She thumbed the message again and read it over. She didn’t know what she was hoping to learn on the eleventh reading that she didn’t learn from the first ten. It was one of those weirdo emails, promising some bizarre service and making impossible promises. Basically spam. But this one had made all of the right promises. Confidence. Fast. Guaranteed. And for a limited time, only twenty dollars.
“I’m an idiot,” she muttered, glancing up at the storefront. “How exactly is a store in a dying mall supposed to give me confidence? But then, I guess this is a self-selecting group. It takes a really pathetic loser to consider acting on an ad like that. So everyone who comes in here has nowhere to go but up.”
The store, contrary to their promise, didn’t exactly instill confidence at first glance. They hadn’t even bothered to take down the sign for the sock store that they were replacing. They’d just strapped a printed banner over it reading “Swollen Assets: Confidence for Less.”
She sighed, internally lambasted herself for what she was about to do, and stepped inside.
Once she was through the door, the place looked more like a cross between a tanning salon and an Apple computer store. Very sleek, very modern. So modern, in fact, that there were no employees. A cycling video on a screen in the center of the room informed her that Swollen Assets, as a cost saving measure and a way to ensure the privacy of their customers, utilized only the state of the art in automated systems. All she had to do was step up to one of the many vertical booths, step inside, and begin her ‘journey to confidence.’
She’d heard and read that word so many times in the last few hours it had started to lose all meaning. But she shrugged and stepped up to the booth furthest from the front door and tapped the pad. After a prompt, she scanned the promo code and slid a twenty into the bill acceptor. The door opened. She stepped inside.
The booth was sort of a combination changing room/shower, judging by the drain on the floor and nozzles on the walls, plus the full length mirror on the back of the door once it was shut.
“Did I just get tricked into coughing up twenty bucks for some sort of an automated spa?” she mumbled.
The mirror lit up with text. There must have been a screen behind it. She had to admit, it was a neat effect.
Please disrobe. You can place your clothes in the water-tight compartment behind you. Tap Okay to proceed.
She narrowed her eyes and scanned the booth, looking for cameras. After finding none—even after switching on her phone’s light to look through the fancy mirror, she shakily unfastened her buttons and slid her leggings and panties down. Once she was nude, she sighed again.
“If this was supposed to help my confidence, they picked a lousy way to start.”
She looked at the reflection and felt the gentle emptiness she always did. She wasn’t ugly. That was too extreme a word. And to be honest, there was nothing extreme about her. That was the problem. She wasn’t very tall. She wasn’t very curvy. She wasn’t very fit. She wasn’t very beautiful. She wasn’t very anything. Her friends knew she was sensitive about her looks, and they tried to remind her that there were aspiring clothing models all over the world who dreamed of being as thin as she was. If there was one very, it was thin. But all it did was make her feel more helpless. Like the feeling of nothingness was her own fault. If she had that special something, she’d be walking the catwalks of Milan.
When she was through beating herself up for how she looked, she tapped Okay.
The screen updated to display a generic woman standing in a neutral position, legs spread and arms slightly raised.
Please assume this position. Initial treatment will begin in 10… 9… 8…
She did as she was told, now certain she was going to get nothing for her money but a weird robotic shower and some questionable claims about ‘rejuvenating’ this or ‘detoxing’ that. The countdown hit zero, and the nozzles started to spray.
Immediately, her expectations were at least partially defied. It wasn’t a shower. At least, not a normal one. The nozzles sprayed a thick substance, more like syrup than water. It was perfectly body temperature, such that she felt its weight on her skin more than anything else. The scent was subtle, vaguely like the ‘hot silicon’ scent of an overheating computer. The nozzles shifted slightly, neatly and efficiently coating her whole body in a matter of seconds. She barely had time to shut her eyes before her face got the same chemical basting as the rest of her body.
The nozzles stopped and she wiped the goop from her eyes. It had the same quality as oil, in that while she rubbed away the goop itself, her skin still felt warm and sticky no matter how much she rubbed.
She blinked and looked at the screen. A new message was illuminated.
You will feel the following sensations. They will pass within seventy-five seconds:
● Penetrating Warmth
● A strong urge to exhale
● Disorientation
● Lightness in extremities
Please hold the handrails on either side of you until the sensations pass.
She felt a flash of concern as she did as she was told. The first of the listed sensations was already starting to ripple across her body. She felt the same relaxing heat of those pads they slapped on the joints of aging athletes. A weird, hot menthol sensation. But the heat dove deeper into her muscles than even the name-brand Icy Hot patches. She swore she could feel it in her bones. If not for the sticky coating, she was sure sweat would be running down her face. Then came a hollow half-cough. Air rushed from her in something that was a bit too windy to be a wheeze. She gripped the handrails tight and shook with the involuntary huffs and puffs. It wasn’t until the little episode had ticked past thirty seconds that she realized she hadn’t taken a breath in all that time. She tried to gasp, but her body just took the wide open mouth as an opportunity to huff more breath out.
By the time the ‘coughing’ fit passed, she was certainly feeling lightheaded, but she didn’t feel in danger of falling down. She took her hands from the rails and, right on cue, found that they felt impossibly light. It was as though she’d suddenly become stronger, or that her arms had lost all of their inertia. They snapped to her face with startling speed and when her fingers flicked against her forehead…
PONT
The sound was like flicking a basketball. And it was coming from her head. She blinked and looked at her hand. It didn’t look goopy anymore. The stuff had all dripped away, leaving behind a glaze that gave her skin a glossy smooth appearance. She rubbed her fingers. … No… It didn’t have a glossy smooth appearance. It was glossy smooth. Dry, not the least bit tacky. Her skin was like polished rubber. She looked at the mirror and found that the same was true of her entire body. The light in the booth reflected in long, pure white specular pools and bars, accentuating every curve and crevice in her form. To say that it looked like she’d been rubbed with massage oil was underselling it. The texture of her skin was completely gone. She was like polished marble.
The screen message updated.
Please locate the following:
● Manual Hose
● Inlet Nozzle
The inlet nozzle will be located in one of the highlighted areas depending upon detected preference. Tap Okay to proceed.
The same generic depiction of a woman illuminated. Pulsing red circles indicated the possible locations for the nozzle. With the exception of the navel, they were all in what she would have considered very personal areas. And she didn’t understand how and why a nozzle would be on her person.
She looked down across her body. None of the visible spots were anything but gloriously glossy skin. She blushed a bit and reached back, spreading the cheeks of her ass to find…
“Oh my gosh,” she said, her voice sounding mercifully unchanged.
Her fingers grazed across a somewhat harder plastic ring, she gasped a bit as she explored the inside of the ring. The exploration revealed two things. There was what felt like a one-way valve in the center of the nozzle, and it was very much part of her anatomy. Running her fingers across it sent a jolt through her and made her heart race… or, at least, it made her feel like her heart was racing. Presently she wasn’t sure she could make any assumptions about what her body did or didn’t contain.
The hose she’d been told to find was in a recessed part of the wall behind her. A gentle tug reeled it out. After a moment of doubt, she tapped Okay. The message shifted to what she’d half-dreaded/half-hoped it would say.
Insert hose until a popping sensation is felt. Tap Okay to proceed.
She eyed the tip of the tube. It was tapered, with a bit of a flare a few inches past the tip. The thing looked uncannily like a butt plug—something that she would be mortified if any of her friends found out she knew what one looked like.
For a moment, she considered aborting this entire procedure. But she didn’t know what sort of a consequence she might incur for ending the session after seemingly converting herself into an inflatable version of herself. She shut her eyes. The only way out was through. And somewhere deep in her mind she desperately wanted to feel what came next.
It did not disappoint.
The firm plastic of the tip slid easily against the somewhat more elastic nozzle. She shivered at the feeling of stretching, of penetration she felt as it began to edge deeper. Her knees were weak and trembling by the time she was pressing the flared end into place. And the gasping peak and slide toward relief as it seated itself, now firmly plugged inside her.
She allowed herself a moment to adjust to the sinful sensation of being plugged like this, then reached out and tapped “Okay.”
The confidence enhancement procedure shall now begin. When you have reached your desired level of confidence, tap okay to complete the procedure.
She braced herself. A low hum reverberated through the booth. The hose stiffened with growing pressure. And then, so did she.
“Ooh...” she purred.
She never could have dreamed what it would feel like. Every inch of her skin slowly became more taut, more firm. And with each pound per square inch of pressure, the aching feeling of sensitivity grew. She heard and felt her thighs creak as they became fuller. She cupped her chest with both hands and felt her ironing board-flat bosom begin to add cup sizes. Her once forgettable ass started to plump with fresh pressure. She even started to gain height. And the more enhancement, the more sensitivity. When she was younger, she used to wonder what an erection felt like for a man. She imagined it was a throbbing, intense feeling of swelling. A sort of creeping turgidness that was inseparable from horniness. And what she felt now was precisely that. She was experiencing a full-body erection. And it was glorious.
It was a struggle to open her eyes again. She didn’t want to spare the mental bandwidth. The feelings were so divine she wanted to focus on them with her very soul. But once she saw what was becoming of her in the mirror, she was transfixed.
Her figure was full. Curvy. The kind of thing she would have burned with envy if she’d seen it on the beach. Perhaps it was shallow to feel this way. If it was, she didn’t care. The knowledge that this was her, that she’d become what she now saw, instantly made her feel less meek. Less dishwater plain. She felt, in a word, confident.
It took every ounce of her will power to put the creaky, squeaky intensity of her augmentation to an end, but when her figure was precisely as she’d hoped, she tapped Okay.
Turn the hose counter clockwise and tug to remove. The procedure is now complete. You may dress and leave the booth. Enjoy your new confidence.
She bit her lip and twisted the hose, easing it free and practically whimpering as she did. There was the tiniest hiss of escaping air, but then the nozzle’s valve sealed up and the pressure remained. The sensitivity had faded, but only slightly. Her whole body still felt like someone had made the feeling of touch 80% more vivid and pleasurable. She slid on her panties, now straining to contain her figure and dimpling her taut skin. Her leggings might not have made it past her hips if not for the perfect smoothness of her thighs. Her top practically embraced her new chest, sliding over their sensitive surface with an odd, static-electricity tingle. She hadn’t needed a bra before, and with this supernatural perkiness, she still didn’t.
The cloth-on-latex feeling of sliding on her outfit was what made her finally realize that she was still a glossy, rubbery rendition of her former self. But somehow, she couldn’t bring herself to care. She liked what she saw in the mirror, for the first time she could remember. And if she liked it, so would everyone else. Because she looked good.
She finished dressing and opened the booth, returning to the mall with taut, squeaky struts, ready to show the world what this luscious new body could do.