Jamie kept his head down as he slipped out of the parlor, ignoring the swirl of voices and laughter behind him. The music was too loud. The room was too crowded. Every time he tried to join a conversation, someone talked over him or turned away. He didn’t belong here.
He wiped his sweaty palms against his slacks and walked down the hallway, telling himself he was looking for the bathroom. Truth was, he just needed to breathe.
He was a data analyst and wasn’t even sure he wanted to come to this party, but he thought it would look bad if he passed. He couldn’t afford to lose his job.
The hallway was wide and dimly lit, the walls lined with framed artwork and antique mirrors. Here, the noise faded and he could only hear the muffled thud of the music, and the soft creak of the floor beneath his shoes.
He slowed his pace when he saw the painting at the end of the hall.
It was a large painting in an ornate gold frame. It was of a beautiful woman wearing a black and form-fitting dress. Jamie was made a bit nervous by the revealing nature of it all. The dress had a deep neckline with lace-like texture that hugged her chest and hips. A few thin straps curved across the bare skin of her thighs.
Her hair was a warm, golden brown, parted in the middle and styled in a sleek bob that framed her face. Her lips were full and inviting. Her eyes were sharp and direct and seemed to stare right into him.
Jamie took a step closer.
The air around him felt warmer. He glanced up at the painting, unable to look away.
He felt something shift under his skin.
It was subtle at first. A buzzing in his hands, like they’d fallen asleep. The tingling moved up his arms, crawled across his shoulders. He looked down at his palms as they suddenly felt different.
Then the pressure started in his chest.
It wasn’t painful, but it was insistent. A tightness, building from deep inside. His shirt felt snug, the fabric pulling slightly. He reached up, confused, and ran his hand over his torso. His pectorals were swelling beneath his fingertips, rounding outward in soft, foreign curves. His nipples strained against the cloth, sensitive in a way that made him flinch.
“What the hell…” he whispered.
His voice cracked, then thinned. Not high-pitched, but higher and lighter.
He stumbled back a step and felt the waist of his slacks constrict. It felt…wrong. They twisted on his hips as his shape changed beneath them. His waist pulled inward. His hips pressed outward. His center of balance shifted so suddenly he had to catch himself on the wall.
His thighs began to fill out. Soft, strong muscle beneath smooth skin. He felt them brush together, just slightly. His pants didn’t fit right anymore. They hung open, belt slack, fabric bunched at the knees.
Jamie looked down and saw that his boxers were sliding past sculpted legs that didn’t belong to him.
He gasped and the sound came out half a moan.
His hands trembled as he tried to pull up his pants, but they wouldn’t stay. They were no longer shaped for this body. His legs were longer now, and the muscle tone had changed. His thighs looked like they belonged to a model, not a man.
The shirt clung tighter across his chest. He could see the fabric pulling around the new curves, stretching across full breasts that hadn’t been there minutes ago. They rose and fell as he breathed harder. His fingers brushed over them again. His skin was so sensitive. It made his heart race.
The changes moved up his neck. His Adam’s apple shrank beneath his skin, the tension in his throat shifting. He swallowed and felt the difference immediately. His voice felt lighter in his own mouth, like it didn’t belong to him anymore.
His jaw tingled. He reached up to feel it, fingertips gliding across smoother skin. His stubble was gone. His chin was narrower. His cheekbones lifted slightly under his touch.
Then he felt his hair.
It slipped past his ears like a wave, brushing over his neck. He grabbed a handful of it. It was thick, soft, and unfamiliar. It kept growing, spilling down over his shoulders and collarbone. A few strands hung over his eye, and when he pushed them aside, he saw his reflection in the dark glass of a nearby picture frame.
He didn’t recognize himself.
The face staring back was symmetrical, elegant. She had big eyes, framed by long lashes with full lips. She looked shocked, confused, afraid, and stunningly beautiful.
Her chest rose as her top changed. It was no longer his button-down, it was something else entirely. It was black, tight, and made of textured material that left his shoulders bare. The neckline dipped lower than anything he would’ve worn. Thin straps clung to the sides of his hips, crossing exposed skin where his pants had once been.
He reached down and realized there was nothing left between his legs. Not even a trace.
His knees gave out. He sank slowly to the floor, one hand pressed against the wall for balance, the other trembling in front of him. His nails were long now. Long, manicured, and painted.
His breath came in shallow, shaking gasps.
“…what the fuck…”
Jamie sat still on the floor, chest rising and falling beneath the too-tight top. Her breathing was fast and uneven. Every small movement reminded her this wasn’t her body.
She turned her head, slowly, toward the painting and was thunderstruck.
The painting had changed and the woman inside of it was gone.
In her place was a man captured mid-step, frozen in the act of approaching the painting. He was wearing the same gray slacks and light blue dress shirt he’d had on earlier in the night. His mouth was slightly open. His eyes wide. He looked completely unaware.
Jamie crawled toward the painting, palms flat against the wood floor. She pulled herself up on shaky legs and stood in front of it.
It was unmistakable. That was his body. That was him inside the painting. And the woman that was there before was now her body.
Her lips parted, but she couldn’t speak. Her throat felt tight. Her hands reached out to touch the canvas, but her fingers stopped just short. The paint shimmered under the hallway light, as if still wet.
She turned and looked behind her. The hall was empty. She could still hear the music from the party.
She looked down at her body again. The dress left nothing to the imagination. Her skin, her curves, the way her breasts shifted slightly with each breath. Somehow it was all real. And it all belonged to her now.
Jamie stepped back from the painting, nearly stumbling in her heels. Her legs still felt unstable beneath her. Her breath was fast causing her chest to rise and fall rapidly, breasts pushing up against the neckline of the dress with every shallow breath. She could still feel the phantom sensation of her old body, but it was gone. What she was now was, lithe, feminine, tight, and entirely wrong.
Then she heard footsteps. They were distant at first but definitely coming down the hallway toward her.
Her body moved before her mind caught up. She crouched down quickly and backed into the shadow of a nearby alcove, behind a tall antique cabinet. Her bare shoulder scraped the wall as she ducked low. The dress barely covered anything when she moved like this. She crossed her arms over her chest and pulled her knees in.
She could feel her heart pounding in her throat.
Don’t see me. Don’t come down this way. Just turn around.
But even as she panicked, she noticed the way her thighs pressed together now. The smoothness of her skin. How soft the underside of her arms felt against her chest.
She shook her head. Focus.
Her thoughts were scattered. She needed to find help. She needed to get out of this house. But her mind kept drifting.
Is this what all women’s bodies feel like?
So warm, so tightly packed, so… aware. Her skin was responsive to everything. The draft along her thighs. The texture of the wall. The way the air moved beneath her dress.
She tried to push it down, but part of her wasn’t scared. Part of her was curious. Part of her felt… electric.
She closed her eyes, pressed her lips together, and tried to breathe quietly through her nose.
I shouldn’t be thinking about this. But she couldn’t help it.
How am I supposed to walk around like this? Everyone would stare.
The thought came unfiltered. They’d stare because I look… hot.
What the hell is happening to me?
The footsteps were closer now.
Jamie held her breath, but her body didn’t feel tense anymore. Her heart was still racing, but it wasn’t from fear. Her skin felt hot. Her thighs were pressed together. Her chest rose and fell with slow, shallow breaths. Her body felt so good.
She shifted slightly and felt the friction of the dress over her chest. Her nipples were still sensitive. The slightest movement made them ache.
She opened her eyes and looked down at herself. There was no denying it. The body was stunning. Curved, exposed, dressed in something that fit like it was painted on. Her waist was tight. Her legs were long. Her skin smooth and flushed. She looked like someone who turned heads. She looked like someone men wanted.
She stood up slowly.
No more hiding.
Her heels clicked softly against the floor as she stepped out into the light. The dress shifted with her hips. Her balance had changed, but it didn’t feel awkward. It felt right.
She heard the footsteps stop and when she turned, he was there.
Mr. Bradford stood at the end of the hall, looking directly at her. His expression was unreadable.
Jamie’s body reacted before she could think. She was wet. She knew it without even checking. Just looking at him stirred something deep within her.
Her body wanted something and it wasn’t subtle.
Mr. Bradford’s eyes moved over her body. He looked pleased.
My body pleases him.
When he smiled, she felt her knees weaken.
Jamie sat down on the edge of the chaise, crossing her legs slowly, one smooth thigh resting over the other. Her back stayed straight. Her shoulders relaxed. Her fingers draped loosely over her knee, nails glossy and red. She didn’t plan any of it.
She turned slightly and looked back over her shoulder, lips parted just enough to draw the eye. Her hair spilled down her back. The dress clung to every curve. The exposed bands over her hips drew attention without needing to move.
She looked like a woman waiting for attention.
She was.
Mr. Bradford came closer. His eyes studied her. Jamie felt it with every inch of her body.
“This isn’t real,” she said, but her voice sounded too soft to believe it. She tried to sound angry. It came out breathy. She didn’t sound convincing, not even to herself.
Bradford stood just a few feet away now. “I assure you it is,” he said. “And I think you’re starting to like it.”
Jamie tried to scoff, but her body didn’t move like that. Instead, her hand slid up along her thigh, fingers adjusting the hem of the dress without even thinking. Her eyes stayed locked on him.
“I didn’t want this,” she whispered.
“No,” he said, stepping closer. “But you were perfect for it.”
Jamie shifted her weight, her posture settling into something deliberate. She didn’t mean to sit like that, but her body knew how. Back straight, legs crossed at the knee, one hand resting lightly on her thigh while the other adjusted the fall of her hair.
Bradford stepped closer. His expression stayed calm, but his eyes were sharp. “You’re adjusting quickly.”
She blinked. “What do you mean?” Her voice cracked again. Lighter, breathier. “Adjusting to what?”
He glanced at the painting behind her, then back to her face. “That painting has been here for years,” he said. “Waiting. For the right shape. The right fit.”
Jamie tilted her head. Her legs shifted without thinking, uncrossing and extending slightly. Her body language was open and relaxed, but her mind was far from it.
“What does that mean? Fit for what?”
Bradford paused just in front of her now. “I needed someone real. Someone to become what that painting was always meant to hold.” He studied her face. “A wife. One that looks the way I want. Acts the way I want.”
Jamie’s breath caught. “You planned this?”
“I prepared for it,” he said. “But I didn’t force it. You found it on your own.”
She wanted to argue. To stand up and leave. But she didn’t. She stayed seated, eyes fixed on him. Her lips parted slightly. Her fingers curled softly against the cushion beneath her.
Her thoughts fought each other. There was still a part of her that remembered who she was. She looked up at the painting again, seeing her old self. That part of herself wanted to be angry, wanted to run.
But her body didn’t listen. It didn’t want to leave. It didn’t feel like it had been taken. It felt like it had been waiting. Like this was who she was always meant to be.
Jamie lowered her gaze for a moment, then looked up at him again. “So… what now?”
Bradford’s smile was small but certain. “Now we see how well you really fit.”
Jamie stood slowly. Her legs extended in a deliberate motion, hips shifting with balance she hadn’t needed to think about. She adjusted the top of her dress, tugging gently to keep it in place across her chest. Her heels clicked once against the floor. She looked at him.
Mr. Bradford didn’t move. His expression stayed calm, but his eyes watched her every motion.
Jamie took one step forward. Then another.
She shifted her hips as she walked without needing to think about it. Her body moved that way now. When she stopped, she let her weight rest on one leg, hips tilted, one hand resting lightly on her thigh. She knew how it looked. She could feel the air against the bare skin of her back, the thin black straps framing her curves. Her long hair fell over her shoulders, framing her bare upper chest.
She gave her old self, the one in the painting one last long look. Then she turned towards Mr. Bradford, Daniel.
His eyes stayed on her.
“You said I was perfect,” she said softly.
Daniel didn’t speak right away. He stepped closer. Close enough she could feel the warmth of him again.
“You are,” he said. “I’ve waited a long time.”
Jamie swallowed. Her body responded to every word he said. Her skin buzzed with awareness. She should have been asking questions about how, about why, but none of it came. All she wanted was to be closer to him.
Her hands slid behind her slowly, resting just above the curve of her hips. Her back arched slightly. She tilted her head and let her lips part.
“I’m not that Jamie anymore,” she said. “Am I?”
He shook his head. “No. Not anymore.”
She smiled and looked down at her own body again. The soft rise of her chest, the tight dress, the long legs. There was nothing left to resist. She didn’t want to. She had everything she needed now. A body that made her feel alive. And the man who gave it to her.
Her gaze lifted again and she stepped forward until her chest brushed his.
“Then let me show you what I can be for you, Daniel.”
She leaned in, pressing her chest lightly to his. She tilted her face up, close enough to feel his breath on her lips. Her eyes flicked between his mouth and his eyes.
He didn’t move at first. His gaze studied her face, watching the subtle way her lips parted, how her chest rose with each shallow breath. He didn’t have to say anything. She was already his.
Her hand slid up to rest on his chest. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt. Her other arm hung loose at her side, her posture open, shoulders rolled back, letting him see the shape she had become. Her body was built for him, her mind programmed for him. Her very skin seemed to respond to his nearness.
Her lips met his.
Her body hummed like it had been waiting for this. Her mouth moved against his with a need that was deep, pulsing, and instinctive. She pressed closer, letting her curves mold against him, her hands sliding higher, holding him like she never wanted to let go.
When they finally parted, her lips were slightly swollen, her eyes half-lidded.
She breathed out his name. “Daniel.”
Her voice was soft and warm, shaped by longing. Her chest still brushed his, her lips still close. She didn’t pull away. She didn’t want to pull away. Her body leaned in again, ready for more.
But his hand moved to her waist and stopped her.
“Later,” he said. The word landed like a soft command. “We’ll have plenty of time later.”
Jamie blinked. For a second, the need still burned under her skin, but it was no longer overwhelming. She nodded once, lips still parted, eyes searching his for something she already knew. She would wait. Because she belonged to him now. And when he wanted her again she’d be ready.
They turned together toward the end of the hall.
She smiled.
Jamie knew the impression she’d make. She knew how the dress clung to her. She knew how the heels made her hips move as she walked.
She was going to be the best wife for Daniel.
Daniel took her hand. His grip was firm, warm.
Jamie looked down at their fingers, interlocked. Her nails were polished, her hand feeling delicate in his.
It felt right.
He gave her an affirming look and they moved forward together as one.
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