The Bridesmaids Meet in the Washroom

Paula hustled into the washroom on Claire's heels. Placing a make-up bag on the counter the three women found themselves at a loss of what touch ups there were to perform as they looked in the mirror. In fact, they each found themselves entranced with their increasingly supernatural beauty.

Turning her back to the mirror Heather pondered for a moment, something just wasn’t right in her appearance. Pulling her hair pins she ran her hands through her silky hair as it fell, oblivious to how her naturally straightened platinum blonde hair was now streaked with a variety of shades as it transitioned to a glossy raven mane. Pleased with the feel of her hair she began running her hands across her smooth skin relishing the sensation before looking back to the mirror and admiring her new curves.

A small voice cried out amongst her thoughts. The image from the phone came back to mind. Sandra was right! The alarm quickly was suppressed by other thoughts quickly affirming it. ‘Oh how right she was,’ ‘I look SO much more amazing.’

With a gasp at the feel of her sensitive breasts Heather looked to Claire and Paula with a smile. Wow, how irresistibly attractive we are, she then thought embracing the cups of her corrupted wedding dress's corset. Watching her bridesmaids she could only grin in delight, watching as they felt across their smooth faces, new curvy contours, and fondling the breasts almost spilling free from their tops.

Fondling herself through the fabric she closed her eyes and threw her head back, various thoughts and images of women in corsets with no cups flooded her mind, their large firm breasts sitting perfectly over the top, as the crotches remained exposed beneath their perfectly contoured figures. Heather smiled, her mind realizing it wasn't just stray thoughts. Opening herself to the ideas and suggestions she could feel the imprint of the Idol's influence and will grow over her thoughts.

Glancing at her bridesmaids she marvelled at the now lush green of their dresses, the jagged leaf like edges reaching down from one thigh on an angle across to above the knee in the other side. The ivy like pattern constricting around them flaunting every exaggerated contour from their hips to the cleavage pushed upwards to the point of almost bursting free.

And the foreboding black blossoms blooming over top the edge of their left nipples, the corrupted flowers having taken root into their hosts as they corrupted their attire, and souls amplifying and fertilizing off the taint of every drop of corrupted ****, sexual thought, and even some actions they had imbibed.

As Heather turned and looked at her reflections a new realization dawned on her.