New products had their ways of winding up on Wanda Brunhild’s store shelves, whether she likes it or not. They usually appeared with no fanfare or explanation, and with no traceable origin. Very rarely were the products brought to the store by a proper sales representative. This time, of course, was just such an exception.
Here in her office was just such a representative. She was a rather… bodacious individual dressed in opulent royal attire, presenting herself as a queen. A queen of what exactly, she never specified, but she certainly did dress the part complete with a gold crown and voluminous hair. Her body was of particular note, as many of her sexual assets had been made exaggeratedly large. Her lips were as fat as a ripe plum and slathered with red lipstick. Her breasts were like a pair of large squishy pumpkins, straining and stuffed into her powder pink dress. Her waist was pinched so thin it was practically the size of a sewing needle. Her hips and buttocks brought to mind yoga balls, and her thighs like tree trunks stuffed like sausage into garter-belted lacy white stockings. The skirt of her dress swept the floor, and was split down the middle to both show off her legs and reveal that she wore no undergarments. Altogether, this woman hardly struck Wanda as business appropriate no matter which way you sliced it.
“So this product you’re asking me to sell in my shop,” Wanda asked this lewd, dubiously royal woman, “what is it exactly?”
“Elementary, Lady Brunhild,” the so called queen explained in a posh British accent, “We call it the ‘Queen Me Crown,’ and We are absolutely certain that it will be amongst your most popular products, if not the most popular.”
“Queen Me Crown,” Wanda sighed, “You have got to be kidding me. Alright, what does it do?”
“Why it transforms the wearer into a Queen, of course!” the perverted excuse for royalty declared, “So sayeth We, Queen Dorothy Sylvester! When one places this crown upon their head, they will transform into a vision of sexual beauty such as ourselves, replete with the queen size lips, breasts, buttocks, and makeup. Their clothing will also become proper regal attire, fit for their new identity. Any man who wears it will become a shemale with a girthy cock, and any woman who wears it will be endowed with a highly elastic uterus! It even makes one sound like and think of oneself as a queen, complete with referring to oneself using a royal We. Note that We are always prepared to be fucked at any given moment, as We have permanently given our consent by wearing the crown.”
“Alright, you’ve made your point, Dorothy,” Wanda halted, “Is the transformation permanent, or what?”
“Permanent? Perish the thought!” Queen Dorothy scoffed, “The effect only lasts as long as the crown is worn. It will remain stuck to one’s head no matter how it is jostled or shook. The crown can only be removed by pressing the pair of release buttons on either side of the base. Upon doing so, the transformed wearer will return to mundanity.”
“Okay… that’s fine,” Wanda sighed, “and proposed price?”
“No less than $59.99,” Dorothy stated.
“Very well,” Wanda shook her head, “I can’t pretend that the things I sell here are completely safe for work. You have yourself a deal, your highness.”
Who buys the crown first