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
He froze in the same pose he had arrived in — arms hanging down, one leg slightly forward. His gaze professionally began to scan the area, automatically picking out threats, lines of sight, cover… but who was there to defend against? Knights or baboons?
He blinked.
These were jungles. Thick, damp, almost tangible. Mist crept between the trunks, the greenery wasn’t a “set piece” but something alive, pressing in from all sides. No trace of the portal. No team. No concrete, no metal. Only chirring, distant animal cries, and heavy, warm air filling his lungs with a foreign smell.
— Harris? — he finally said in a whisper, but loud enough for the mic to catch. — Renaud reporting. Do you copy?
No answer came.
The silence on the channel wasn’t just the absence of sound — it pressed down on him. Jules automatically touched his ear, expecting the edge of the headset, but his fingers slid over skin. Bare skin. No plastic, no metal. He sharply lowered his gaze, and at that moment it felt like the air was knocked out of his lungs.
He wasn’t wearing armor.
Instead of his uniform, he saw an asymmetrical strip of hide slung over his shoulder. It covered completely something that should never have existed on him. Breasts. Full, unmistakably female breasts, probably a C cup, maybe even a D, though from his angle they looked even larger.
Right then, as if on purpose, a cool breeze brushed his thigh, slipping lower, between his legs, and stirring the rough piece of hide that barely covered anything down there. Jules instinctively squeezed his thighs together, feeling emptiness and smoothness where he was used to something entirely different. Emptiness. Simple emptiness, that was literally felt, especially when he relaxed his thighs and the light breeze slid over smooth skin again, sending a shiver through his whole body — not from cold, but from realization.
The hide didn’t fully cover his breasts, and Jules felt how they reacted to movement — with weight, with soft shifting, too obvious to be ignored. Below — a short skirt-wrap, uneven, with fringe, tied with a rope around the hips. The fabric rubbed against his skin with every breath.
— What the fuck?! — he shouted, as if his brain had only now processed the information and tried at the same time to throw an error, a protest, and a request for a reboot.
The sound of his own voice broke into a high, ringing pitch — completely not the one that should have come from his chest. He himself flinched, instinctively jerking back, but his foot slipped on the wet roots, and his body lurched forward, forcing his breasts to swing with a heavy, far too alive inertia. The soft curves lightly slammed into each other, responding with a painful, unnatural-for-him wave of sensation — so vivid that he even squeezed his eyes shut.