Mandatory Milf: Going deeper

A crystallization of arcane energy, capable of tinkering with reality itself. A godlike relic, mysterious in origin and insurmountable in age. At times, a panacea. At others, a weapon of veritable destruction. Today, it was a sex toy. The wishing stone was not sentient. It was a tool. A powerful tool, but inanimate like any other. But if it _was_ sentient—though it wasn’t—it would surely be confused, bewildered, and very slightly concerned over the well-being of its master. Wishes to be inordinately beautiful were common. And to cast away one’s own youth? Rare, but not unprecedented. With age came wisdom, and with wisdom, power. But to entrap oneself in the garments of their own mother? To give the garments life, for no other reason than common perversions? The wishing stone did not have eyes to see its master nor a mind to judge him. If it did, it would have surely chastised these actions, demanding to know “how could one make such unprincipled wishes,” or, “how does one ‘run out of ideas’ only minutes after making such ludicrous desires reality?” It did not ask these questions. It was a wishing stone. It granted wishes. Nothing more, nothing less. “Maybe... I could wish for something to do?” Even the vague and stupid ones. ________________________ Jon eyed the stone, admiring just how much larger it felt compared to before. He knew this would be the case, but it was his first time interacting with anything as a woman. The slender hand holding his prize was nothing like his own, with its delicately graceful fingers and manicure. But it was absolutely his to control, to hold or do whatever he saw fit, like caressing this soft body... But real adults did _not_ admire themselves so blatantly. Jon received a quick twist to the nipple for his lustful infraction, forcing the train of thought to a jarring halt. “Ow, ow, ow, ow! I’m sorry, I’m sorry! The bra twisted even harder. “M-my sincerest apologies!?” Sweet release, leaving him quivering in apprehension, panting a lustful sound that would no doubt incite certain, ahem, _voracious_ instincts in any male fortunate enough to listen. Okay, screw this. Jon was in danger. The curvy new body was _way_ too arousing to be left alone with, especially when the slightest hint of lustful inclination meant getting punished by his own equally arousing outfit. He’d need to keep himself busy.