Tg Stories

Hypnotic Transformation TG

By BobiLacuna

Click Me

I remember the day it all began with crystal clarity. My friends and I had just arrived at a quaint, secluded hotel nestled at the edge of a misty forest. The building was old, perhaps a century or more, and radiated a quiet atmosphere that promised comfort and privacy. We checked in under a hanging lantern whose glow flickered with the breeze. The old wooden sign swung gently overhead, its chipped paint reading “Rosewood Retreat.”

I was the last of my group to approach the front desk, rummaging through my bag to find my wallet. When I finally looked up, I noticed the hotel manager for the first time—a woman of graceful poise. She was dressed in a sleek black dress that clung lightly to her frame, her pale hands folding over the counter. Around her neck, she wore a strange medallion that caught the overhead light and sent tendrils of dancing reflections along the walls.

Something about that medallion made me pause. It shimmered with an otherworldly gleam, seeming to ripple in the air like a living thing. I should’ve looked away—but I didn’t. A voice in my head told me not to stare, but my gaze lingered half a second too long.

In that moment, the woman’s dark eyes flickered upward and locked on mine. A subtle, knowing smile curved across her lips. I felt my breath hitch, and it was as though the floor vanished from beneath my feet. My heart pounded; my limbs turned warm and heavy. I tore my gaze away from her necklace—only to find that I couldn’t stop thinking about it, couldn’t resist the slow, magnetic tug that seemed to be pulling me closer.

I paid for my room. My friends went ahead to find theirs, but I couldn’t will myself to follow them. She had asked me to stay back—politely, but somehow I knew it wasn’t really a request. The woman’s voice was gentle as a whisper, but commanded absolute obedience.

“Come with me,” she said. And I did.

She led me through a narrow hallway to a small parlor furnished with plush chairs and ornate wallpaper. A soft lamp in the corner illuminated the space. Once inside, she turned and regarded me with an air of quiet amusement.

“Look at me,” she said, her voice low. Instinctively, my eyes flickered over her figure. “Tell me,” she continued, as her fingers grazed the surface of the medallion, “what do you find…appealing about me?”

A surge of alarm coursed through my body—this was inappropriate. I tried to open my mouth to refuse, but the words formed on my tongue without my permission. It was as though my mind was locked in a haze, compelled to obey.

“I…like your hair,” I blurted, feeling a flush burn my cheeks. It sounded so personal, so forward—totally unlike me.

She smiled. “Go on.”

“It’s so smooth,” I found myself saying. “Like dark silk.”

At once, a tingling warmth spread across my own scalp. I reached up reflexively, confused, as my once-short hair slipped through my fingers in long, flowing strands. My heart hammered in my chest. I could feel it—a physical transformation, as if my body answered to some hidden magic carried by her medallion.

“Good,” the woman praised softly. “What else?”

My mind swirled in panic, but my mouth responded of its own accord. “Your lips,” I stammered. “They’re so… full.”

She gave a slight nod. A fluttering heat prickled my own mouth. I sucked in a startled breath as I felt my lips shift, growing plush and soft against my teeth. I caught a glimpse of myself in a nearby mirror—my features were changing, gradually smoothing out, edging toward a distinctly feminine shape.

Before I could fully process what was happening, the woman placed a hand on my shoulder, guiding me to continue. My voice trembled with each forced compliment, praising the curve of her waist, the arch of her brow, the delicate shape of her hands. With every word, something in me changed: broader shoulders softened, a flatter chest gained a gentle swell, hips subtly rounded. My skin felt smoother, my eyelashes longer, and even the pitch of my voice wavered higher.

No matter how much I wanted to stop praising her, the medallion’s power twisted my will. Finally, as I stood there, heart pounding, I realized I had changed entirely. My reflection now showed a young woman with wide, frightened eyes and a figure far removed from the shape I had been born with.

The manager reached for my hand, examining my slender fingers with a calm, satisfied air. “Perfect,” she murmured. She then reached into a small wardrobe at the side of the parlor and withdrew an elegant black skirt and a crisp white blouse. She pressed them into my arms with a soft smile that made my stomach flutter in a confusing blend of fear and thrill.

“Wear these,” she instructed. “I have a job for you.”

Somehow, I knew resisting her was impossible. My mind struggled to conjure an excuse or to summon the strength to run. Yet I could do nothing but nod, trembling as I slipped behind a folding screen to change. My clothes felt disconcertingly right against my newly altered body—fitting every curve snugly.

When I emerged, I was no longer just a reluctant guest of the hotel—I was an entirely new person. Even my stance had changed, my center of balance shifting to accommodate my new shape. The woman gestured for me to follow, and she guided me through another corridor. At the end of it was a lounge area, softly lit by amber lamps, where a handful of patrons chatted quietly with hotel staff.

The manager turned to me, leaning in just close enough that I could sense the faint spice of her perfume. “You will serve as my hostess,” she said. “Greet incoming guests, show them warmth, make them feel special. In time, you’ll appreciate the gifts I’ve given you.”

The words felt like a heavy chain, a new reality snapping into place. I wanted to scream in protest, to demand she reverse this enchantment, but all I could muster was a soft, submissive nod. She placed a gentle hand on my back, guiding me into the lounge. Instantly, I recognized my friends across the room—and froze. They hadn’t noticed me yet. I was certain they wouldn’t even recognize me.

My thoughts spun: How could I ever explain this? Part of me feared stepping forward, letting them see me. Another part—disturbingly calm—was content to glide across the floor and fulfill the role she assigned me. The medallion’s power still weighed on my mind, coaxing me to comply.

So I smiled as sweetly as I could, took a deep breath, and walked to the nearest guest, uttering the required pleasantries in a voice I barely recognized. My friends remained oblivious. And as I moved about the lounge, I caught glimpses of my reflection in mirrors and windows, a new face, a new body—so different from the person I’d been just hours before.

Eventually, the woman passed by and gave me a curt nod, her eyes never leaving mine. The weight of her control still pressed against my thoughts. But at the same time, I felt a strange ripple of fascination with this new life. A hidden corner of me had begun to wonder: if escape was impossible, would I learn to accept it?

I looked down at my hands—delicate, poised—and then glanced toward the corridor where I had undergone this surreal transformation. Maybe, if I could find that medallion again, there was a chance to reverse everything. But for now, I had a role to fill. My transformation was complete, and my new job had just begun.

So, head spinning with uneasy resignation, I continued to welcome the guests of Rosewood Retreat with a polished smile, silently praying for the day I might slip free from the medallion’s alluring, terrifying power—and reclaim the person I once was.