#f2f transformation

[misseviehyde]

THE THRONE

Be careful when exploring - if you come across an evil magical throne you might end up becoming it's new Mistress.

[slutforwholesomeness]

The Wrong Ingredients

(FxF, transformation, bimbofication, unaware)

Alice sighed once again as she looked at the assembly of ingredients on the kitchen counter. Her lovely girlfriend Stacy would be here in a couple of hours, and she'd woken up with the idea to bake a batch of surprise cookies. There were two main problems however, the ingredients being the first. Fortunately, a quick Google led Alice to a very quaint store that seemed to be run by a couple who didn't mind working over Christmas as long as they were together. A light flush colored Alice's cheeks as she remembered the extremely curvy women giggling and kissing as she entered, their encouragement for her cookie plan, their mingling voices, one bubbly, one husky, as they guided her to each and every ingredient, and the way they collided in passionate kissing once again as soon as Alice set foot out of the shop. Now staring at a dozen packaged items, Alice had to face the second problem. She was clueless when it came to making food. Nevertheless, she took a deep breath, thought of her gorgeous girlfriend, and began to prepare.

First was the flour. Alice carefully opened the packaging and blinked. The shop she'd bought it from had been pink all over, in all shades, but it seemed like the flour was ever so slightly pink too. Her fingers went to her phone, ready to search if this would be safe, but something stopped her. If she clicked off that recipe now, she'd probably get distracted, and that would mean no surprise, and no cookies for Stacy. And that couldn't happen. So Alice steeled herself and started measuring the flour out. She poured some from the bag into a measuring cup, them from the cup into the bowl. She couldn't help but listen to the rustling noise of the flour and spaced out for a moment both times from the tingles running up her spine, but Alice shook it away as nothing but a little unintentional ASMR. She added the dashes of baking soda, baking powder and salt the recipe called for, gently swirling the bowl to mix it, and definitely not to feel those tingles again. Alice bit her lip, shaking her head. No time to get distracted. A little more measuring later and she was mixing a second bowl of sugar, brown sugar and butter. Her hips gently swayed, her modest figure slowly beginning to shift. Two sticks of butter added a little curvature to her tummy, and the sugar made her sweet lips all the more enticing. Alice of course, didn't notice in the slightest. The soft rustle of poured flour looped like static in her brain, keeping her single-mindedly focused on the task at hand. Her thighs clenched, legs nearly buckling as she cracked each egg, and the dash of vanilla extract sent a wave of platinum blonde curls flowing past her shoulders. She giggled quietly to herself, a giddy smile playing across her plump lips as she started to stir. She was doing it! Yes, her recipe was pinker than the one in the article, but it was so much cuter! Stacy was gonna be so impressed- her thoughts cut off as she emptied both bowls into each other, her body wracked with pleasure and the repetition of each change. Alice stood there, drooling, motionless, mindless and on the edge of am orgasm, only snapping back to herself as the tempting scent of the final ingredient cut temptingly through the intensifying static buzz within her empty mind. Alice had no idea how different she was already, and as she picked up the pot of chocolate chips, her numb brain fixed on a single word in the recipe, still open on her phone.

"Lots n lots n lots n lots n lots n lots..." the bimbo whispered under her breath, before pouring the whole pot of chocolate into the mixed cookie batter. The changes were immediate, the only thing more startling than the transformation was Alice's complete naiveté that she had changed at all. Her petite body suddenly surged with growth, her flat chest and modest ass bursting out of her casual clothes until only her apron remained. Her waist, hips and thighs plumped to pornographic proportions, and every thought in her head was doused in pink chocolate, until she wasn't thinking at all, awash in a sweet ocean of bliss. Alice collapsed to the floor, shaking with a ruined orgasm that left her curvaceous body begging and quivering with need. It took her a couple minutes to drag herself back to her feet, slip on a pair of adorable pink oven mittens, and slide her freshly mixed and prepared cookie dough into the oven. Alice collapsed onto a chair, panting and shaking. A delicate smile played over her kissable lips. Stacy was gonna love her surprise for sure~

Twenty minutes later, Stacy knocked on the door to her girlfriend's apartment. She was smiling widely, a wrapped present in her hands, when the door opened and the scent of fresh baked cookies washed over her. Stacy's jaw dropped as she stepped inside reflexively, completely lost in the smell and her disbelief that she didn't even question why the door had opened, and didn't notice her utterly bimbofied girlfriend locking it again behind her with a silent giggle. Stacy reached the dining table, saw the steaming plate of two dozen fresh cookies, all slightly pink, and softly giggled to herself, hands covering her mouth in delight.

"A-Alice? D-did you... did you... bake?" The woman squealed. A pair of perfectly manicured hands cupped over her eyes, eliciting another delighted gasp

"Sure did sweetheart, and I put alllllllllll my love for you into them~"

Stacy found herself being spun for a moment, losing her balance and sitting down on a cushioned seat, staring up at the most perfectly bimbo woman she had ever seen. Her jaw dropped for the second time in as many minutes as this vision of beauty, 5' 10" and curvy beyond belief, dropped her immaculately soft ass directly into Stacy's lap.

"A-A-Alice...?" she mumbled in disbelief. The blonde beauty in her lap quivered.

"N-ngh, yeahhhhh Stace~?" Alice moaned, her modesty covered in only her apron. Their lips hovered, almost touching for a moment.

"...Merry Christmas 🩷"

Instructions on how to bake cookies were taken from: here

[eternalsa2z]

Caricature

"Done! What do you think?"

Deborah stared at the artist's sketch of her blankly. It had long, white blonde hair and a heavy golden tan, the inverse of her pale skin and brown hair. There were blue eyes and a cute button nose, which made the woman blink and wrinkle her own nose with confusion. She grabbed her chest in shock at the sight of the massive silicone breasts squeezed into a tiny pink bikini top. It was a combination she could never be caught wearing.

"This caricature looks nothing like me!" she gasped indignantly.

"Oh, my mistake. I forgot one detail," the creator apologized. "The character is the most important piece of the living artwork."

With that the designer booped her nose with a pink brush. Instantly Deborah went cross eyed. Her thoughts swirling in her head before being emptied out like a rainbow of watercolor paints being washed away. Eventually her blank stare and pout ended when she took a new look at the painting.

"OMG you're sooooo right! The carrie-coutour totes looks 'xactly like Debi!" the silly blonde giggled. She loved the painting...it made her look hawt!

[rylem33]

Don't Say It

“It’s called The Word Game,” Lex announced, holding up a red Solo cup filled with folded cards and a roll of tape. “We each get a word taped to our backs. There’s only one rule: don’t say your word. You don’t know what yours is, but if you say it five times…” He let the suspense hang. “You lose.”

“What happens when you lose?” asked Ivy, raising an eyebrow.

Lex smirked. “You’ll see. Also? The game ends when someone hits five. One loser. Everyone else wins.”

Laughter rippled through the room. Drinks clinked. People leaned in a little closer.

As Mia carefully taped a card to Theo’s back, Fiona wandered behind Jess.  She reflexively wiped at her short, black bangs and peeked over her shoulder.

“‘Gazebo’?” she read, amused.

Then she caught Mia’s next: “‘Accordion.’”

And Theo’s: “‘Gargoyle.’”

She rolled her eyes. “These are so random. What even is this game—”

“Hold still,” Lex said, sliding behind her. 

She felt the slap of tape on her back. She didn’t see what was written, but everyone else did: IT.

--------------------------------------------------

“Mine’s gotta be something dumb like ‘scallop,’” Jess said, sipping her drink.

“I think mine’s something impossible,” Theo added.

Fiona, meanwhile, was chatting with Mia near the hallway. “Okay, so let me get this straight, we all just, like, talk normal? Until we accidentally say it?”

DING.

Her tank top pulled just a bit tighter across her chest. The mesh sleeves hugged her arms more snugly. Her gothy pixie cut suddenly looked… longer. Softer. Her bangs fluffed out ever so slightly. Her lips plumped a touch, her lashes fluttering with a bit more volume.

She blinked, touched her forehead.

“Huh. Weird… I feel kinda off.”

“Don’t say that again,” Mia warned softly, eyes darting to the card on Fiona’s back.

A breathy laugh escaped Fiona. She swayed slightly where she stood. Her hips had widened and her tank had climbed halfway up her stomach. Her hair now framed her jawline in choppy, tousled waves, brunette tones warming at the roots.

She spun in place, hands on her hips. “What did I say? You guys! What is it I’m not supposed to say?!”

DING.

“Okayy, that time I definitely felt something.”

Her shorts were visibly tighter now, clinging to a rounded, juicy ass that hadn’t been there ten minutes ago. Her black lipstick had faded into a glossy rose. Her pixie cut had become a voluminous bob, layers softening around her face. Her once-severe makeup looked fresher, flirtier.

“I think this game’s, like, broken or whatever,” she giggled, tugging playfully at her top.

Across the room, Riley leaned in to Theo.

“That’s two.”

“She has no idea,” Theo whispered.

--------------------------------------------------

In the kitchen, Fiona poured herself a drink with one hand, the other drifting absentmindedly between her thighs. Her top had morphed into a low-cut and white crop top. Her dark eyeliner was mostly gone, leaving behind smoky eyes and fluttering blonde lashes. Her nails were now almond-shaped and glossy. Her lips were full and slick with pink gloss.

She caught her reflection in the window and smiled. Then struck a pose.

“Okay, seriously though, what even is it that ends the game?”

DING.

She gasped softly, her back arching. Her breasts surged forward, visibly larger, and heavier.  Her body responded with a subtle, involuntary shudder of pleasure. Her hips flared again, her waist carved down tighter. Her hair lightened another few shades, the soft brown giving way to a full sun-kissed blonde.

Ivy, standing nearby, watched in awe as Fiona casually reached up under her shirt and adjusted her cleavage. Her hands lingered far longer than necessary. Then Fiona turned and strutted back into the living room, her legs long and tanned, her ass bouncing with every step. She dropped herself onto Riley’s lap without a word of warning.

“You don’t mind, do you?” she purred, gently grinding against him.

“N-Not at all,” Riley stammered.

That was three.

--------------------------------------------------

Fiona sat texting with one hand, the other lazily rubbing the inside of her thigh. She bit her lip at the sensations running through her body.

“So like,” she said to no one in particular, “when’s the game over? What happens when someone hits their limit? I hope it isn’t too bad.”

DING.

This time, her moan was loud, unmistakable. She pressed her legs together and gasped, as her body shuddered.

She turned to Ivy with a dazed, sultry look. “Is anyone else, like, super horny right now?”

Her tits were barely contained in her top. She slithered over to Noah and threw her legs across his lap. Giggling, her fingers played with the hem of her shirt.

“I think I want to fuck you.”

Noah froze as Fiona stood, taking his hand and tugging him to his feet.

“So like, are we done?” she asked, spinning slowly in place. “Cuz honestly, I really wanna fuck somebody. I’m, like, soooo horny and my body’s all tingly.”

She turned to Noah, lips parted, eyes wild. “You want it too, right?”

DING. DING. DING. DING. DING.

The final chimes rang out like a victory bell.

Everyone looked around, wondering what happened next.

A rush of warmth swept over Fiona. She shuddered and gasped, knees buckling slightly. Her shorts cinched up tighter one final time, practically vanishing beneath a gauzy cream-colored wrap. Her top shimmered into a white lace halter, pulling her massive tits together in a perfect, jaw-dropping V. Her hair fell around her shoulders in glamorous, golden curls. Her full sleeve of tattoos sparkled with fresh ink.

She tugged the straps down, letting her chest bounce free without a second thought.

“Oh. My. God,” she moaned. “Why didn’t anyone tell me how hot I was?”

“You lost,” Lex said, smiling as the app reset.

Fiona blinked, then giggled. “Did I?” she asked. She wrapped her body around Noah and gave him a deep kiss. Then she broke the kiss and fell into the nearest guy’s lap and started grinding against him with slow, teasing rolls of her hips. “Oopsie. Guess that means you all win, huh?”

“Okay,” she announced. “Like, who wants to fuck me first?”

[shift-change]

Unwrapped

by Shift-Change

(Disclaimer: All images were generated with the help of AI tools)

The first I heard of it was a tweet from a music blogger I followed, a man whose taste I generally respected, who posted a short two sentences: “Anyone else feel like their Spotify Wrapped is… wrong? Algorithm’s glitching this year. #SpotifyWrappedLies.”

I scrolled past with a dismissive snort. That's ridiculous, of course. The algorithm was a mirror, a record, cold and precise. It didn’t have feelings; it was just data.

Then, my close friend Courtney texted me. Her message was accompanied by a flurry of exasperated emojis.

“OMG, Christina, my Wrapped is a mess,” she wrote. “It says my top artist is some country singer I listened to once as a joke for like five minutes tops at Jesse’s party. This thing is so broken 🙄🙅‍♀️😩”

I texted back, “I’ll have to check mine out. Brb.”

I was curled up in my favorite armchair, a chunky-knit blanket pulled over my legs, a well-loved novel resting on my knee. The intricate lyricism of the latest Japanese Breakfast album whispered from the speakers of my headphones; the perfect soundtrack for a chilly December evening. This was my aesthetic. This was me. Thoughtful, a little moody, discerning, maybe a smidge of angst. My music was a curated collection of authenticity, private playlists free from any tracks I deemed too saccharine or superficial.

“My Wrapped will be fine, I’m sure. It’s basically the same every year,” I muttered to myself, a smirk playing on my lips. I opened the Spotify app, my thumb hovering over the brightly colored Wrapped banner. This was a yearly ritual I genuinely enjoyed. A digital affirmation of my identity. I already knew what I’d see: a parade of indie darlings and folk poets. Phoebe Bridgers, Father John Misty, The National, maybe some early Bon Iver for nostalgia’s sake. I tapped the screen.

The interface loaded with its usual burst of celebratory animation. “Ready to see your 2025 wrapped?” it asked. I nodded at my phone, automatically. “Let’s go.”

The first card displayed my top genre. I leaned forward, ready to see “Indie Rock” or “Folk” in clear, satisfying letters.

POP.

The word blinked back at me, a bold font against a polka dotted background. It looked vulgar. Wrong.

I laughed out loud, a short, sharp sound in my quiet apartment. “Okay, so it is a glitch. A weird one.” I swiped to the next card.

“Your Top Artist of 2025 is…”

This would fix it. Adrianne Lenker’s name would appear, or Phoebe Bridgers, probably both, a corrective to this bizarre “POP” nonsense.

The screen dissolved and a new image loaded. It was a photo of a gorgeous blonde, all glossy lips and shimmering eyeshadow, blowing a kiss in her signature bodysuit. The name “Sabrina Carpenter” materialized underneath in that same bold font.

I stared. My brain refused to process the information. It was like seeing a picture of a stranger labeled as your mother. The cognitive dissonance was a physical jolt.

“No,” I said, my voice firm. “No, that’s not right.”

I swiped again, faster now, my nerves getting to me. Olivia Rodrigo. Ariana Grande. Gracie Abrams. Renee Rapp. My top five artists. A lineup of purely mainstream pop. This had to be some kind of joke. This was the kind of music I openly derided as “manufactured,” “bubblegum,” and even “bimbo pop.” Music for people who didn’t want to think, just feel a cheap, fleeting thrill. Gracie was the only one on that list that I could say I’d listened to a bit, but still not enough to crack my top five!

A hot flush of embarrassment crept up my neck, as if someone had exposed a deeply shameful secret. This was a mistake. Some kind of algorithmic error. My thumb moved on its own, swiping through more of the report, frantically needing to find the card that said “Just Kidding!” before revealing my real, tasteful list.

But the report continued, each card delivering a deeper betrayal.

“You spent 6,843 minutes with Sabrina!” a cheerful message chirped. “That’s more than 90% of her listeners in your city!”

When? When??? I wracked my brain. I remembered playing her new album once, as a morbid curiosity, while cleaning the bathroom. I’d half-listened, critiquing the production in my head. That was it. Forty-five minutes, if that.

“Your anthem of the summer was ‘Please, Please, Please’ by Sabrina Carpenter!”

A memory, faint and hazy, surfaced. Driving with the windows down on a blistering July day. A pop beat, infectious and light. My fingers, painted an uncharacteristic pink, tapping on the steering wheel. My head nodding along, almost imperceptibly. But no. I would’ve switched it off. I was sure of it. I’d put on a podcast instead.

“You’re a top fan! You played "Espresso" 227 times.”

The number was painfully specific, and damning. A sense of uneasy dread began to mix with the confusion. Two hundred and twenty-seven times. You don’t do that by accident. You don’t do that ironically.

I fired off a quick text to Courtney. “You were absolutely right. Completely glitched for me too.”

As I stared at the number, another memory unlocked. Not a hazy one, but sharp and clear. Me, in the gym, wireless earbuds in, sweat dripping down my temples. The pulsing, driving beat of “Espresso” fueling my reps, a giddy smile on my face as I mouthed the lyrics, “I’m working late, ‘cause I’m a singer…” I felt a ghost of that energy now, a little zip of excitement in my chest.

I shook my head, trying to dislodge the false memory. That wasn’t me. I listened to atmospheric post-rock at the gym. I…

Another flash. Singing at the top of my lungs in the shower, my voice echoing off the tiles, performing a dramatic, soapy rendition of Olivia Rodrigo’s “Vampire.” The steam, the energy, the sheer fun of it.

My anxious grip on my phone loosened. The conviction that this was a mistake was melting away, replaced by a strange, warm sense of certainty. Of course I’d listened to it. Why would I lie to myself? This music was… good. It was fun. It made me happy. Short n’ Sweet and Guts were basically the soundtrack for my commute, and Man’s Best Friend slotted right into that mix on repeat when it came out. I remembered eagerly awaiting the album drop at the end of August.

I looked up from the screen and caught my reflection in the dark windowpane. My face, usually framed by my natural, loosely curled brown hair, seemed different. My hair looked… smoother. Shinier. As I watched, a few subtle highlights, caramel blonde, seemed to weave themselves through the strands near my face. I blinked, and my eyes seemed brighter, a touch more wide-eyed.

A giddy laugh escaped my lips, and it sounded different. Higher. Lighter. It wasn’t my usual measured, cynical chuckle. It was a giggle. A bubbly, effervescent sound.

The Wrapped report continued. My music “Club” was Club Serotonin - too perfect. I’m all about being happy. My “Listening Age” was 21, naturally. I smiled along to Sabrina’s video message. God, her blonde hair is totally hashtag goals.

“Oh my god,” I giggled again, the words feeling new in my mouth. “Maybe I am, like, a top fan!”

I pushed the blanket off and stood up, feeling strangely restless. For Melancholy Brunettes (& Sad Women) was still playing quietly from my headphones, its somber melodies now feeling slow, dreary, and deeply boring.

“Ugh, what was I thinking listening to this?” I said to the empty room, my voice taking on a new cadence, peppier, with an upward lilt at the end of my sentences. I skipped over to my bluetooth speaker and connected my phone. With a few taps, I pulled up my “On Repeat” playlist. It was, of course, a non-stop party of pop perfection. I hit shuffle.

The opening synth chords of a Renee Rapp song filled the apartment, loud and confident. A jolt of pure energy shot through me. My hips started swaying automatically, a loose, rolling motion that felt innate, natural. I caught my reflection again in the glass of a picture frame. My posture was different. My shoulders were back, my back slightly arched. I was… popping my hip.

I looked down at my clothes. My typical laidback uniform: an oversized flannel shirt, baggy ripped jeans, thick wool socks. They suddenly felt frumpy, shapeless, dull. I felt a powerful urge to be brighter, tighter, shinier. I practically danced to my bedroom, cranking up the volume on my phone so that the pop beat blasting from the speaker followed me down the hall.

I threw open my closet doors and stared at my racks of clothes. All the muted tones, the earthy colors, the practical fabrics. I knew it was all mine, but suddenly it felt like I was looking at someone else’s closet. My eyes darted to a single, forgotten item shoved in the back - a tiny, sparkly halter top I’d bought for a themed party years ago and never worn again.

That, I thought, is so cute. So me.

I pulled off the flannel shirt and let it drop to the floor without a second thought. I wriggled into the sparkly top. It was tight, hugging curves I suddenly seemed more aware of. I shimmied out of my jeans and found a pair of faux leather pants that I don't think had ever seen the light of day. I slipped them on. They felt amazing. I looked in the full-length mirror.

A total stranger stared back, but she was fabulous. The transformation was accelerating. My hair was now unmistakably blonde, falling in soft, sleek waves around my shoulders. My face seemed softer, my lips fuller and glossier without me having even done a thing. My eyes, once sharp and analytical, now sparkled with a vacant, cheerful light. I felt an overwhelming need for makeup.

I dove into my makeup bag, tossing out my matte brown lipsticks and neutral eyeshadows. I needed glitter. I needed highlighter. I needed a lip gloss that looked like totally wet and kissable. I started applying everything with an expertise I didn’t know I possessed, blending shimmering pink shadows onto my lids, painting my lips a juicy, glossy pink.

The mental shift was the most profound. The nagging voice in my head that analyzed, criticized, and overthought everything—the voice that would have been screaming about this whole situation being a horrific violation of something or other—was just… gone. In its place was a pleasant, sunny hum, perfectly synchronized to the beats still pumping from the speaker. Thoughts came simple and bright, usually one at a time, like bubbles rising to the surface.

I look so hot.

This song is fire.

I need to go dancing.

I turned up the music, loud enough to feel the bass in my chest. I started dancing for real, not just a subtle sway but a full-body performance. I shook my hips, I tossed my hair, I raised my arms over my head and twirled. I felt amazing. Free. I wasn’t worrying about the meaning of the lyrics; I was just feeling the vibes. The beat told my body what to do, and I happily obeyed.

My phone buzzed on the bed. It was Courtney, following up.

“So? Your Wrapped? Yours is messed up too? What did it say?”

I picked my phone up, typing back with frantic, excited thumbs, my long, now-manicured nails clicking on the screen.

“OMG Court!!!!! Mine is actually SO ACCURATE!!!!!! 😍😍🔥🔥🔥”

I added a string of heart-eye and fire emojis. I didn't normally do that, but it felt right.

“It’s literally me!!! Sabrina Carpenter is my QUEEN I listened to Espresso like a million times!!!!!! We HAVE to go see her when she tours again!!!!!”

Three blinking dots appeared. Then disappeared. Then appeared again. Then Courtney’s response came.

“…Christina? Is that you?”

I giggled and texted back. “Duh! Last I checked! Who else would I be? LOL! You were so wrong before, Spotify is totally on point this year!”

I put the phone down, not waiting for her reply. I had to listen to the new Kesha album. All the way through. Right now.

I spent the next hour deep-diving into my Wrapped, each statistic a delightful little affirmation. Apparently I was a “recruiter” role in my “club”.  I beamed. It was so true! I was bubbly and loved sharing my fave songs with all of my friends! I pulled up my "Top Songs of 2025” mix again on my phone to check how many followers it had, all the while dancing around my apartment, enjoying the feel of my favorite halter top against the bouncy curves of my tits.

The indie and folk music I’d spent years collecting felt like a dusty relic from a past life, a life that seemed complicated and boring and frankly, exhausting. Why would anyone want to listen to music that made them feel sad? Or think about complex metaphors? That was, like, so deep and weird. Pop music was simple. It was about feeling good. It was about looking hot and having fun. And it was, without a doubt, so totally my vibe.

The next morning, I woke up with a new kind of energy. I practically bounced out of bed, threw on a bright pink workout set, and plugged in my headphones. My morning routine needed a soundtrack. As I made my coffee, Sabrina Carpenter sang Espresso to me for the two-hundred-and-twenty-eighth time. Gawd, I loved her music so much. Short and sweet and sexy, just like me.

In the car, I rolled down the windows and blasted Olivia Rodrigo, singing at the top of my lungs without a care for who heard me. At the gym, my workout was powered by pure pop energy. I caught a guy looking at me as I shook my hips on the elliptical, and I just gave him a bright, giggly smile. He smiled back.

I ran into Courtney, looking SO cute, as I left my fave coffee shop later that day. Her eyes widened as I approached, my steps light and practically prancing. I was wearing a fluffy jacket, short shorts, and knee-high boots. My old boring wardrobe seemed to have disappeared overnight, but I sure wasn’t gonna complain.

“Christina?” she said, her voice laced with disbelief.

“Hey, girlie!” I squealed, air-kissing near her cheek. “Oh my god, I love your hair. Is that a new gloss? It’s so shiny.”

She just stared at me, her mouth slightly agape. “What… what happened to you?”

“What do you mean?” I asked, tilting my head. I glanced down and examined my outfit. The question made no sense. “Ooh, I just got my nails done.” That must be what she meant! I wiggled my glittery fingers at her. “Aren’t they sooo adorable?”

“No… I mean yes! I mean, your… your music,” she stammered, lowering her voice. “Your Wrapped. You were so weird about it yesterday. First you said it was glitched like mine, then you started talking like you were bodysnatched or something. Now all of… this? You’re kinda freaking me out.”

I let out a peal of laughter. “Oh, that! I was just being silly. I was totally overthinking it. Of course it’s accurate! It’s, like, data. Duh. Totally not that deep!” I leaned in conspiratorially. “Literally just between us besties, I think I was just, like, scared to admit how much I love a good pop song, you know? But life’s too short to not jam to the good stuff!”

I saw the confusion and dawning horror in her eyes, but I couldn’t connect to it. Her vibe was totally harshing my mellow.

“Anyways!” I said, my tone bright. “Enjoy your coffee or whatever, but I gotta run! I totally found a literal gold mine of the coolest unreleased Sabrina tracks online earlier, and I wanna see if I can, like, figure out how to load them on my phone! Love ya, mean it, laters!”

I breezed past the cafe doors, my boots clicking a cheerful tempo on the pavement as I went. The December air was brisk, but the sun was shining and a pop song was playing in my head. My body was wiggling and jiggling to a rhythm that felt as essential as my own heartbeat. I was happy. I was hot. The serotonin was seriously flowing.

I had no idea what everyone was talking about. Spotify Wrapped was totally accurate this year.

After all, pop music was so totally me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hope you enjoyed the story! Here's my Ko-Fi if you'd like to leave a tip.

[beautification-tales]

Flu Shot

The needle wasn't even in the room yet, but Holly's palms were already sweating. She pressed them flat against the crinkling paper of the examination table, staring at the motivational poster of a kitten hanging from a branch with the words "Hang in There!" in cheerful cursive. The irony made her teeth ache.

She'd practiced breathing exercises in the car—four counts in, six counts out—but now her lungs seemed to have forgotten how air worked entirely. A tray clattered in the hallway and Holly flinched so hard her elbow slipped off the table.

The nurse strode in like she was walking onto a runway, her white uniform hugging every impossible curve, her dark brown hair coiled into a perfect bun that somehow looked effortless. "Just a quick little poke today," she said, flashing teeth so white they almost glowed. Holly suddenly became acutely aware of her own frayed cuticles, the coffee stain on her sleeve, the way her left sock had slipped halfway down her ankle.

“Are you really a nurse? You look like a model!” The words blurted out before Holly could stop them, her face instantly flushing red-hot. The nurse laughed—a rich, throaty sound that made the fluorescent lights overhead seem warmer—and snapped a pair of latex gloves onto her hands with practiced precision. “Name’s Vivian,” she said, tilting her head slightly as she adjusted her name tag, which read *Vivian, RN* in bold letters. “And yeah, I get that a lot. Patients either flirt with me or faint on me—no in-between.”

Vivian rolled up Holly's sleeve with quick, professional fingers, her touch unexpectedly warm despite the clinical setting. The alcohol swab was cold against Holly's skin, sending a shiver up her spine. "Deep breath," Vivian murmured, and before Holly could tense up, the needle slid in—sharp, quick, painless. "All done," Vivian said, pressing a cotton ball against the spot with her thumb. Holly blinked. That was it?

"I'll be back in ten minutes to check for any allergic reactions," Vivian added, peeling off her gloves with a snap. "But between you and me? You're not the swooning type." She winked, tossing the used needle into the sharps container like she was scoring a three-pointer. The door clicked shut behind her, leaving Holly alone with the kitten poster and the lingering scent of antiseptic and Vivian's faint vanilla perfume.

Holly shifted on the crinkling paper, suddenly hyper-aware of her own heartbeat. A slow warmth spread from her chest up her neck—not the prickly, panicky heat of anxiety, but something deeper, more insistent. Her fingers flew to her throat. Was this normal? Was she swelling up? Her pulse hammered against her fingertips, rapid but steady. The logical part of her brain knew it was just adrenaline, but the rest of her was too busy cataloging every twinge, every phantom itch.

Then, the impossible happened. The angry red acne along her jawline—the one she’d been battling with salicylic acid and prayers—began to smooth out, fading into unblemished skin before her very eyes. Her hair, usually a frizzy mess from cheap conditioner and stress, suddenly felt silkier, individual strands slipping through her fingers like liquid. Holly gasped, twisting to catch her reflection in the metal cabinet across the room. The fluorescent lights overhead flickered. Something was *wrong*. Or maybe—terrifyingly—something was *right*.

Her breasts ached next, a deep, throbbing pressure that made her grit her teeth. The cotton of her bra strained against her ribs as if the fabric itself was shrinking, but no—she could *feel* them swelling, the cups digging into tender flesh that suddenly hypersensitive to every brush of fabric. Holly's hands hovered over her chest like she was afraid to touch, her breathing ragged. "What the hell—" she whispered, staring down at herself. The seam of her bra popped, the sound obscenely loud in the sterile room.

Between her legs, a slick warmth pooled, sudden and unmistakable. Holly gasped, pressing her thighs together instinctively. The sensation was dizzying—like someone had flipped a switch inside her, flooding her with heat. Her fingers twitched against the exam table paper, crumpling it in her fists. She shouldn't—not here, not *now*—but her body wasn't listening. One hand slid down her stomach, fingertips skimming the waistband of her jeans before dipping lower, tracing the damp fabric clinging to her. A ragged moan escaped before she could bite it back.

“So hot mmmm” Holly moaned softly, arching her back as her lips tingled—plumping suddenly, filling like ripe fruit. She touched them hesitantly, gasping at the slick softness under her fingertips. No lipstick, but her reflection in the metal cabinet showed them swollen ruby-red, glossy as if she'd sucked them raw. The sight sent another pulse of wet heat between her legs, her nipples pressing painfully against her bra's ruined cups. Vivian had said ten minutes—how many had passed? Three? Five? Time blurred like the edges of her vision, syrupy and slow.

“How are you feeling? Holy shit!” Vivian burst back into the room, her usual runway-strut replaced by something closer to a sprint. Her clipboard clattered to the floor as she grabbed Holly’s chin, tilting her face toward the light with an almost frenetic excitement. “Your skin—it’s *perfect*. Like, *photoshop* perfect.” Vivian’s thumb brushed Holly’s cheekbone, her touch electric against the newly smooth surface. “Oh my god, it worked,” she breathed, her dark eyes wide with something between triumph and awe.

“I feel so hot! Is this an allergic reaction?”

Holly gasped as Vivian’s fingers slid down her throat, tracing the newly flawless skin with a reverence that sent another shudder through her. Vivian’s breath hitched—her usual clinical detachment crumbling—as she cupped Holly’s cheek with her free hand, her thumb brushing the plump, glossy swell of Holly’s lower lip. “Not an allergy,” Vivian murmured, her voice thick. “It’s the serum in the shot. Accelerated cellular regeneration.” Her gaze dropped to Holly’s heaving chest, where the torn bra barely contained the lush curves straining against it. “And... other enhancements.”

“It feels so good!” Holly arched off the table as Vivian’s fingers slipped beneath her waistband, the latex gloves cold against her feverish skin. Vivian’s breath hitched—clinical detachment dissolving into something far darker—as she pressed two fingers inside with practiced ease. The moment Vivian curled them just right, Holly’s back bowed, her scream muffled by her own teeth sinking into her plush lower lip. Her scalp tingled violently, strands of hair lifting as if charged with static—then, impossibly, her dull brown roots bled upward into shimmering platinum, the transformation racing down to the tips like ink dispersing in water.

“Yes just give in Holly. Let yourself change!” Vivian gasped, her fingers working deeper as Holly’s body convulsed—not just from pleasure now, but from the impossible metamorphosis surging through her. Holly’s moan dissolved into a choked whimper as her hips jerked, her jeans straining against suddenly fuller thighs, the fabric tearing at the seams. The blonde transformation reached her eyebrows next, the dark arches lightening to a delicate honey-gold, her lashes thickening into feathery fans that fluttered wildly with each ragged breath. Vivian’s grip tightened, her other hand yanking Holly’s ruined shirt open to reveal the bra straps snapping one by one under the pressure of swelling flesh. “Look at you,” Vivian panted, her pupils blown wide. “Perfect.”

“Ungh Yes! Yes! Perfect!!”

Holly’s orgasm hit like a freight train, her back arching violently off the table as her body convulsed—not just from pleasure, but from the serum’s relentless transformation. The fluorescent lights above flickered wildly as her hips jerked against Vivian’s relentless fingers, her thighs trembling as they thickened with new, sculpted muscle. A guttural moan tore from her throat as her nails—once bitten to the quick—lengthened into sharp, pearlescent points, scraping against the paper beneath her.

“I’m glad I came in for my shot today.”

[luciascorruptions]

The Housewarming Gift

Maddie hummed softly as she folded another sweater into the cardboard box, late afternoon sun filtering through the grand windows of her step-mother’s mansion. 

Maddie was born into wealth and her late father’s estate was vast, and it now belonged to her step-mother, Miranda. Maddie had always despised how money changed and warped people. She had hated growing up in wealth and rather preferred thrift stores and quiet joys over opulence. “Money’s the root of all evil,” she’d often say to people. She believed money corrupted nice souls and turned them greedy and vain. 

She would often volunteer at homeless shelters, charity events, or reading poetry for people in parks. 

But her true happiness in life was Alex, and now they were finally going to move in together. Their new apartment was small and nothing special, but Maddie was happy about that. She couldn’t wait to move out of the mansion.

Alex, her boyfriend of the last two years, stood beside her, packing her books with care. He worked part-time at a local store and didn’t have much money. He came from a poor background and had met Maddie at a charity event and they had talked all night and had been together ever since. Alex loved to play guitar and was always dreaming of starting his own charity organisation and would never stop talking about it.

He never desired money or material things and shared Maddie’s disdain for wealth. “Life’s about love and music, not bank accounts,” he used to say.

“Almost done, babe?” Alex asked, grinning as he taped a box shut. “Can’t wait to get to our new apartment. No more echoing halls or judgmental stares.”

Maddie laughed, leaning over to kiss him. “Me too. This place is a museum, vain, cold, and empty. With you, even a shoebox feels like home.”

He pulled her close. “You’re amazing, you know that? Leaving all this behind for me. Most girls would choose the mansion life.”

She shook her head. “Most girls don’t know what’s real. You are. Our picnics, your songs, helping at the shelter together, that’s worth more than any fortune. Money corrupts people. Look at Miranda.”

Alex nodded, glancing toward the door. “Yeah. She’s… intense. But hey, we’re out soon. Just grab your stuff and go.”

They worked in companionable silence, Maddie pausing to hold up a photo of them at a soccer game, her cheering with popcorn while Alex played. “Remember this? You scored two times. Best day ever.”

Alex smiled. “Because of you. I love you, Maddie, more than anything.”

“I love you too,” she whispered, eyes shining. “Forever.”

A knock echoed, sharp, impatient. Maddie’s step-mom, Miranda, entered. She was the complete opposite of Maddie. She was ruthless, greedy, a manipulative uber-bitch who cared only for herself, money, power, and sex.

“Darling Maddison,” Miranda purred, voice arrogant. “Packing your rags? How quaint.”

Maddie hated when she called her Maddison, and she hated everything about her step-mother. She was happy to leave this place and never come back.

“We’re leaving, Miranda. Thanks for… nothing.”

Miranda laughed, cruel and mocking. “Leaving for that dump with your pauper boyfriend? Sweetie, you’re wasting your potential. But before you go, I have something for you, dear. Call it a housewarming gift.” She held out a black velvet box. “For my dear stepdaughter.”

Maddie was surprised. Miranda had never given her anything, not even on her birthday. She eyed it warily. “I don’t want anything from you.”

Miranda smirked. “Humor me. It’s just a necklace. It’s harmless, and at least you will have something nice in that tiny new apartment of yours.”

Alex stepped forward. “Babe, you don’t have to take that from her anymore.”

But Maddie, curious despite herself, opened it.

It was a gold chain with a ruby heart pendant glowing faintly. “It’s… pretty. But why?”

“Wear it,” Miranda urged. “It’ll bring you clarity.”

Maddie didn’t really want to wear it, it was too fancy, too expensive, and not her style at all, but when she looked at it and held it in her hands, she felt something… strange. The more she looked at it, the more she wanted to wear it. Miranda watched her with a sinister smile, and Alex felt something was wrong.

Maddie fastened it around her neck, and then a sudden warmth spread all over her body, pleasant at first.

“See, you look better already,” Miranda purred.

Maddie closed her eyes; the warmth grew stronger, and she suddenly started to feel… horny, really horny, and then strange thoughts started to appear in her mind.

You’re too good for this. That poor boy? Tiny apartment? Pathetic. You deserve wealth, power, mansions. Men who worship you and give you whatever you desire.

Maddie blinked, tried to shake it off, but something about all this just felt too good. The new thoughts, the growing horniness, but she knew it was wrong. She gasped. “Alex… I feel weird. Something is wrong.”

Alex looked concerned. 

“Take it off, babe,” he said, but then he looked at her in disbelief as her body started to change.

Platinum blonde strands of hair started to form, makeup took form on her face, and her breasts started to grow.

“Look… it’s changing me. I look… stunning.” Excitement bubbled in her. “This can’t be real, but… I feel incredible. Like I could have anything.” She said as new desires took form in her.

Miranda stood silent, watching, loving the show, but Alex’s eyes widened in fear. “Babe, your hair… your face… this isn’t you. You need to get that necklace off!”

She twirled and jeans shifted to a black leather skirt, sweater to low-cut blouse. More strands of platinum hair appeared on her head, more makeup took form on her face, and her breasts swelled even more. 

“No… it’s amazing. I can hardly believe it, but I love this. Look at me! I look beautiful, sexy even.”Her hips swayed seductively.

Then more naughty thoughts hit her brain.

Alex is pathetic. He is a poor loser. You need rich alphas. Men to manipulate. To break. Be cruel. Be vain. Be perfect.

But this made Maddie wake up from her bliss. “No… stop… This isn’t right. Alex is good. I love him!” She clawed the clasp; it was stuck. “Alex! Help me!”

Alex tugged. “It’s locked. Maddie, fight it! You’re strong. Our love is strong. Together we can fight this!”

Maddie tried, but more and more evil thoughts crept into her mind.

Love? Weakness. Seduce the rich and powerful. Divorce them. Blackmail them. Take all their wealth and power. Humiliate betas like Alex. Be a bitch.

Maddie moaned, thighs slick. “I see it… rich men begging for my attention. Me taking all their wealth and power… Delicious… No! What is happening to me?! Alex, hold me. I won’t give in to this evil.”

He hugged her and held her hands. “You’re my Maddie, kind, sweet, caring. We hate the corruption money brings. We do charity, we help people, and most important, we love each other. Fight it, Maddie! I believe in you.”

Miranda laughed at Alex’s attempt to save Maddie.

“You fool! Love won’t save her. She is finally becoming something of value, someone I actually can be proud to call my step-daughter. Give in, Maddie, dear. You know you want to,” she purred.

“You evil bitch! I won’t let you do this to her. She is much stronger than you think. She will never become anything close to you!” Alex screamed in anger.

But while they were arguing, visions bombarded Maddie’s mind. Visions of fucking rich married CEOs and blackmailing them for money after, marrying rich and powerful men and divorcing them and taking all their wealth, caging cocks of pathetic men, mocking wives and stealing their husbands. 

“Oh fuck… sooo tempting. The power… the sex… the money…. Mmmm, it’s all sooo delicious…. but so wrong! I need to fight this! I can’t hurt people. I’m good!” She screamed out loud.

Good is boring and pathetic. Embrace the evil. Become who you truly are. Become the bitch. Embrace it, Maddison, and be the bitch queen.

“Maddison? That’s… me.” She said in excitement. For the first time in her life she loved to be referred to as Maddison and thought Maddie sounded kinda boring.

Alex tried to reason with her. “Babe, remember our dreams, our new apartment, all our charity. Remember our love!”

Miranda watched, smirking. “See him for what he truly is, Maddison. He is pathetic, poor. He is dragging you down. You can be so much more, embrace your new emotions, become like me.”

Maddie looked at Alex, and he seemed smaller somehow. “You… hold me back… I deserve more…. No! I love you…. I think…” she said while trying her best to cling on to what was left of her old self. 

By now she didn’t even look like Maddie anymore; her hair had become completely platinum, her face was covered in makeup, her tits were huge, and her clothes had become a tight black leather dress showing off her new figure.

She almost couldn’t resist anymore, and new evil thoughts kept pouring into her mind.

Love him? Him? Better to humiliate him. Cage him. He is beneath you.

“I can’t resist this anymore! I am sorry, Alex!”

“Babe, please. Remember us, our love, you are my everything…” He said as he looked at her with tears in his eyes as she pulled away from him and let go of his hands.

Maddie looked at him one last time with kind eyes before her eyes grew cold and changed forever.

“Oh fuck yes… this feels too good. I want it ALL! The power! The money! The sex! Fuck charity and kindness!” Maddie screamed in evil delight.

“FUCK YES! I’M MADDISON! I’M CRUEL! I’M GREEDY! I’M A SEDUCTIVE EVIL BITCH AND I LOVE IT!”

Alex backed away, not believing his own eyes. “Maddie, no! Don’t give in; we can still fight this!”

Maddison looked at him in a cold, mocking way. She tilted her head, and a wicked smile took form on her lips.

“Well, look at you still trying to save poor good little Maddie. It’s hilarious. You really are sooo pathetic, you know that? You look like a total loser, can hardly afford your own clothes, play that ugly guitar, sing stupid shitty songs, and think people would give a fuck. It’s sooo sad, if you weren’t such a fucking loser, I would almost feel sorry for you. You have no money, no life, and now you don’t have a girlfriend anymore.” She laughed mockingly and loved the way his face got covered in tears.

He shook his head. “No… This isn’t you!”

She grabbed his shirt. “Oh, but it is. It’s the real me, the better me. And you’re nothing. Weak, pathetic, poor. You’re not even worthy of being in my presence. But… I am feeling generous, so I will let you stay, after I have given you a little makeover.” She laughed, holding the pendant as it glowed, and she touched his head.

Alex suddenly felt very weak, and his mind was bombarded with commands.

Obey Maddison. She is your queen. Worship her perfection. You are pathetic.

Alex resisted with the little strength he had left. “No… please don’t do this… I love you… Maddie…”

“Oh, you are just so pathetic, my little simp. Soon you will forget all about those pathetic little songs you wrote, all that disgusting charity, and all about sweet Maddie. The only thing you will think about is how to please me, how you will do everything just to be near me as I humiliate you and break you as you worship my perfection.”

Alex wanted to resist, but the power was too strong, and the more he tried to resist, the stronger the power grew.

Obey. You are Maddison’s property. You are nothing. You only exist to serve your mistress.

He blinked, and all of his memories of charity, his music, and his love for Maddie vanished. All he could think of was how to serve and worship Mistress Maddison.

“That’s it. You belong to me now, don’t you, pet?” Maddison said playfully.

“Yes… Mistress Maddison. I am yours. I live to please you. I am nothing. I am pathetic. I live only to serve and worship my perfect and superior Mistress,” he said as he sat on his knees before her and looked up at her with admiration.

She smirked. “Good boy. Now time to get that little dick of yours in a cage.” She laughed and locked him up and made him thank her for it.

Miranda watched it all, and for the first time in her life, she was proud of her step-daughter.

Maddison turned to Miranda. “Thanks so much for the gift, Miranda. I feel so much better now. Thank you for letting me see what a pathetic mess I used to be and making me the perfection I now am.”

Miranda beamed. “Oh, my dear Maddison, I am so proud of you, darling. You’re like me now. Together we can seduce the richest and most powerful and make them beg for our attention as we take all their money and property.”

Maddison laughed. “Together? Fuck that. There can only be one superior bitch. So thank you again for making me into this perfect bitch, but now I don’t need you anymore.” Maddison said as she smiled and took her hand on Miranda’s head and held the glowing pendant.

“No! I made you, you evil bitch! Release me!” Miranda screamed, but then her mind was bombarded with new commands.

You are nothing. You live to serve. You are Maddison’s property. You worship your mistress and love to obey her every command.

Miranda tried to resist, but the power was too strong, and suddenly she started to smile and giggle and embrace all the commands.

Maddison let go of her scalp, and Miranda knelt before her.

“So who do you serve?” Maddison asked playfully.

Miranda giggled and looked up to Maddison in devotion. “Mistress Maddison. I love to serve Mistress Maddison.” She giggled.

Maddison laughed and looked down at Alex and Miranda.

“Well, look at that. Looks like I have two new pets. Hmmm, from now on Alex will be called Bitch-Boy and will be my slave, you will do whatever I command and lick me clean whenever I have fucked real men. And Miranda, you can be called Count-Slut and be my new maid. See? Isn’t that sooo much better than what you used to be? And you are allowed to be in my presence, and I get a slave and a maid—win-win, right?” Maddison said mockingly, and Alex, now Bitch-Boy, and Miranda, now Count-Slut, said “Yes, Mistress Maddison” in unison.

“Good pets. So Count-Slut, start cleaning the house, we will have some rich guests over tonight. And Bitch-Boy, get in your cage. I don’t need you now.” Maddison said as she walked upstairs and took over Miranda’s old bedroom and pleasured herself to her own mirror image.

Months later, Maddison lounged in her stolen mansion, her manicured nails tapped her phone, another divorce finalized, millions added to her bank account.

Bitch-Boy crawled over to her. “Mistress Maddison… what do you command of me?”

She kicked him lightly. “Lick my boots, worm. And thank me for ruining you.”

“Thank you so much, Mistress… Bitch-Boy loves obeying…”

Count-Slut dusted in a skimpy maid outfit. “All clean, Mistress. A handsome wealthy man is waiting by the door, should I let him in?”

Maddison laughed. “Yes, slut. And when I am finished with him, maybe I’ll let you suck him off.”

Maddison loved how her life had become.

She’d seduced and divorced five rich men in a year. Fucked countless married men, shattering homes and breaking marriages, and no one was able to resist her. “Oh, I am such a nasty, evil, greedy bitch. I love it,” she said to her own reflection as she was wondering what to do with the last man she fucked that was passed out in her bed. Should she marry him and divorce him later, enslave him, or just destroy his marriage? “Why not all three,” she laughed to herself and woke him up to his new future.

The End

[genderfluiddragon]

The Choker

Sarah came home one day after work with a new accessory, a choker. Her boyfriend Adam, asked her about it. But all she said was that her boss gave it to her as a gift. Mrs. Harper was a great boss, so Adam thought nothing about it.

Over the next few days, Adam noticed a few other changes in Sarah. First her breasts seemed to have gotten larger and firmer, but Sarah also seemed to be less interested in Adam and less affectionate.

After two weeks Sarah came home Blonde. Adam knew she would dyed her hair. She hated the harsh chemicals used and it would damage her hair.

"Babe, why ae you a blonde now." He asks her.

"What do you mean, I have always been blonde?" She inquisitively replies.

"No, this morning you were a brunette". He tells her with a sense of alarm.

"Adam, you are losing it. I have always been blonde, see." She says as she holds up her 3 year old work ID, that now has her with blonde hair and large firm breasts.

Adam walks away, and looks at all of the pictures of him and Sarah, and now she is blonde and busty in all of them. He feels like he is going insane.

The next week he notices that her glasses are gone, but before he goes and asks her about it, he checks all of the pictures of them together. She has no glasses in any of them. He check her other information. No longer was she the valedictorian of her high school, she was a part of the cheerleader squad, and made decent but not great grades. He doesn't know what is happening. Except it all started to change with the choker.

For the week after all of that, Adam tried to find out about the choker and Mrs. Harper. All that he could find was a news article about a elderly lady that claimed to be a witch being killed in one of the witch trials that was Mrs. Harper's Great Grandmother. He even found a portrait of her and she looks just like Mrs. Harper.

About the time he discovers that, he gets a text from Sarah.

"Guess who got promoted to being Mrs. Harpers' personal secretary. ME!!!!!!!!!!! :)" And she also sent this picture.

Adam knew he had to do something. He rushed over to the office and snuck in, avoiding security. When he get to Mrs' Harper's office her secretary's desk is empty, but Sarah's belongings are there.

He peeks in the office and sees Sarah and Mrs. Harper making out on Mrs. Harpers' Desk. Sarah is like puddy in her hands and is moaning like a slut. But Mrs. Harper's eyes are on Adam.

"Come on in dear boy. Lets talk." She commands.

Adam against his better judgement walks in and closes the door. He goes to talk but the words die in his mouth.

"I will speak, sweetie. I know you have seen the truth even if you don't understand it. I am a witch, and I am immortal and powerful. I choose your girlfriend to be my slave and lover, and remade her to fit my desires. You have three choices, Forget Sarah and me, and move on with your sad pathetic life or try to alert someone about me and have your life destroyed, or you can join us and live a life of love and pleasure. I only offer that last one as you truly love Sarah and I happen to have a small bit romance in my withered heart. Make your choice.

He hangs his head and says, "I will join you."

A choker appears around his neck. and quickly he starts to change.

His clothes change and he starts to take on the appearance of a 1950's housewife. His/Her breasts swell and she become full of love and joy at her two lovely girlfriends.

"Ada, my dear. It is so wonderful for you to join us. I look forward to see what my lovely little homemaker can do for me and Sarah." Mrs. Harper says.