Get John to dress up

Bessie called out sharply, "Wait, Mom! Before you go, could you send John up here? I need to talk to him about something."

Her mother paused, tray in hand, and nodded with an unnaturally compliant smile. "Of course, dear. I'll tell him right away." She slipped out of the room, leaving Bessie alone with her thoughts. The pancakes sat steaming on the tray, but Bessie's mind was racing. If that first wish had worked—making her mom bring breakfast in bed—then maybe this power was real. The voice in the dream had said she could use it however she wanted. A wicked grin spread across her face as she thought about her brother, John. He was always such a smug asshole, strutting around like he owned the place, teasing her about everything from her messy room to her choice of clothes. Well, if she really had this ability, it was time to turn the tables.

She waited until she heard footsteps thumping up the stairs. John burst into her room without knocking, as usual, wearing his ratty old sweatpants and a faded band tee. "What the hell do you want, Bess? Mom said you needed me for something stupid."

Bessie sat up in bed, the sheets pooling around her waist. She could feel that strange buzz in her bones again, like electricity waiting to be unleashed. "Oh, nothing much," she said casually, her heart pounding. "I just thought you might want to... dress up a bit. You know, for fun."

John snorted, crossing his arms. "Dress up? What are you on about? I'm not playing your dumb games."

But Bessie wasn't listening. She focused her mind, picturing it vividly: John standing there, transformed. With a deliberate click of her fingers, reality shifted like a ripple in a pond. No one else would notice, except if she wanted them to, but she savored the moment for herself.

Instantly, John's clothes vanished in a blink, replaced by the outfit she'd imagined. A frilly pink bra hugged his chest, the cups straining against his pecs in a way that made them look almost comical, like they were trying to form breasts that weren't there. Below that, a tiny black thong rode up his ass, the fabric wedged tight between his cheeks, outlining every curve and leaving little to the imagination. His face was suddenly caked in heavy makeup—bright red lipstick smeared across his lips, making them look plump and inviting; thick eyeliner and mascara that made his eyes pop with a sultry, feminine glare; and a layer of blush that turned his cheeks a rosy pink, as if he were permanently embarrassed.

On his lower body, a skimpy tube top clung to his torso, the material stretched thin over his bra, barely covering his nipples and riding up to expose his midriff. A micro skirt hugged his hips, so short that it barely reached mid-thigh, swirling around him like a slutty tutu and revealing the thong's straps every time he shifted. And then there was the dildo—oh, God, she hadn't held back. It was a thick, veined silicone toy, about eight inches long, shoved deep up his ass. She could see the base of it peeking out from under the thong, a little black handle that he wouldn't be able to ignore. It must have felt intrusive, stretching him wide, filling him up in a way that made every step a humiliating reminder.

John froze, his eyes widening in confusion. To him, it probably felt like this had always been normal, but Bessie knew better. She watched as he glanced down at himself, not reacting with shock—because in this new reality, this was just how he dressed. "Uh, what the fuck are you staring at?" he grumbled, his voice a mix of irritation and something else, maybe discomfort from the toy lodged inside him. He shifted his weight, the high heels—sparkling silver stilettos that added four inches to his height—making him wobble unsteadily. "This is what I always wear, you weirdo. Now, what did you want?"

Bessie bit her lip to stifle a laugh, her pulse racing with exhilaration. It had worked. Holy shit, it had actually worked. John stood there, looking like some twisted version of a streetwalker, the dildo undoubtedly pressing against his insides with every breath. She could tell it was affecting him; his face flushed deeper, and there was a slight bulge forming in the front of his thong, as if his body was betraying him despite the humiliation.

"Nothing," she said innocently, waving him off. "Just wanted to see if you'd... spruce things up a bit. You look great, by the way. Really suits you."

John rolled his eyes, the makeup making the gesture look almost flirtatious. "Whatever, sis. I'm out of here. Got shit to do." He turned to leave, his micro skirt flipping up to flash the dildo’s base, and the high heels clacking awkwardly on the floor. As he stumbled down the hallway, Bessie flopped back onto her pillows, a mix of glee and power surging through her. What else could she do with this gift? The possibilities were endless, and she was just getting started.