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— Hey… — I breathed out, grabbing my waistband with one hand. The shorts really were slipping down, but I didn’t even get the chance to think much about it. My body at that moment… how should I put it… started to throb. And no, it didn’t hurt at all, but it felt strange. Unsettling. Scary, even. My muscles, like someone was erasing them, started to shrink, like the air was being let out of them with each pulse. My shoulders slumped, my chest… it felt like everything inside was being rearranged.
— What the... — I started, but my voice broke into something completely different, like I’d gone hoarse and was trying to speak clearly, but couldn’t manage my own tone. It came out high, raspy—almost feminine.
I clenched the fabric of the shorts in my fist, but in the next second they… disappeared. Just vanished, like a mirage on hot asphalt. I froze, and only then—only when my hand was left in the air as if still holding invisible cloth—did I look down.
At first I didn’t understand what I was seeing. Small, neat, round breasts, hugged by a yellow bikini top, barely covered. My… breasts? Not a single hair. Smooth, sun-kissed skin. I blinked and looked lower — and saw hips. Not my hips. They were wide, feminine, heavy—yet somehow graceful.
Something pricked my earlobes — barely noticeable, like a mosquito bite but with a weird electric tingle. I flinched and suddenly felt weight on both sides, my lobes stretched, and something started swaying against my cheeks. But I didn’t even have time to process that, because along with that sting, it was like a dam had burst.
I felt my breasts — the tiny ones I’d only just noticed — start to swell with weight. I looked down and watched it happen: the yellow bikini top no longer just covered my chest — it was supporting it, pulling it in, holding it back, like my new curves were trying to break free. I felt every movement, every shift in weight, every tiny change — the skin stretching, nipples tightening, the fabric getting tighter and tighter.
— No… no… no… — the voice, my voice, no longer sounded like mine. Each new “no” got higher, sweeter, dripping more and more with a syrupy tone meant to seduce. — Não… por favor, não...!
What the hell was that? Portuguese? I tried to cover my mouth with my hand, but—