VIP Booth #7

"What's there now? Probably just more spam," – Adriana thought irritably, pulling out her phone from her small purse and plopping down onto the cold leather sofa in the "Eclipse" club's dressing room.

Her impressive breasts once again bumped against her wrist, making her flinch. Those two pieces of silicone she was now forced to carry reminded her that even after a month in this body, she still hadn't gotten used to it.

She casually swiped across the screen and immediately tensed up. A message from government authorities.

"Just what I needed..." – she thought, opening the notification.

🔔 "Notification of non-compliance with the requirements of the Social Reconstruction Program"

"What the...?" – her eyes quickly darted across the text.

"Based on a complaint from your employer and a review of your behavior, the court has ruled: Your correction program is extended by one additional month. Further violations may result in additional adjustments to your program, including mental ones."

— WHAT?! — she blurted out loud.

— Oh, Adri, you look especially cute today, — came a mocking voice.

At the other end of the dressing room, sitting in front of the mirror and fixing the glitter on her eyelids, Lola Charm sat in nothing but a shiny bra and thong, lazily glancing at Adriana's unhappy face and, smirking, reaching for her comb.

— So, what's up with you now? Judging by your sour face, you either got your period or something more serious, — Lola giggled, lazily running the comb through her long light hair.

Adriana clenched the phone in her hands so tightly that her long nails almost dug into her palm. Another month. ONE MORE MONTH in this humiliating hell. In this cheap shack, with these fucking breasts, in these fishnet stockings, surrounded by sweaty guys drooling over her "new" body. She couldn’t even drink properly — vodka acted differently on her new body than it used to. Everything that had once been at her fingertips, money, connections, power, was now a thing of the past. And the worst part was, she couldn’t talk to anyone about it except this sarcastic Lola, because all her old friends, contacts, everything else was blocked in her memory by artificial interference. Of course, she remembered everything, but even the faces of people from the life of Edrian Volsky, the 35-year-old millionaire, heir to a construction empire, known for his cynical attitude towards women, rudeness, and habit of "buying" any problems, were now blurred in his memory.

— Fucking Morozov, — she spat through her teeth, slamming her phone onto the leather sofa.

— Oh, did the Storm hurt your feelings? Well, you know him. He likes when girls behave... compliant, — Lola glanced at her in the mirror, stretching her lips into a sly smile. — Though you're not exactly a girl, are you?

Adriana flushed.

— Shut up, Lola, — she hissed, but her voice, though filled with anger, sounded less threatening and more just annoyed and... feminine.

Lola laughed loudly, turning towards Adriana and propping her chin on her hand.

— Oh my, what drama, — she drawled with obvious pleasure. — Well, come on, tell me, what did they write to you?

Adriana grabbed the phone in frustration, nearly cracking the screen with her nails, and shoved it in front of Lola's face.

— Here, read it yourself if you're so curious!

Lola took the phone, skimmed through the text, and her smirk grew even wider.

— Oh, you're something else, Adri! — She set the phone down on the sofa and stretched, arching her back. — You know, I’d almost feel sorry for you, but… you know what? You get it, don’t you?

Adriana gritted her teeth, feeling the heat of anger rise in her neck.

— I only understand one thing — this bastard wants me to hop on every sweaty client in the VIP room and fuck them if I don't want to stay here longer! Ugh! What an asshole!

Lola snorted with laughter, covering her mouth with her hand, but couldn’t hide her genuine enjoyment of Adriana’s reaction.

— Well, well, such language, such emotional involvement! — she drawled, giving Adriana a coquettish squint. — I thought you were the cold type, but now you’re all fire.

Adriana jumped up from the sofa, feeling the silicone breasts shift traitorously in her shirt, causing an unpleasant sensation of weight. She could never get used to these things — neither their weight nor the way they moved so awkwardly with every step.

— You’re all just a bunch of cowards here, and you too, Lola. They’ll blur out my face and your names, and I won’t be able to reach you when I become myself again!

Lola snorted, brushing an imaginary speck of dust off her thigh, and lazily drawled:

— Oh, what threats… Makes my skin crawl. But you know what, Adri, dear? You're not the first, and you won't be the last. See, Cat thought she’d get back into her old body and kill us all, but then… poof! – And now she’s been a slut at Eclipse for two years, not even in the VIP booth, but bent over the bar counter. Funny, huh?

Adriana felt everything inside her freeze. No. No, she wouldn't be here for two years. She wasn’t some Cat. She was Edrian Volsky, goddammit! Or... had been him.

She swallowed nervously, feeling her throat go dry.

— This isn't about me, — she exhaled, clenching her fists. — I'll leave here. I'll go back to my life.

Lola only shook her head mockingly, running her fingers through her long blonde hair.

— Well, then you’ll have to work that pretty little mouth of yours, — Lola brought her thumb to her lips and slowly ran the tip of her tongue over it, looking at Adriana with a mocking smile. — Or at least your ass, if your mouth is "off-limits."

— Fuck you... — Adriana gritted her teeth, grabbing her phone again and looking at the screen, but her gaze lingered on her own cleavage, and she shuddered. Damn breasts, damn body! She couldn't even look down properly without being reminded of that ridiculous female meat.

The locker room door swung open sharply, and Viktor "Storm" Morozov appeared in the doorway. His massive figure filled the narrow space, and his heavy gaze swept across the room, pausing on Adriana. He looked, as always, rough, smug, and confident in his authority.

— Well, doll, did you get your little notification? — his voice was low and raspy, with a hint of mockery.

Adriana clenched her fists, feeling the rage bubbling inside her. She was sure it was him who filed the complaint, that bastard wants her to... She almost ground her teeth from disgust.

— I’m doing my job, — she said coldly, leaning against the couch, trying to look calm, though her heart was pounding like crazy. — I dance, I go on stage. It’s all in the contract.

Morozov smirked and took a step forward. Lola, lazily watching the scene, stretched out in her seat, clearly entertained.

— You see, sweetheart, your job isn’t just to stumble around on stage. You’re also supposed to... satisfy the clients, — he leaned in closer, clearly inhaling her scent. — And that’s where you’re having problems. Plus, complaints are coming in... You get it, right? — his voice softened, almost whispering, but it only made her feel more uneasy.

Adriana stiffened. No, she wouldn’t show fear, wouldn’t show weakness.

— If you think I’m gonna be like your other sluts... — she didn't even finish, as Morozov's strong hand gripped her chin, forcing her to look straight into his cold, dark eyes.

— You already are one of them, doll, — he said slowly, stretching the words. — The question is, when you’ll admit it.

Her throat tightened with rage and helplessness. Adriana remembered how, when she was still Adrian, she could grab the secretary by the waist, slap the assistant on the ass, invite a young intern into her office "for a talk" — and no one would dare say a word. He knew money solved everything. He knew that any woman, no matter how unhappy, would either submit or get fired, and a new, even more scared and submissive one would take her place. He bought women, used them, then discarded them. They were nothing but things. Just toys.

And now... now he was in their place. Trapped in this body, in this filthy club, under the pressure of a dirty, greedy man who saw her as nothing but another available slut.

She shuddered at that thought, but Morozov didn't loosen his grip. He leaned in closer, his breath smelling of tobacco and whiskey.

— Oh, look, you’re shuddering... — he smirked, releasing her face from his grip. — So proud, so elusive... Maybe I should give you a new nickname?

Lola, watching the scene with interest, raised an eyebrow.

— You’ve always had a talent for "creative" nicknames, Storm, — she lazily remarked, crossing her legs, not even trying to hide her obvious flattery.

Morozov thoughtfully ran his tongue over his teeth, looking at Adriana with clear amusement, and then suddenly squeezed her silicone breast, whispering with a grin:

— Lollipop...

Lola snorted from her seat, slapping her thigh.

— Oh, great name! It suits you, Ad... oh, I mean Lollipop! — Lola dramatically threw her hands up and laughed, as if it was really funny.

Adriana jerked, ripping herself out of Morozov's grip, and disgustedly wiped the spot he had touched. Her breast still trembled under the thin fabric, reminding her of how alien and absurd this body remained. But she couldn't change anything.

— So, Lollipop, — Morozov drawled lazily, adjusting the cuffs on his sleeves. — You’ve got two options. Either you stop pretending to be untouchable and start working like you should, or, doll, I’ll personally make sure your "correction program" becomes much... more enlightening. — His eyes gleamed with a cruel fire, and his voice dropped to a near-gentle whisper. — You get what I mean, right?

Adriana felt the tight knot inside her twist. He scared her. Fuck, he really scared her. But what terrified her more was the situation itself: she was trapped in this woman's body, with no way out, no connections, no way to resist, stuck in this trap of silicone tits and short skirts, and this bastard Morozov was looking at her like she had already broken.

But no. She wouldn't give up.

— You can shove your "program" up your ass, — she hissed through her teeth, but her voice betrayed her nervousness.

Morozov smirked, took a step back, and waved his hand as if swatting away an annoying fly.

— Alright, alright, we can still play the "I'm not that kind of person" game, — he chuckled and turned towards the exit, almost out of the locker room. But, pausing in the doorway, he threw over his shoulder: — Just remember, sweetheart… I’m no stranger to breaking people like you.

He left, and the air in the room seemed to lighten, though Adriana felt as if someone had dumped a bucket of dirt over her.

— Phew, I got goosebumps, — Lola said, shuddering slightly as though she’d been shocked by electricity. — Damn, Lollipop, you would...

But Adriana cut Lola off sharply, not letting her finish:

— Don’t call me that! — she exploded, jumping off the couch. Her breasts betrayed her, jerking beneath the light fabric, and Adriana felt her nipples painfully rub against the inner lining. Damn it, even her own body was working against her now!

Lola couldn’t hold back, laughing even louder, enjoying her fury.

— Well, well, why are you so worked up? It’s affectionate, sweet... Lollipop! — she dragged the word out, savoring it like fine wine. — You’d better get used to it, because what Thunder said, goes. Now the whole damn shift’s gonna call you that.

— Let them try! — Adriana gritted through her teeth, but deep down, she knew: they’d try. And they definitely would.

Lola smiled, but a spark of mischief flickered in her eyes; everything was perfect for the moment. She paused, watching Adriana tremble with rage, biting her lip but not daring to scream again. Now was the time to play her cards.

Lola slowly ran her tongue across her lips, her eyes gleaming slyly in the soft light of the locker room. She pretended to think carefully, then, lazily stretching, she spoke:

— You know, Lollipop, — Lola drawled, slowly twirling a strand of hair around her finger, — you still have options.

Adriana spun around sharply, her blue eyes blazing with fury.

— You starting again? I already told you, don’t call me that!

Lola just smirked, stretched, arching her back, and slowly slid off the chair, stepping closer to Adriana.

— Calm down, baby, don’t flip out. Actually, I wanna help you, — Lola’s voice suddenly softened, almost soothing. She approached, leaning her hip against the couch next to Adriana. — Actually, I’ve got... a proposition for you.

Adriana crossed her arms over her chest, but it only made her posture even more awkward, because her breasts pushed up to her chin, forcing her to lean back slightly. Damn body.

— I don’t need your propositions, — she muttered, staring at her reflection in the mirror. — Unless you know how to get me out of this mess I’m stuck in.

— Now that’s an interesting thought, — Lola said meaningfully, leaning closer, twisting her hair around her finger. — Let’s say... I know a way to make sure this whole thing doesn’t drag on.

Adriana turned sharply towards her.

— What do you mean? — she asked skeptically.

Lola smirked, her eyes gleaming mischievously.

— Exactly what you heard. I know a way to speed up your “correction” and avoid all these constant extensions. So you don’t end up stuck here like Cat, for a couple extra years, but you walk out of here in two months. Maybe even sooner.

Adriana’s heart jerked.

— Bullshit, — she shot back, but a hint of uncertainty slipped into her voice.

— Oh, no, — Lola gently disagreed, tracing her finger over the smooth skin of her thigh. — You see, I’ve got... my connections. Anonymous ones. The kind no one knows about, not even the damn Morozov. They have ways to influence your file, make complaints “disappear,” and suddenly your behavior rating goes up. You’d be surprised how easily you can make the system work differently if you know where to push.

Adriana stared at her intently, a tight knot forming in her stomach. She desperately wanted to believe Lola wasn’t lying. But...

— And what do you want for it? — she asked quietly, already knowing the answer.

Lola smiled even wider.

— Oh, nothing special, baby, — she made a theatrical pause, letting Adriana stew in her thoughts. — Just five million dollars.

Adriana’s breath caught in her throat.

— Are you fucking insane? — Adriana waved her hand in anger. — Have you lost your mind?! I don’t even have money right now! I can’t even buy myself a decent coffee because my account’s frozen!

Lola tossed her head back and laughed.

— Oh, don’t make me laugh, Lollipop! — she dragged out the new nickname again. — You’re not just some basic whore, you’ve got money. Well, you did. I know your main account is frozen. But... you did say you were a rich asshole who always had a backup plan. And I’m more than sure you’ve got secret accounts, offshore stuff, some other secret ways. Bingo?

Adriana gritted her teeth. It was true. Of course, her main funds were frozen, but... damn it, she had backup accounts! Small "emergency" amounts that she had transferred to offshore accounts, knowing that they might try to limit her access. But she didn’t have access to them!

Lola smiled smugly, watching as a shadow of doubt passed over Adriana’s face.

— I see I hit the spot, — she giggled, playfully twirling a strand of hair around her finger. — Exactly, sweetheart, you’ve got money. And the funniest thing is — I know how you can get your hands on it. Right now.

Adriana turned to face her sharply.

— Bullshit, — she shot back, but her voice betrayed her inner uncertainty.

Lola rolled her eyes.

— Oh, my girl, come on. Look, it’s simple. I’m saying this once and only once, and you have to decide right now, so listen carefully. — Lola paused, making sure there was no one else in the room. — I’ve got a guy. A guy who can do it anonymously. No questions asked. No traces. Offshore, crypto, black transfers. And while you’ve been altered, your biometrics, those pretty eyes, and fingerprints — they’re still yours. All you need to do is one little thing. You do what I tell you, like, for example, you come to VIP booth #7 after the second dance tonight, spend 30 minutes there, and give your best blowjob to the guy who’ll be there, and he’ll transfer ten million dollars from your accounts, half of which he’ll send to me. Well, or almost, you’ll just do what he says.

Adriana stared at Lola in horror, feeling cold sweat run down her back. She had been expecting anything — blackmail, threats — but this… This was on another level.

— Are you out of your mind? — she hissed, jumping up from the couch. — A blowjob?! You want me to… WHAT?!

Lola smiled wide, batting her eyelashes innocently.

— Oh, I knew it, you’re not against giving up that money, — Lola giggled, clearly enjoying the moment.

Adriana clenched her fists, her nails digging painfully into her palms. Her breath was shallow, and her heart was pounding in her chest. Her mind was racing, thoughts spinning in all directions. Everything inside her screamed with rage and disgust, but louder than anything else was the fear.

— You’ve fucking lost it, Lola! — she hissed, as if the sound of her own venomous words could somehow protect her from the filth coming from her colleague’s mouth. — I. Won’t. Suck.

Lola rolled her eyes.

— Stubborn idiot. — She shook her head. — Relax, why are you freaking out? This won’t even be considered prostitution — you’re not doing it for money, you’re doing it for access to your own millions. Technically, you’re just negotiating a deal.

— Fuck you! — Adriana exploded. She stood up from the couch so abruptly that her breasts jerked painfully under her top, reminding her how helpless she was even in her own body. — Do you seriously think I… that I would stoop to that? That I would get on my knees in front of some fucking fat bastard just so he could take my own money?!

Lola’s face grew serious, her smirk slowly fading into a calculating look. She tilted her head, studying Adriana, as if weighing her protest, her outrage, her desperate attempt to hold on to whatever shred of dignity she had left.

— Wake up, Lollipop. It’s just a mouth. You’ll end up doing this sooner or later, just like all the girls you used to humiliate and buy. The only difference now is that you’re on their side. And trust me, in a couple of weeks, when Storm starts "tightening" your correction, you’ll be begging for it to be just a blowjob, not something... more exotic.

— Go fuck yourself, Lola! — she spat, throwing her arm away. — You’re a dirty, sellout whore, and I will never be like you!

Lola laughed, but there was a shadow in her gaze, something darker lurking.

— Never? — She squinted, shaking her head slightly. — Oh, Lolli, you’ve already become one. You just haven’t realized it yet.

The door opened again, and another person appeared in the doorway — a tall, slender brunette with sharp features, wearing a lace bodysuit and heels. It was Rita, one of the club's top strippers. She lazily glanced across the room: Adriana was fuming with rage, Lola grinning like a cat that had caught a mouse.

— What’s all the yelling about? — she said lazily. — Are you trolling Adri again, Lola?

— Oh, just having a little heart-to-heart, — Lola giggled, glancing at Adriana, — or, more precisely… I’m teaching Lollipop how to survive in this world.

Rita raised an eyebrow, her expressive face twisted in confusion for a second.

— Lollipop?

Lola laughed, nodding toward Adriana.

— Yeah, that’s what she’s called now. Storm just christened her. Isn’t it cute?

— Lollipop? Seriously? — she smirked, taking a couple of steps closer and theatrically scanning Adriana from head to toe. — Well, hey, it’s even cute. It suits her.

— Fuck you both, — Lollipop hissed, taking a step toward the exit and slamming the door open.

— Booth number 7, baby! — Lola called out cheerfully after her. — Think it over!