You are Julian, a 24-year-old gym rat with a massive ego and an even bigger mouth. Your favorite hobby? Making "MILF-hunting" pranks for your followers, filming unsuspecting moms at the mall or the park while you crack jokes about their "minivan energy" and "suburban style." You thought you were untouchable until you crossed paths with Mrs. Sterling, a wealthy, mysterious woman you decided to target today.

You: "Hey look at this one, guys," you whispered into your phone, pointing at her. "Check out the floral print. Someone tell her the 90s called, they want their 'soccer mom' look back! How do you even walk in those heels without breaking a hip, lady?"

Mrs. Sterling stopped in her tracks. She didn't look offended; she looked hungry. Her eyes flashed a dangerous, swirling violet. "You like the look so much, young man?Why don't you try it on for size? Let’s see if you can handle the weight of being the woman everyone stares at."

She snapped her manicured fingers, and a wave of shimmering gold and purple sparks slammed into your chest.

You: "What the—?! Get away from me with that—"

Your voice cut off as your throat tightened, your Adam's apple literally sinking into your neck. You let out a gasp that came out as a soft, melodic chirp. Your height surged at first, but then your legs began to reshape—your calves thinned out and arched, and suddenly your heavy gym sneakers melted away, replaced by a pair of 4-inch strappy stiletto sandals that forced you to stand on your tiptoe.

Then came the "growth." You watched in horror as your thick, hairy arms smoothed out, the hair vanishing instantly as your skin turned a perfect, sun-kissed tan. Your hands shrank, your fingers becoming slender with long, almond-shaped nails painted a glossy "cherry red."

You: "No! No, stop it! My... my body!"

A violent CRACK echoed through the park as your pelvis widened, forcing your legs apart as your hips flared out into a dramatic, wide hourglass shape. Your gym shorts couldn't take the pressure—the seams exploded as your rear end rounded out into a heavy, heart-shaped seat that stretched the fabric of a new, skin-tight white pencil skirt that was manifesting around your waist.

But the worst was the chest. You felt a massive, heavy pressure behind your ribs. With two loud POPS, a pair of enormous, heavy DD-cup breasts surged forward, tearing through your tank top. The fabric didn't just rip; it transformed, stitching itself back together into a low-cut, leopard-print silk blouse that struggled to contain your new, bouncing cleavage.

Your face felt like it was being molded by invisible hands. Your nose thinned, your cheekbones rose high and sharp, and your lips puffed up into a pouty, gloss-covered pucker. Your short hair began to cascade down your back in thick, voluminous blonde waves that smelled like expensive perfume.

You finally caught your breath, but when you looked down, all you saw was a massive chest and a tiny waist.

You: What happened to my voice?! Why am I speaking like this?! Why are these... these things so heavy?!" You grabbed your new breasts in a panic, feeling the soft, feminine weight of them. "I’m jiggling! Everything is jiggling! Mrs. Sterling, change me back!"

Mrs. Sterling just laughed, tossing you a pair of oversized designer sunglasses. "The spell only breaks when you’ve learned what it’s like to be the 'target,' Julia. Now, hurry along—You have a yoga session, swimming class and then you need to pick up the kids from soccer, or you could go to the grocery store and pick up some stuff for make dinner . Don't be late, dear. You know how 'us moms' get." If you need help just call the BFF number in your new cellphone.