The doctor begins his identity transformation into a MILF fashion blogger

The hum of the lab was different tonight - lower, expectant. Dr. Jon Kekyll descended the steps into his basement like a man entering a temple. Concrete walls closed in around him, plastered with old research notes and chaotic sketches. The familiar smell of metal, dust, and ozone clung to the air like static. Every cable on the floor, every blinking light on a dusty console, seemed to nod at him.

He paced slowly across the tile floor, murmuring to himself. “Height was a parlor trick. A test. But now…”

The RAC rested on the central workbench, its interface glowing softly in the dim light. Jon stood over it in nothing but a black compression tank and shorts, the lab’s chill nipping at his skin, amplifying the vulnerability. He tapped through the menus with surgical precision, entering the most complex parameters he’d attempted yet.

On the central monitor, the RAC’s configuration screen glowed softly with its nested menus. He swiped through fields with deliberate precision:
[ PHYSICAL > FULL PROFILE > OVERWRITE: TRUE.]

Then came the new parameters.

Profile Name: Bella Jeong
Age: 44
Ethnicity: Korean
Measurements: 34C-26-30
Profession: Fashion Blogger, Social Media Influencer (Beauty & Fashion)

He hesitated briefly, fingers hovering. Then he added the most crucial part:

Mental Overlay: Mild empathy amplification. Aesthetic fluency. Command of Korean and English. Social agility. Subtle humor. An intuitive sense of self-presentation.
External Perception: User Only. Broad-scale effects mitigated.

Jon read the inputs over three times before stepping back, breathing in deeply. He stared at the full-length mirror beside the bench. His tall, slightly awkward frame looked back - scientific, unstyled, unfinished.

He whispered to himself, “Let’s see how deep this can go.”

He pressed the button.

The change began behind his sternum - a slow unfurling heat, not sharp, but alive. Jon gasped, one hand clenching the edge of the table as the sensation spread like warm wax being poured through his ribcage.

His chest ached, pulling outward, upward - soft pressure beneath the skin pushing flesh into new curves. His nipples tingled, then dulled to a deep, tight throb as his chest rose and filled out into full, natural volume. Not artificial. Not exaggerated. A soft, sculpted weight that moved subtly with every breath.

His waist drew inward with a creeping tension, as though an invisible corset were cinching him into place. Muscles reshaped, not disappearing, but rearranging - form before ****. His spine aligned itself differently, posture pulling taller, more upright. Every inch of him seemed to realign with elegance as its goal. He slowly lifted his hands to his new breasts, pushing into their plushness softly.

His skin flushed briefly - then paled, smoothing in tone, pores diminishing, scars fading. Even his scent shifted - less chemical, more organic, with subtle floral traces he couldn't name.

His arms thinned but didn’t weaken - wrists narrower, hands smaller, fingers lengthening with delicate strength. Veins retreated. Nails reshaped into neat ovals with a natural, high-sheen finish.

He cried out softly as his hips shifted beneath him, bones rotating, joints adjusting with a slow, rubbery crunch. The pain was brief, replaced instantly by a powerful sense of balance. His thighs thickened just enough, muscle layering with fat in careful proportion. His pelvis widened to cradle the change.

Then - his face.

The bones moved like tectonics beneath the skin - cheekbones pushing forward, jaw narrowing, brow softening, nose reshaping with silent efficiency. Hair poured down the sides of his face in glossy, ink-dark waves, stopping just beneath the jawline in a sharply angled bob - minimal and precise, with that lived-in asymmetry only the truly fashionable achieve.

His neck felt longer now, more poised. His tongue tingled as a dozen Korean syllables floated into his brain like forgotten lullabies.

The mirror flickered. She stared back.

Bella Jeong stood slowly, carefully - her bare feet cold on the concrete floor, yet her balance unshakable. The world hadn’t changed, but she had. Every movement carried precision, a poised quietude that hadn’t existed in Jon Kekyll just minutes ago. Her skin glowed faintly under the lab’s harsh fluorescents - dewy, luminous without artifice.

She moved with the calm of someone who already knew the ending to the conversation. No hesitation. Just presence.

In her head, Jon’s voice still echoed - his scientific rigor, his neuroses, his exacting catalog of the RAC’s schematics and theory. All of it intact, neatly archived like a filing system she could access at will.

But layered atop that now was something else. A new rhythm of thought - Bella's rhythm. Calm where Jon was frantic. Intuitive where he was procedural. She didn’t just think; she felt her way through intention. A taste for texture, proportion, restraint. The beginnings of a stylist's mind - an instinct for curation that pulsed just beneath the surface, gaining clarity by the second.

Her reflection in the mirror was still strange to her - beautiful, yes, but new. It wasn’t vanity that made her pause. It was calibration.

The body was hers now, fully and without compromise. High cheekbones, a smooth jawline, lips that curved with natural confidence. Her neck was long and graceful; collarbones framed a now-sculpted chest that rose and fell beneath the thin compression fabric of her top, which already felt utilitarian and drab against her new self.

She turned from the mirror and walked toward the storage bins beside the bench. Her fingers brushed past a tangle of Jon’s old T-shirts and thermal tops. She selected one in matte black, held it up, and narrowed her eyes - then reached for the RAC again, this time with aesthetic intent.

She slid her finger across the screen, selecting:
[ SUBJECT: CLOTHING PILE > ADAPT TO PROFILE: BELLA JEONG ]

The cotton in her hand shimmered slightly, then folded in on itself. Threads drew inward, reshaped by invisible vectors. In less than five seconds, it had become a fitted black tank, plunging in a clean, sculpted V that exposed her collarbones and flaunted her chest.

Bella tugged it over her head and smoothed it against her new form. The fabric hugged her with a whisper.

Next, she retrieved a pair of Jon’s old faux-leather motorcycle pants - ridiculous when he’d bought them for a Halloween party, but now... workable. She held them up, exhaled slowly, and ran her fingers down the seams.

The RAC hummed again.

The pants reshaped themselves, tightening, elongating the lines, tapering at the ankle and high on the waist. Now they clung with purpose - sexy, sharp, sculptural.

Finally, the jacket. A heavy, unused vintage moto-jacket Jon had thrifted years ago, still smelling faintly of someone else’s perfume. She slid it over her arms. The weight felt right. Grounding. Lined in satin, it moved with her, not against her. The shoulders sat high and wide, an intentional silhouette.

She turned toward the mirror once more.

But something was missing.

With an efficient motion, she grabbed a small elastic band from the tray of wire ties and secured her hair at the nape of her neck into a low, tight ponytail. Sleek. Minimal. Her jaw and cheekbones snapped into focus with the gesture.

From the drawer by the RAC, she plucked the finishing touch: a pair of oversized black sunglasses.

She slid them on.

The mirror caught her transformation in full now: black-on-black minimalism, body-sculpted elegance, cool authority. She looked like someone who had walked out of a Seoul fashion week afterparty and never looked back.

The RAC pinged softly again, almost reverently:

[USER PROFILE: BELLA JEONG | ACTIVE | STABILITY: 99.2% | MEMORY: J. KEKYLL RETAINED]

Bella stood in the center of the lab, her boots clicking softly against the concrete now. Her hand rested on her hip. Her other hand lifted the sunglasses slightly so her eyes - dark, intelligent, and utterly in control - could meet her own in the mirror.

“Jon built the device,” she said quietly, voice low and velvety. “But for now, Bella decides how it’s used.”

She smiled. Not for the mirror. Not for anyone watching. Just for herself.

Then she reached for the old lab camera, still wired to the monitor.

Time to document.