Jon admired the beautiful figure in the mirror, still digesting how she was him. How he could feel actual boobs tightly pushing at his hoodie, vying to burst out. How his hips jutted just so, so far, bringing extra mass into even the slightest of movements. Jon was curvy, but he never thought he’d actually feel curvy, that his body would be squishy and heavy and jiggly in ways well beyond his control.
It was pretty neat.
But also lacking something. Jon looked and felt hot, sure, but so what? For now, he was just a milfy blob with no interesting details; the body needed an identity. Traits, goals, and a history he’d be forced to experience no matter how much he’d struggle against it.
A stay-at-home mom, maybe? That'd be a fun idea. He could compel himself to do all her chores and responsibilities, make himself unconditionally obedient to a beefy new husband, and even stick himself with the mannerisms and vocabulary of a fifties housewife. Jon giggled, imagining having to shout ‘fiddlesticks’ whenever he was angry.
Or… Jon paused. He looked outside, to see golden leaves swaying to the cozy Fall breeze, Halloween decorations strung along neighboring houses.
Oh. This would be silly.
“I wish…”
Jon forced down a smirk. This idea was so dumb. Just, moronic in every sense of the word. Here he was, with a literal wishing stone, using it to live out a degenerate sex fantasy, and he was derailing it for a meme.
Well, no one could fault him for being uninspired, at least.
“…That’d I’d become the natural evolution of the big tiddy goth gf—the big tiddy goth wife. No, not just that. I want to be the platonic ideal of the big tiddy goth wife, meaning I’d nail the aesthetic as perfectly as possible.”
The stone flashed, and Jon yelped as his energy surged through his body once again.
His boobs got massive. They were already big, sure, enough to charm any and all lucky enough to gaze upon them, but this… This was levels beyond that.
This was supernatural.
Two literal mountains erupted through his shirt. Utterly flawless in shape and size, but deathly pale and sticking straight out, as if they were somehow immune to gravity. The coloration quickly spread to the rest of his body, giving the whole thing an almost unreal feel. His hair, in contrast, darkened to a silky black and grew all the way to his pendulum hips.
“Whoa…” That’s all Jon could manage to say. His voice was breathy and perfect, suddenly rich with a haunting timbre that wasn’t present before.
He reached for one of his breasts—only to squeak as his body jerked upwards. His old sneakers (a favorite pair he really shoulda replaced months ago) were finally falling apart, melting and reforming into a pair of tall, dark heels. And they kept reforming, arching higher and higher until he could barely keep standing, with elaborate laces crawling up his toned legs.
Next, his pants and hoodie warped into a long, shadowy split sleeve gown that hugged his curves as tightly as possible. A good portion of the chest was made from transparent fabrics, embroidered with elaborate, petal-like designs, pointedly hoisting his breasts into the world’s spookiest cleavage.
Completing the ensemble, Jon found himself wearing a delicate black choker, pairing wonderfully with his sudden and immaculate makeup (a smoky eye-shadow with black lipstick combo, of course), and similarly dark, impeccable manicure.
He was a sexy Morticia Addams. There was no other way to describe it.
Jon took a moment to process all of it. Not talking, just moving, but… Feeling. The slow, rhythmic bobbing of his breasts that came with every breath, how his hair was just so heavy and everywhere, all the subtle ways the dress just tugged at his body…
It was a lot.
“First and foremost”—he managed to keep hold of the stone, despite all the changes—“I wish I knew how to move in this body, and in these clothes.”
The effect was quick and subtle. One moment, he had absolutely no idea what he was doing, his skewed center of mass pulling in three directions at once and balancing on nothing but stilt-like heels. And the next moment, he still had no idea what he was doing, but his new body didn’t seem to mind.
His reflection wasn’t standing like a gangly teenage boy. It was holding itself with a lady’s poise; back straight, chest puffed out, one foot planted firmly before the other.
In other words, he was posing.
Jon held a hand up, experimentally opening and closing it. He had full control over it, but there was some kind of… Voice? Instinct? Whatever—something in his mind that felt rather unhappy with how he did so.
Oh please, it seemed to say. You’re a woman now. For your own dignity, act like one.
He gave over control, and his hand naturally eased back, arm bending delicately at the elbow. He hadn't thought to do it, but the motion came so naturally he wouldn’t have noticed if he wasn’t paying attention.
Again, quick and subtle.
He broke into a smile. It was a big and cheeky smile that looked utterly out of place on his cold, regal features, but he didn’t care. This was just way too much fun.
“Now what should I do next…”
