Hottest Girl You Can Imagine
The Remote of Transformation
chapter 3
by
ThePanswapticon
Jerry stepped out of the line before anyone could see the frustration bubbling out of him. Screw this. Screw waiting like some sad little guy hoping to get noticed. He clutched the remote in his pocket, thumb brushing the smooth red button, and wandered down a narrow alley between the club and a closed pizza joint.
The alley was dark and smelled like stale beer, but no one was around. Perfect.
He pulled out the remote. The thing looked like a cheap toy—plastic body, a screen that glowed faintly, a few toggle buttons for “target,” “swap,” “customize.” He scrolled with his thumb until the screen flashed SELF-EDIT.
His heart thumped. “Hottest girl I can imagine,” he muttered. His mouth was dry. He pictured everything—curves, lips, hair, legs that went on forever. Skin so soft you couldn’t help but touch.
The screen blinked: ACCEPT TRANSFORMATION?
He hesitated for half a second, then slammed his thumb down.
The remote buzzed in his hand. A warmth surged through his body, starting at his chest and flooding outward. His knees buckled as the sensation intensified—like every cell was melting, rearranging.
He looked down just as his hands shrank, fingers becoming slender and delicate. Veins faded under the surface, replaced with smooth, glowing skin. His arms tapered into sleek, toned limbs. His chest rose—no, swelled—under his shirt. A pressure built, tight and insistent, until fabric strained around two growing mounds.
“Holy—”
His voice cracked. Higher. Softer. He grabbed at his chest, palms filling with warm, pliant weight. Breasts. Real breasts. Sensitive to every brush of his fingers, nipples stiff against the rough cotton of his T-shirt. A tremor shot down his spine.
His waist pulled in like someone tightened a belt around him, hips flaring outward. His jeans pinched as his ass ballooned, round and firm, the denim stretching to its limit. A hot, slick awareness bloomed lower between his thighs—an alien absence where his familiar equipment had been, replaced by folds of soft, nerve-packed flesh that pulsed with every movement.
“Oh… fuck…” The words came out as a breathy moan, and the sound sent goosebumps crawling over his skin.
Hair spilled down his back in a wave of silken weight, brushing against his shoulders and collarbones. His jaw softened, cheekbones sharpening in just the right way. Lashes lengthened, lips plumped until they looked kiss-swollen.
The transformation slowed, leaving him trembling in the alley. He looked down at himself—his old T-shirt now hugging double D's that jiggled when he breathed, his jeans strangling hips and an ass that just wouldn’t quit. Even standing felt different—his center of balance shifted, his thighs brushing together in a maddening way.
He dug through the remote’s quick-change menu with shaky fingers. “Outfit… gimme something…”
The clothes shimmered and vanished, replaced by a black club dress that clung like liquid latex. It hugged every curve, the hem barely skimming the tops of his thighs. Strappy heels snapped into place on his feet, elevating him, forcing his hips to sway when he shifted his weight.
A sharp breeze swept through the alley, and Jerry gasped. The air itself felt too much—cool against his bare legs, teasing along the valley of his cleavage, even brushing the new heat between his thighs.
He stumbled to the side, catching his reflection in a dirty window.
“Holy… shit.”
A bombshell stared back. Sultry eyes, wild hair, a body that looked sculpted to drive people insane.
Jerry smirked. “Let’s see that bouncer stop me now.”
He strutted back toward the club, the click of heels drawing eyes from the line like a magnet.
The bouncer’s bored face cracked into a grin the moment he saw her—him. He didn’t even bother with the rope.
“Evening,” the bouncer said, eyes doing a slow, appreciative crawl.
Jerry leaned in slightly, breasts pressing together in the low-cut dress. “Just me tonight,” he purred, voice dripping with confidence.
The guy didn’t hesitate. He waved her straight in.