“These aren’t.... Messing around...” The beautiful woman mumbled, utterly baffled from the shear lunacy of what was happening. In the original fantasy, Jon pictured an even match: surrounded by a cyclone of enchanted clothes, him at the center gallantly fighting them off... He’d lose, of course, but he’d lose with the heroic grace of someone who tried his best.
Okay, fine. He did try his best. But his “best” was laughably miserable—Jon was weak, scrawny, and had the fine motor skills of a slightly confused old man. The new body did absolutely nothing to change this, lending to an experience best described as swift, messy, and horrendously overwhelming. His original clothes were ripped apart in seconds, leaving the former-boy nakedly vulnerable, pushing and screaming and pretending to not absolutely love this.
If his mom’s wardrobe could sigh in exasperation, it would have. Fabrics effortlessly affixed themselves to Jon’s limbs and floated him several feet above the ground, rendering any attempt to struggle near impossible.
“Oh, wow, uh, you’re really strong, huh? I know, I know, I made you strong, but I was expecting to at least have some—eep!”
A black lingerie set—classy, patterned, and off-puttingly transparent—slid on. Jon blushed at the site in the mirror, almost feeling shy to see such a beautiful person dress so brazenly... Though this was quickly mitigated, his mother’s other clothes impatient to get him dressed.
The next item was a big and fuzzy sweater. Jon was partially thankful to see the clothes not start off with the sexiest things they could... but this felt almost too mundane and wholesome. That is, until he saw it struggling to contain the lavish bust he’d oh-so-impulsively forced upon himself, adhering to his contrastingly slender waist with arcane precision. His voluptuous form was on showcase, the sweater a pretense that “this person truly wants to cover herself, but doesn’t realize how arousing she looks.”
It was really hot.
The pencil skirt was a perfect match, going for a similar effect. His milf-body was covered-up, but there was no denying the sumptuous quality of his womanly hips, awe-inspiring derrière and elegantly toned legs. Jon was, with no room for argument, thicc.
The final piece of the ensemble was a pair of strappy high heeled sandals. Likely to attract onlookers and degenerates everywhere, Jon’s tiny and delicate feet were forced into painful arches. A position they’d have to maintain while supporting the rest of his curvy, misbalanced self. Jon gulped at this realization.
But the clothes didn’t care. They were done with dress up, and that meant slowly lowering their victim back to the floor, leaving him to contemplate the end result in his new mirror.
“Oh, holy... Wow.” Jon initially struggled to get the words out, barely registering that this was him. “This is unbelievable! I look hot! And like a milf! I’m a hot milf--gah!!!”
The pencil skirt sharply pinched Jon’s rear, unhappy with his use of un-ladylike language.
“Right, sorry. I, uh, am just amazed at how wonderful I look dressed up like this?” No response, the clothes seemed content. “Didn’t expect you to be this strict with keeping me in character...”
The outfit was very strict with keeping him in character, making sure to pose Jon with the showy refinement expected of classy ladies like himself. The sweater adamantly refused any attempt to fall back into his usual slouch, having him instead puff out his chest for the world to see. The sandals, meanwhile, had decided that Jon should shift his balance to the side. One lifted its heel from the floor, forcing Jon to daintily bend his leg and lean on the other. The skirt smoothed this entire process, making sure to keep Jon upright while softly guiding any extraneous hip movements.
Yet, the ensemble did a fantastic job making the whole presentation feel natural—only the most watchful of observers would notice how the beauty struggled against her own feminine motions.
Time to take it a level further. Jon tried walking.
It was quickly evident that the clothes had a stony grip on that as well. The moment Jon willed his leg forward, the high heel guided his foot into taking a short, gentle step, landing right in front of the other with the precision of a runway model.
Hot.
He tried several more steps, unable to stop himself from sauntering with practiced sensuality. The skirt exaggerated this further, swinging his ample backside to and fro like some sort of shapely pendulum.
Really hot.
He maintained a look of cold frustration, pretending to be hating every moment of this... But that was all part of the fantasy. In truth, he could hardly keep his excitement down for much longer. He quickly broke character and fell into a smile, admiring the beautiful older woman that stood in the mirror. Were any further changes necessary, or could Jon just throw himself move to the next stage as is?
Well, the wishes were reversible.
“I wish this body needed glasses, and was currently wearing a pair that looked stylish, cute, and intellectual.”
Poof!
Jon liked his sexy librarians, and his current appearance fit the archetype perfectly.
“I wish... That, uh, I had makeup on!”
Poof!
He gasped in surprise, amazed that he could appear even prettier. The look was quite natural, enhancing Jon’s features rather than adding anything—save for his lips. The magic opted for a red wine-colored lipstick, creating a contrast that was both striking yet mesmerizing.
He liked it a lot.
“I wish that a new coat of makeup would apply every morning!”
Poof!
Was that too far? Probably, but Jon was getting a little carried away.
“And I wish that all my nails were perfectly maintained, manicured or pedicured or whatever, and that I couldn’t remove or scratch off the coloring even if I tried.”
Poof!
He immediately checked his hands—the sweater making sure to hold his arm out daintily—and sure enough the nails were the same color as his lips, and just long enough to be a slight inconvenience.
Perfect.
