From Mrs. to Ms. Hargrave The Remote of Transformation chapter 7 by deleted_user

Vince’s grin stretched ear to ear, pure chaotic evil radiating off his newly sculpted body. He didn’t even bother hiding the remote anymore. He just pointed it straight at Mrs. Hargrove’s scowling face.

Mrs. Hargrove opened her mouth to unleash another tirade. “What the hell kind of—”

Blue light washed over her like a tidal wave. The change hit fast and filthy.

Her short, bottle-blonde hair exploded downward in a silky cascade, turning a brighter, healthier platinum that framed a face rapidly shedding twenty-five years. Wrinkles smoothed, crow’s feet vanished, lips plumped into a natural pout. Her heavy, sagging breasts surged upward and outward, snapping her bra with an audible pop as they ballooned into round, gravity-defying DDs that strained against her suddenly tight floral blouse. The fabric ripped down the front with a loud tear, exposing deep cleavage and smooth, creamy skin.

Her thick waist cinched in dramatically, love handles melting away to reveal a tight, hourglass midsection. Hips flared wider, ass inflating into two plump, heart-shaped cheeks that stretched her mom jeans to the ripping point. The seams split with a series of sharp rrrip-rrrip sounds, denim peeling away to reveal long, toned legs and a thong.

She staggered, hands flying to her new body as the last of the blue light faded. At 5’8” now with killer curves, she looked like a pissed-off Instagram model who’d wandered into the wrong apartment.

Mrs. Hargrove—still very much Mrs. Hargrove in that sour, cigarette-scratched voice—stared down at herself in horror.

“What… the actual fuck?!” she shrieked, grabbing her massive new tits with both hands and squeezing. They were firm, perky, and way too sensitive. A startled moan slipped out before she could stop it. “These aren’t mine! This ass—Jesus Christ, I can feel my own cheeks clapping when I move! What did you degenerates do to me?!”

She spun toward the mirror by the door, eyes bulging at the reflection: young, blonde, stacked, and built like a walking wet dream. Her hands roamed frantically—cupping the heavy breasts, sliding over the tiny waist, slapping the jiggling ass that now barely fit in the tattered remains of her jeans.

Vince was laughing so hard his new eight-pack was flexing. “Holy shit, Mrs. H! You’re a fucking smoke show!”

Paul stood frozen, mouth open. “Vince, you idiot…”

Brandon leaned against the wall, fanning himself. “Slay, girl.”

Mrs. Hargrove whirled on them, still cupping one breast like it might run away. Her face was flushed crimson, equal parts rage and confusion. “Change me back right now, you perverted little shits! I—I can feel everything moving differently. What the hell is wrong with my body?!”

She took a few shaky steps, ass swaying hypnotically with every move. After a minute, she paused. Then another. Her scowl faltered as she experimentally rolled her shoulders, watching her new tits bounce in the torn blouse. A tiny, reluctant smirk tugged at her plump lips.

“…Goddamn. These things don’t sag at all.”

She gave her ass another experimental slap. The clap echoed.

Her eyes narrowed, but there was something new in them—something curious, almost hungry.

“…I’m still pissed as hell at you boys. But… fuck. I haven’t looked this good since before my divorce. Maybe… maybe we don’t rush the ‘change back’ part just yet.”

She turned back to them, hands on her new hourglass hips, young face still wearing that classic Hargrove scowl.