Reroll

Painting the building takes a few days: We're not exactly professionals.  Betty and Ed take… stress breaks… every couple of hours.

And by the time the cards arrive, I'm really flustered, full time.  Yeah, I'm sure Betty would be down for some carpet service.  Likewise, I expect Ed would cheerfully help by sticking his meaty rod in my bakery, pounding it in and out, massaging my inner space until he paints them with….

I take a breath. I really, really need to quit that line of thought. Seriously, I'm a guy! Or at least I was. I shouldn't be fantasizing about getting a big baby baster blasting baby batter in my bakery, filling me up, stretching me out….

Ugh.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad? I mean, Ed looks mostly female, and can hide the cow skin thanks to being a changeling.  Those nice huge hooters clapping together, that jiggling backside in my hands, that slit open and inviting… I can get behind that visual… or under it, as the case may be.

And given that I'm panting and my skin feels far warmer than I can account for on a cloudy day with a high of sixty five, I may need to.

My thoughts are interrupted by the arrival of the mailman: He stops at the front gate in one of those white vans with the postal stripes and logo with the steering wheel on the wrong side, gets out in his light blue shirt with short sleeves, showing off his biceps, as he carries a big envelope to our door.

I stop him before he gets there, “Do you have a package for me?” Oh, yuck! I cannot believe I phrased it that way.  And my voice just sounds… well, like I'm ready to hump a mop. And I'm not making eye contact. I should really get my eyes up another few feet.  

As I raise them off the bulge in his shorts, he swallows, “It's for here… care of Kenna Smith… it requires a signature….”

I find myself closing the gap between us and putting my hand in his arm… have my hormones hijacked my brain so much? “That's me… I know what I'd like to sign…” apparently they have hijacked my brain.

The poor guy turns beet red and takes a step back as he hands me a pen and pad… huh, actual paper?... which I read… why am I sucking on the pen while I….

I take a breath and sign the silly thing, making a point of looking up into into his dark brown eyes while I hand it back to him… he’s so tall… oh, I'm short… “Thank you” I reply… in way too breathy of a voice… and I'm biting my lip.  Ugh, what must this guy be thinking?  I have GOT to get these hormones down.  Oh man….

The guy takes the pad and pen back and quickly rushes through some kind of “thank you for your business” spiel that I can't quite catch as he is talking over himself, and retreats very quickly, practically throwing the envelope at me as he does.

I hope I didn't give the poor boy a heart attack.

I check the return address… ah, the school IDs came first… and take the package inside.  After what I did to that poor mailman, it's clear I need some relief. I set the envelope on a counter and head to one of the bathrooms with a bathtub.  I strip down, wash my hands carefully using water and the cleaning option from the Cantrips feat, get in, and try to sort out how to satisfy my new plumbing.

I can't see down there very well… but now that I have my pants off, I can certainly smell my own arousal. I explore a bit with my hands… okay, my lips are open, and wet… very wet… I feel around a bit… okay, that's nice, rubbing those lips… I moan as I push a finger into myself… but my body wants something more… keeping one hand pumping in and out, I use my other to explore… I remember something about a little pleasure nub? I should have paid more attention to locker room talk… where….

“Aaah!” I think I found it.

Too much raw pleasure, too fast… I pull my hand away from that button, instead bringing it up to my chest to massage my (thankfully dry this round) knockers while I continue to piston my other in and out of my hole… okay… that's more a good warm-up speed… weird to be feeling up a woman from both sides, but ooh this body feels good.  I cannot imagine this is normal: If most women were this sensitive, it'd be guys filing restraining orders.

I feel a charge building in my middle, a heat radiating out and working through the rest of my new form as I go, and soon enough I'm screaming out my pleasure as I'm hit with an earthquake of lust.

I'm panting as I'm coming down from the heights, and looking at quite a puddle in the tub… I picked it because it was one of the few places to actually lie down… I wasn't considering the mess.  Still… it makes cleanup a breeze: Rinse down, scrub with the Cantrips feat, and done.

Feeling quite floaty but finally in control, I get dressed, and actually check the envelope… yes, school IDs. Kenna Smith with my picture, Edith Thatcher with Ed's, and of course: Betty’s. Heh.

I stow my own school ID and bring the envelope outside where Ed and Betty are busy painting the third floor.  Hmm, Betty’s not wearing underwear with that skirt… nice view.  Ed is, fortunately.

I wave the envelope at them, “School IDs arrived.”

“Nice!” Ed gets to the ground first, and I hand him his card, “Edith Thatcher? That's a nice, boring, forgettable name, and can even be abbreviated as ‘Ed’ so I can be Hannah again’,” he pauses, “You know what I mean. Stupid filter….”

“It is indeed a stupid filter,” I agree as Betty reaches the ground and I hand her the appropriate student ID card.

“Ooh, nice!” Betty exclaims as she reads her card, “How’d you know?”

…Really, Betty?

“What'd you get?” Ed looks at Betty.

“Hotte Chocolate Milkers,” Betty SMILES as she hands over the card, “Sweet name, right?”

Ed takes the card and looks at it blankly, “For an actress in the adult entertainment industry, sure….”

Betty giggles, “What other career can we have? Bodies like these, which change occasionally, and no hard ID?”

I consider, “Which means we need something that's not going to look at our IDs too closely, even after our main IDs get here… lovely.”

Ed rolls his eyes, “That's not actually too hard: Skip the companies that have financial, medical, military, or similar responsibilities, and you won't find many serious background checks. Yeah, we won't really be able to get the big bucks jobs… but anything where we're largely in business for ourselves will be fine, most gig type jobs will be fine, most small employers will be fine, most starter jobs… we’ll be fine.  We'll need bank accounts, but with ID and some deposit cash will get us that, no problem… and I actually remember my email password, so I even have access to my existing funds via online transactions, such as they are.”

…and I kept everything on my phone. Pity.

Betty apparently thinks along the same lines, “I'm going to have to get used to being poor, then….”

I shrug, “For now. I could probably start an effects company via recording illusions… assuming illusions record.  Whatever I imagine, basically instantly, and if I'm on set I can show the director and have the performers interact with it…” save a LOT on labor and GPU that way… lose some consistency, though.

“And then what happens to the company when you reroll and are no longer an illusionist?” Ed shakes his head, “We're going to have to scrounge with things anyone can do for now.”

I consider… “Fair enough.”

“Back to the grind…” Betty smiles and starts climbing the ladder.  And she apparently expects me to look, as she wiggles in her way up.

…and I'm burning up again. I guess this body won't settle for anything less than the real deal for long. Ugh.  At least I don't need to worry about babies for now.

“Ed, are you and Betty… exclusive?” I wouldn't want to hurt them just to satisfy myself.

“No!” Ed practically laughs at me, “She's…” he pauses a moment, looking for the right word, “...as libertarian as they come in that regard.”  Good choice, Ed; that's an OLD one, and doesn't carry many modern connotations, “She's made it quite plain she doesn't care who I stick it in, as long as I keep her satisfied, and that she'll behave similarly. Why do you ask?”

I respond by licking my lips.

“Ah… let's go inside, then…” he grabs my hand and leads me into the building.