Rebecca had given me the best blowjob of my life, and I had passed out immediately under the huge, soft comforter of our suite's California king, without even putting my pajamas back on. The taste of the piña colada lingered in mouth. I didn't realize until the next morning that Rebecca had put the magic powder in my drink, not hers.
I had gone to sleep as a 50-year-old middle manager with a classic dad bod, but that's not who I saw in the mirror this morning. She was a twenty-something bombshell, the sexiest woman I had ever seen. Her face was something out of a Disneyfied porno - huge eyes, a button nose, perfect plump lips, long dark hair curling over her shoulders, with large firm breasts over a trim waist. She twisted slightly so I could see the curve of her thick ass. She lifted her hands to her face, revealing well-developed shoulders and biceps. She opened her sensual mouth and said, "Who are you?"
I gasped at my sultry contralto voice. She was me. She--me--was the fantasy I had created. The fantasy that **Rebecca** had created.
"Oh, my God. It worked. It actually worked."
I turned to see Rebecca standing in the door way. Yesterday, I had been an inch or two taller than her. Now, she easily had six inches on me. I felt small next to her, yet safe. Secure. Protected.
She took me by shoulders and held me at arm's length. "You look amazing. Perfect. A vision." A part of my brain knew I should feel betrayed, but her praise sent waves of warmth and delight through my whole body.
"Turn around. Show me that glorious new body of yours. That body of **mine**."
Without thinking, I posed and rotated. Rebecca smirked and said, "Good girl."
Another shiver of delight. My knees felt weak. I wanted to kneel on the bathroom floor and bury my face in her pussy. What had happened to me?
She turned me to face the mirror, putting one hand on my breast and another on my stomach. "Look at you," she whispered in my ear. "You're absolutely perfect. How is this even possible?"
The naked woman in the mirror had flawless skin the color of a latte, with no tan lines. Her--no, my--breasts hung heavy but firm over visible abs, two large dark nipples becoming hard from arousal. I had broad, rock-climber shoulders with toned arms, and my waist narrowed then flared out into magnificent hips. Rebecca ran her hands down my ribs, over my stomach, to a perfectly smooth pussy. My legs were as muscular as my arms, with rounded thighs and rock-hard calves. She could have been--no, I could have been--an athlete, a lingerie model, a fitness influencer, any of them and all of them at once.
Rebecca had made me into her perfect woman.
My wife stood behind me, her lips kissing the side of my neck. "I thought you were a fool, Paul, for wasting money on such obvious garbage." Her greedy mouth nibbled my shoulder. "I knew you would wake up, embarrassed, and apologize meekly like you always do." She bit the lobe of my ear. "So I wrote down a description of a girl I had a crush on in college, a soccer player I was too shy to even talk to." Her hand reached up and held my neck. "With ample additions from the smut I read online." She pinched my hard nipple, and I shivered.
"You look more wonderful than I even imagined." Her hands squeezed my waist and cupped each of my breasts. As one hand massaged my nipple, the other dropped down to brush my clit. (I had a clit?!?) "God, your ass..." She slapped my ass, hard, and I shuddered so violently that I had to catch myself on the bathroom counter.
I caught my breath so I could speak. "I--I need to piss."
