Jenny practices glittery magic, Lenora’s hands glow as she masters healing. Me? Three rounds of Gift classes, and all I’ve learned are a few colorful curses.
Lenora surprises me too. Gentleman—gentlewoman—whatever. Patient, kind, maddeningly composed. But when everyone insists I practice… intimacy… my face goes cherry. I stare at the intimacy door, shiver, look at my team, swallow my pride, and nod.
And we… talk. For two hours. That’s all. No kissing, cuddling, grinding—just talk. About Earth. About pranks at the Olympic Games. About the countless shirts and skirts I ruin learning to sew. About Tess’s stone soup, Frankie’s endless list of creditors, Lenora’s internship, Jenny’s tumbles and bruises.
Everything but sex.
Until now.
I look at my team, my friends, and force myself back into my seat. “Say again?”
Tess asks, “Do we have your permission?”
“To touch me?” I rub my sweaty palms on my skirt.
“Yes.”
“The… there?”
“Everywhere.”
“Every… everyone?”
“Yes.”
“Now…” I bite my lip.
“It’s your turn.”
I glance at the door to the Intimacy training area, then to the physical training door. Miles of running track with fitness stops every quarter mile. The same extreme, over the top, exaggerated training behind every portal. The ultra intense training door—or my friends.
“If I…”
Tess chuckles and glances at Jenny.
I swallow and fumble with a button. “Oh… great, now I feel like a badly wrapped birthday present.”
Everyone watches me, patient and compassionate—not one word. Not even a teasing joke from Jenny, which almost makes it worse.
My mouth is dry.
My fingers shake, moving down the eight handmade buttons on my shirt, then the ties on my skirt. I shiver as my underwear falls away.
I whisper “Now what?”
Lenora asks, “Can we touch you?”
I glance at each of my friends and fix on Lenora. My core warms as she holds my gaze. Heat rises through my chest, my chin tips up, and my lips twitch with a nervous giggle. I nod.
Lenora smiles. “You need to say it.”
“Yes.”
“Yes… to what?”
“You can touch me.”
Lenora cocks an eyebrow.
“Everyone can touch me… anywhere.”
A gold-framed system window opens.
Intimacy +1
Teamwork +1
Luck +1
Faith skill gained.
Faith +5
The window fades, revealing my friends.
Tess dangles a strip of black cotton. “Do you trust us?”
“Yes.”
“Put on the blindfold.”
My eyes lock with hers. There’s no guile, no joke, only friendship and a playful smile in her face. I trust Tess—hell, I trust all of them. I tie the fabric around my head and double-knot it.
A kiss brushes my cheek, my neck, and… wow.
A minute later, Tess asks, “Who was that?”
“Um… you?”
Jenny giggles. “Wrong! Who’s next?”
Time blurs into laughter, teasing, and games. Kisses is followed by Who Touched You, then Does She Like It? I’m the center of attention, the focus of every game, and play continues until I—well—win, I guess. With, um… everyone. Yeah. My anxiety melts into something I can’t quite name—peace, happiness, maybe both. I also have a long list of what I do like and a shorter one of what I don’t.
“That’s enough for today,” Tess says in her teacher’s voice.
“Okay,” I sigh.
Jenny snickers. “Did you have fun?”
“Fun?”
Frankie cuts in, “Would you rather do this tomorrow or—”
I reach to untie the blindfold. “Teach you accounting?”
“Hey,” snaps Lenora, “tomorrow’s my day.”
My blindfold slips off in time to catch Jenny’s scrunched nose.
I toss it into my pack and smirk. “Don’t like all the exercise?”
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“The running and stuff is fine—it’s Frankie.”
Frankie flexes like she’s posing for the cover of a fitness magazine and growls, but it comes out more like a sparrow scolding a hawk.
I giggle.
Frankie tweets, “Afraid of being shown up, Jen?”
“No,” Jenny giggles, glitter scattering with each breath, “I’m terrified of your perfume.”
“I don’t wear perfume!”
“That’s called a hint,” I deadpan.
For the first time since waking in this world, I feel safe.
I sip from my canteen and nibble on a chocolate granola bar. “I wish we had something else to eat—”
“Stop,” squeals Jenny.
“She didn’t,” Lenora stammers.
“The new girl just Scary Movie’d us,” sighs Tess.
“Hell yeah,” Lenora tweets, “bring it on!”
“What? All I said was—”
“Nope,” Tess cuts me off. “I thought you were the film buff! How could you jinx us like this?”
My clothes start flying at me as everyone scrambles to prepare for… what?
The Intimacy door booms and cracks. A sadistic cackle shakes the room, echoing like a demon in a cathedral, and knocks me flat on my bare ass.
“Shite!” I yank on underwear like it’s Dad at the door and my boyfriend under the bed.
Boom!
A hundred cracks spiderweb across the door. A deep, bone-chilling laugh follows. “What’s your safe word, little one?” The words stir something buried, something off-limits, deep inside me.
“Get dressed,” hisses Tess. “Everything you’ve got.”
“What is it?”
“A dungeon master.”
“What? A guy with a pile of books and a bag of dice?”
“I wish,” she mutters.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
The pounding morphs into rhythm, each blow splintering the door until the cavern shakes with the beat. I duck and dodge flying shards, tugging on my bracers and gloves. An arrow nocked, I take aim—then freeze.
What struts through the wreckage isn’t what I expected.
Ten feet of rippling muscle, stuffed into a sequined leather corset and fishnets. Pearls drape his chest like he raided Grandma’s jewelry box. Pumps click against the stone floor. His eyes smolder beneath Broadway layers of eyeliner and shadow.
In one hand, a whip cracks sharp as thunder. In the other, a flogger twirls like he’s about to take the stage.
I want to laugh at the absurdity and pee in terror.
Tess snaps, “Lizzy!”
“It’s too late to ask him to sign your dance card,” calls Jenny, sparkles gathering in a ball between her hands.
The whip lashes out, gouging the floor where Tess had been standing a heartbeat ago. She rolls clear, cursing. Frankie charges, fists raised, but a flick of the flogger sends her skidding back across the stone in a heap.
The battle becomes a dance. Jenny hurls a glittering spear of light—only for the Dungeon Master to bat it aside with his whip, the blast detonating against the wall in a spray of sparks. Tess slips through the smoke, blades flashing, and carves a shallow line across his thigh before tumbling away from a backhand swing. Frankie bellows and plants herself in front of Lenora, taking a brutal lash across the chest. Lenora’s hands glow as she knits the welt shut even as Frankie squares up again.
And me? I loose arrow after arrow. One sinks into his shoulder; another pierces his arm—but still he comes on, laughing, sweating, moaning with each lash as though resistance fuels him.
The fight feels endless. The Dungeon Master cackles, sweat spraying with every strike. He moans with anticipation as the seams of his corset begin to pop.
My arms scream. I notch the last arrows from my quiver.
I draw the first, breathe in, aim for his heart, and release. The Dungeon Master spins—my bolt lodges in the side of his corset instead. He rips it out with pinched fingers as Jenny looses her spell.
The monster flicks his flogger and the glittering mass rockets sideways—straight into me. It detonates like a carnival in my face.
“Oh stinkers,” Jenny cries, blushing. She snaps her eyes back to the monster. “Sorry!”
I blink through the sparkles, draw again, and fire. This time the shot flies true. The arrow sinks into his toothy, leering grin.
[Critical Hit]
[Luck +1]
I grin like a loon as the massive man tips backward, his head bouncing off the ground before cracking like an overripe melon.
Mist gushes from the shattered skull, curling into a banquet: venison, steaming potatoes and carrots, rich gravy, Yorkshire pudding, golden treacle, plum pudding, and more. My stomach growls. I take two steps, drooling—then stop cold. My feet are bare. Did Jenny’s spell remove my shoes?
Lenora hums appreciatively. Frankie giggles like a sparrow.
“I’m really, really sorry, Lizzy,” Jenny says, then snickers.
“The… uh… loot is all yours,” Tess offers in a desperate deadpan.
A breeze tickles my… um… pretty bits. I swallow and slowly look down. My boots are gone—as is everything else. I’m wearing only my bracers and bow. Even my quiver has vanished.
“Frack… Jenny, what did you do?”
“I was trying to banish its armor so Frankie’s fists could do some damage.”
My stare lingers on the enormous slab of man dissolving into locker-room-scented mist. What will I wear? Jenny disintegrated my clothes…
A moment later the monster is gone. In its place: a sequined gloss -black leather corset with hot -pink trim, soft pink fishnet stockings, six strings of midnight pearls, high-heel boots, a belt of finger-cuffs, and a petite flogger.
All in my size.
“Shite.”
I dress as my friends cheer.
Golden text scrolls across my sight.
“Congratulations!You are now wearing the Corset of Compelled Charisma.Bonuses:
- Defense +5
- Charisma +2
- First Strike against Humanoids
Inanna’s voice grows dramatic: “Born of humiliation, stitched in sequins, this garment feeds on attention. Those who endure its shame find their voices magnified, their presence undeniable. Embarrassment becomes command.”
Growth Item:
- Lvl 2 – Sequined Resolve
- Defense +7
- Charisma +3
- Cleaning buffs
- Wearer cannot be Frightened while standing tall. Her voice drops, growing ominous… and just a little salacious: “Warning: Covering any part of this set negates all bonuses. The Mistress must be seen.”
“You have got to be kidding,” I murmur.
The corset bites at my ribs, the fishnet itches at my thighs, and the stiletto boots wobble with every step. I feel ridiculous. Humiliated. Like I should be sneaking out of a costume shop at two in the morning.
Then the system text lingers in my vision. +5 defense. +2 charisma. First strike against humanoids.
I shift on my feet. The wobble steadies. The pearls gleam against my collarbone. My bow feels lighter in my hands. The itch in the fishnet becomes more like a tingle, an electric awareness sparking along my skin. Power humming through embarrassment.
For a dizzy heartbeat, I don’t feel like prey anymore. I feel dangerous.
Of course, that’s when the Rocky Horror memory hits me: Dad strutting down the aisle in his Frank-N-Furter corset, mom cheering, me hiding in my hoodie wishing the floor would eat me. Only this time, it’s me strutting in sequins. And my team? They’re cheering.
Lenora slips an arm around me in a friendly embrace, then whispers, “Wow… you look hot. I mean—uh—incredible. Um. Yeah. It’s a good look for you.”
I meet her sparkling eyes and mouth, “Feed me.”
“Yes, mistress.” She guides me to the feast and presses a plate into my hands.
An hour later I lick the last strawberry syrup from the dessert tray and plant a sticky kiss on Jenny’s cheek.
“Eww! Doc,” she mock-pouts, “do you have a wet-wipe?”
I kiss Lenora before she can reach her pack.
Everyone snickers.
I lay on my side like a centerfold and smile at the ceiling. “Right. I’ve slain Frankenfurter with a bow and I’m dressed for Cabaret. Can we please move on before I pull aggro on the ghost of Liza Minnelli?”
Everyone moans.
Tess playfully pushes me over and motions to the team. “She did it again.”
Jenny snickers, “We’ve been Scary Movie’d—”
“Lizzy’d,” Frankie adds.
“—again,” Jenny finishes.
I groan, but I’m smiling.
Golden text shimmers across my vision.
[Congratulations!]
- Competent (Level 10) in Intimacy and Kissing
- Group Average Intimacy surpasses 20
- Intimacy Door unlocked
The shattered arch flares green, sparking like a broken power line. The others cheer while I blink, cheeks heating. Competent? In kissing? With a scoreboard?
Jenny shoves her stuff into her pack and snickers. “Guess that makes you officially certified.”
“Don’t,” I warn, though the smile tugging my mouth ruins it.
“Hurry,” Tess commands.
I’m wearing everything I own. I snatch my bow, scavenge a handful of scattered arrows, then look around, rubbing my wrinkled brow as my team scrambles to pack our camp.
A groan rumbles through the chamber, deep and molten, like the mountain itself exhaling beneath us. Our cozy nest collapses into nothingness, the floor swallowing everything but us in a rush of heat and ash-scented wind. Stone grinds against stone; sparks hiss through the air. One by one, every door arcs with electric fury and fades to bare basalt, its surface still faintly warm—like cooling magma—until only a single crimson archway remains, pulsing at the far end.
The Gift Door.
I swallow, my stomach sinking. The air tastes of copper and smoke.
“That’s why,” Tess mutters. “Guess that’s our next lesson.”
“Or our next death,” Frankie adds.
I flex my bowstring, try not to wobble in my ridiculous heels, and square my shoulders. The only path where I still have a zero. “Well… no pressure.”