A request from Barnes18, although since this only loosely fits with the details of their request, I will try to redo it soon.

A bit of a rushed caption, sorry! I've been having a lot of technical problems the last few days and very foolishly burned through my backlog of captions, so had nothing to upload.

As a star college quarterback, your body had been a slab of hard muscle. It had stood, solid and unyielding, against the blows of the oncoming players. Never bending until the day it had finally, catastrophically broken. Three shattered vertebrae later, your promising football career was over. Once you'd been tampered with by an Autodoc to that extent, you were automatically exempted from most competitive sports.

Post-college life was grim. You'd put all your eggs in one basket with football, neglecting your studies. Now that dream was dread, reality was hitting hard. In this economy, you were unemployable. Thankfully, your mother had come to the rescue.

As the injections of hormone-soaked fat flow through your body, the hard-earned, hardened muscles melt away. You almost sob to think of the thousands of hours in the gym, now all for nothing, as the hormones corrode your masculinity like acid. Two large-bore needles slip into the skin beneath your nipples, and your breasts begin to form. Gravity asserts itself on your body for the first time, as flesh begins to sag and hang. There are twin stings in your buttocks, which soften and bloat. The Autocloset's machine limbs tease a thong up between your meaty thighs, where it is swallowed up between your thick, maternal ass cheeks.

Your mom had generously offered to share her life with you, at least until your male-self found employment. She was a housewife mostly with a part-time position as an administrative assistant. Nothing too sophisticated, even for one as unqualified as you but, as she put it, 'there were never enough hours in the day'. Though she hoped 48 hours might be sufficient. She was turning you into her twin. By taking over her position in the household, tidying the home and preparing the meals for your siblings and father, it would allow her to increase her hours at work.

The humiliation was almost more than you could bear. But hey, it was a job. How could you refuse?

Surely hers were not so large? You try not to look down as the orbs swell within your peripheral vision, your nipples smarting in pain as they're stretched wide across your augmented breasts. A frilly bra is mercifully lifted and clipped into place.

There's a knock on the Autocloset door. "How far along are you in there, honey?" your mom calls. "Have you got to the implantation yet? I thought I'd leave you a gift."

She sounds amused. It makes your blood run cold. A machine scalpel cuts two neat incisions in your anesthetized abdomen, while a hatch opens. Metal hands carry what are unmistakeably a pair of ovaries towards the incisions. They slip inside. Through the numbing chemicals, you feel no pain, only the uncomfortably fumbling as they rummage through your insides, pushing aside intestines to install your new, old reproductive organs. The Autocloset closet carried your severed manhood, wedging the generous organ into the narrow organ storage hatch with little finesse, which snaps closed around it.

You are dressed. Your thick motherly form is practically poured into a pair of skin-tight mom-jeans, a clinging blouse pulled around your chest. The Autocloset interior fills with a cloud of choking hairspray as your hair is manipulated into hers. Through the blinding mist, you taste waxy lipstick being drawn across your lips. Your dainty feet are slipped into high heels that tilt you forward, just in time for the Autocloset door to swing open and send your numbed body teetering forward.

Her waiting arms catch you eagerly. Soft curves push against soft curves. Eager hands examine you, while her eyes alight in amazement.

"Eeeh, it's like looking in a mirror!" she giggles in delight.