The Most Sexually Desireable Person on Earth Be Careful What You Wish For chapter 3 by deleted_user

You were sexually frustated and pent-up. You wanted sex more than anything, and you wanted it with more than one person. The words left your lips before your better judgment could catch them. "I wish I was the most sexually desirable person on Earth."

Zara's kohl-rimmed eyes widened a fraction, a flicker of something unreadable—amusement? pity?—in their depths. "As you command," she said, her voice a silken whisper.

The world dissolved into a golden haze. It was not pain, but a profound and unsettling rearrangement, as if every cell in your body were being spun like sugar. You felt a terrifying lightness, a shrinking. The familiar heft of your own limbs vanished, replaced by a willowy slenderness. Your vision swam, then cleared, and you were somewhere else entirely.

You looked down.

Two perfect, round breasts strained against the thin fabric of a white tank top you'd never seen before. Long, toned legs, tanned and smooth, extended from beneath the hem of tiny shorts. A cascade of platinum blonde hair fell over your shoulders. You brought a hand—a hand with delicate fingers and meticulously manicured nails—to your face, feeling the full, pouty lips and high cheekbones.

"A technicality," the genie said. "The current consensus for 'most sexually desirable' does not, at this precise moment, belong to a man. It belongs to her." She gestured toward your new body.

In some highrise apartment, you were now trapped in the form of Sloane Ryder, the twenty-two-year-old Playboy model whose pictures had once been hidden in your secret computer files... before your wife found them and filed for divorce. Every curve, every pore, was a monument to male fantasy. And it was you.

Zara shrugged. "The wish is fulfilled. You are, for all intents and purposes, her. Her life, her schedule, her... obligations. It should be an interesting experience."

You could feel the weight of the world's gaze already, a phantom pressure on your new skin. You wondered whether Sloane was in your body now, or if the old you had just... vanished, and you'd replaced her. Your phone—Sloane's phone—buzzed violently in the back pocket of the tiny shorts, a relentless, demanding hum against your new, firm backside.