Moths to a Flame

Despite the notable adipose that Jackie had magically added to her hindquarters, Felicia was none the wiser. Due to the spell, she was oblivious to her new pear shape: the fact she could be objectively called “fat ass”, especially in the workout pants she was currently **** to wear.

She’d bought the pants 3 months ago to flaunt her toned lower body in the gym and around campus. Up until a few days ago, the pants performed as expected. Now, they were merciless in showcasing her magically enhanced buttocks; each one a flabby, floppy monument to a slovenly excess the girl wasn’t truly guilty of.

However, she did currently embody it. Magic doesn’t care about fairness and neither did the teen boys sniggering at the “pawg” in the too small leggings reaching for the top shelf. They excitedly elbowed each other to point out either her jiggling butt, her wedgied butt crack, or the sweat that seemed to form within it. “Dawg, she doesn’t even have panties on, I swear” one exhaled with a hushed sense of awe.

Despite them being on the other side of the store, Felicia heard the comment and felt a heat flood her face, but the real shame came from the rush of blood to her crotch. Her first impulse was to turn and glare at the culprit, but something overpowered her. Something needy, something ****. Something had her continue to stack the shelf while gently swaying her ass side to side, occasionally adding a little jump allowing her butt to flex.

But Felicia no longer had so much of a butt to flex, but rather jiggle and clap. The hormonal onlookers were hypnotised by her fat ass threatening to escape her exhausted apparel. Like moths to a flame, they were drawn to her.

As Felicia sensed their approach, she quivered in anticipation. She was getting wet. Despite her increasingly provocative micro-gyrations, she started to panic, internally screaming “what the hell am I doing!?”