On his way to school, he meets his aunt

John stood on the porch for a few more seconds, watching the car with Candy and her sissy whore drive away. The huge asses of both women flashed in the rear window for another moment. He let out a heavy sigh, adjusted his pants where his cock was getting hard again, and finally decided to head to school. Yeah, Mom (now Candy) said she didn’t care, but he didn’t want unnecessary trouble with the teachers and the system. At least for now.

The morning was warm. John walked down the familiar street with his hands in his pockets, thinking about his new power. All kinds of ideas swirled in his head — who to change next and how.

As he passed the small grocery store on the corner, he suddenly noticed a familiar figure coming out with a bag in her hands. It was Aunt Abigail — his mom’s younger sister. She was 38, but her hard life made her look much older: short brown hair with visible gray streaks, always a bit messy, brown eyes, and a tired, slightly sunken face. A small belly poked out under her cheap store uniform — a blue blouse with the store logo and black pants that did nothing for her figure. Her tits were tiny, barely an A-cup, and her ass was almost completely flat. She walked hunched over, clearly exhausted after a tough morning shift.

When Abigail saw John, she stopped. Her gaze instantly turned cold and full of disapproval. Her lips pressed into a thin line, and her brows furrowed.

John froze too, looking at her in surprise.

“Weird…” he thought. “Aunt Abigail always treated me normally. Sure, she’s a strict feminist, but she never had any issues with me.”

But at that moment, new memories flooded his head — clear and vivid, as if they had always been there. Now he remembered a completely different picture. Abigail had always despised his mother for “sinking so low”: becoming a stripper, turning her husband into a sissy wimp, and “selling herself to the patriarchy” by serving her own son. Abigail herself was a hardcore feminist — radical, bitter, and constantly judging everyone. She hated the “objectification of women,” makeup, heels, and sexuality. She had hated John since childhood, calling him a “little future ****” and a “product of toxic masculinity.” She especially lost it after Julia turned Mark into a sissy. Abigail regularly caused scandals, accusing everyone of sexism and oppression.

Abigail shifted the bag to her other hand and said coldly:

“What, John? Skipping school again? Or just wandering the streets like your worthless father?” Her voice dripped with contempt. “Don’t tell me you’re actually going to ‘school.’ I know exactly what kind of ‘discipline’ you have in your family.”

She looked him up and down as if he were something filthy under her shoe. Exhaustion in her eyes mixed with her usual anger.

John felt a mix of excitement and irritation boiling inside him. Standing in front of him was the classic “angry feminist” — a flat, tired, bitter woman who had spent her whole life condemning exactly the kind of lifestyle his mom and “dad” now lived. The perfect target to test his power on.

John looked at Abigail calmly, tilting his head slightly. Despite her disgusted stare, he remained completely relaxed. A lazy, confident smile appeared on his face.

“What’s the problem, Aunt Abigail? I really am just going to school,” he said evenly.

The woman snorted contemptuously, her brown eyes narrowing behind her glasses.

“Don’t bullshit me, boy. And don’t call me aunt. I don’t want anyone knowing we’re related. After what you’ve been doing to your own mother and… God forgive me, that pathetic excuse for your father, I don’t believe a single word you say,” she hissed through her teeth, her voice shaking with disgust.

“Exactly,” John thought. Thanks to his changes, reality had adjusted so that Abigail was convinced he had always been fucking his mother and his sissy father, and that she herself regularly threw tantrums about it.

John smiled even wider, almost tenderly.

“Well… anyway, it’s not proper for a proper Stepford lady like you to be rude to a man.”

“What the hell are you saying?!” Abigail started furiously, her face turning red with rage. She took a step forward, clearly about to continue her tirade. “Have you completely lost your mind, you little perver—”

John snapped his fingers.

The air around Abigail instantly thickened like heavy syrup. The woman froze mid-sentence, her eyes widening in shock.

The transformation began powerfully and spectacularly.

First, her hair. The short, gray-streaked brown strands suddenly lengthened, lightened, and turned into a luxurious platinum blonde. They swept upward, forming a voluminous, perfect Stepford wife hairstyle — a big elegant bouffant with lush curls that neatly framed her face and fell in heavy waves over her shoulders. Not a single gray hair, not a single strand out of place — a flawless, salon-fresh 1950s hairstyle.

Her face changed next. The tired features smoothed out, her skin became smooth, perfectly tanned with a light golden glow. Her cheeks rounded slightly, cheekbones lifted, and her nose became more delicate. Her eyes grew bigger and more expressive, lashes lengthened and turned thick black. Heavy but elegant makeup appeared on her eyelids — smoky eyes with long winged liner. Her lips plumped up dramatically, taking on a full shape and coating themselves in bright red, glossy lipstick. Now her face wore a sweet, innocent yet seductive smile — the classic smile of an obedient Stepford wife.

Her body changed the most dramatically. The small belly instantly sucked in, her waist shrinking to an **** 55 centimeters, creating a shocking contrast. Her hips and ass began to expand rapidly — the fabric of her black work pants creaking loudly. Her ass grew with the sound of ripping seams: a huge, massive, perfectly round and juicy bubble butt that quickly turned into two heavy, bouncy spheres. The pants burst open at the back seam, exposing quickly tanning skin.

Her chest exploded in size. The tiny A-cups swelled like balloons. They grew right before his eyes — 40G, massive, perfectly round, heavy, and firm. The store-logo blouse stretched to its limit, buttons flying off in different directions with quiet “ping-ping” sounds. Her enormous tits spilled out, jiggling and bouncing, nipples already rock hard. Her breasts were so big that Abigail (now almost fully transformed) instinctively arched her back to keep balance.

Her legs lengthened, becoming smooth, perfectly straight, and tanned. The pants continued tearing, turning into rags that quickly dissolved and reformed into a tight pink 1950s-style dress — extremely form-fitting with a very deep cleavage that barely contained her new giant tits. A white lacy apron with frills materialized over the dress. A pearl necklace appeared around her neck, and long white satin gloves covered her arms. From under the ripping pants grew pink high-heeled shoes.

The entire transformation took less than ten seconds. Now standing in front of John was the perfect Stepford wife: a busty platinum blonde with massive tits, a tiny waist, and a giant juicy ass, wearing a tight pink dress that barely covered the lower part of her enormous ass. The dress was still slightly straining at the seams, adjusting to her new curves.

The new Abigail blinked her long lashes, her bright red lips parting in a confused but already sweet smile. She wobbled slightly on her new high heels, causing her huge tits to jiggle heavily.

“Oh… my goodness…” she said in her new soft, feminine voice, full of surprise and light submission.

She tilted her head cutely, fluttering her long thick lashes, and gave John the sweetest, most innocent yet seductive smile. Her bright red plump lips glistened.

"Oh, Johnny, sorry for distracting you, sweetie," she said in a soft, affectionate, almost melodic voice typical of an obedient wife. "You were probably in such a hurry to get to school, and here I am bothering you with my silly talk about housework and keeping the home in order… I’m so scatterbrained today."

John relaxed a little, staring at this radical change. Not a trace of the old angry feminist remained. He simply nodded.

"It’s fine, Aunt Abigail. I’ve always liked talking with you."

Abigail let out a gentle, feminine laugh with a slight husky edge. She playfully swatted his shoulder with her white satin-gloved hand.

"Oh, Johnny, I told you — just call me ‘Aunt Ebby’, okay?" she winked playfully. "You’re such a sweet rascal… Well then, young man, now give your aunt a proper greeting kiss like a well-raised boy should."

John nodded and leaned in toward her cheek, but Ebby gently but firmly turned her head. Her plump, bright red lips met his. The kiss started soft and almost innocent, but quickly grew deeper. She pressed her whole body against him. One hand in the long satin glove gently wrapped around the back of his neck, pulling him closer, while her other hand slowly and sensually stroked his stomach over his t-shirt, moving lower and lower.

Her massive heavy tits squished softly against his chest. John felt the warmth of her body and the light scent of expensive perfume. Ebby’s tongue carefully but insistently slipped into his mouth, intertwining with his in a slow, sweet kiss. She quietly moaned into his lips, as if this was the most natural greeting in the world.

"Mmm… that’s it, good boy…" she whispered, barely pulling away for a second before latching onto his lips again.

Her gloved hand continued gently wandering over his stomach, then slid a bit lower, lightly brushing against the growing bulge in his pants. Ebby’s massive ass swayed slightly as she stood on her heels, pressed tightly against her nephew right in the middle of the street. Passersby walked by, but just like before, no one paid them any attention — as if it was completely normal.

Finally Ebby pulled back, but not completely. Her bright red lips were shiny, and a satisfied, slightly naughty smile played on her face. She ran a gloved fingertip along his lower lip.

"There, Aunt Ebby is pleased," she purred. "Maybe you should be late for school today, Johnny? Aunt could make you a nice breakfast at home… or something else that good boys like to do with obedient wives?"

She gently bit her lower lip, looking at him with big innocent eyes full of eagerness to please.

Johnny nodded confidently, feeling a pleasant anticipation building inside him. His gaze kept drifting to the deep cleavage of Ebby’s dress, where her massive 40G tits jiggled with every movement.

"Why not? Alright, I don’t think Mrs. Parker will be too mad if I miss a couple of classes."

Ebby smiled happily — sweet, submissive, and a little playful. Her bright red plump lips stretched into the perfect Stepford wife smile.

"That’s good, darling," she purred affectionately.

The bag of groceries in her hands had also changed: it was now a neat retro-style wicker basket covered with a pink checkered napkin. Ebby gracefully took John’s arm, pressing her whole body against him. Her huge soft breasts nestled comfortably against his side, and her wide hips swayed gently as she walked. The long satin gloves tenderly wrapped around his forearm. Her pink high heels clicked on the sidewalk, and her dress kept riding up, flashing the underside of her massive, juicy ass.

"Let’s go home then, sweetie. I baked a delicious apple pie this morning. With cinnamon and fresh vanilla, just how you like it," she cooed, leaning slightly toward him so he could feel even more of her body heat.

They walked slowly down the street arm in arm, like the perfect couple from an old movie. Ebby kept chattering sweetly: talking about recipes, how important it is to keep the house clean, and how happy she was that "her favorite nephew" had finally come to visit. At the same time, she kept pressing herself tighter against him, "accidentally" brushing her enormous tits along his arm.

When they reached Ebby’s house, John noticed that the outside looked almost the same, but everything inside was different.

As soon as they stepped over the threshold, Ebby neatly closed the door and placed the basket on the side table. John looked around. The house had become noticeably cleaner and cozier: the wooden floors shone, the air smelled of fresh baking and light floral perfume. The furniture was the same, but now it looked polished and tidy, with neat lace doilies on the tables. The same family photos hung on the walls, but they now seemed a bit brighter and neater.

On the living room shelf stood several photos of Ebby and her husband Clark. In them, Ebby already appeared in her new form — sweet and kind, and next to her was Clark, the man John had always been a bit afraid of. John felt a slight tension seeing those photos, but Ebby didn’t seem to notice.

"Come in, come in, sweetie!" she chirped joyfully, swaying her hips. "Take off your shoes. Aunt Ebby will bring you a warm slice of pie and some cold milk right away. Make yourself comfortable, darling—" she turned to him, fluttering her long lashes, and leaned forward slightly so that her enormous breasts were nearly spilling out of the deep cleavage.

John walked into the living room and confidently dropped onto the soft couch, sprawling out comfortably. Ebby happily bustled around in the kitchen, her pink heels clicking. A couple minutes later she returned with a big plate holding a steaming, fragrant apple pie with cinnamon. The smell was fucking incredible.

She sat right next to John — very close, so her massive 40G tits pressed against his shoulder. Her dress rode up high on her thighs, exposing smooth tanned skin and the underside of her huge juicy ass.

"Here you go, my good boy," Ebby purred in her sweet voice. "Aunt Ebby is going to feed you herself. Open wide, sweetie."

John smirked and let her. Ebby gently brought a fork with a big juicy piece of pie to his lips. Warm apple juice dripped a little down her satin-gloved fingers. John opened his mouth and took the bite. The pie was seriously delicious.

"Mmm, how is it?" she asked, looking at him with big innocent eyes and licking her bright red lips.

Without waiting for an answer, Ebby gracefully climbed onto the couch with her heels still on, turning fully toward him. Her dress rode up even higher, almost completely exposing her massive ass. She offered him another piece of pie, while her other hand confidently landed on his crotch. Through his pants she started slowly and skillfully stroking his quickly hardening cock, squeezing and massaging it with her gloved palm.

"That’s it, good boy… eat while Aunt takes care of you," she purred, continuing to feed him from the fork and jerking him off through his pants more and more insistently.

At that moment, the sound of the front door opening came from the hallway.

"Ebby, I’m home! They let me off work early today," boomed a deep male voice.

Ebby didn’t even stop stroking John’s cock. She just smiled sweetly, turned her head, and gently stroked John’s head with one hand, running her fingers through his hair.

"Welcome back, darling!" she sang joyfully. "Come in, John just stopped by."

In the living room doorway appeared Clark — Ebby’s husband. A tall, solidly built forty-year-old mechanic. He had a noticeable beer belly, broad shoulders, and powerful arms filling out the rolled-up sleeves of his red-and-black plaid shirt. A thick black beard and mustache, short dark hair under a baseball cap, and a rough masculine face with a prominent scar over one eye from his military service in Afghanistan. He stood straight in the doorway, imposing and powerful, hands slightly tense at his sides. He wore blue work jeans and heavy boots.

Clark stared at the scene in front of him: his wife, now a hypersexual Stepford bimbo blonde, was sitting pressed right up against her nephew, feeding him pie with one hand while openly and shamelessly stroking and squeezing his rock-hard cock through his pants with the other.

Clark’s eyes widened in fury. His face instantly turned red, the scar above his eye turning white.

"You again!!!" he roared in a thunderous, rage-filled voice, clenching his fists.