If you like my art, sketches, stories, transformations you can find more like this on my Patreon page or in DeviatArt Premium Early Access folder for subscribers here. Every bit of support is truly appreciated, but just having you here means the most to me - without you, none of this would have been possible. Thank you very much!
Check also my shop at DeviantArt for other works
Closing the bathroom door behind me, I felt a wave of slight relief wash over me. For the first time all day, I was alone—even if only in a small, tile-covered room. "Or am I not alone? Did they put cameras in here too?!" The thought struck me like a bolt of lightning, and I frantically looked around. Tiles, a mirror, a small shelf with some jars and tubes. In the corner, barely visible, a blinking light. "Damn it! They're watching even here!"
Exhaling and shifting my gaze, I noticed the mirror above the sink. Slowly, I approached, stopping as my eyes met the reflection. A woman stared back at me. Long, dark hair flowed over her shoulders, framing a face that was still mine—or almost mine. The cheekbones, the nose—they were familiar. But the lips… I could now clearly see that they were fuller, standing out against the pale skin. Even without makeup, they looked like I’d just walked out of a salon.
I nervously ran a hand through my hair, feeling how soft it was as it slid between my fingers. These strands were too long, and now I understood why women constantly tucked them behind their ears. They got in the way, tickling my neck, falling across my face. It was uncomfortable. Disgusting. I hated it.
– I need to… tell him somehow, – I muttered under my breath, avoiding my reflection. My voice sounded melodic, almost sing-songy, which irritated me even more. – No, seriously, I need to drop a hint. Tell him this is all an experiment. That he’s not a husband, and I’m not a wife. That I’m, damn it, a guy!
I turned my back to the mirror and glanced at the nightgown in my hands. "What a choice," I thought, examining the soft fabric and lace. A shiver ran through me. This thing wasn’t made for me—it was meant for someone else, someone… real. But I had no other option.
I began pulling off the tight skirt, feeling how it restricted every movement. The fabric, stretched to its limit, clung to my skin and refused to budge. I tugged it down, but it resisted—too narrow at the waist, too snug on the hips.
– Come on, damn you… – I muttered through gritted teeth, struggling to push it past my hips. When I finally managed to pull it off, the cool air brushed against my skin, and I exhaled reflexively. My whole body seemed to relax, freed from this damn vise.
The skirt slid to the floor, landing softly. Absentmindedly, I ran my hands down my sides, suddenly aware of how wide and soft my hips had become. It sent a strange wave of revulsion through me.
Next, I started unbuttoning the blouse. My nails, long and perfectly manicured, kept snagging on the small buttons, making it impossible to get a proper grip. I clicked my tongue in frustration and proceeded more carefully, but each button required effort, turning this into a slow torture.
When the blouse finally dropped to the floor, my shoulders felt freer. But as soon as I glanced down, everything inside me churned. My tits, hugged by a lacy bra, looked enormous from this angle. Heavy, soft, alive. I quickly looked away, as if refusing to acknowledge this reality.
– Alright, – I exhaled, fumbling with the bra clasp. – Let’s just take it off and forget about it.
But "just" didn’t happen. My nails got in the way again, and my fingers felt clumsy, as if they weren’t meant for this task. Frustrated, I wrestled with the clasp until I finally heard a quiet click. The bra loosened, and at that moment, the tension around my breasts disappeared. I pulled it off and tossed it onto the floor.
– Ugh… – I closed my eyes, feeling a sense of relief. Without that thing, it was easier to breathe, but something still felt wrong. My breasts, now free, felt different. It was soft, heavy, and moved with every step. I instinctively touched it, trying to make sense of the sensation. My fingers sank slightly into the skin, and it triggered another wave of irritation and confusion. Alien. It was alien, yet alive, responsive.
– Damn it… – I whispered, pulling my hand back as if I’d been burned.
I turned toward the mirror, reluctantly glancing at my reflection. Now I stood there in just lacy panties, which clung tightly to my new hips, emphasizing their curves. But my gaze froze on my breasts—two soft, heavy forms swaying slightly with every breath and movement. My hand instinctively reached out to touch them, and my fingers brushed against the soft, springy skin. I felt them sink slightly into the flesh as my tits seemed to respond, shifting gently under the touch. It was disturbingly strange. They were heavy, warm, alive—and, damn it, they were my breasts!
A shiver ran through me. What the hell am I doing?! I quickly pulled my hand back, but the sensation lingered—just like when I’d first touched Stephanie’s boobs. Only back then, it had been exciting, arousing. Now… I felt heat rush to my face. This wasn’t exciting or arousing—it was… wrong. My face burned as I realized my fingers had just been trailing over something soft, yielding, and far too real.
I tore my gaze away from the mirror, but the thoughts were already swirling in my head. "God, if I were a guy and saw a woman like that… Yeah, I’d screw her. A total MILF, straight out of a magazine. Way better than Stephanie’s small boobs." The realization hit me like a sledgehammer. "Did I seriously just think that about myself?!"