Herself

You enter the kitchen, and are immediately taken aback.

The dark haired, buxom, wet dream of a woman that was once your mother is sitting at the dinner table, with the little cloth she wears around her chest strained by her heaving breasts, and one hand pumping under her tiny skirt. From where you stand, you can see the pink lips of her womanly treasure, and can tell that her mound is now devoid of hair.

Your mother seems undisturbed by your presence as you approach nervously. Once you are about ten paces from her, she throws up her head, crying out with pleasure.

Embarrassed, you reflexively look away. Is this another transformation, or simply an approaching orgasm? You didn't think that you'd made a wish, but you were somewhat caught up in the moment...

As you look back up, your mother meets your gaze, licking her lips.