Karen had laid out the unmarked package on her bed. Whatever it was, it was light and didn't make a noise when shaken. Reasonably sure it wasn't a bomb or something like that, she opened up the box and groaned. Inside the generic box was a bunch of clothing that she immediately recognized. She pulled out each item, and threw them on her bed. The suntan hose, the bright orange shorts and the white tanktop emblazoned by the corporate logo she had detested, rested on her bed. Innocent really, despite their lower status. Perhaps even a worse insult, the clothes had a much smaller fit than her current weight of 180lbs. Instead, the clothes fit someone who at best weighed 120lbs, most of that as boobs. It had to be for her mother, Melanie, and not her.
"Ugh," she bellowed out. The uniform reminded her of her mother. It's not like her mom didn't try, but the woman wasn't exactly the brightest bulb in the drawer. So of course, mother had been a waitress for the very same franchise who's uniform sat on her bed. Karen had learned to despise the lower status of her mother, who had conceived Karen at the age of 20 and remained single. It's not like Melanie was some haggard woman either, the 40 year old woman still looked better than many of Karen's contemporaries. Melanie, in fact, had been a devotee of yoga and careful, and remained very fit through the years. Melanie would smile and Karen would fume whenever someone called them both sisters. It really did not help that both women looked rather similar, with the same blonde hair, bright blue eyes, cute up turned nose, large natural lips and same general build. This drove Karen up a wall, especially when the dudebros at her college would say her mom is hotter than her.
Karen had gained significant weight as a result of all the mocking in high school and pressure to go to college. College had not come easy to her, especially in trying times such as this. And to further separate herself from her mother, the young woman dyed her hair different colors each month. This month, she was a bright electric blue. She glanced down at her legs, to the tattoo on her right calf. It was a small rose, a "Fuck You Mom" moment, since Melanie had stressed no tattoos. Degrading, her mother would have said. Degrading was wearing that tight uniform and prancing around for men. Okay, so Melanie was the manager of the franchise, so what? It was still pushing patriarchal overtones. Karen hadn't exactly become the stereotypical college feminist, but come on!
"Okay, first off, pantyhose? Who the fuck wears those? Helloooo we live in the current times, not the 1960s. We have tights and yoga pants. And it's like, brown?" Karen ranted, to no one, as usual. She was proud of her plus sized yoga pants and sweats. Kinda. It was getting old that she was out of breath going up the same set of stairs that her mother practically floats over. She picked up the pantyhose package, and looked closer, "Oh it's SUNTAN, big whoop. Wait, I know this brand from mother's nylon obsession. This is expensive shit. You know what? No, this is clearly for her. Hmm I might be able to wear these for formal things though. They do look nice, and my legs are kinda pale and.... NO!" Karen exclaimed, throwing the package down. Well tried to. The hose held her attention. Was she drooling? Was she feeling... turned on? No way. She had to let go of the pantyhose. Just drop the package.
Yet she opened up the wrapping. The smell of fresh nylon hit her nose and sent tingles down her spine. She might have despised nylons, but loved the smell of fresh ones. It was weird oddity that she simply could not explain.
Even when her mother forced her to wear nylons for church and family outgoings. She pulled a pair out, and it flowed smoothly. It moved more like water. It felt so silky, so smooth. She had to wear them, now. She rolled down her yoga pants, and panties, throwing them to the other side of the room. She balled up the suntan hose and stuck her right foot through it. "Holy shit, they feel amazing. What the hell?" Karen wondered, as she wiggled her toes in the suntan. They looked so cute, as cute toes could get, really. She continued rolling it up past her ankle until she saw something significant. It had seemed that the hose was actually shaping her ankle. It looked thin, and sexy. She stretched her legs out to compare. Her right foot and ankle were lithe, small and sexy compared to her left leg with the swollen foot and cankle. This caused her to panic and try to slip the hose off. She could not take it off. It was stuck on her.
Figuring life would be much easier, Karen continued rolling up the hose. The suntan seemed to bond to her skin, thinning out any fat and removing any leg hair. Soon, it covered her lovely little rose tattoo and Karen had paused. The tattoo began to fade and eventually disappeared. Her eyes bulged out as she processed what exactly had happened. Her hands autonomously began working the nylon up her left leg. She shook her head to clear out the webs and saw the changes. From her knees below, Karen had sexy suntan legs. They reminded her of the cheerleaders in high school, and more importantly, her mother. She stood up, and figured that she had no reason to really delay what seemed inevitable. And she looked stupid with sexy lower legs but with cottage cheese thighs. So she grabbed the waistband of the pantyhose and slid them all the way up. The waistband snapped into place, and she had to adjust herself. The hose burned a bit, and Karen winced in pain. She opened her eyes in complete shock. The hose had shaped her from the waist on below. Gone was the cottage cheese, the doughy thighs, the weight, the tattoo, the oversized waist, the leg hair, the unshaved cooch. Instead, she looked fit, sexy, lithe. She looked like she had her mother's toned legs, right on down the nearly obsessively shaped vagina and legs. They even had the light accent of muscle that her mother had.
Karen cringed at the contradiction that was her upper body. From above the waist, she looked cartoonish. The fat seemed squeezed out by the nylons that had reformed her lower half. It had only seemed logical to her that she put on the white top. So she threw off her old ratty t-shirt, and bra right on top of her old clothes and grabbed the white top. She rolled it up and stuck her right arm through the hole. Almost instantly, the fat melted off her arm. She quickly raised her arms up, and put her other arm through the left hole. She slid down the white tank top. When it had past her hair, the blue dye disappeared from her blonde hair. Fat melted from her face. Her neck became slender. The change rolled down, following the top. She finished rolling down the shirt and looked at the completed change. Her upper half matched her lower half. In fact, she very clearly resembled her mother, with one significant difference. Her mother was a C-cup, and Karen clearly was a borderline double-d. Beyond that, some baby fat that clung to her face, and slightly wider hips, she damn near looked like a clone of her mother.
Karen had been so distracted by her new look that she didn't notice Melanie walking in.
