Brandon Steps Out The Remote of Transformation chapter 10 by deleted_user

Brandon stepped out into the hallway, pausing just long enough to slip the sleek black remote into the robe’s pocket. He told himself it was pure responsibility—Vince couldn’t be trusted alone with that thing and a half-naked, freshly transformed landlady. But a tiny, mischievous voice in the back of his head whispered that maybe he just wanted to play a little.

He grinned at his reflection in the elevator mirror. “Okay, fine. A girl can be responsible and curious.”

Once outside the building, he pulled the remote out and pointed it at himself, thinking clearly: Change my outfit to something cute, casual, and perfect for running errands—fitted jeans, a stylish cropped hoodie, sneakers, and maybe some subtle makeup while we’re at it. Keep everything else the same.

The remote hummed. A quick ripple of light washed over him. The silk robe shimmered and reformed into slim dark-wash jeans that hugged his ass just right, a soft cropped gray hoodie that showed a sliver of toned midriff, and clean white sneakers. A light touch of eyeliner and gloss appeared on his face, giving him that effortless polished look. He looked like a confident, fashionable gay guy heading out for a productive afternoon.

“Much better,” he muttered, twirling once for his own amusement. “Now let’s get this landlady some clothes before she starts yelling at the walls in that delightful trucker voice.”

He drove to the mall, heading straight for the store his drag-queen buddy swore by—Trendy Threads, a bright, chaotic boutique that carried everything from basic femme basics to full glam. The place smelled like vanilla candles and new clothes. Mannequins with exaggerated curves posed in the windows.

Brandon browsed the racks, holding up crop tops and high-waisted shorts, picturing them on Linda’s new stacked figure. The problem hit him when he reached for a size chart: he had no idea what her measurements were now. The transformation had given her a ridiculous hourglass—big perky tits, tiny waist, wide hips—but exact numbers? Zero clue. And he didn’t have her phone number.

He paused in the fitting room area, remote tucked discreetly in his hoodie pocket. The idea floated into his head, equal parts practical and deliciously naughty.

I could just… turn myself into an exact copy of her for a few minutes. Same body, same proportions. Then I’d know exactly what fits. I could try stuff on myself and see what looks killer on that frame. Purely for shopping purposes. Totally responsible.