I scrape my chest and hips on the way out the window. Dan's voice in my head lets me know I took a single point of damage. I don't care, Dan-in-my-head, I have Waxen Regeneration 5. One point of damage is basically nothing unless it's a very tight fight or comes with a rider of some stripe.

Flying is fun, though, and cheers me up quickly. Sure, a car is faster - a double move on a 60 foot fly speed only works out to about 12 or 13 mph - but I can simply ignore the crowds and traffic entirely. I am, quite literally, above all that now. 

Until I'm not. I lose track of the time flying loop-de-loops above the city, and am very thankful for the Featherfall rider at the end of the Fly spell's duration (it’s just seven minutes for me right now). It lets me renew the spell without crashing. 

So I land on a roof and think for a bit. I'll need clothes that fit, and at some point I will need to summon my eidolon. Clothes first, though, as they end up underneath. Buying them, though… I'll need to be seen, and get myself sized. How to do that…

Hmm. Never got an answer from Dan. What happens if I cast Disguise Self? Is the illusion invisible along with me, or does it act like an overlay? My invisibility is "natural" while the disguise wouldn't be. Hmm. I need a mirror.  Where… ah, I'll need to visit a clothing store anyway. First, though, I'll need my wallet. And I do have a mirror at home.

I fly to my apartment, and identify my window. It's latched, but a Knock spell fixes that trivially. I climb in through the window, scraping myself again - not that it matters, it heals up in seconds. Still, it hurts, so I'll need to find a better way. Heh. Or use my newfound powers to make money, and get better digs with an actual balcony and a door. I am sure universities would be stumbling over themselves to find out how a Continual Flame spell works. Seemingly free energy, a hefty violation of physics. But then, I've been telling physics to go cry in a corner ever since I woke up invisible. Oh yes, and flight.

For the immediate issue, I visit my mirror. I take my ring off, and renew my See Invisibility spell, to get a good look at myself. I then cast Disguise Self to duplicate my own appearance. Sans clothing, as I'll need to get fitted, but with a normal eye color. And this time, I choose to believe my own illusion. And I see my new appearance in the mirror.

So far, so good.

I put my ring back on, which immediately trumps the effects of my See Invisibility spell. And I still see myself! Nice, everything is working as I hoped so far. 

Now that I know I've essentially become my character, I even know why I couldn't wear my bathrobe. I have the oath of Forbidden Knowledge, with the attached Lesser Madness of Perpetual Discomfort, which effectively precludes armor and bulky clothing. Seems the bathrobe counted as "bulky." I just need something thin. So I go grab my summer sheets out of my linen closet, wrap that very thin cloth around myself a few times, fold it to mostly hold, and fasten it with a safety pin.

I then go back to the mirror, and discover a problem: I still look naked. The illusion is set when I cast it, and when I added the sheet, my natural invisibility made it slowly fade away while I was heading back to the mirror. 

Which of course, defeats the purpose. How to solve… more magic, of course. May as well use the tools I have, and magic I have in spades.

There's an obscure 3rd party Pathfinder spell called Animate Construct, which turns regular objects Instantly into animated objects under the caster's control, with some limitations. My invisibility shouldn't affect other creatures, so all I need to do is turn my sheet into a semi-living thing, and it should stay visible. 

And then wrap said creature around my naked body.  Yuck.

Int -, though, so it's not like it's a person, more like an insect.

OK, that thought did NOT make me more comfortable with this plan.

I spend a good five minutes trying to come up with something better which will still let me walk into a store and get fitted for some real clothes. Nothing comes to mind; yes, I could just cloak myself in illusion, but then I’d have to dismiss the illusion to take them off, and that would be problematic as I’ll need help getting myself measured - whoever’s doing it is going to expect to see me remove a garment or two.  So I steel myself, lay down the sheet, and grant it a semblance of life. I then immediately order it to relax and do nothing. Which it does. It does such a good job of doing nothing, that I am not even sure if the original spell worked.

I try to convince myself that the spell failed, wrap myself up as before, and check out the mirror: The sheet isn't fading out anymore. Which is a good thing, as it means I can actually go shopping. But it also means… my skin crawls a moment, and I don’t complete that thought.  Still, I’ll only need to do this when I’m doing something where folks who aren’t in the know will expect to see me change.  The rest of the time, it’s OK if my clothes end up see-through, as I’ll be see-through as well, and can just toss up an illusion of whatever I want.  Which should usually be a perfect match of me and my clothes, as that reduces the chance of an interaction will save: If everything their senses perceive lines up, there’s no tip-off to a person’s subconscious.  Or however it’s supposed to work in-game.  It’s a good theory, at least.  In the game, we don’t get will saves vs. most illusions unless we carefully examine them or do some form of actual test, so it should work the same here… and as a woman, I can yell at anyone who tries to “carefully examine” me “for staring”.  For those I don’t catch at it… well, hopefully my save DC (Difficulty Class) holds up well enough.  I’ll be a bit more comfortable with that once I can get my save DC up.  If this is mapped to the game, then most folks are commoners, experts, warriors, or other NPC classes… of those, the Expert has a good Will save.  What’s the expectation?  An expert has a good will, so an Expert 3 or so would have about a +3 Will save.  Disguise Self is a 1st level spell, I’ve got a +6 Charisma mod, so DC 17.  They’ll need… ouch, just a 14 or better.  I can get that up a bit using Disguise Other on myself for a DC 18, but still, 15 or better on a d20, fully 30% of Expert-3’s who try will see through it.  Commoners or warriors are easier, and lower levels will help, but even with a zero will save folks only need an 18 on the die, a 15% chance.  I’ll need to do some crafting to get that DC up.  Which means I’ll need to figure out how crafting materials work… they were generally hand-waived in game, you just paid the currency in town and got the materials.  And dollars aren’t gold, are they?  I’ll need to look up the exchange rate at some point, maybe… oh, Pathfinder used fixed prices, and there’s a trade goods chart.  I’ll need to look that up.  Modern prices are way off from the faux-medieval ones in the game, there could be something dirt cheap on there I can use.  That’d be nice.

Later.  For now… my disguise held through my digression, and I really need some actual clothing.

So I go to add my wallet to my shopping bag, and that’s when I notice it’s invisible too.  I set it down, and give it the same Animate Construct and relax command treatment: Success, I now have a visible bag to carry.  I’ll need to use a different one when I don’t want it seen.  And bonus: I can ask this one to come back to me.  Hmm.  Maybe I should do that with my phone and stylus, too.  Eh, later, and try it on a burner phone first.  I’d hate to find out that magic messes with electronics after applying it to my only copy of the modern version of a key to the world.  The bag will do for now.  I’ll need to be careful of how many things I do this with - I have a control limit of twenty-eight hit dice worth, and while a small bag is Tiny (in game terms) and is just going to be a one hit die construct, that sheet rolls out to probably Large, and is four.  Twenty-three more to go, a fair amount of room, but something to keep in mind; a human-sized dress would be medium, and thus three, so seven of them would be OK, but any more than that and I’ll need to drop something.  Which would be irresponsible: I’m unsure how an uncontrolled construct would act.  So I’ll need to destroy one of them before hitting my limit.

At least I seem to be getting used to the idea of wearing something that could be called “alive.”  My skin isn’t crawling anymore, and I’ve been wearing this sheet as an impromptu dress for a good five minutes now.  Helps that it’s not moving on its own.  Hopefully I don’t think of it as a puppy when I reach the point where it’s time to end it.

But I’ve delayed long enough.  I really need to get measured, and my preparations really are done.  So I take a breath (the first one in… several minutes, at least), put on some sandals I find I can get to stay on my tiny little feet, and head out the door.  The hallways of my building are basically empty at this time of day.  Mine’s just residential, although Bob and Adam’s building across the street is quite mixed.  Oh.  Bob.  I still haven’t asked Bob about currently preferred pronouns.  Adam did remember to ask, but I kind of stole the show and didn’t hang around for Bob’s answer.  Still, he did have it coming.  And as Bob is  very much acting like a guy, I’ll stick with masculine pronouns for him for now.  And… oh.  Heh, heh, heh.  We got mythic via one of my class features… and that comes with a little something I never bothered to exercise in game: Divine Punishment!  Well Bob, for ogling me without permission or warning, your more feminine equipment is going to be maximally aroused, with no ability for release, until such time as a male member goes off within your new depths.  Or until this time tomorrow.  Whichever comes first.  And using a rubber is fine, but the male member needs to be real. And if you do go the male member route, your release will feel superb.

My thirst for revenge slaked for now, I reach the ground floor of my building, and step outside.

I instantly feel eyes on me. Lots of them. I find myself suddenly very, very self-conscious. To be fair, I am ridiculously over-endowed, am wearing no bra, and am wearing a bedsheet held in place by a safety pin. My udders are swaying all over the place like giant mounds of jello while my faucets are clearly poking through the fabric for everyone to see. Meanwhile, I can't help but sway my massive caboose as I walk on my tiny feet in ill-fitting sandals. Sure, I'm technically legal, and I don’t have any better options at the moment, but the sight must be downright obscene.  I don't normally notice any of this motion, and reach around my assets completely without thinking about it, which I'm guessing has something to do with how I got this form.

Looking around, I figure out why I'm not hearing any wolf whistles. Everyone who might is simply too shocked to act. Almost all jaws are dropped. I am honestly lucky I haven't already caused…

The sound of a car crashing interrupts my thoughts. No, there were no sounds of squealing rubber that come with emergency breaking or swerving. Seems the driver was completely distracted, and ran into the other vehicle without noticing. At least this road doesn't do freeway speeds.

I console myself with the thought that I will be able to cloak my assets in an illusion of something a bit more mainstream once I have clothes that fit. But for the fitting itself? I need to be all me. Otherwise, I'll get the wrong measurements, and nothing will fit. And I need to walk in the door as me, and there aren't the convenient phone booths like in the early Superman comics to change in.

So I have my own walk of shame through a public street. I eventually make it to the mall, my cheeks burning with embarrassment. And for some reason, I can feel my body reacting further down, too. That at least feels nice. It makes me feel… slightly tipsy, warm, and empty. Strange, but nice. It doesn't take long for me to be able to smell my own arousal. 

Checking my reflection in a window on the way in, I see I'm flushed all the way up to my hair, and down to where the sheet starts to cover me. 

My first stop? A lingerie store. The place has a Grand Opening sign out, seems it's new. Figuring it's unlikely I'll fit in anything off the rack, I don't bother looking at the wares on display, and instead make a beeline for the counter.  The counter doesn't go all the way around, so on the way I get a full view of the clerk. She is dressed in a white blouse and a tight black skirt that goes down to just above her knees. She's wearing black heels, and has her raven tresses tied in a ponytail behind her head.  A few spider web tattoos, and a curious nose piercing.

As I approach, she stares at my wobbling chest, and forgets to introduce herself. I read "Francine" on the name badge pinned to her chest (her girls are the size of apples, sorry, I don't know cup sizes), and interrupt her stare with: "My eyes are up here, Francine."

Having been a guy until very recently, I understand the fascination, and can't help but say it with a bit of humor. Still, it works: the woman shakes off what she's feeling and asks, "How can I help you?"

I give Francine a limited version of the truth as I try to tell her what I need: "I don't have anything that fits, and need a whole new wardrobe. I also need a fitting, as I have no idea what size I am. Oh, and the bras will need to be nursing bras."

Francine seems confused,  and mutters under her breath, "What, your fetishist surgeon didn't tell you?" but nods, and says in a normal tone, "Right this way, then."

Ignoring the comment, I follow her to a dressing room with two walls that are all mirror, where Francine starts with, "Alright, you know the drill."

Curiously, Francine seems to have stashed her nametag somewhere; she's no longer wearing it. 

"I don't, actually.  This is my first time. I am guessing I need to strip down?" I respond, reaching for my safety pin. And it's true: Yesterday, I didn't have anything to measure. 

I see an odd glint in her eye as she says "Yes please, I will need to take a few measurements."

Seeing that I'm nervous, Francine smiles in a way I can't quite put my finger on and reassures me with "We're both girls here, no need to be shy. Would it help if I skinned down a bit too?"

I blush and nod, reaching up for my safety pin as she starts unbuttoning her blouse. With just a single pin to undo, my sheet is puddled on the floor first, leaving me in just my sandals, showing all my curves. She moves slowly and deliberately, opening one button at a time, swaying hypnotically as she does. She hangs her blouse on a nearby hook, and goes through a similar routine with her bra. 

Smiling at something I don't quite get, she starts speaking again, "All right, now as your girls are unusually large, I am going to need to get quite 'familiar' with you, so please don't be alarmed…"

She comes up behind me with a tape measure, and slips it around my back, then snakes it under my mammary glands, her hands sinking deeply into my tissues as she lifts them up out of the way as she does so. I bite my lip on the first from the pleasurable contact, and moan on the second, unable to contain the sensations. Her apples are pressing into my back, and I start to feel a wetness running down my leg.

My body is tuned for pleasure way more than it should be. And I only have myself to blame.

Francine asks me, "Are these all natural? I'm not feeling any silicone."

Through the descending haze of pleasure, I manage to give a response that's true as far as it goes, "No surgery or drugs at all."

She responds with a number, reading it off her measuring tape, "You have a band size of 32, quite petite. Now for the main event…"

I feel her girls drag across my back as she steps around me, a little closer than she needs to, but I don't object. With her hand holding one end of the tape, she snakes it around across my skin, and her fingers feel out the spot where my milk ducts converge, giving my left spout a slight squeeze (triggering a squirt of invisible milk, and an electric sensation running to my nethers) as she brings one of my hands up to my own chest, saying, "Hold this, please, I can't reach all the way around."

I cry aloud from the stimulation, and follow orders, gripping the end of the measuring tape to my spout. A voice in the back of my head asks if this is really how measurements are supposed to be done, but that voice is drowned out in the sensations of the moment.

Francine again walks around me very closely, brushing against me all the way, sending electric sensations across my body, and turning the space between my legs into a raging inferno of desire. When she finally gets around to my right side, Francine gives my right faucet the same treatment, causing my knees to buckle as I feel a familiar sensation of an explosion of pleasure deep within me. I scream. Francine grabs me, hugging me tight, our chests squishing together as she keeps me from falling. When I have my legs underneath me again (it takes a few minutes), Francine goes to get the next measurement… and runs into a problem.

"It doesn't reach," the clerk breathes to herself in awe, "This is a six foot tape, and it doesn't reach." 

Trying to maintain some image of doing her job, Francine notes down how many fingers she needs to bridge the gap, measures those, and does some simple math in her head before announcing, "You have a 76 inch bust."

She pauses a moment, and inquires, "You mentioned you need a full wardrobe… do you want me to take all your measurements now? I can write them down so you can give them to a tailor."

I can only manage a weak, "Uh-huh," as she continues her very unprofessional routine, which progressively sheds the veneer. She slides her cheek along my arms as she measures those; drinks deeply of my milk as she measures my waist, making sure to show me (?) that she's got a mouthful before she swallows; I explode a second time because she sticks her tongue deeply into my flower as she measures my hips; and a third when she sucks on the nub above while she measures both of my inseams. She also sucks on my toes a little as she measures my feet, but I don't respond to that.  I lose track of specifics, but I am measured, licked, kissed, caressed, and groped all over. 

When she's finally done well over an hour later, she takes me by the hand and leads me out into the main area of the store, writes up a detailed report on her computer, and prints a copy for me.  She also asks for my phone number - which, in a blissful daze, seems fine - and texts me the info. 

It takes me a few minutes to realize I left my sheet in the dressing room, and am standing naked in the main body of the store with my lingering arousal dripping down my thighs. The mall isn't too crowded at this time of day, but I have attracted a crowd. Some of whom are taking pictures and videos. I blush, and rush back to the dressing room, quickly wrapping myself back up. 

Taking a moment to compose myself, I pretend that nothing happened, and go ask Francine, "So… got anything in my size?"

She laughs in reply, "Not a thing. Anything you want to wear will need to be custom made. I put the numbers and websites of a few specialist tailors at the bottom of your measurements.  Tell them you need the 'Happy Hour' special.  They'll have a few papers for you to sign, but will happily make you a weeks' worth of clothes that fit for free.  But I don’t think you really need a brasserie; your chest defies physics. Your girls are super soft, and are as heavy as I expect… but they're as perky as a teen girl's A cup. You move like they're weightless, and they almost seem to actively stay out of your way. If I wasn't looking at them with my own eyes, I would think they were expensive CGI, or maybe some overly hormonal man's wet dream. Those jugs are seriously unreal. And amazing. Come by anytime I'm here if you want to go again. I work noon to close." She winks, and closes with, "And if you're a really good girl, I might show you what's hiding under my skirt. I can promise you your kitty will enjoy it." 

Flushing very deeply, I rush to the restrooms, barely remember not to use the men's, get into a stall, Arcane Lock the door, silence the area, and bawl my eyes out.  I still didn't get the pumps.  Or some clothes.  But that's not what's bothering me.  I'm not sure what is, yet. I know something, but it hasn't quite processed. I'll get there, though. And when I do properly understand…

I. WILL. ACT.