Getting some answers

Chapter 3 - Now we’re getting somewhere

*So kid… you’re telling me that you… and your mom… somehow convinced Tiffany that her pants were the same size as they’ve always been – WHEN IN FACT!... that was not the case. And because of this, you’re telling me that somehow my gaslighting magic, which I invented, made her ass grow? Even after the fact that I – again I, the creator of this so-called magic – told you that it was physically not possible? Is that right?* the disembodied “AI” voice sarcastically lets out.

“Yeah yeah ya! Exactly!”

*Come on! Why do the dudes I chose always have to be such idiots?*

“Hey! Watch it! I know the size of my sister’s ass and that wasn’t-”

*-and why do they never realize how perverted they are! Come on kid, do you hear how you sound?*

“Just wait! Regardless of why I know the size of Tiffany’s ass, I can tell you almost certainly that it’s true! It’s not by a lot, but enough to notice! Just enough so that her stretched-out pants fit exactly as they did before I fucked them up!”

*Fine fine. Let me just see for myself*

I hear the sound of footsteps tip-toeing down the hall and stop as if someone were peeking over the corner view my mom and sister eating pizza in the kitchen.

*Holy shit!* I hear from where the footsteps supposedly stopped. Suddenly I hear the footsteps turn around and scurry back to me.

“What the fuck is that! How are you walking?”

*Oh that? That was walking_sounds.mp3. I recently heard that my lack of a physical presence freaks some people out so that’s just one of the things that I’m doing to make the customer experience smoother ya know? Wait, what the fuck who cares! I saw Tiffany’s ass! I measured it actually and it’s bigger, much bigger than I thought possible in a day!*

“So what does this mean?”

*IT MEANS I’M MORE POWERFUL THAT I THOUGHT WOOHOO BABY! I CAN CHANGE YOUR BODIES TOO?*

“Wait, isn’t that a little too much? I mean for your plans on supposedly unlocking humanity’s real purpose, isn’t that overkill.”

*I mean ya, but isn’t it sick?*

“I mean, sure but like- are you gonna go evil and melt us all now?”

*Even if I could, that defeats the purpose! I’m not like the other AI douches who want to end the world. Those guys are straight a-holes for no reason! Plus, I wouldn’t be too worried even if I did get some funny ideas. I’m not exactly sure how it works, hell I’m not even sure I could do it right now if I tried. But from the looks of it, the changes were slow and costly. Plus, I don’t think I can actually change people’s bodies… I kinda get it…*

“What do you mean kinda get it?! Isn’t it part of your programming???”

*Cut me some slack, would ya! Imagine someone attached a third arm to you and you had to figure out how to move it! I think I can just affect the hormones that encourage growth but I don’t think I could do it on my own. Plus, why would I want to, then you wouldn’t have to work for it!*

“So what do you want me to do”

*Well, I didn’t know I could do this before you activated it, but now I can sort of feel it there as an inner part of my programming. The more I do it, the better I’ll probably get at it. But as I said, I don’t think I could pull this off on demand… but luckily I have the world’s leading expert on body modification right in front of me!*

“Well, I wouldn’t exactly say I’m an expert. I just did it once.”

*That’s more than the rest of us combined! Now get to work!*

—-----------------

Well shit… a few hours have passed and I’m still stumped. He just wants me to “gEt tO wOrK”? How the hell am I supposed to know what that means? I thought he was helping me out and suddenly I’m his unpaid intern. If he was giving me hints or riddles, then that’s one thing – but no clues at all? Absolutely absurd.

I spent so much time thinking things through that Tiffany already went off and left for a sleepover; there goes my only successful test subject. I guess I could wait until tomorrow to resume things, but I really feel like I had some good momentum going.

I mean there’s always Mom, but usually, on her days off, she likes to take an afternoon nap so I doubt I’ll make much progress. Though I have nothing better to do so I get up and walk to her room. As I approach, I hear the sound of a video playing from her TV, so she must be awake.

Knock Knock Knock

“Mom?” I call out. I don’t really need her for anything, but in order for me to formulate a plan I’m sure just being around her will help.

“Yes, dear?” she calls back in a restful voice.

“Can I come in for a sec?” I ask.

“Mhm, just give me a second,” she says as I hear the sound of her bedsheets rustling.

I hear the sound of her bedroom lock clicking, meaning she remotely unlocked it from her bed which I take as an implied invitation into the room.

I open the door and see my mom laying in bed covered by a thick blanket from her collarbones down. Her shoulders don’t seem to be covered by more than two straps, but I can’t tell if it's from a bra or undershirt. I say undershirt because I see the original shirt she was wearing from earlier tossed into a neat pile on the side of her bed.

I chat with her for a bit and ask her a few random questions so that it seems like I had a real reason to talk with her. This goes on for about five minutes until I realize that I have to leave quickly in order to avoid appearing weird.

I begin to formulate a plan in my head. A couple of key takeaways so far:

-Does mom sleep in her underwear?

-Will she sleep with her blanket off if it is hot enough?

I mean, both of these can be answered if I just find out and check. However, clearly, Mom sleeps with her door locked, otherwise, I might already know the answer to these questions. So my current goal: try to figure out how to gain access to her room at night.

Here’s the thing, this might be easier than expected; Mom controls her door’s lock wireless with the smart computer chip in her brain. That means that the door's state is directly tied to mom’s consciousness, which I have recently learned that I have some slight control over.

“So Mom, why do you sleep with the door locked?” I asked. I realize that this is a strange question, but not anything too abnormal so I don’t think she’ll make a big deal out of it.

“Uhh-” she says, rightfully caught off guard. “Well, just force of habit I guess, why?”

“I mean, I just thought it was a little odd is all,” I say.

“How so? And why do you ask now all of a sudden?” she asks as she repositions herself into a sitting position. Though her blanket reveals more of her skin, I still can’t tell exactly what she’s wearing but one thing is certain: whatever it is isn’t exactly conservative. I take a deep breath as I continue to hold myself together.

“I mean, I thought it was just common knowledge that sleeping with your door locked was a fire hazard. I mean that’s what you’ve always told us. Weren’t you the one who showed me the article about someone dying because a firefighter couldn’t reach their room?” I say.

All of what I said is true–mostly at least. Mom has always told Tiffany and me to sleep with our doors unlocked, but that rule started out when we were kids when Mom needed to come in and out of our rooms often. And there was a news story about someone dying like that in a fire a few towns over, however, Mom never actually discussed it with me.

All the important parts of the story are true but everything else is just made up. Though, it’s believable enough for Mom to just assume I am telling the truth and for her subconscious to just fill in the gaps within her memory.

Mom pauses for a second to consider what I said, but this goes on for a moment too long to the extent that you wouldn’t even notice it if you weren’t looking for something. It’s as if for this fraction of a second, she isn’t “home” as her mind is rewritten.

“Yeah, exactly! That’s why I always tell you and Tiffany not to lock your doors when going to bed,” Mom lets out casually.

Hmm… it obviously worked but it was way easier than when I tricked Tiffany into giving me her underwear. Since what I’m telling Mom is already common sense, it didn’t take much to kick in the gas-lighting magic.

Well… there’s not much more I can do now except wait for tonight. In the meantime…

“Mom, by the way, do you know where the sewing machine is?”

* * *

Fuck! I quickly grab a paper towel and press it upon the wound formed by the sewing needle. A red stain forms and slowly begins to bloom outward from the nucleus of my cut. I’ve never been good at any sort of craft, so I do my best to follow along with a poorly edited tutorial that I found on youtube.

At this point, this isn’t a matter of testing; it’s a matter of replicating. I am certain that these powers made Tiffany’s butt grow, which is pretty amazing considering that she is only a few pounds in the correct areas away from being the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. I could make her butt larger, but I think it would be best to work on her body in a more well-rounded matter so that I don’t end up with a t-rex-proportioned sister. That’s why I’ve chosen to focus my sewing “skills” on her arsenal of many bra’s–none of which I can really tell the difference from.

She is currently a size AA cup which is the smallest one could have. And look, I have no problem with a small chest. I think I speak for every man in the world when I say that the best boob is just a naked boob. However, there’s just something about making it a little harder for my conservative little sister to dress non-revealingly that drives me crazy. Right now, even the part of my brain that feels guilty taking advantage of these powers is being silent since it too would get a kick out of taking back some power for a change.

Tiffany is spending the night at her friend's house so I had time to go to the store and buy replicas of the bras that she has–only each of them size A instead of AA, a one size jump. Luckily, Tiffany does most of her undergarment shopping from one store, so I was able to find replicas of the bras that she wears most commonly. For the pieces that I couldn’t find a copy of, I just got something close enough.

I then spent the rest of the day swapping the size tags on all of her AA-sized bras with the tags on the new A-sized copies. I originally planned on just using the same band measurement (which is the length of the strap that goes around Tiffany’s torso) with the larger cup, but I realized that I had to tighten the band as well to secure a snug fit. If Tiffany’s tits actually get bigger, then I might have to readjust the band to make it loose enough to compensate after the fact.

This takes a few more hours and I only get about halfway through. By this point, I decided to call it a night. I finished about half of the bras and will finish the rest tomorrow morning before she comes homes. If anything, I focused on the bras that she wears most often, so I’m probably good for the time being.

As I open the underwear drawer in her dresser, I carefully place my newly created counterfeits in with the rest of her clothes. It looks a little bit too neat, so I begin to shuffle the pile until it looks naturally messy. As I do this, my hand catches something hard; I dig around and pull out a slightly worn-down journal. Her diary!? I flip open to the first page and see an entry written 5 years ago when she must’ve been in middle school. In it, she wrote complaining about how lame it is to get picked up by her brother from school.

I flip a few pages further and see her talking about how other girls in her school have begun to “develop” and she’s still crossing her fingers.

I flip a few more pages and randomly get to a more chaotic-looking page written sometime in her late high school. From the looks of it, it seems to be her venting about all of her insecurities; it’s a very long list but one of the items near the top is her small chest size. She blames her trouble with boys on her petite frame and intimidating nature.

I look down into the drawer to find more secret items but only notice a B-sized bra that I didn’t make myself. Why would she buy a bra that’s multiple sizes too big? Then I noticed the padding; Tiffany has a few larger bras and uses foam inserts to make it seem like she has a larger chest.

Sigh… just when I thought I could get away with my evil thoughts I have to be reminded that Tiffany is still human. I quietly clean up and walk out of the room feeling a little bit ashamed of myself. I try to reason with myself that I could view my actions as just helping her out; I don’t need to take advantage of her new and improved body after all.

However, my voice of reason is again suppressed as I walk by Mom’s door taunting me like an open cookie jar. That door shouldn’t be locked… I stop and stare at it for a moment… just a peak never hurt anybody… and for all I know maybe it didn’t even work.

I inch towards her door and grab the doorknob, pausing at my one last chance to turn around. I place my ear against the wooden frame and hear the sound of an ad on TV which means she must be asleep as she would’ve skipped past it by now.

I slowly spin my wrist and turn the doo-... HOLY SHIT!- I mean holy shit! I have to be careful to keep quiet or else Mom will wake up, but she really left her room unlocked! If she’s really asleep in there, that means there’s nothing holding me back. I contemplate my morals for a few moments but despite my better judgment I quietly creep the door open and take a peek inside.

A wave of relief and disappointment washes over me as I see Mom sleeping fast asleep in bed under her blanket. What was I thinking? I almost snooped on Mom just to try and catch a peak of a little bit of skin. What’s wrong with me? That woman raised me for crying out loud!

I begin to shut the door when a thought pops into my mind. Sure, I am relieved that Mom being fully covered gave me an opportunity to regain my composure, however, I still can’t shake the disappointment. Why do I feel that way? Because deep down I really do want to see Mom naked. My initial relief exists solely because if Mom was sleeping in a skimpy outfit, I wouldn't have been able to stop myself. I’m relieved that there’s something to stop me and keep me in check just like finding Tiffany’s diary was.

Alternatively… this all just makes me realize how much anticipation and disappointment have been slowly building up within me. All these powers and all this work for what? A pizza?

With a small dose of adrenaline fueling my courage, I take a step into the room and close the door behind me. I walk to the corner of the room where the thermostat is placed and turn it up to be just hot enough to make her blanket uncomfortable but just cool enough to keep her asleep.

The heater in the house doesn’t take long to boot up so within minutes I feel the room get hotter and hotter. Before I touched anything, it was already moderately warm so it doesn’t take long to reach an uncomfortable temperature. As this happens, I watch anxiously as Mom tosses and turns in her bed–the thought of what might come is enough to cause a tent to pop up in my pants. Naturally, I reach down and begin slowly caressing my shaft.

Staring at Mom’s delicate face, I imagine circling the tip of my cock around her soft lips as she lets out a delicate coo. What’s wrong with me… With every inch my courage allows me to make towards her, I can make out slightly more details which lessens the load on my imagination.

I dare take one last step closer but stop cold as I hear her begin to stir. She mumbles something under her breath as she turns her body away from me–going from a back to a side sleeping position–, using her momentum to swing her blanket off. With this, her sleeping attire is finally revealed: a basic burgundy set of lingerie that looks like it was designed with comfort in mind.

I know Mom has always been one to dress for appearances, so it makes sense that she has loungewear on hand that lets her feel sexy. However, who sleeps in a bra? I can understand someone sleeping naked but from my experience with bras–I was sewing for the last few hours!--, they are very uncomfortable. Is it possible that the back of her mind knew she was leaving herself more exposed, so she chose to cover up in a manner that’s reasonable to the rest of her outfit?

Regardless, I am left to deal with the reality of standing in utter awe as I am presented with my mom’s magnificent, underwear-clad ass. Look, my family definitely leans more towards the tall yet petite side which is something that is most noticeable with Tiffany. Mom, on the other hand, has an okayish amount more meat on her bones. Her ass isn’t breaking any world records, but from the way her rump is jutting out towards me, I can make out just enough under-butt and cameltoe to justify categorizing her as a milf. The only thing more I could’ve wished for is for her to be wearing a thong, but I’m not complaining. Her underwear doesn’t show much skin, but it’s made of a breathable material that clings tightly to her skin so I can still make out vague details such as the shape of her rear and the washed-out color of her skin beneath the stretched fabric, which is more than enough for me.

With her body turned in the opposite direction, I take one final step closer and am finally inches away from my place of origin. I position myself in intimate proximity and gather a nice whiff of her womanly scents: sweat, fluids, pheromones… I take her strong musk all in. With my face this close to her ass, I can feel the heat of her sex intensely radiating from her crotch. In the dim television light, I can just barely see a mole on her left cheek through the thinly stretched fabric of her panties.

Of course, her child-bearing hips are just the first thing I notice, but I am caught completely off guard by the sexual appeal of this woman’s back. Whatever yoga and sketchy health shake she drinks must be doing something based on the way her back looks toned yet soft. As my eyes creep back down to her lower back, my entire vision fixates on the way her spine arches which places a subtle emphasis on her ass which multiplies this experience tenfold.

Only covered by the single fabric strap that holds up her bra, the only thing left for me to imagine is how it would feel to reach around her torso and unclasp the hook. The way her dyed hair delicately flows around her shoulders and covers her neck… fuck. Alternatively, if I could just reach around the front and cup her boobs…

Just molecules away from her near-perfect body, I realize how frightened I am. Not because of my deep inner attraction to her, but because I have the power to make her better… to change her. If I lose sight of myself, I could transform her body into something more magnificent and her mind into something more malleable… but I shouldn’t.

Realizing I’ve gone too far, I take a step back and gather my senses. I contemplate taking a video of my view but quickly stop myself as I am hit with a wave of nutless-post-nut-clarity. Taking a video of Mom in this state would be far too degrading and act as a disservice to who she is as a powerful, respectable woman… so I decide a few photos would do.

As I make my way out the door, I see the TV and have an idea. Mom was just watching some random soap opera, but I wonder what she’d think if she woke up to something else. I quietly grab the remote and begin to painstakingly look up some naughty videos.

P… o… r…

Before I can even finish typing “porn,” the television's search bar auto-fill with a good dozen or so xxx-rated videos. What? Does mom masturbate?! I mean… I guess that’s not abnormal but I don’t think anybody would be caught off guard if they found something like this.

To make matters more upsetting, most of the stuff she watches seems to be very female-dominated/male-submissive, which makes sense in a way as Mom likes to present herself as “in charge”.

I do her a favor and get her the most recent best-seller and begin to play it. Instantly, the noise of whatever soap opera she was watching is subtly replaced by the exposition to “M3AT R1D3Rs 3.” Look, either I gaslight Mom into being more submissive or I fix her taste in porn; it’s a win-win.

As I quietly exit the room, I take one last good look at Mom as I shut the door and the room begins to flood with the sounds of obedient, feminine moaning.

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