"Ugh..."
George blinked, his vision swimming back into focus. Where the hell was he? Definitely not the alleyway he'd last remembered. This looked… like a classroom? Yeah, small desks, colorful posters peeling off the walls, the lingering smell of chalk dust and cheap disinfectant. He glanced around, confirming his suspicion. He was in a classroom, alright, tucked away in the back row, right by the wall.
And everyone else? Kids. Actual little ankle-biters.
Up front, a teacher was droning on. Late twenties, maybe early thirties? Dressed in a crisp, business-chic blouse and pencil skirt combo that screamed 'office lady,' but paired with sheer black stockings that hugged slender legs and ridiculously high stilettos – we're talking at least four inches – that made her calves pop. Hot, in that buttoned-up, "I'm in charge" kind of way.
George didn't have much time to admire the view, though. Something felt... wrong. He shakily lifted his hands into his line of sight.
What the fuck.
He stared, utterly dumbfounded. These weren't his hands. They were tiny, delicate, unmistakably a child's hands. No calluses from gripping weights, no fading tan lines. Probably belonged to someone under ten, tops.
"Vivian Quinn! Are you paying attention back there? What are you doing?"
The teacher's sharp voice cut through his confusion. Vivian Quinn? Who the hell was Vivian Quinn?
George was still trying to reboot his brain when the little girl sitting next to him nudged him sharply. "Vivi, the teacher's talking to you!"
"Huh?" George mumbled, completely lost. His mind felt like scrambled eggs.
Luckily, the teacher just sighed, apparently used to this. "Just pay attention, please." She turned back to the whiteboard and continued her lesson.
"Holy shit..." George thought, panic starting to bubble.
Suddenly, a flood of alien memories, experiences that weren't his, surged into his consciousness. It hit him like a tidal wave, making his head spin. He quickly hunched down over the tiny desk, burying his face in his arms, trying to sort through the jumbled mess.
Okay, deep breaths. According to this unsolicited memory dump, he— or rather, the body he was currently inhabiting— was Vivian "Vivi" Quinn. Her parents were divorced. She lived with her mom and an older sister.
Her mom, Angela Quinn, was only 28 and, get this, owned a small-scale adult toy company. Interesting.
Her sister, Jessica Miller, wasn't biologically related. Apparently, Vivian's parents adopted her from an orphanage right after they got married. Jessica was cute and sensible, so despite being a bit older than typical adoptees, they took her in. Angela had always treated Jessica like her own flesh and blood.
Vivian's dad, Daniel Lawson, was 30 and owned a small tech company. The memories were fuzzy on why Angela and Daniel split, only that Vivi could visit her dad whenever she wanted. He'd remarried – to a younger, attractive woman, naturally.
And Vivian Quinn herself? Ten years old. Fifth grade.
And— this was the kicker— Vivian Quinn was a girl.
Oh, fuck no.
Fighting down nausea, George— no, Vivian now, he supposed— tentatively slid one small hand under the hem of the ridiculously frilly little skirt this body was wearing, reaching down between her legs, searching for the familiar weight and shape that had defined so much of his previous existence.
"Shit."
Nothing. Just smooth skin and a soft, distinct cleft. A complete, utter lack of anything resembling his old equipment.
"Just destroy me now. End it."
George, the man he used to be, had been a 28-year-old smooth talker from the wrong side of the tracks. He'd leveraged his silver tongue and, frankly, his impressive endowment, to navigate the bedrooms of wealthy older women, securing a life of financial freedom long before most guys his age. Sleazy? Maybe. But damn, it had been fun. He was a bona fide sex addict – or maybe just pathologically horny. Age, status, marital situation? Irrelevant. Sixty-year-old cougars, curious eighteen-year-old newbies – he'd serviced them all, satisfying his own urges while scratching their particular itches. Consent was key, naturally, but variety? Essential.
His untimely end came during a gig with a fresh-faced eighteen-year-old. Trying to be relatively 'gentlemanly' (and avoid statutory charges), he'd stuck to manual stimulation, teaching her the ropes in her parents' fancy living room. Unfortunately, her dad came home unexpectedly early from a supposed business trip. Mid-escape, George caught a heavy glass ashtray to the back of the head. His last thoughts were: "Said he was out of town! Fucking liar! Should've just gone all the way..." He blacked out to the sound of the girl screaming.
Now, processing this monumental clusterfuck, Vivian Quinn (because apparently, that was her name now) slumped onto the desk, head spinning.
"Damn it, couldn't I at least have stayed a guy? Fuuuck."
[SYSTEM ACTIVATION SUCCESSFUL. DISTRIBUTING NEWBIE REWARDS.]
Eh?
Vivian's head snapped up. Like in those web novels she— well, George— used to binge-read between clients? A system? Suddenly, a spark of hope ignited amidst the chaotic despair.
As for the whole girl situation? Whatever. George had always been adaptable. His life's motto was basically "Roll with the punches, as long as there's someone warm to roll with later." Gender was just… details.
[Newbie Rewards:]
[Wishful Body: Your desire is my command! The host's body has reached physical maturity (internally) and can now shapeshift at will according to the host's desires, without affecting the baseline appearance unless wished. Grow what you want, where you want it, darling.]
[Mine Alone: Ownership established! Any part of the host's body entering another person's body triggers a specific imprinting effect. If the target is female, she will develop a strong aversion to intimate contact with any other male. If the target is male, he will only be receptive to intimacy with the host or those explicitly approved by the host, feeling revulsion towards others.]
[Plunder: Finders keepers! Upon physical contact with a target, the host can choose to plunder (or copy) one ability or item from them.]
[Newbie rewards distributed. Character panel unlocked.]
"System?" Vivian thought, her mind racing.
[I'm here. Speak your mind.] The system's voice was surprisingly… smooth. Almost sultry.
"Just one question… that Wishful Body thing… can it make me a man again? Or, y'know, give me back my dick?"
[There's nothing I can't do, only things you haven't imagined yet. Give it a try, host.]
"Mmmph..."
Vivian squeezed her eyes shut, concentrating fiercely. She pictured it vividly: the familiar weight, the satisfying thickness, the length she'd been so proud of. The tool of her trade.
At the same time, her hand snuck back under her skirt, trembling slightly.
A wide, ecstatic grin spread across her face. She almost laughed out loud.
"It's back! Hahaha!"
Where there had been only that smooth, alien flatness moments before, there was now substance. A solid shaft of flesh pulsed faintly beneath her fingertips. She focused, and with a thrilling sense of control, felt it lengthen, thicken, then shrink again on command. It wasn't just a static appendage; it felt alive, almost prehensile, like a sensitive tentacle she could flex and twitch with a mere thought. The skin felt unbelievably real, warm, and already slick with a hint of pre-come.
"Jackpot! Holy fucking jackpot! Hahaha!" This was better than she could have imagined.
"Show me the panel."
[Host: Vivian Quinn (George)]
[Age: 10]
[Body: 4]
[Reflex: 5]
[Intellect: 7 (Average Adult Baseline: 10)]
[Active Skills: Plunder]
[Passive Talents: Wishful Body, Mine Alone]
[Points: 0]
[Progeny: None]
Something else occurred to Vivian.
"Wait, this thing… can it cum? Like, is it fully functional? Can I knock someone up with this?"
[Affirmative. As the external form changes, the corresponding internal organs manifest accordingly, entirely under the host's conscious control. You can produce sperm, control ejaculation volume, and timing. Fertility is included.]
"This is insane. Any other tricks up your sleeve, System?"
[The System's primary function: Inducing orgasm in a target grants the host corresponding points. Points can be used for the Lottery. Each spin costs 10 points and can yield items, skills, money, etc. As a welcome gift, the System grants three free lottery spins.]
"Spin! Hell yeah, spin that wheel!"
[Congratulations Host! Lottery draw yielded: Artificial Intelligence 'Pixel']
[Congratulations Host! Lottery draw yielded: Infinite Pocket Space]
[Congratulations Host! Lottery draw yielded: Stamina on Demand]
An AI named Pixel? Accessible via the system, highest authority belonging to Vivian. Apparently, Pixel could infiltrate anything with a signal. Nifty.
The pocket space was standard fantasy stuff – infinite storage, couldn't hold living things, but undeniably useful.
But 'Stamina on Demand'? That was gold. The description clarified it linked sexual stamina directly to Vivian's mental satisfaction and desire, rather than physical limitations. No more inconvenient refractory periods or premature finishes unless she wanted it to end. Given her current tiny body's likely physical limits, this was crucial.
Because George— no, Vivian— was already planning her comeback tour. That relentless sexual appetite hadn't gone anywhere just because the packaging had changed. It was a core part of who she was, an itch that demanded scratching.
And she was possessive. Deliciously, ruthlessly possessive. What was hers, stayed hers. Anyone she touched? Nobody else got to have them. Ever.
A predatory smirk touched Vivian's lips. Class was still droning on, but school just got a lot more interesting. Time to scope out the potential… talent.