Emma lounged on the plush velvet chaise in her opulent penthouse suite, the city lights twinkling like distant diamonds through the floor-to-ceiling windows. It had been six months since the bimbo transformation surgery - a whirlwind of enhancements that sculpted her body into a vision of exaggerated perfection. Her once-subtle features were now amplified: full, pouty lips painted in glossy pink, enormous breasts straining against a sheer lace babydoll negligee, and hips that swayed with hypnotic allure. Her hair cascaded in platinum waves, and her skin glowed with an artificial tan. The recovery had been a blur of pampering and mirror-gazing, but now, Emma Watson was no more. She had shed her acting career like an old script, trading red carpets for silk sheets. As Emara Moan, she was the city's most in-demand escort, her calendar booked solid with elite clients craving her bubbly, brainless charm.

"Ohmigosh, this life is, like, totally fab! No more boring lines to memorize or directors yelling. Just me, looking super hot and making guys go crazy. Teehee, I love my new boobies - they bounce so fun!"

She giggled to herself, twirling a strand of hair around her manicured finger, her long nails sparkling under the chandelier's soft glow. The room was a shrine to luxury: scented candles flickering with vanilla and jasmine, a king-sized bed draped in satin, and a vanity overflowing with makeup palettes and designer perfumes. Her phone, a glittery pink case encasing the latest model, vibrated on the marble side table. The screen lit up with an unknown number, but the prefix screamed high-roller—probably another admirer from her exclusive online profile.

"Yay, a call! Wonder if it's that yummy billionaire again. Or someone new? I hope they want the full girlfriend experience; I looove pretending to be all lovey-dovey and then getting naughty."

With a playful squeal, she snatched the phone, her enhanced curves jiggling as she shifted. She pressed accept, her voice dripping with sugary seduction, high-pitched and breathy like a cartoon vixen.

"Hellooo? This is Emara Moan speaking," she purred, batting her false lashes even though no one could see. "Eee, I sound so sexy! Emara Moan—that's me now, the hottest escort ever. No more smarty-pants Emma; just fun, flirty me!"

She thought waiting, her mind bubbling with vacant excitement, imagining the client's voice—deep, commanding, ready to whisk her away for a night of indulgence.

"What do they want? Dinner and dancing? Or straight to the steamy stuff? I bet they saw my pics and can't wait. Giggle, I'm so in demand!" she thought giddily.

"Tell me, sweetie, what services are you after tonight?"