Retail Therapy The Remote of Transformation chapter 5 by deleted_user

Brandon’s eyes lit up like he’d just been handed the keys to a private Victoria’s Secret after hours. He clapped once, sharp and decisive, silk robe fluttering. “That’s it. Decision made. We are not letting this goddess body rot in your crusty basketball shorts and stained wife-beaters. Vince, darling—you—are—going—shopping. Right now.”

Vince’s plush lips parted in horror. The motion made his new face look even more like a centerfold caught mid-moan. “Shopping? Bro, I’ve got tits the size of fucking melons and a pussy that keeps twitching every time I breathe wrong. I’m not parading this shit in public!”

“You absolutely are,” Brandon purred, already scrolling on his phone for the nearest mall with plus-size-couture-meets-slut-chic vibes. “You look like you cost eight hundred dollars an hour. We’re honoring the aesthetic. Besides, I’ve always wanted a hot blonde bestie to dress up. Paul can come too—he’ll carry the bags and blush adorably.”

Paul squeaked from the couch, “I have midterms—”

“Midterms can wait. Your roommate just became a walking wet dream. Priorities.” Brandon tossed Vince a pair of his own emergency sweatpants—way too long and loose on the new shorter frame—and a baggy hoodie that still couldn’t hide the obscene jut of those FF-cups or the way the hoodie hem rode up to show a strip of toned, tanned midriff.

Vince waddled (there was no other word for it) toward the door, constantly adjusting. Every step made his massive breasts sway and bounce heavily, nipples dragging against the fabric in a way that kept sending little sparks straight to his new clit. “This is bullshit,” he grumbled in that breathy porn-star voice. “My ass is eating these sweatpants. Feels like I’m smuggling two basketballs back there. And stop staring, Paul, you virgin.”

“I’m not staring!” Paul lied, face beet red as he tried not to watch the hypnotic jiggle of Vince’s chest with every frustrated step.

Brandon looped his arm through Vince’s, guiding the disoriented blonde bombshell like a trophy. “Relax, princess. I’m gay, remember? I’m not checking you out—I’m checking the outfit potential. Though I will admit, the way those tits move is art. Pure, bouncy, expensive art. Just… try not to moan every time we hit a speed bump, okay? It’s giving ‘desperate cam girl’ and we haven’t even left the apartment.”

Vince flushed, equal parts pissed and shamefully intrigued. He caught his reflection in the hallway mirror again—platinum hair tousled, lips pouty, body screaming “fuck me” in eight different fonts. His new pussy gave another traitorous throb. “Fuck… this body’s horny as shit. I keep thinking about getting railed and I don’t even like dudes that way. Or… do I now? Brain’s all scrambled.”

“Language, bestie,” Brandon teased, steering him toward the car. “We’ll get you proper support bras, some cute crop tops that actually fit those monsters, maybe a few skirts that show off that criminal ass. You’ll thank me when you see how good you look in heels.”

Vince grumbled the whole way down the stairs, one hand unconsciously cupping the underside of a heavy breast to stop the bouncing. “If I accidentally squirt in some changing room because this clit won’t quit, I’m blaming you, Brandon. And Paul—bring the remote. I’m not staying like this forever… probably.”

Paul trailed behind, remote tucked nervously in his pocket, trying not to stare at the way Vince’s new hips rolled with every step like they were built for a runway… or a stripper pole.

They piled into the car—Vince in the backseat, immediately complaining about the seatbelt cutting right between his tits—and headed for the mall.