Megan had studied up on all the effects of the Pink Pills.

The change to her hair and eyes.

The newfound sensitivity to her chest and lips.

The alterations to her voice and personality.

The temporary yet inevitable decrease of her IQ.

Megan was prepared for the fact that she would sound like a ditz no matter how hard she tried. That nobody would take her seriously. That guys would just leer at her.

She was ready to spend a few days as a softer, sexier, bimbofied version of herself — a birthday present for her boyfriend.

And she had accepted that fact that she’d be reduced to little more than giggles and submission and irrepressible erotic yearning— at least for as long as the pills lasted.

But Megan hadn’t prepared for one thing: What if she actually liked it?