four energy drinks one after the other. Your heart is pounding so hard you could practically tap dance to it. And then you hear yourself speak:
“I... I feel like I wanna get my face in between your titties and just... just... oh my God, I’m so sorry,” you don’t know what came over you. You’ve offended her, you’re sure of it. This absurdly gorgeous and irresistibly sexy tiger goddess (did you always find tigers attractive?!) who’s also fabulously wealthy and throwing this huge party, and you talk like you want to use her like a sex object.
But she just laughs, and places that paw-like hand on your shoulder.
“So do it, then,” she lifts an eyebrow, and the right corner of her mouth curls up.
“What? But I...” is this a test? She’s going to maul your face off if you do, right?
“I want you to do it,” she says, stepping closer, those fabulous breasts practically in your face. Her scent... you never noticed her scent before, but now it fills your nose, and it’s intoxicating. She does want you to do it. You don’t know why you can tell with scent alone, but you can.
Without another word, you lunge forward, burying your face into her chest. It’s glorious. Warm and soft and firm all at once.
“Yeaahhhhh, wake up, Jules...” she murmurs, and you can feel her heartbeat, feel each and every breath. Your tongue slips out and luxuriates on her chest, both for yourself and to try and please her.
You’re so wrapped up in it. You hardly notice that you’re no longer standing practically straight up. Rather, you’re stopped over a bit. You hardly notice how tight your shirt and shorts are. How there feels to be something pressing against the back of the waistband.
“Come up for air,” she says, and you reluctantly do so, breathing heavily as you do. You want more. You need more.
“Look at those beautiful blue eyes,” she says, a smirk on her face.
“I... I don’t have blue eyes,” you correct her. Your eyes have always been brown.
“Check again,” she gestures to an ornate mirror on the nearest wall, and you step over to it, stepping over a seven inch tall mouse woman. Sure enough, you do have blue eyes. Bright, piercing blue eyes, and... you’re taller, and the tightness of your shirt shows off a musculature you lacked mere minutes ago.
“What’s happening to me?” You ask, turning to face Lynn once more. She simply stands there, arms folded, a look of amusement on her face.
“You’re just waking up is all.”