Food Court Testing
The Remote of Transformation
chapter 8
by
deleted_user
The food court was a Saturday zoo—screaming kids, harried parents, clusters of teens, and the eternal scent of greasy pretzels and regret. Brandon (still rocking that aggressively average brunette bob, modest C-cups hidden under a sensible blouse) led the charge like a general in sensible flats. Paul trailed behind, constantly adjusting his baggy t-shirt over his plain B-cup chest, cheeks burning every time his new hips brushed against anything. Vince brought up the rear, platinum blonde hair swinging, massive FF tits barely contained by the red push-up bra and a cropped tank top Brandon had forced on “her” before leaving the store. The micro denim skirt kept riding up, flashing the bottom curve of that porn-perfect ass with every step.
Every single person in a fifty-foot radius turned to stare at Vince. Phones came out. A group of college guys at a table actually dropped their fries.
“Fuckin’ hell,” Vince muttered in that breathy Farrah voice, one arm trying (and failing) to corral the heavy jiggle of his chest. “I can feel them all looking. My clit’s throbbing like it’s got its own heartbeat. This body is a walking boner pill.”
Brandon grinned, mousy brown hair bouncing as he scanned the crowd. “Perfect testing ground. We blend now—mostly—and no one’s paying attention to little old us. Let’s have some fun.” He plucked the remote from Paul’s nervous fingers before the nerd could object.
Paul squeaked, “Brandon, we can’t just—”
“Watch and learn, darling.” Brandon pointed the remote at a bored-looking middle-aged dad in a stained polo shirt shoving a burger into his face. Brandon’s mind supplied: average hot girl, early 20s, cheerleader type but not over-the-top.
Click.
The guy froze mid-bite. His body shrank, gut melting away as hips flared dramatically and chest ballooned into perky D-cups straining against the suddenly-tight polo. Face feminized into cute, girl-next-door features with big eyes and glossy lips. Hair lengthened into a bouncy ponytail. In seconds, a pretty young woman sat there in ill-fitting men’s clothes, blinking in shock at her new manicured hands and the way her polo now gapped over impressive cleavage.
“What the—?!” she yelped in a high, confused voice.
Vince laughed—a throaty, porn-star chuckle—and snatched the remote. “My turn, basic bitches.” He zeroed in on a pimply teenage boy scrolling on his phone and thought stacked goth chick, maximum curves, fishnets and attitude.
Click.
The kid’s acne vanished as his frame exploded outward. Skin paled to porcelain, hair dyed jet black and streaked with purple, cascading in waves down to a newly massive ass. Chest surged into heavy, gravity-defying G-cups barely held by a suddenly appearing black corset top. Thighs thickened, hips widened, lips plumped into a permanent pout. The boy-turned-goth bombshell looked down, screamed, then immediately struck a pose like she’d been doing it for years—fishnet stockings materializing over long legs.
“Holy shit, this thing is addictive,” Vince growled, squeezing one of his own enormous tits absentmindedly. The motion made his nipples stiffen visibly through the tank top. “Look at her go. Bet she’s already wet too.”
Brandon clapped delightedly. “Brava! Next—one for Paul. Something to loosen you up.” He aimed at a quiet, frumpy woman in her thirties eating alone and thought bubbly party girl, thicker build, big ass and tits, party-ready.
Click.
The woman’s frumpy clothes tightened as her body plumped up in all the right places—soft belly becoming a cute muffin top, hips and ass ballooning into thick, jiggly curves that strained her pants. Breasts swelled into heavy EE-cups that bounced as she gasped. Face brightened into cute, made-up features with big smiley eyes. She stood up suddenly, clothes shifting into a tight dress, and immediately started dancing in place to the mall music, laughing loudly. “Oh my god, what is this feeling? I feel amazing!”
Paul’s plain face went pale. “Guys, stop! People are noticing! We’re going to get caught—”