Rising with the stupid sun, Grace masturbated in the shower and got dressed. She had decided to go full ‘hot secretary’ today, then realized that she didn’t actually have a choice. As specified, all of her clothes made her look sexy. She tried, just as an experiment, to assemble a modest outfit, but no dice.

Grace was a full time hot chick now - which was fine. She’d been a regular woman long enough.

She walked out the door in a skin tight black skirt and gauzy white blouse, neckline basically down to her navel, lacy red bra peeking out. Her four inch heels made her calves pop in the black stockings. She’d tied her hair up in a messy bun, and had even found a pair of Cartier sunglasses in her purse.

Every eye was on her the whole way to the office, every head turned as she passed. Men practically drooled, women boiled with jealousy and/or lust. She just let the attention wash over her; she was going to have to get used to it. Grace sat on the E train and pondered her next move.

She apparently had dozens of changes left, assuming the bottle was meant to last the whole 28 nights. There were a few maintenance wishes to get through - STI protection, pregnancy protection, probably a few others she hadn’t thought of yet. But that still left a universe of possibilities…

How far did she want to go? And how far was too far? Could she ‘unwish’ for something if she overdid it?

Grace was strategizing as she walked into the office, but she was shocked back to reality by Jenny the receptionist. The two had been friendly co-workers for years, but the woman’s ‘welcome’ was frostbite cold. Grace looked up from her phone in surprise, and the barely concealed contempt in Jenny’s eyes made her recoil. She wordlessly walked away, hurt and confused.

It soon became clear that becoming the porno parody version of a secretary had damaged her reputation, and all her hard-won respect had evaporated. The guys all leered and the girls gave her the cold shoulder. Grace tried to plow through her work, be extra diligent and professional - zero flirting - but everyone still talked to her half-exposed tits and called her ‘sweetie.’

By ten, she was crying in a bathroom stall. “Goddamnit,” she mumble-sobbed to herself. “It’s not fair. I’m not hurting anyone, I’m not slacking off - why are they being such assholes? Am I going to have to spend half my wishes unfucking the other half?”

There was a gentle knock at the stall door, and Grace dropped her phone in surprise. “Occupied!” she shouted.

“You okay in there, Grace? DeAndre saw you run in…” It was Mercy, and the concern in her voice was a beam of sunlight through black clouds. Grace threw open the door, and when she saw the warmth in Mercy’s eyes she hugged her tight, burying her head in her friend’s shoulder.

“I’m having a shitty morning.”

Mercy pulled away and stared at Grace’s face. “Yeah, looks like. Your eyeliner’s all smeared.” She looked down. “Onto my blouse.” Grace took in a breath to apologize, but Mercy smiled and gave her a playful poke in the ribs.

“Gimme one of your spare five thousand dollar dresses, and we’ll call it even. Come on girl - fix your makeup and come out. You, me and DeAndre are going downstairs for a liquid lunch. It’s martini-o-clock somewhere!”

Twenty minutes later, all three were bellied up to the bar at The Red Candle. DeAndre and Mercy listened as Grace unloaded. Both of them were sympathetic, but totally unsurprised.

“Every man in this dump is a greasy horndog!” Mercy declared. “No offense,” she corrected to DeAndre.

DeAndre raised an eyebrow. “Some offense, Mercy. Some offense - and it’s not like the women are much better.” He turned to Grace, eyes all sympathy. “They’re just jealous, Grace - and intimidated.”

“You’re the most beautiful woman at the office, and it’s not even close.” He turned to Mercy and smirked. “No offense.”

Mercy nodded. “Who’s arguing? And screw the office - Sugar Tits here is the baddest bitch in the burrough. Plus, wearing ten grand in pencil skirts and lingerie every day - and fucking slaying in them - isn’t gonna win any friends with the Filene’s Basement crowd.”

Grace smiled at DeAndre’s complement and snorted at ‘Sugar Tits.’ Internally, she thanked… whoever was doing all this… that not everyone had been twisted up by her changes. Even so, the next wish had to be unfucking this situation. Everything else had to wait.

With gin in her stomach and friends at her side, the baddest bitch in the borough was ready to go back to work. She hugged Mercy again as they parted, then turned to DeAndre.

“Ok, I’m feeling more like myself… Do you want to hit the wellness room?”

He raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Do you? I’m not saying no, but you don’t owe me anything - I got your back either way.”

Grace’s expression got saucy, and she stuck a hand in his back pocket. “Men who talk like that get their dicks sucked. Come on, handsome.”

—

Life always felt better after a good fucking. Grace left the wellness room with a smile on her face - and a little semen, but she cleaned that up before anyone noticed. She finished out the day without incident, ignoring the leering pigs and icy bitches, and headed home with her head held high. Grace was hot as fuck and dressed to kill, and anyone who didn’t like it could eat shit.

Mom was making her soaps when Grace got home. She hugged the woman and started dinner, boiling some spaghetti and plussing up a can of sauce.

“Oh Gracie, be careful! You’ll never be able to wash spaghetti sauce out of that lace bra!” Mrs Stavros shook her head. “I don’t understand how you can go to work dressed like that. Aren’t you cold in that air conditioned office with your tits hanging out? Don’t you own anything that isn’t see-through?”

Grace rolled her eyes but smiled. “It’s sheer mom, not see-through. It’s elegant, alluring! I’m a sexy woman, and I’m not gonna hide it.” She moved to the cupboard. “You’re right about the sauce though. I’ll put on an apron.”

“No one is saying you aren’t beautiful, Gracie - “

“Sexy mom. I’m sexy. Say it.”

Sigh. “No one is saying you aren’t sexy, Gracie, but there’s a time and place! People are going to lose respect if you keep dolling yourself up! What’s wrong with a nice cardigan? You can buy a real tight one to show off if you need to…”

Grace put a hand on her mom’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about work, mom. I’m a team player - everyone there respects me.” Or at least they will soon, she added internally. “Also, I have tighter cardigans than you can possibly imagine - but I appreciate your concern.”

“Where do you get all these fancy clothes anyway? You can’t be making that much money as a secretary…”

Grace was ready for this question; she’d worked it out on the train this morning. “I flip most of those clothes mom! Buy low, sell high! It’s a tough economy out there - you gotta have a side hustle.”

Mom nodded approvingly. “That’s my thrifty girl.” She paused. “Must be a lot of unemployed models though. I guess with the internet nowadays…”

—

An hour later, Grace stood in her room, moonlight streaming in the window. She had a date with Edison at 10, so she was really hoping this was gonna work. She pulled the pipette, closed her eyes, and squeezed out a drop.

“I want people who see me to treat me nicely, without jealousy or envy or intimidation.”

A dead rat filled with expired oysters exploded in her mouth. Grace stumbled back, fell onto the bed gagging.

“That’s the wish, damnit!” she growled through the nausea. “I’m not going to live my life as a miserable slut! I’m gonna be a happy, well-liked slut who’s appreciated for her slut and non-slut work!”

The wish continued to be disgusting at her. A hint of afterbirth wafted up her nostrils and she raced to the toilet.

“Oh come on!” she cried from the floor. “If you’re not gonna do this, I’m not making any more wishes! I’ll just get back on Wellbutrin! I’ll throw you in the fucking East River!”

There was… well, Grace didn’t have words to describe it. The filth kinda… lifted off her tongue, but was still somehow in her mouth, threatening. She thought fast.

“I swear to God, I have tons of horny wishes! But there’s important boring shit too! I can’t be a turbo-slut if I’m worried about getting knocked up, or catching something, or I’m miserable and alone! Give a bitch a break!”

Slowly, very slowly, the blood and honey filled her mouth. Grace leaned on the toilet bowl, panting with relief. “Tomorrow will be slutty as fuck, I promise.”

Grace headed out in a red microskirt and matching crop top so short she was sporting some major under-cleavage, a specialty bra keeping the girls from popping out every time she moved. As she clacked along on her heels, people were staring like always - but the mood was totally different. Men smiled and winked at her, women nodded approval.

Nobody was mad, nobody was jealous, nobody was being a creep. It was just sexy vibes and good energy all around. By the time Grace made it to Edison’s apartment, she was so horny they never left. She slammed the door closed and blew him there in the vestibule, popping the snaps off her skirt so she could finger herself with a free hand.

A minute later she swallowed and smiled up at him from her knees. “You would not believe the day I had.”

They ordered takeout, lit up a few joints, watched some Drag Race and fucked twice on Edison’s couch. He’d very sweetly bought a smartphone stand so Grace could film their sex hands-free. She was so touched by the gesture she let him do anal for their second round.

It was a lovely evening.