When Dreams Come True

— Sally! This… this isn’t what you think! — David flinched, clutching the sides of the purple dress with both hands. His breathing was uneven, his eyes darting around as if he were searching for a way out of a trap.

— Oh, really? — Sally’s voice was cold, yet it carried a strange, almost sinister smile. — So you’re not standing in front of me right now in a woman’s dress, mumbling something in Spanish to the mirror like you’re some kind of Latina?

David swallowed hard, his shoulders twitching. He pressed his palms against his sides as if he could somehow hide the purple dress that clung tightly to his body.

— Sally… it’s… it’s just a joke, you know? — he stammered, trying to squeeze out a shred of confidence. — I… I just wanted to try… I mean… see how it looks… It’s… an experiment.

— An experiment? — Sally narrowed her eyes, stepping closer. — You were standing in front of the mirror, swinging your hips and, — her gaze shot to the crumpled T-shirts on the floor, the ones stuffed into the dress’s bra a minute ago, — grabbing those “pillows” like they were real tits!

David let out a sharp breath, coughed, his hands trembling on his hips.

— No… no, Sally, you don’t get it… I… I just wanted… — he tripped over his tongue, words slipping away. — It’s a costume! You know, roleplay, right? I wanted to surprise you, make you laugh…

— Make me laugh? — Sally raised her eyebrows, the corner of her mouth twitching into a nervous smirk. — So I’m supposed to laugh when my husband dresses up like a Latina and purrs at himself in the mirror?

— I wasn’t purring! — David threw up his hands, then quickly realized he was showing himself off even more in the ridiculous dress, and clamped his palms against his waist. — I just… wanted to feel what it’s like… to be… well… — he squeezed his eyes shut, unable to find the words.

— A woman? — Sally struck him with the word like a whip. — With huge tits and an ass that jiggles on its own? Did you see yourself? Those proportions don’t even exist!

— Well… — David swallowed again, his throat dry. — Why not… Just because you don’t have that doesn’t mean—

He froze, but it was too late. The words had already slipped out.

Sally stopped dead. For a second, her face turned to stone, then twisted into a smile so sharp it sent a chill down David’s spine.

— Oh, I see, — she said slowly. — So now I’m not enough of a woman for you, huh? Too flat, is that it? Not like your fantasies with juicy asses and tits spilling out of dresses?

— N-no! — David stumbled back a step, but tripped over a pile of his things on the floor. — That’s not what I meant! I… I was just trying to explain why this dress looks so… so… weird…

— Weird? — Sally stepped forward, her eyes flashing. — No, David. What’s weird is what I’m looking at right now. — She exhaled sharply, spinning around, her back to him. — God damn it, I wish I could just forget all this! I’d rather have a real Latina standing here than this! Ugh!

She clenched her fists, stomped her foot, and in that instant, from under her heel, like some enchanted antelope from a famous tale, something shone bright and scattered across the floor in a thin glowing circle. The air trembled, the lamp above the bed flickered, and David felt heat wash over him, burning from the inside out.

— S-Sally?.. — he gasped, clutching his stomach. — What’s… what’s happening…?

The dress stretched tight, as if something inside was pushing it out. The fabric creaked, and the “breasts” made of crumpled T-shirts suddenly became heavy. No. Heavy was an understatement. They were real weight now—round, warm, pulsing with every second, dragging him down so much that David let out a choked sob, arching forward.

— ¡Dios mío! — burst from his lips as his body bent into new lines: his waist pulled in, his hips spread, his ass swelled like it was filling with hot dough from within. The dress, which just minutes ago hung loose on a man’s frame, now clung to new curves, hugging them as if it had been tailored for this very body.

Sally, still with her back turned, tapped her foot nervously, as though trying to control the tremor running through her own body. Finally, she spun around sharply and shouted:

— Marisa! I’ll say it again! Don’t you dare come here dressed like that when you’re cleaning! — Sally barked, glaring at the purple dress that clung so tightly to the new woman’s figure the fabric threatened to tear at the breasts.

— ¿Qué…? — Marisa breathed, pressing her hands to her heavy tits, as if they made it hard to breathe. She looked up at Sally, lashes trembling, her hips swaying slightly on their own. — Sally, ¡no te entiendo! (Sally, I don’t understand you!)

Sally blinked several times, staring at Marisa.

— Oh God… — she whispered, then shook her head sharply. — I… I told you, Marisa, no dresses like that when you’re cleaning! Do you even realize how you look?

Marisa shook her head, stepping back. She felt her hips brush the hem of the dress, the fabric lifting slightly.

— ¿Qué dices? ¡No entiendo! (What are you saying? I don’t understand!) — her voice cracked into a whine, and her hands slid back to her breasts, hanging heavy over the deep neckline. The weight was so real that Marisa could feel the fabric pressing, her nipples pushing against it, begging for freedom. — ¿¡Qué... qué está pasando?! (What… what the hell is happening?!)

— Oh, perfect, — Sally rolled her eyes. — Not a word of English on top of it. Great! George, where the hell are you? — she shouted into the hallway.

In the doorway appeared a stocky man in his fifties, with a tired face and a beer belly. George Wilkins — the neighbor who sometimes helped Sally while her “husband” was away on business trips. Only now, judging by the look of things, his status was different. Clearly not just a neighbor anymore.

— What now? — he grumbled, stepping into the room.

— Tell her, — Sally snapped, whipping around to George and pointing at Marisa, who was still clutching her tits and gasping for breath. — Tell this… maid that she’s not setting foot in my house dressed like that ever again!

George froze, but his eyes betrayed him, sliding over Marisa’s body. He let out a long breath, and a smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth.

— Hm… Well… — he scratched his chin deliberately. — To be honest, Sally… I wouldn’t be so strict… — he winked at Marisa, as if that was supposed to mean something.

— ¡No soy…! — Marisa threw up her hands, shaking her head desperately. — ¡No soy ninguna sirvienta! ¡Esto no… no es real! (I’m not some maid! This isn’t… it’s not real!)

Sally snorted.

— Oh God! I can’t take this anymore! — she stomped off into another room. — Either you explain everything to her right now, or her feet will never touch my house again!

George was left face to face with Marisa. He lazily rubbed his neck, but his gaze never left her body, trembling inside the purple dress.

— Well, well… — he drawled, stepping closer. — Sally’s a hothead, sure, but she’s right about one thing. Looking like that… — he gestured wide with his hand, tracing her waist and hips, — looking like that, you really shouldn’t have shown up today.

Marisa backed away, clutching her breasts.

— ¡No, no, no! ¡Esto no soy yo! ¡No soy yo! (No, no! This isn’t me! I’m not me!)

George squinted.

— ¡Marisa, no pasa nada! Cámbiate de ropa (Marisa, it’s fine! Just change your clothes) — he said, words that finally made sense to Marisa, though his awful American accent twisted them. Her eyes went wide with realization, then grew even wider when George stepped closer, laid his hand on her hip, and whispered in her ear — Sally estará fuera todo el día mañana, entra aquí (Tomorrow Sally will be gone all day, come here in this).

Marisa gasped, like the air had been ripped from her lungs.

Her eyes widened so much her lashes trembled, and her mouth fell open on its own.

— ¡¿Qué…?! — she croaked, stumbling back in panic, tripping over the edge of the carpet. Her breasts bounced so violently the dress stretched tight, threatening to split at the seams.

George grinned wider, his eyes locked on her:

— Mañana, Marisa… en este vestido. (Tomorrow, Marisa… in this dress.)

It looked exactly like they were lovers, just like everything else. Like David’s filthy fantasy had become reality in a single moment. And if it was real, that meant Marisa had problems with her papers and with being here legally. George’s hand slid lower, squeezing her left ass cheek. Marisa gasped, jerked, and just as her breath fully broke, Sally’s voice came again from the kitchen:

— Geo-o-orge! Did you explain it to her or not?!

He smirked and, without moving his hand off Marisa, lazily shouted back:

— Yeah, yeah, she got it. Tomorrow she’ll be on her best behavior.

Marisa froze, her eyes going wide with horror.

— ¡¿Qué?! — burst from her. — ¡No, no, no!

But all her protests were already meaningless. Her dream had become reality.