Morph Into Your Dream You Pt. 02

Olivia was just sitting on the edge of the bed, arms crossed, when Kyliee barged in like she owned the place. She had outfits hanging off her arm, a mess of accessories clinking around, makeup piled in a plastic bin, and--because of course--a collection of underwear right on top.

"Nope. Nope. Absolutely not," Olivia said, thinking she sounded firm. But her voice came out soft. Cute, even. That only pissed her off more. "You're not dressing me up. I'm not a doll. Just give me some clothes so I can get out of here."

Kyliee didn't even blink. She just walked in, dumped everything onto the bed, and looked her dead in the eye.

"I already got mom's permission," she said, like that settled it. "She said it's part of the deal--whatever deal you guys made. And, um, hello? You have my dream body. Like, are those 34Ds? Seriously? I've been stuck with these tiny ass titties my whole life and you just... woke up like this. It's actually offensive."

Olivia's brain short-circuited.

She was complimenting the tits. His tits. Her tits. The same ones he--she--had woken up with not even an hour ago. And now, the entire family is either groping or throwing compliments about her boobs like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Her chest tightened. Her head spun.

Then Kyliee snapped her fingers in front of her face, real close. "Hellloooo, Olivia, wake up honey buns. We've got a lot to do. Linda said you need to be downstairs in thirty minutes for your first task."

"O-okay, fine... do whatever you want," Olivia mumbled, already regretting it. Her voice had that soft, breathy tone again, like it had a mind of its own. "Just don't go overboard with this whole thing... okay?"

Kyliee lit up like she'd just won a game show. "I'm literally gonna make you so pretty you won't recognize yourself, bro."

"Already got that covered," Olivia muttered, barely loud enough for his sister to hear.

She grabbed a headband from the bed and slipped it into Olivia's hair to keep it out of her face. Olivia winced but didn't fight it. What was the point?

"Okay, close your eyes," Kyliee said, already pulling out a compact.

She started with foundation, smoothing it over Olivia's skin like she'd done this a thousand times. Olivia's face felt weirdly soft now, like her pores had vanished. Then came the blusher. Kyliee swept it over Olivia's cheeks with quick, practiced strokes.

"You've already got natural cheekbones to die for," Kyliee said, tilting Olivia's chin up. "This is just bonus."

The blush gave her this warm, pink glow that made her look... alive. Soft. Girly.

Next came eyeliner. Kyliee leaned in close, tongue peeking out in concentration. Olivia flinched at first, but stayed still.

"This part's gonna feel weird," Kyliee warned, dragging the pencil along her upper lid. It made her eyes pop. The liner gave her this sharp, cat-eyed look, like she was about to flirt and then ruin your life.

Then mascara. Kyliee wiggled the wand through her lashes. "Jesus. These lashes are criminal. You don't even need falsies."

Finally, Kyliee grabbed a lipstick--a bold, reddish-pink shade. It felt smooth and creamy as Kyliee swiped it on. She pressed her lips together, not even realizing she was starting to get into it.

Kyliee pulled back, took a good look, and let out a whistle.

"Oh my god. You're hot."

Olivia opened her eyes, slowly. She caught her reflection in the small mirror Kyliee held up.

Big, dark eyes lined just enough to look dangerous. Cheeks with a rosy warmth. Lips full and glossy, like something out of a magazine. It wasn't just makeup. It was a whole new face.

"Holy fuck. I look... sexy. What the fuck..." Olivia said, eyes wide, mouth slightly open as she stared at her reflection. Her voice cracked halfway between awe and panic. "I'd fuck me... I mean, if I was a man... I mean I am a man but I'd sleep with--fuck... never mind."

She leaned closer to the mirror, nose almost touching the glass. The blush on her cheeks made her look flushed and alive. Her eyes were huge, framed by lashes so long they looked fake, and the liner gave them this intense, sultry pull. Her lips were plump and glossy.

She was gorgeous.

Like, unfairly gorgeous.

Kyliee laughed behind her. "Bro, I swear, if I swung both ways, I'd be on top of you right now. And if you weren't my brother, obviously. 'Cause ew."

Olivia didn't even know how to respond to that. Her brain was still trying to connect the face in the mirror to the person she was for her entire life.

Kyliee clapped her hands like it was halftime at a makeover show. "Now, the next fun round! Let's go!"

She turned toward the pile of clothes with the same energy someone might have while cracking open a mystery box. "We do have a slight problem," she said, sorting through her stuff. "I don't have any bras that match your bust, and all of my t-shirts are a size smaller. So unfortunately, you're gonna have to wear a tight shirt with no support. Sorry, bro. Your back's gonna hurt a bit from carrying your titties, but you'll get used to it."

She turned around holding two shirts like a twisted game show host. One was jet black with I LOVE CUM printed in bold, unapologetic letters. The other was aggressively pink, covered in glittery girly graphics--unicorns, hearts, sparkles, the works.

"Okay, pick one," she giggled, practically bouncing with excitement.

Olivia's mouth dropped open. "Do you want mom to kill me? Are you insane? I'm not gonna wear the black one."

She let out a half-laugh just picturing Linda's reaction. Probably a mix of horrified silence and a disappointed prayer.

"Give me that," she said, snatching the pink shirt with a sigh.

Kyliee just smirked, watching her struggle with the tight fit as Olivia pulled it down over her chest. The fabric stretched like it was hanging on for dear life, her boobs pushing against it without a bra. The hem didn't even reach her waist properly.

"Why do you even have a shirt like this?" Olivia asked, tugging the sleeves down and trying to smooth it out.

"There's a lot you don't know about me, bro," Kyliee said, eyes gleaming. "But if you stay like this, I swear we're gonna be best buddies."

She gave a playful wink, and Olivia rolled her eyes.

"Whatever. I'm not gonna be in this body for long, though," Olivia said, her voice full of fake confidence as she yanked the shirt down. "Don't get used to it."

She wrestled with the fabric like it was actively fighting back. The shirt clung to her fingers, twisted at the seams, and got stuck halfway down her chest more than once. Kyliee stood back, arms crossed, clearly entertained by the entire mess.

After a few seconds of cursing under her breath and adjusting every inch, Olivia finally managed to pull it on all the way.

Sort of.

The shirt was tight. Like, second-skin tight. It hugged her chest so snugly that every curve was exaggerated. Her 34Ds were practically bursting out of it, the fabric stretched so thin it was almost see-through in the light. The bottom hem barely dipped below the bottom curve of her boobs, leaving her stomach completely exposed. Her nipples poked through, obvious and unmissable.

"This isn't a shirt," she muttered, tugging at the edges. "It's a fucking napkin."

Kyliee cracked up. "No, it's a vibe. You look good, bro. A little slutty, but still."

As Olivia kept adjusting, trying to hide what couldn't really be hidden, she caught herself glancing back at the mirror again.

As Olivia kept adjusting, still tugging at the edges of the shirt like they might magically grow longer, her eyes wandered back to the mirror. Her reflection stared back, unapologetically bold. The pink shirt clung to her chest like it had been painted on, barely covering what needed to be covered, if at all. Her stomach was exposed, smooth and toned. She gave a small, experimental twirl.

"It kinda suits me, doesn't it?" she said without thinking, eyeing the way the shirt popped against her caramel skin. Her eyes trailed lower, catching a glimpse of her bare ass, the soft curve of her hips, and the smooth, hairless lips between her thighs. Everything looked unreal. Too polished. Too perfect.

"I mean... it fits my skin color."

The words left her mouth before her brain caught up.

She froze.

Then slapped both hands over her lips like she could shove the words back in. "What the fuck am I saying?" she muttered into her palms, horrified.

Kyliee lost it. She doubled over with laughter. "Hahaha, yes, it does suit you, dude. You're right."

Olivia spun around, face burning, red creeping all the way up to her ears. "Alright, I just need some underwear and pants and let's leave," she snapped, trying to sound authoritative, like she hadn't just admired her own pussy and complimented her skin tone out loud.

Kyliee wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. "Yeah, okay, boss lady. Whatever you say."

Olivia turned back toward the bed, flustered and fuming, trying to pretend her nipples weren't still completely visible through the shirt.

"Alright, caramel queen," Kyliee said through a laugh, tossing her arms up like she was announcing a stage name. Olivia groaned immediately.

"Stop calling me these names."

Kyliee grinned. "No promises. Anyway, since this is your first time having a pussy--and may I say, an incredible looking ass, like genuinely, it's unfair--I suggest something comfortable."

She walked over to the bed and picked up a small pile of folded cotton underwear, holding it up like she was showing off merch. "Pick any of the cotton pairs I got you. The white ones with the strawberries are the softest pair I own. Feels like clouds on your cooch. I'm willing to donate them to you."

Olivia looked at the underwear, then back at Kyliee with the blankest expression she could muster. "You're way too enthusiastic about this."

Olivia muttered something under her breath and sifted through the underwear with one hand, grabbing the strawberry pair with a sigh. "This is so stupid..."

But deep down, part of her was wondering if Kyliee was right. Maybe soft was the way to go.

Olivia stepped into the underwear slowly, like she was approaching a wild animal. The cotton felt soft against her skin, way softer than anything Olivier used to wear. She started pulling them up, inch by inch, and with every tug, the reality sank in deeper.

She looked down and caught her reflection again. The strawberry print sat right over her pussy, tight enough that her lips formed a small, unmistakable camel toe.

"So?" Kyliee said, practically bouncing with excitement behind her. "How do they feel?"

Olivia didn't look away from the mirror. Her voice came out quieter than she expected. "Y-you were right... it feels comfortable."

There was hesitation in her tone, like admitting it might change something permanently. Her eyes traced the waistband, how the curve of her hips spilled gently into the fabric, how her thighs touched now in a soft way that used to be foreign.

"It's not bad..." she added, her voice trailing off.

Kyliee smiled wide behind her, arms folded, like the proud younger sister she is, watching her older brother putting on her panties.

"Ukhh, you look so perfect, dude," Kyliee said, sounding way too proud of herself. Like she'd just won some kind of makeover competition only she knew about.

Olivia raised an eyebrow. "Don't start."

But Kyliee was already back to digging through her pile of chaos. "Alright so... I don't have any pants."

"What?"

"Yeah," Kyliee said casually, like that wasn't a big deal. "I only have skirts. But good thing we're both 5'5 so they'll fit you perfectly."

Before Olivia could argue, Kyliee tossed a white skirt at her. Olivia caught it instinctively, holding it like it was something dangerous. She looked at it, sighed, and stepped into it anyway. The soft fabric slid up her legs easily. She zipped it in the back, adjusting it on her waist.

And then she turned to the mirror.

That was it.

Full transformation.

The tight pink crop top clinging to her chest, nipples still visible. The strawberry-print panties snug beneath the white skirt, barely noticeable under the light fabric. Her skin glowing, makeup flawless, hair perfectly messy in that effortless way. She looked... like someone else. Someone hot. Someone confident. Someone no one would mistake for a dude.

Kyliee stepped up behind her and placed both hands on Olivia's shoulders, looking at her through the mirror like she'd created a masterpiece.

"Oh. My. God," she said slowly, eyes wide. "I'm such a slutmaker, I swear to god. Babe, you look absolutely fucking gorgeous."

"I swear, if you come to the club once wearing this," Kyliee said, still gripping Olivia's shoulders like she was showing off a prize, "every man would fight to fuck your brains out. You might even get marriage proposals."

Olivia immediately stepped away like she'd just touched something hot.

"Hey! Never ever joke about that shit. Never. You hear me?" Her voice was sharp, way sharper than it had been all day, layered with something that sounded more like fear than anger.

Kyliee blinked, hands up in surrender. "Haha, alright, geez, calm down, bro. Just kidding. You just look great is all."

Olivia didn't respond. She walked over to the bed and sat down hard, skirt bunching slightly as she rested her hands on her thighs.

"So... is that all?" she asked, trying to keep her voice even.

Kyliee was already going through the mess on the bed again, poking around like she was double-checking for lost treasure. "Well, yeah, pretty much," she said. "I did bring some accessories, but we can't use any earrings because your ears aren't pierced, and all my accessories are in sets, so nothing would look good on its own."

She looked up with a little shrug. "So yeah... I think you're ready to face the world, bro. Or at least mom & dad downstairs. No way in hell mom would let you go out like that."

Olivia sighed, dragging a hand down her face. "Good."

Then she looked down at herself again.

She didn't feel ready. Not even close.

"Alright," Kyliee said with a dramatic stretch, scooping her makeup and accessories into her arms. "Your cutest, hottest, most gorgeous sister in the whole entire world's job here is officially done. I have to go meet up with my friends. If you need anything, let me know."

She started gathering up her stuff, not really folding anything, just scooping and stuffing. Olivia just sat there on the bed, half stunned, half still processing her reflection.

As Kyliee reached the door, she turned back with one last smirk.

"Oh, and I know you're already thinking about it..." she said, voice all sing-song and smug. "Go easy on her. It's still brand new. Be gentle. And don't insert any objects up there without lube, okay? And If you need help finding your clit, let me know, caramel queen."

Olivia's mouth dropped open, face flushing instantly. "Kylieeeee!"

But Kyliee just giggled, turned on her heel, and bolted down the hall.

As the door swung shut behind her with a soft thud, something fluttered to the floor.

A red thong.

Olivia stared at it.

It looked... worn.

"God damn it," she muttered, flopping back onto the bed like she was about to scream into a pillow.

But there was no rest for the wicked.

She hadn't even had a minute to breathe.

Then came the voice.

Soft. Sweet. Barely audible, like it floated through the walls on air.

"Oliver, honey," His mom called gently from downstairs. "Everything's ready for you, sweetie. Come down."

Olivia sat up slowly, legs dangling over the edge of the bed. Her skirt shifted slightly, brushing her thighs. The panties were still snug. The shirt still tight. And now, apparently, everything was ready for her.

There was no going back.

"C-coming, Linda..." Olivia called out, trying to raise her voice, trying to sound normal. But what came out was this soft, airy little squeak--sweet and obedient, like her throat had forgotten how to sound like a guy entirely.

She winced at her own voice. God, seriously?

Standing up from the bed, she brushed her skirt down, adjusted her too-tight shirt, and gave herself a final once-over in the mirror. With a breath she didn't feel ready to take, she reached for the door, turned the knob, and stepped out.

The hallway was quiet. Every step down the stairs felt heavier than it should've, her bare legs brushing against each other, the skirt swaying gently. Each movement reminded her just how much had changed.

When she reached the bottom, the sight hit her like déjà vu. Greg and Linda were standing in the kitchen exactly where they'd been earlier that day, before all of this began.

Linda's face lit up the second she saw her.

"Oh my god, Ollie," she gasped, running up to her son so fast her shoes screeched against the floor. In seconds, she was in front of Olivia, cupping her face and planting kiss after kiss on her cheeks. "You're so beautiful. Look at you. My beautiful baby boy. Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god."

Olivia stood there, letting her mom hold her, stiff but not resisting. Her face burned, her skin still adjusting to being touched so affectionately like this. Her chest pressed softly against Linda's body, another reminder of what she now carried.

Greg didn't say a word.

He just stood there, back straight, hands folded in front of him like he was the calm in the middle of some quiet storm. But his eyes were doing all the talking. They moved slowly over his son's body, taking in every curve, every inch of bare skin. From the tight pink top that left nothing to the imagination, down to the hem of the white skirt that barely covered her thighs.

Olivia could feel it, like pressure on her skin. Like she was being studied. Measured. Imagined.

He licked his lips, just once, barely noticeable, but it made her breath hitch anyway.

He looked at her, imagining all the positions he'd fuck that beautiful latina goddess in. The ways he's going to tame Oliver to be his sex slave. To obey his every need without question. How to keep him on the drug as much as possible. So many races to try out. So many pussies to fuck. So many tits to fondle... So. Many. Scenarios.

Linda, still smiling, still kissing her son's cheeks and smoothing his hair, hadn't noticed.

But Olivia did.

Linda finally pulled back from the endless kisses, her hands now resting gently on Olivia's shoulders. She held her there, just looking at her like she was trying to memorize every detail of her face.

"Honey... you look... out of this world," Linda whispered, eyes wide with awe. "Wow."

She gave a soft laugh and shook her head a little, like she couldn't believe what she was seeing. "Of course I'd never let you wear any of this outside. But since it's in the house, I'll allow it."

Olivia's face flushed immediately. Her chest tightened and her eyes dropped to the floor. Her fingers fidgeted at her sides, gripping the edge of her skirt without even realizing it.

"Th-thanks, mom," she mumbled, her voice barely audible.

Linda turned her head, her tone suddenly cheerful again. "Greg, doesn't she look beautiful? Oh my god. Just to think that we made such a beautiful baby boy."

She reached for Greg's arm, gently pulling him forward like a proud parent showing off a masterpiece.

Greg stepped in closer, slow and deliberate, until he was right in front of Olivia.

"Yeah..." he said, voice deep and low as he reached out and cupped her chin between his fingers. His touch was firm but careful, tilting her face upward so she had to look at him. "Our son sure is beautiful."

Linda gently took Olivia by the arm, still beaming with that too-sweet-to-say-no-to smile. "Okay, honey. I've made a list of all my chores that I want you to take over, alright? This M-9 thingie you're on should give you all the skills to be good at them."

She gave her son's arm a little squeeze, guiding him across the kitchen like she was teaching a child how to ride a bike. "Let's start with something simple, okay?"

They stopped in front of a mop and a bucket already filled with soapy water. Linda turned to her like this was a trust exercise.

"Honey, can you show me how you'd mop the floor?"

Olivia blinked.

She looked at the mop like it was a foreign object, unsure of what she was supposed to do with it. She opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out except a hesitant, "O-okay, mom..."

She reached for the mop, fingers wrapping around the handle--

--and something shifted.

Instantly, her grip tightened. Her posture straightened. The awkward energy in her shoulders dropped away. Her body moved with strange confidence. Like muscle memory she didn't know she had. Without even thinking, she dipped the mop into the bucket, wrung it out with practiced ease, and began mopping the floor with perfect, fluid strokes.

Back and forth. Smooth. Efficient. Like a goddamn pro.

Even Olivia paused for a second, watching herself work.

"What the hell?" she thought. "I don't know what I'm doing... but I do. What the fuck is this?"

She moved with purpose, turning the mop with gentle flicks, covering every corner of the tile. Her movements were rhythmic. Automatic.

In the background, Linda watched with her hands clasped, pure pride glowing in her eyes. She was already calculating all the extra time she'd now have to spend at church and expand catering business.

Greg, on the other hand, hadn't moved an inch--except his eyes, which were laser-locked on Olivia's ass. With every sweep of the mop, her skirt swayed and bounced. The thin cotton barely covered her, and every bend forward gave him a perfect view.

He didn't blink.

Didn't hide it.

Olivia was too caught up in the strange flow of her movements to notice the two very different reactions behind her.

The M-9 Housewife formula might've glitched--turning Oliver into a Latina bombshell instead of the intended suburban white girl--but whatever it did, it was working.

And Oliver, lost somewhere deep inside Olivia, hadn't even noticed the defect.

"Oh my god, Greg," Linda whispered, her voice full of breathless wonder as she reached for his hand. She squeezed it tight, eyes still locked on Olivia gliding across the kitchen floor like she'd been doing this her whole life. "Look at how Ollie is mopping the floor. I have a feeling this is a miracle."

She was glowing. Absolutely glowing. Like she'd just witnessed a divine intervention.

"This is going to make everyone in this house so happy," she said softly, smiling as if she'd just solved a puzzle God personally handed her. "This is what we needed. Thank you so much for this, my love"

Greg didn't say a word, just gave a slow nod, but his eyes hadn't moved off Olivia's hips the entire time. He barely felt Linda holding his hand.

Linda leaned in and kissed his cheek quickly before turning her attention back to Olivia, who was still completely immersed in her task, mop sliding like it was an extension of her arm.

"I'm gonna go upstairs to get the laundry," Linda said with a chipper tone, already walking toward the stairs. "And then you can show me how you'd do laundry next, okay sweetie?"

Olivia glanced up, blinking like she'd just come out of a trance. "Uh... yeah. Okay, mom," she said, voice soft but steady.

Linda disappeared up the steps.

And suddenly, it was just Olivia and Greg.

Alone.

Greg advanced slowly.

Each step deliberate, quiet, careful not to alert Linda upstairs. The sound of the mop gliding over the floor covered the soft creak of his shoes. Olivia didn't notice him at first, too focused on the strange rhythm her body had locked into.

Then, suddenly, he was behind her.

She felt it before she saw it. Her father's presence. Close. Heavy.

His hand came down low on her hip, then slid just enough to make her tense. Then a quick, firm smack landed on her ass, not hard enough to make noise, but enough to make her freeze, the mop pausing mid-stroke.

She gasped sharply.

Greg leaned in, close enough that she could feel his breath on her neck.

"My god..." he whispered, voice deep and low. "You know what you're doing to me right now, Ollie?"

"You're driving me crazy," he said, his lips nearly brushing her ear. "You're driving your old man crazy."

Olivia didn't turn around. Couldn't.

Greg was right there, close enough to press against her, but not touching. Not fully. Just enough to make her skin crawl with awareness.

"I can't wait until it's just the two of us, baby," he whispered. "I'm gonna fuck your brains out... and you're gonna love it. I promise"

Oliver couldn't process it. Not fully. Not clearly.

His--her--mind was trying to catch up, but everything felt like it was moving too fast, too weird, too real. "M-my dad... just smacked my ass," Oliver was thinking to himself, trying to process what's going on. "The 50 year old man who raised me, has his hands on my ass, promising to fuck my brains out after he made me take a drug that turned me into a girl..."

Then, as quickly as Greg came, he stepped back--leaving her standing there, heartbeat loud in her ears, mop still in her hands as the sound of Linda's footsteps started coming down the stairs.

"Okay honey," Linda called cheerfully as she came down the stairs, a small laundry basket in her hands. "I got some dirty underwear from upstairs, now let's se--"

She stopped mid-sentence, catching sight of Olivia standing perfectly still in the middle of the kitchen, mop in one hand, face pale, eyes wide.

"Oh honey," Linda said, voice instantly soft and concerned. She set the basket down gently and walked toward her. "You're just standing there not moving. Is everything okay? Are you dizzy or something? Feeling any side effects?"

Her tone was all warm concern.

Olivia blinked, heart still pounding from Greg's words, from the smack, from the heat still lingering between her legs.

"N-no, mom," she stammered, voice too high, too airy. "N-nothing. I'm okay. So, yeah... dirty underwear..."

Linda smiled again, clearly convinced everything was fine. "Good girl. Alright, let's go over how to sort the delicates."

But Olivia's mind was miles away, her fingers trembling slightly around the mop handle.

She wasn't okay.

She just didn't know how to say it.