What can you remember? (Transformation, Male to Futa)

Story by Olivria Noel

My story entry, the short version. I may try and expand it.

What do you remember?

Now

Your head is swimming for a few moments, trying to piece its sense back together and finding no help from the rest of a pleasured, immobilised body. A smile seems stuck to your lips for a few moments and all you can think of is how good you feel. Your eyes manage to slide rather uneasily into focus, the narrow buildings overlooking you, the sky as a slightly lightened grey becoming less blurry, more of clear focus. Your lips groan, even then feeling soft, not chapped, the sound that comes out of them lighter, unlike anything your throats produced since before you hit puberty. Raising your head upward for a moment, you glance down across yourself, across where you are and wonder on it.

Your body is indeed a surprise, even now. Glancing down across the soft curvature of rather large mounds, the nipples at their peaks a puckered affair, traces of white dribbling down the tips and then along the sides of those orbs, it is them that form the drawing point for a formerly ‘unfeminine’ eye. Beyond that, the slightly protruding nature of your stomach, a light but chubby affair is now coated in the traces of white that now trickle along your entire form, your new breasts featuring tell-tale stains of that same fluid in copious amounts. Your body is indeed naked you notice, though a rather inane grin touches your features at that, as if it’s not really an issue. And thanks to everything that’s happened, your head doesn’t really feel too much worry. After all, someone else, standing at the end of your feet, the end of what you guess is this alleyway has been doing the worrying for you.

‘I see it worked slightly better then I intended.’ The woman’s voice speaks with a rather toned air of authority, firm in strength but her features, arched eyebrows, open green eyes and lips that are not sneering, nor smiling but just showing a gentle concern for a moment. She is dressed head-to-toe in a rather form fitting, done up white coat, a pair of sneakers, light blue in colour, on her feet, all that’s visible beneath that coat. She folds her arms, gently under an ample but not as ample as you’ve become, chest. And with a slightly quiet tilt of her head, she muses curiously.

‘So you’ve come so far…’

Though how far you’ve come and why you’re hear is something you begin to muse on, even as what trickles down your stomach from the now thick, rather bulbous length along your hips, makes you shiver off and on while remembering.

1 Hour Ago

Something gushes from your lower half, rocketing across the pavement and you count your luck, even though the want to still be able to count is fast fading from your head, that the streets seem vaguely empty. You cast your eyes around you and vague fear catches you for a moment, seeing some rare bystanders glance your way, confused by the ‘person’ who seems to be turned at an angle against the wall, walking in such a way they look constantly like they need the bathroom, legs squeezed together with a heavy shaking going through them.

Though it’s much harder to explain things when a large, rather fleshy pair of breasts have burst their way through the seams of your shirt, causing you both a harsh wave of shock and a horribly thick wave or arousal at the site of, yes, your own breasts. You have breasts now.

That was the most annoying thing to hide. Seeing them tug at your chest, back in the shop, calling out after twenty minutes of pain beginning to wrack your body, feeling muscles begin to contract and like every cell in your form was trying to reshape itself as if that wouldn’t cause you some pain, that you needed to go, it was an emergency. You swear that Rhoda’s head perked up, her eyes alight with a curious fire that beggars description but you’d already ran from the store then, ran until what was happening to you could only mean you had to walk with legs squeezed tight.

You feel so hot. A slit can be felt, beneath where your balls are, themselves feeling smoother within your underwear, the skin fleshier, heavier. Your breathing is harsher and you swear to god that your face, after a particularly harsh bout of pain, has changed too, at one point touching your cheek and finding it as smooth as before you hit the teenage years, perhaps smoother. Your hair too, it seems longer, slipping down your back and bouncing off and on against your moving body.

An alley moves up to you and all you can do is burst out into a run for it, trying to reach there even as whatever’s causing you this feeling makes your cock, so much bigger a member, having become thicker, longer, bursting from your jeans even as you’d hid them beneath your hands and with your coat, gushes again, this time as it’s drawn so tight to your chest, over your breasts. You shake, tripping into the alleyway and withou

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