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Text only version. For the illustrated version, you should probably check the Discord channel included with your member benefits! 😊
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“Excuse me, miss…” you ask with a heavy sigh from behind the handle of your nearly empty shopping cart, stopping by the middle-aged lady blocking your path into the produce section. “Miss…” you try again, a bit louder this time, as she seems too engrossed in her meticulous examination of a crate of mangoes. “Miss!” That seems to get her attention, although not in the way you would’ve wanted.
“Did you just raise your voice at me, young man?!” The woman snaps, staring you down with one of the nastiest glares you’ve had the displeasure to witness.
“S-sorry, Ma’am. It’s just that I need to grab a crate and…”
“Oh, you need one? Then you should’ve asked me instead of shouting!” she scowls, crossing her arms over the frumpy surface of her green blouse, mangoes still in her hands. “Plus, I am kind of busy here, if you hadn’t noticed.” She props up the fruits for you to see. “This crate is $50, but I know how this scummy store works, so I need to weigh all of these to get the best bang for my buck. Now shoo, go find someone else to bother.”
You stare with tired eyes as the lady goes back to rearranging and weighing the fruit crate without a care for who she might obstruct. Out of all the times, of all the places, you had to come down to the supermarket on the same day that a crazy retail Karen would. Quite honestly, you could take the crate and go on with your day, but you don’t have nearly enough energy to wrestle a box from her or to listen to the pissed remarks that will absolutely follow that choice. So you sit there, bored out of your mind and lacking the energy to deal with the fallout of further interaction with the mango fiend, at least until someone shoves you.
“Hey!” you shout into the crowded produce section, failing to spot the one responsible. Your hands quickly get to work digging through your pockets; phone? Check. Wallet? Check. Keys… “What is this?” Thankfully, everything seems in place, along with an added extra, as your hand pulls out a tiny trinket from your hoodie pocket. It resembles a car fob in shape, just lacking the characteristic buttons used to work the locks; in their place sits only a small pastel-pink push button, right in the middle of its frame.
“Did you seriously shout at me again, you ruffian?!”
You are too engrossed in the new knick-knack to spot the fuming woman rushing you down the aisle, distracted by the pastel button, a curious finger hovering over its dome, unsure of whether to press it when a sudden slap makes that decision for you. “Ack! What the hell?” you yelp out, tensing your whole body in response to the pain blooming across your cheeks, inadvertently pressing on the device’s only button, its end pointed at your aggressor.
“That’ll teach you!” The lady punctuates with an accusatory finger against your chest, bringing your faces close enough to appreciate the impossible sight of her transforming features. Visible creases flatten over her forehead, ironing her skin against the muscle underneath. Sagging skin is filled out through freshly applied acid, rounding her complexion to conceal the subtle aging of her features. “I swear, men nowadays have no respe—agh—respect~” she stutters momentarily as her lips puff up, puckering into two inviting pillows that ooze her last word in a sultry timbre.
“It’s like you have nothing better to do than to prey on a poor, lonely woman~” Her body bends over following the mocking tone of her voice, giving you the perfect angle to ogle the curves underneath her jeans, expanding against the protesting denim with each prolonged shimmy of her rear until the juicy globes stuck beneath the fabric refuse to yield their sway, jiggling in place even as she stops to stretch back to full height. The frumpy blouse now resigned to show off her enhanced figure, sticking to the curve of her back and accentuating the hourglass waist right beside it. “Looking for something back there?~” The freshly-made cougar turns with a luscious giggle, facing you with the ripe fruits responsible for the tightness of her blouse, “Something juicy perhaps?” She doesn’t bother to hide the meaning behind her words, running a polished nail around her hard nipple before squeezing it into one of the comparably small mangos within her chosen box, completely enamored in how easily she’s stolen your attention from the world around you.
“Holy shit,” you whisper, pulse throbbing through the head on your shoulders and the one beneath your sweatpants as you connect the dots leading to the woman’s incredible transformation; eyes torn between sticking to the beautiful ass bent over the shopping cart, wagging playfully just for you to indulge in, and the unlimited potential held under your thumb. Right hand shaky with excitement while you pocket the device responsible for creating the beauty attempting to lure you in with her, admittedly, inviting rear. Abandoning all of your groceries while enjoying a final leer at the lady’s new body, it’d be a sin not to, before you hurry out of the supermarket.
You swiftly clear the parking lot for the street leading towards your home, shaking with excitement while you plan out different scenarios for the device. Sure, you have no idea of what it “technically” does, but the mango lady’s change details something out for you; it makes women hot as hell, even a sack of bones like her. Shaky fingers hover over the pastel button in your pocket, desperate to test it out once more. Luckily, you bump into the perfect rat to probe.
“Watch your fucking step, bro!”
A toned wall of rigid muscle hidden beneath a bright yellow tank top nearly sends your ass crashing down to the pavement. Just from the voice, you can tell exactly who it is, if the muscle didn’t give it away to begin with: resident “alpha male” and bone-smashing addict, Ken Gilmore. Same douchebag that’s been bothering through the semester using a constant influx of creative insults, droning on about how he’s more “red pilled” and how he totally “mogs” your “beta” ass or whatever new buzzword he’s heard from his favorite influencers, it’d be funny if the dude wasn’t a genuine lifter, easily shoving you around or blocking your way around campus just to berate you with his incomprehensible insults.
“Heey, Ken. How’s the, uhh, cortisol or whatever?” you attempt dialogue, sneaking in one of the many senseless words you’ve recently heard from him with a hand thrust into your hoodie’s pocket, thumb hovering over the pastel pink button waiting inside.
“Pretty low, not like your beta brain would understand what that means,” he huffs, arms crossed, clearly expecting you to move. Completely right on his part, you don’t. But you are not standing in his way to discuss that, so you get to testing, pushing down on the thing within your pocket once more.
You half-expected the device to not work on a man, but a sudden fall in Ken’s height proves you wrong. The top of his head ducking under your chin as his shrinking vertebrae lose him about half a foot in height. “So?” he begins, pitch rising as the structure of his neck softens, still cross-armed and oblivious to his changing physique, even when the same muscles he’s trying to flex are melting off his limbs, “are you going to, like, move?” Ken’s complaint rolls off his duck-filled lips with an added vapidness, his face contorting from annoyance to genuine confusion as the features on it smoothen from chiseled angles to soft curves.
“Actually, where was I, like, going?” he pouts, pressing a slender finger to his mouth as his shoulders curve out to meet his thin limbs. His rapidly frying brain doesn’t bother to react as a pair of breasts swell against his tank top, fat spilling over his pecs to ride the fabric high off his body, and expose a softening tummy, plumping up just enough to comfortably squeeze some fingers in. “You are staring at me funny~” she giggles through the expansion of her waistline, hips shooting outward with an audible pop from the button that’s torn off her jeans. The denim scoots up as her plumping legs tear gashes through the struggling garment.
“I still can’t remember, why do I have to be such a ditz” she whines, unconsciously cradling the exposed flesh of her swelling bosom, growing well beyond the capabilities of her tank top, spilling over the strained neckline as the gym wear’s fabric reforms and reshuffles itself in a desperate attempt to hold the mounting weight of her knockers, finally settling into a crop top that miraculously holds their heft with merely a flimsy knot tying its center.
“Oh! Yeah, I was totally looking for my hubby~. Have you seen him?” she asks sweetly, balancing on the balls of her feet while twirling a strand of brunette hair around her digits, a pose that would seem cute if not for the bombshell performing it. “He’s supposed to, like, take me to the mall today,” she adds on, shimmying her tits in place while waiting for your answer, which you fail to provide, busy frothing like a dog at her wobbling rack.
“Okay, like, thanks for nothing. Hmmph!” She doesn’t take kindly to your perverse staring, flashing a disgusted look in her eyes before she walks off towards her presumed “hubby”.
You stare at her retreating figure with blooming dreams of a harem built out of countless mature bimbos. Thanking god for whoever trusted this wondrous device to your hands as you set out to finish your journey home and plan out your future conquests.
“Wallet, keys, phone, now. Don’t be a dumbass, kid.”
The sharp end of a knife presses between your shoulder blades, stopping shy of sticking into your flesh. “H-hey man, we don’t ne—kgh” you wheeze when your assailant pokes further, reminding you of your position in this encounter.
“Just shut up.” The mugger mutters, voice clearly masculine. He begins to pat you down for valuables without a moment of daylight to spare, horror setting into your psyche when he reaches into your pocket. “The fuck are these? Car keys?”
You take the chance to peek over your shoulder, spotting something that makes your heart want to escape its confines; a single finger running over the button on the device, curiosity evident in the way it puts tentative pressure under its print. “Don’t p— ugh” you shudder as a dreadful click comes from behind, followed by an uncomfortable heat that swiftly irradiates from the center of your body, burning every inch touched before it abruptly ceases.
You don’t feel any immediate changes apart from the loosened pressure of the tip poking your back, so you take the chance to dash from the scene. Huffing your lungs out a few blocks away from your mugger. “Fu—mgh~ Fuck!” The curse slips from your blown-up lips as you attempt to catch your breath, “These daily jogs are paying off,” you murmur, strangely exerted for a ma— woman in her mid-20s, at least you managed to lose him. “I’m okay. I’m okay, the device didn’t get a chance to change me…” you repeat to yourself, hoping that it’ll come true if you keep at it. Taking the opportunity to palpate your body in search of any possible discrepancy in your figure.
“Nothing wrong here,” you confirm, passing a hand through your full cheeks, careful not to smear the light blush you’d applied in the morning as your hands move to tie your curly hair into a messy bun. You move down towards your torso, pinching and probing every inch of flesh there to gauge if your proportions are right, finding only the plump swell of your breasts, tent tightly against your running jacket, “This is why I couldn’t breathe~” you giggle, freeing your tits with a pull of the zipper, smiling as they wobble into place, supported only by thin black fabric. “Guess it really was your girl’s fault~” you laugh, arms stretched over your head in a pose that shoves out your bubble butt with a magnificent creak of your pants, “I need to finish this route though, school’s almost over,” The duty to pick up your children from their classes flows into your mind, so you push your earbuds back in and resume your jog. This time, towards the school zone, determined to keep up your image of the hot, fit mom in front of the other parents with every exposed bounce of your hefty tits.
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I had to examine a patient with like 5 different types of lung diseases in emergencies today and I'm starting to feel like aaah, so if I stop posting just assume I died. Anyway that's all, hope you enjoyed this one and see ya on the next one : )
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