"I think we'll start with that lovely hair of yours," the woman says. She takes a glance at the mirror behind you, and the dark hair falling down your back. "Yes, it's much too short. I've always enjoyed my toys with longer hair, but I see even more potential than usual for you..."
Your scalp tingles as your hair starts a sudden growth spurt. You back up against the mirror. You want to run and hide, but the collar starts to tighten once more. In fear you're fixed on the spot.
"Come now, there's no need to be shy. I'm going to make you more beautiful than you've ever dreamed possible."
Because your back is pressing against the mirror, your growing hair is piling up on your shoulders. It falls down your chest in a waterfall of soft dark brown ripples.
"While we're waiting on that, I think that dress is too ordinary," the woman ponders to herself. "Perhaps a little..." She twirls a finger in the air. Your chest tightens. You look down and see, through your hair, that the maid's dress has been altered to have a black bodice inserted. It presses on your torso, causing your stance to be more upright and stiff. The white apron has been modified. It no longer has shoulder straps and a chest portion. Now it is a simple semi-circular apron tied at the waist. The skirt of your dress has new layers added to it. Black and white alternating ruffles cause it to stick out a bit, although it still barely covers your legs.
"Ah yes, and...," the woman mutters again. Your upper chest feels tighter again and you realize your breasts are slowly expanding. The soft flesh rises from the top of the bodice, displaying a generous cleavage. Your breasts stop growing once they reach the next cup size, and while you're hardly at bimbo proportions, they're noticeably large for a girl your age.
Next you feel something shift within your dress, then cold air blow across the exposed mouth of your vagina. Your bra and thong have disappeared. In the open air, your pussy sends a humble request to your brain for attention.
You gasp audibly. The woman raises an eyebrow. "Yes, I thought I would give you a little something to distract you. It's not good to be so uptight.
"I'm not going to give into you," you say defiantly. You aren't able to hide a hint of fear from your voice, however, and the constricting outfit, changes to your body, and distracting privates are making it difficult to keep focused.
"That's what I like to hear. Ah, I think that's long enough." You feel that your hair has only now stopped growing. "Go ahead," the woman says. "Take a look at yourself."
With the changes over, you very slowly turn around and take a few paces away from the mirror. You do look very gorgeous now, even if it's for this woman's amusement. Your dress is tight enough to show off a perfect figure. The five layers in the skirt stick out almost horizontally from mid-thigh. They're a swift breeze away from revealing your uncovered pussy. Your hair has grown down all the way to your calves, thick and wavy. Half of the locks glide down your front side, and you carefully pull them behind you to join the rest.
"Almost done," the woman says. "There's still something lacking in the outfit."
Something slides up your arms, and you look down at them to find long black gloves now cover them almost all the way to your shoulders. They are regular, silky gloves on your hands, but starting at your wrists they turn to fishnets and reach up to end at a thick elastic band clinging tightly to your upper arms.
"Are you finished?" you ask with contempt.
"Not quite." You hear her clap her hands behind you, and suddenly the room starts to move upward, making you dizzy. You see in the reflection that the room isn't what's changing. You're getting shorter. Your new outfit is shrinking with you as the inches disappear, though you notice your hair is retaining its length, coming dangerously close to the floor.
"Oh, we must do something about that, mustn't we?" the woman says. You feel the shrinking continue, but you're no longer moving downward. Taking another look at your feet, it seems the woman has triggered a growth in your platforms. Their bases are thickening at the same rate you are shrinking, maintaining your overall height. At the same time, they grow from being ankle-less shoes to tall boots. The smooth black leather expands, creeping up your legs. Your fishnet leggings are gone, leaving the boots to grow into a skin-tight, form-fitting shape. Silver buckles appear every few inches as they continue past your knees and stop mid-thigh, right at your skirt's hemline. Your entire body tips forward, and you flail your arms wildly to maintain your balance. You try to ignore the renewed feeling from your vagina as your motions trigger another gust of wind up your skirt. Once you get upright again, you see that your platforms have aligned into a high-heel position, raising you even farther off the floor. They're comically tall now, and they have a slightly wider base to give better stability. Your hair dangles within two inches of the floor, saved from becoming a dust mop only by your new, ultra-tall boots.
"Yes, that does nicely!" the woman coos. You turn around violently, almost sending yourself toppling to the floor. Your hair whips around in front of you and then settles back again. Your bell jingles loudly. It doesn't seem to have shrunk with you, looking a bit larger now.
None of this takes away from the surprise you experience when looking at the source of your misery. You realize now just how small you've become. You're at eye level with her waist, where before the height difference was less than a foot.
"I've always found that making things smaller made them cuter," the woman smiles down at you. "It's quite true in this case."
"What have you done to me?" you shout up to her. She seems much more intimidating now, though her posture remains the same as before.
"I've made you a beautiful, cute, two-foot-nine doll of a woman!" she replies as if she just painted a masterpiece. "With twelve-inch platforms and the best hair in the county."
You run at her, unable to control yourself any longer. To your surprise, the collar doesn't tighten. But you aren't thinking of escape, just of inflicting pain. You pound your arms against the only thing you can reach; her chest.
This only makes her chuckle. She grabs your arms. The strength with which she holds you still is remarkable. "Careful," she says with amusement, "Or I'll have to make you even smaller."
You stop trying to resist her and she lets you go. You back away from her once again.
"I'll give you some time alone to get acquainted with yourself," she says, turning around and heading for the door. "But don't be surprised if I come right back for more adjustments. True artists' works are never finished, you know." With that, she shuts the door and locks it from the outside.