DeMorrell instructed her to get into the wedding gown and Jon meekly obeyed, though not because of any magical compulsion from the stone. Even after DeMorrell's very specific wish, a wish so specific she doubted it could be reinterpeted were she ever lucky enough to get the stone, Jon still had her free will - - or most of it. Her husband-to-be had said he would let her learn obedience on her own and Jon knew that wasn't from reluctance to use the stone. She suspected the man wanted her to learn for herself because he would get pleasure from the slow, gradual process of breaking her spirit.
Jon tried to keep herself from looking in the mirror as she struggled into the gown, but it was inevitable she would have to accept with her new form sooner or later. She had played at accepting her new reality in order to deceive DeMorrell, but that plan had gone horribly wrong. Now she had no choice. All of DeMorrell's many wishes over the last few minutes had effectively locked her into this new body and the life that went with it, a life far different than any she had dreamt of as a teenage boy. She was to be a wife and mother, a fact her new body easily attested to, the round bulge of her belly proof she was fulfilling the most basic function of a female.
Even without it, her body was undeniably all woman, a cartoonish collection of curves from the massive breasts and tiny waist to her flaring hips and bubble butt. If it weren't for her fecund condition Jon's voluptuous figure, an hourglass with some extra sand in the top, would have been at home among the pin-up girls of the 1940s. She could have been painted on the side of a WWII bomber. In fact, it briefly occurred to her that this was probably where DeMorrell had drawn his inspiration for her new look. Thanks to the stone's magic her intended looked far younger than his true age. Jon wondered if his outdated sensibilities would be equally apparent in other ways once he began remaking the world in his image.
Once "Jonni" was "decent," DeMorrell summoned the dressmaker, hairstylist, and other assistants to administer the finishing touches. Briefly, he watched her submit to their ministrations, a wolfish smile on his lips, and then departed. His guests were arriving and he wished to greet them personally. He promised to return for her soon. Jon couldn't repress an involuntary shudder that ran the length of her transformed body. The dressmaker hissed in annoyance.
Soon all was in readiness. Her attendants retreated and left her alone. Jon briefly considered resuming her search, but DeMorrell had caught her at it once already and said he would return soon. If he caught her again he might complete his round of wishes and make her some sort of lobotomized Stepford wife. After an hour of waiting Jon regretted not taking her chance. In fact, DeMorrell never returned for her. He sent one of his men, clad this time in a tuxedo rather than combat gear, to come collect her. Jon wondered if it were a momentary lapse or if this was the first of many broken promises from her soon-to-be husband. The guard that escorted her to the ceremony was the same one to witness her gynecological examination upon first becoming female, but he expressed no signs of recognition. The pregnant bombshell with blood-red hair was a far cry from the female incarnation of her old self, DeMorrell had seen to that with another of his many wishes. They came to a massive set of double doors and halted. Jon could hear muted murmurring and sound of people shifting in their seats. This was it. No escape.
The wedding march began, played upon what sounded to be a massive pipe organ, and the doors suddenly swung inward. Jon took a brief amazed glance around the massive open space, all exposed wood beams, ancient stonework and exquisite stained glass, spared another glance at the small crowd, perhaps fifty or sixty people in all, and then she started down the aisle. It was a wedding to fulfill any girl's wildest dreams, except Jon wasn't just any girl. This was a living nightmare and she had a starring role. Images from a hundred movies flashed through her mind. Frankenstein and his Bride. The mutant filled church from Beneath the Planet of the Apes. The wedding from The Godfather. Elderly Satanists surrounding Rosemary and her baby. Amidala dying in the delivery room. Jon's head was spinning. There were tears on her cheeks, but not from joy. She was delerious, but not deleriously happy.
The guard noted her unsteadiness and tightened his grip on her arm as if afraid she would run away. Jon almost laughed. Where could she run to? The whole thing was insane. She was so pregnant she looked ready to pop and they had dressed her in white! Clutching her bridal boquet tightly to her bosom Jon straightened herself up and tried to take her punishment like a man. If this was to be her fate then she would make the best of it. Besides, DeMorrell had made a dangerous mistake in not totally enslaving her while he had the chance. True, he had laid powerful strictures upon her, but there had to be some wiggle room in there somewhere. She could feel the power of his wishes guiding her thoughts and actions like invisible tattoos embedded in her skin. It would be a fine line she had to walk, but while there was life there was hope. DeMorrell's ego was even more swollen than the big belly he had given her. He had to have make a mistake somewhere along the line and Jon promised herself she would find it.
DeMorrell looked handsome in his tuxedo. Jon hated to admit it, but he did. Ever since he had made himself younger Jon knew he was almost continually altering himself with the stone; taller, stronger, more handsome. Why he let her remember these changes Jon wasn't sure. Perhaps so she would know what this monster had truly been like before she married him. Still, he was a handsome devil, towering over the other men, the broad shoulders giving him a regal air, black hair distinguished by some gray at the temples, the Van Dyke beard lending a devilish cast to his saintly features. Jon felt her heart beat a little faster. She knew it would be impossible to resist him forever. He was a giant now and he had giant appetites for all things; power, influence, and especially sex. DeMorrell was a total demon in bed. Jon remembered how he had taken her over and over that first night, never the same way twice, and was shocked to realize the memory was not unpleasant. She felt her face warm a little with embarassment. He had made with the child inside her that night and she knew it would happen again, wish or not. Worst of all, God help her, she was going to enjoy it!
Jon and her escort stopped at the altar. DeMorrell's best man, a black patch covering one eye in his ghostly face, briefly looked her up and down. Jon thought she detected a trace of scorn, maybe even amusement, behind the frank admitration of her breasts. Did he know her? Who she used to be? The pale man whispered something to DeMorrell and they both chuckled. The priest, a bent and balding man in robes that reminded Jon of the Emperor from Star Wars seemed oblivious to both her identity and the other man's joke. He raised his palsied hands and began the ceremony, "Who gives this woman?"
"I do," the guard said.
Stepping aside, the guard motioned for Jon to take her appointed place across from their mutual master. And so it went. The ceremony was mercifully short, but by the end of it, whether she wanted to or not, Jon had vowed to "love, honor, and obey" her new husband. Whatever the future held for her she would face it as Mrs. Jonni DeMorrell!
