Modest Skirt → Tight Skirt Covering Enormous Dumptruck

[AN: I accidentally published a draft first, so this is a mild sequence break.]

...thinking really hard about, hm, my ass. How big it should be. How this nice, 'modest skirt' would grow 'tight,' just barely 'covering' an 'enormous dumptruck' and --- woah~!

The magic swells and whisks me about and I can barely fathom it, so instead I focus on myself. My ass. I was thinking of making my ass bigger, right? Why? Because it was... it was smaller! Yes. I can feel it swell up under my skirt, a tight and tiny little thing that barely hangs low enough to cling to anything _but _the upper swell of my hips. Calling it 'modest' feels like a funny joke: in that it's only 'modest' in the sense it has scarcely any material to its name.

Ah, it's quite peculiar. I feel like things have always been this way: I clearly remember the way eyes follow the dumptruck my skirt pretends to contain; particular dear Arma's, and that new paramour of hers. Ah~ I should have relieved my own 'stress' before tampering with an unknown artifact. The supporting role I took last night just didn't quite scratch my itch the right way.

Nothing for it; I'm just going to have to tough it out. In the meantime, maybe let's see if I can steer this somewhere else... or gain more control of it, even...

(composed court sex-witch, dominatrix, wavy light-green hair, apron, loyal witch's attire, intrigued confident sultry smirk, medium breasts, hairband, stockings, tight skirt covering enormous dumptruck, standing in a castle bedroom)