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Wishing Roles, Part 6 (Bimbofication & MILFication)
🕑 Added 2024-08-20 03:08:28 +0000 UTCBy FoxFaceStories
A Combined Story Tier Prompt for TG Sorcerer & Rilby
Mike and Hannah share a loving relationship, or at least so Mike thinks. When the couple are out with their single friend Amanda, each of the three make a wish. Mike wishes for a perfect partner, Hannah wishes she could make Mike happy, given that she plans to leave him. And Amanda wishes she could be in a relationship too. All three are about to be in for a shock as relationships are rearranged and the bodies of the two women changed . . .
Part 6: Keeping Apart
The assignment was clear: Mike, Hannah, and Amanda simply had to stay apart, all while doing their own independent research on the strange wishing stars. Any rumour or gossip or tales - however ancient or remote - was to be paid close attention to. Reversing the course of the wishes was the only way to save Hannah from becoming a curvy maternal woman in her forties, Amanda from becoming a young bimbo ruled by fashion and sex, and Mike from being sandwiched between them as son-in-law and husband, respectively.
“Just don’t contact each other, for God’s sake!” Hannah said, pushing against her instincts, the ones that burned for her to push the new lovebirds together. “It shouldn’t be too hard, right?”
Mike and Amanda both agreed, even as they reached out to hold one another for one last comforting goodbye. Hannah had to snap at them to not encourage the changes just for them to notice. They put a stop to it, and went their own ways. Yet even as they left, Hannah felt a deep sorrow in her heart at what she’d just done. She left, driving back to her apartment and Mike off to a hotel, but she couldn’t help but feel she’d done a terrible thing. Wouldn’t a good mother-in-law have tried to get them to be together and work it all out? Shouldn’t she just bake them something?
“Perhaps if I just talk to Amanda, mother to daughter, then I’ll - oh damn! It’s happening again already.”
She kept driving, trying to focus her mind on solutions instead of compromises.
In the other car, Mike was desperately doing his best to keep the memory of Amanda’s body pressed against his out of his mind. The fact was, though, that she was everything he’d fantasised in a woman, and there was also the knowledge that her changes weren’t even done yet: her boobs were likely to get even bigger, her personality even bubblier, her butt even peachier. And that was to say nothing of how ditzy, sexy, cutesy, and randy she would get.
“Goddamn it,” he muttered to himself, continuing to drive away from Amanda’s house with the herculean effort of a spaceship escaping a blackhole. “Just think about something else. Anything else. Anything.”
But taxes, the economy, even Grandma’s upcoming birthday, none of it could be boring or unsexy enough to keep Amanda’s changes and her bubbly new voice out of his mental space. By the time he checked himself into the Redview Motel, he was going insane trying to think of ways to stay distant from the woman he was thinking automatically of as ‘his wife.’
“Think about Hannah. Not as she is but as she was. The woman I loved - still love. So beautiful, so loving, so kind, so smart. I fell in love with her because of those qualities.”
He managed this, but not for nearly as long as he would prefer, for as he remembered the good times with Hannah, her body slowly morphed in his mind to take on more curves. Her fae-like physique gained larger breasts, her hair turned platinum blonde, and she gained a giggly, peppy attitude to match her girly gait. In moments, she was Amanda again.
“Fuck!” he said. “I need my wife! I mean - shit! I’m just gonna go masturbate.”
And that’s just what he did. He didn’t think of Hannah’s body once. It was all Amanda now, and when he imagined holding her naked against him, he came very quickly, and powerfully at that too.
Lastly, there was Amanda herself. She was holed up in her apartment, pacing back and forth, trying to calm herself. Her entire wardrobe had changed, and other parts of her house had become a lot more vibrant; pinks and pastels and cute little ornaments. She still had her bookcases, but reading was not on her mind at that moment.
Mike was.
“Mhmmm,” she moaned, scratching her teeth with her finger, imagining better uses for her mouth. “Why did I, like, let him go? I need my big hot hubby. He makes me soooo hot!”
She had to start caressing her breasts, feeling their weight and cupping them. God, they were getting big. Already Double-D’s. But a part of her wanted them to be even bigger. She wanted to be so damn busty that Mike could use her chest as pillows. Busty enough that her tits were head-sized. She wanted everyone to know what a hot trophy wife body she had, and who cares if no one looked her in the eyes again? She’d wear jewellery between her cleavage just to direct them to look down and appreciate her best assets!
Amanda shook her head. “N-no. That’s not what I want. I don’t want to be dumb! I - I’m okay with looking, like, beautiful, but I don’t want to have a bimbo-body. I can be young without being, like, totes stupid! Ugh! Gotta stay smart. Gotta read, like, a really smart economics book or something.”
She sprang up from her seat, and was instantly hit by the unfamiliar, slightly painful, yet also weirdly satisfying sensation of her heavy breasts bouncing.
“Wow, too big for my sports bra,” she marvelled, poking her boobs. “These are way bigger than I’m used to. I bet I could be, like, even - wait, I’ve already had this conversation with myself. Stupid, silly Mandy!”
She didn’t even register that she was calling herself ‘Mandy’ now. Instead, she moved over to the bookshelf to find herself a good read. Something challenging. Something that would keep her mind sharp and stop her from becoming a damn bimbo. She had always prided herself on her academic smarts, and the hard work it had taken to achieve them, and she wasn’t about to give them up now.
“Let’s see. Les Mis, Crime and Punishment . . . Anna Karenina!”
It was the perfect choice. A tale that would appeal to the intelligent woman, while telling the story of an intelligent woman. She sighed a deep breath of relief, reflecting on the path she’d taken to get where she was, the person she was supposed to be, and opened the book up.
“You still want a man, Mandy,” she said to herself, “but the man for you. You won’t change to fit the man. Your man should love a good Tolstoy.”
She began reading, and the feelings of relief swelled further as she was swept up in the prose. Amanda had begun to fear that her bimbofying self would hate reading, or find it impossible, or - and this was perhaps hyperbolic - that she might become illiterate entirely. Instead, she couldn’t stop reading. It was just like it should be: a great writer had the power to sweep aside one’s fears and anxieties and replace them with an almost homely sense of calm, all while investing them in what happened next.
“Oh, I do hope they get together,” she said, turning the page. “Mr Zukov is so right for Anna, but Petyr is such a bad boy. Mhmm . . . I can just imagine them, so handsome.”
She turned another page, and this one had her gasping. Finally, they were on the verge of a sex scene, with Anna flinging off her clothes and begging Zukov to take her if he was interested, or leave her if he thought Petyr deserved her more. To her satisfaction, he took her up. He was cuddly, he was kind, but the narrative revealed him to be incredibly aggressive and dominant in bed, just like Anna liked it. Just like Amanda now liked it.”
“Ohhhh,” she moaned, stroking her nipples idly with one hand as she held the book with the other. “That’s it. This is the stuff that gets, like, my hot engine really revving. A total classic of -”
She paused. This wasn’t how Anna Karenina went. It wasn’t the story at all! She snapped the book shut. It was somehow much slimmer - probably only one hundred and twenty pages all of a sudden. And it was no longer Anna Karenina, not even in the same ballpark of literature, in fact.
“My Russian Lover,” she read aloud. “A Steamy Tale in a Wintry Place.”
She flung the book across the room, practically screaming at it.
“Fuck you!” she cried. “Fuck you! You can’t make me, like, accept this! I’ll fight super hard, right up to the end!”
She wiped away her tears.
“Gawd, I wish Mike was here.”
***
After that disastrous first day, things began to settle a little. They were easiest for Mike, of course. While the wish still affected him, practically driving him to end up with Amanda, he still possessed more free will than the two women, and did his best to be self-sufficient. He was able to secure sick leave from work and catch up with friends to distract him, and likewise whenever his needs for a partner - whether Hannah or Amanda - got too powerful, he could always quickly take care of himself. It wasn’t enough, of course, and several times he came close to messaging the other two to meet up, but he wanted to remain strong.
Of course, that was easier said than done. Mike’s old phone photos of Hannah had all changed, so that even depictions of her old form were gone. He could still remember her pretty clearly, but it was all imagination - and the problem with relying on imagination is that it drove him to think about his fantasy partner once more, which just made him imagine Amanda instead. The fact that Amanda was now showing up in many of the photos that should have had Hannah only made this more likely to occur.
An image of the pair fishing on a boat originally depicted Hannah in a cute top and jeans, waiting for a fish to bite. Now it had Amanda wearing a bikini top that showed off her proud and ample chest, and a pair of tight swim shorts that left her thighs bare. She was clinging lovingly to Mike, laughing at the tangle in her rod.
Another photo had Mike and Hannah together at a friend’s wedding. Hannah had worn an attractive green dress that was stylish and elegant on her slim figure. Now it had Amanda in a sexy red dress that lifted up her cleavage, all while having a short hem. Not so short to be scandalous, but the fact that a few men in the background were looking appreciatively at the way it hugged her ass revealed that it could have been quite the upstager.
“God, this is crazy,” he mused to himself. “I just need to focus on the research. I can undo this, and make everything right. I’m so sorry, Hannah. I’m so sorry, Amanda. Shit, I always get mopey like this when it’s just me.”
It was what was making research difficult. Mike was a pretty switched on person, but the whole reason he was in this mess was because of how clingy and attached he could be. He wanted Hannah - or Amanda - with him. That way he could be lovey dovey, enjoy some makeout sessions, maybe a bit of sex, but also simply bask in someone else’s constant company.
Amanda would provide that in her new body and personality, he knew. That was the problem.
He got back to research, intently focusing on that for the next few days. It was all he could allow himself to think about, even as lead after lead went dry. Shooting stars were quite legendary, and there were many mythic stories of how they granted wishes, sometimes even wishes that turned karmic or simply went wrong for no reason other than chance. But there was nothing concrete he could find, which made him all the more disappointed, and therefore desperate for company.
He was starting to really want someone with him.
After four days, he opened up his phone, his finger hovering between Hannah’s number and Amanda’s, who was now listed as ‘Mandy.’
After much indecision, he finally made his choice.
***
Hannah was shocked at herself. She had always prided herself on her slim figure. Oh, sure, when she’d been younger she’d wished for bigger boobs and a few more curves, but she had always been praised for her delicate looks, her elegance, her slim beauty that bordered on the ethereal. She worked hard to maintain it too, being quite the fashionista and knowing exactly what would compliment her figure, all while still projecting a sense of respectability and even power. She was going into law once she graduated college, after all. At least, that was the plan.
But now the plan was shot. She had aged nearly twenty years, and each day of her isolation seemed to bring just a little more cellulite, a little more flab, a little more thickness. Her thighs were gargantuan, at least compared to who she had been, and her face had taken on a broadness: still very pretty, but in a ‘hot mommy’ kind of way, with older eyes and little crow’s feet. Her ass was blowing up, of course, and she could feel it when she sat down. And for all that she was trying to become thin and younger-looking again, her diet was shifting against her control.
“Why is pizza so bloody good?” she said aloud after the second order in two straight days. “I’m meant to hate grease! What’s wrong with me?”
It wasn’t just pizza, either. Her formerly vegetarian diet now favoured strong meats, chunky foods, and the occasional dessert. It wasn’t grotesque, and she had no fear of becoming obese or anything, but there was no denying where this extra food was going: her body was ‘thicker than a bowl of oatmeal,’ as some might say. And if that wasn’t somehow enough, with every extra inch of curve added to her hips and bust and backside, she felt more and more like her real self.
“Stupid fucking wish!” she declared. “I’m meant to be going for the bar, not working in one!”
That had been the other discovery. Beyond the photos in the house now displaying her as an older MILF type, beyond the fact that Amanda now featured in half of them as her attractive daughter, beyond even the nuisance that was all the evidence she was older, ranging from the style of her ornamentation to her own bedcovers and curtains, there was the fact that she’d lost her freaking occupational future.
She was a bar waitress now.
She’d found out the very next day after the three of them had separated when work had called her, asking that she come in due to another waitress getting sick. The compulsions had hit her then, and hit her hard. She wanted to say ‘no, fuck off!’ and hang up the phone, but instead she found herself smiling sweetly despite there being no one else in the room.
“Of course, sugar!” she announced, “I’ll be right there!”
‘I knew you wouldn’t fail me, Hannah. No doubt you’ll rake the tips in tonight!’
She wasn’t sure what her employer - whose name was apparently ‘Brent’ judging from her contact list - meant by that, until she realised she was changing into a very form fitting waitress costume. It flaunted her motherly curves, the waitress top pulling tight around her large breasts, which were also yearning to grow further, much like her new daughter’s. She estimated they were bigger, in fact, possible E-cups, though with a little more sag in them. Combined with her tight serving apron and skirt, and she had the whole ‘sexy server’ look going on, the sort of older woman at a diner who enticed men.
And entice them she did, whether she wanted to or not.
The first night she tried to fight her instincts the whole time, railing against the men who leered at her, and completely failing to serve drinks effectively. She received few tips and incited the frustration of a confused Brent, but the few times she was tipped there was a rush of endorphins through her brain, pushing her forth to do better, to play her damn role.
The next night was something else. She was tired, and had achieved nothing in her search for a way to reverse her ill fortune. In fact, her ability to research had been compromised by her need to not only do another clean of the house, but also to bake some biscuits and cookies for Mike and Amanda.
“That’ll make the loving couple happy,” she announced sweetly to herself. As soon as she realised what she was doing though, she threw them in the trash can.
This made her more susceptible to the compulsions of the night. The aged-up and MILFified woman gave up after all her failures, the result was the most dangerous thing of all . . . a fun night. In this changed reality, numerous regular patrons knew her name and were more than happy to see her, and even happier to be served by her. The bar was a family one, so it served food as well, meaning that she was often bringing over plates of dinner and receiving compliments from the single fathers.
“Lookin’ good, Hannah!”
“Here’s our girl, always here to brighten our day!”
“Hannah, you are going to steal all my cash with the tips you’re earning.”
“Damn, what a gal!”
She found herself letting her childbearing hips sway a bit more, and to thrust out her chest a bit as she asked for orders. She prioritised the older men particularly, having to bite her lip as she listened to the baritone voices of silver-haired foxes, especially the ones who seemed to be in that upper earning bracket. It was clear they could go to better establishments, but she was their draw.
“Well, you know I just love it when you drop by Alan,” she told a lawyer in his fifties, quite a handsome one at that. “What would you like to order?”
“Are you on the menu?” he asked cheekily.
Rather than gag on the stereotype, or become annoyed that this man had a career she also deserved, she found herself giggling instead, placing her hands on her hips so he could appreciate her figure.
“Oh, I’m far too much woman for a main. I’m on the dessert menu, honey. You gotta stick around.”
It took every inch of willpower not to send any more overt signals than that. In fact, when Alan asked her if she wanted to grab a drink after the bar closed, she came so close to saying yes that she was left fuming in her car. It seemed that Amanda’s body wasn’t the only one with a high libido.
“Like daughter, like mother,” she sighed. She looked at the little bit of paper in her hand. It had Alan’s number on it. She swallowed, grappling with her new desires.
“I didn’t want Mike in the end, but do I want this? An older woman deserves a bit of passion too, right?”
She managed to start her car and get back home, but she was nervous for what the future would bring. Mike had texted that he’d had no luck researching the shooting stars, and God knew she hadn’t either.
Hannah could only hope that Amanda was having better luck. The new MILF was now forty two years old according to her driver’s license, and her body was still getting thicker, her clothing less stylish and more showy. Where would it end?
“Please, my Mandy,” she whispered as she got into bed, having pleasured herself already at the thought of Alan, “please tell me you’ve had some success.”
She checked her phone again. Her new daughter hadn’t replied to her questions.
“Just what is she doing?”
To Be Continued . . .
