Stand like this… right? (Patreon)

— Stand like this… right? — Lori's voice trembled, and she shifted awkwardly from foot to foot, feeling her new hips press unnaturally against the soft leggings.

The photographer lifted his eyes from behind the camera lens with irritation and sighed loudly.

— You’re a model, you should know how to pose, — he exhaled, adjusting the lens. His patience was clearly running thin.

— I… I don’t know, — Rachel lowered her gaze awkwardly, hunching slightly. Almost to confirm her discomfort, she ran a nervous hand along her neck, feeling her thin fingers brush against surprisingly soft skin.

The photographer rolled his eyes.

— What do you mean, “you don’t know”? — his voice rose, irritation lacing each word. — I expect some professionalism from you, babe! You’re a model, for crying out loud!

Rachel, still adjusting to her new name and identity, took a deep breath. Just a few weeks ago, she’d been Ray. Just a regular bookworm, spending most of his time with textbooks, never looking at girls as anything more than magazine images. Deep down, he’d always considered himself unattractive and hadn’t tried to change that. So when he was offered a chance to “participate in a parallel universe study,” he agreed without much thought.

But no one had warned him the experiment would be so drastic. Two weeks had passed since then, and now he—or rather, she—stood in a clingy gray-and-white striped outfit, feeling the weight of a chest that felt so alive, soft, and… awkward.

— You understand this is a job, right? — the photographer went on. — Arch your back! Bite your lip, put a finger to your mouth, squeeze your chest! You’re an 18+ model, damn it! Get to work!

Rachel sighed. She tried to follow the photographer's instructions, feeling her own hand move toward her soft chest and… touch it. The feeling was still too new and even a bit embarrassing. Her skin was incredibly sensitive, and the soft fabric of the top seemed to cling, emphasizing her shape and making her heartbeat double.

‘What the hell did I even agree to?’ she thought as she thrust her chest forward, attempting to put on something like a seductive smile. But instead of a confident model’s gaze, her eyes revealed a mix of embarrassment and confusion. The photographer only seemed more frustrated.

— No, no, that’s all wrong! — he waved his hand in annoyance, making Rachel’s throat tighten. — You’re not supposed to look like you’re wearing that outfit for the first time, — he snapped. — Do you realize they’ll pull you from the project if you keep playing the part of a… — he hesitated, searching for a word, — …shy schoolgirl?

She pressed her lips together.

— I told you I’m not… I’m not Rachel, — she blurted out, her voice trembling, making it all even harder.

The photographer rolled his eyes even harder and lowered his camera, openly showing his irritation.

— Listen, “Not-Rachel,” — he sneered, a strange mix of exhaustion and sarcasm flickering across his face, — forgive me if your stories don’t exactly touch my heart. We have a contract, and the name on it is Rachel Wan. That’s you. Got it?

“Rachel Wan,” echoed in her mind. She glanced down again at her breasts pressing under the tight top. “They’ll pull me out soon… right…” she repeated to herself like a mantra, but her confidence was fading with each second. She nervously ran her hand along her waist, feeling the soft fabric cling to her figure. Her chest, which she still couldn’t accept as hers, moved heavily with each breath, reminding her again of her new reality.

— Alright, let’s take a break, — the photographer suddenly interrupted her thoughts, setting the camera aside with a demonstrative sigh. His patience, it seemed, had snapped. — I can’t work like this. Do you even understand what these poses mean? Or are you just pretending to be some innocent little fool?

Rachel swallowed hard, trying to suppress the wave of shame. She could try to explain it all again — how she had been an ordinary guy, how she’d agreed to the experiment and woken up in this body, in a parallel universe where her alternate version was this Rachel—an 18+ model. But even if he believed her, it wouldn’t change a thing. She’d already been living as “Rachel Wan” for two weeks. And judging by the photographer’s expression, he couldn’t care less about her inner turmoil.

Rachel closed her eyes, breathing deeply. Snippets of her past life flashed in her mind—how she used to look at girls, dreaming of meeting someone she could connect with. Back then, it felt like they were beings from another world, ones he, an ordinary guy, would never understand. Now, she had this body, this appearance…

— Don’t zone out — The sharp smack on her backside made Rachel yelp and straighten instinctively, feeling a flush of hot shame run through her body. Her cheeks instantly flamed, and her hand moved nervously to the spot, as if that could ease the sting of humiliation. The photographer chuckled, not hiding his mockery. — Come on, sweetheart, wake up. Remember who you are here.

Rachel swallowed and tried to compose herself. She forced her shoulders back and slowly turned to face the photographer.

— Yes, I… — the words caught in her throat, and she swallowed again. The voice that finally came out was low and soft, somehow pleading. — I understand.

She understood. Yes. Or maybe she was starting to. This was her life now.