@Background Pony #5711
absolutely masterful. all I can say is: gawd DAYUM

@Background Pony #9266
Okay, here’s the finale. Spoilered for: explicit, vulgar

@Background Pony #75C0
absolutely A-tier writing, I think you should know. really looking forward to the next part if you feel like writing it

@Background Pony #9266
Here goes nothing. Part 2: Mental transformation/new memories/personality shifting, submissive, masochism, vulgarity.

“How the hell is this a ‘ten-inch dick’ you stupid rock?” he asked the cartoonishly busty girl in the mirror, without looking over to the floor where he’d dropped his sister’s so-called wishing stone.

From behind the two naked breasts that utterly dominated his contours, his arms appeared and tried to pull the floral shirt with the enormous neckline up to cover them. But it wouldn’t fit, and the jostling of the heavy flesh induced more of the annoying, almost painful tingling all throughout their mass. “Jeez these things are sensitive,” he snarled with his newly-minted girlish voice. Taking a different tack, he pulled the shirt off his one shoulder and bunched it up around his broad hips. He shimmied the shirt down past his unfamiliar tail and the heavy mass of the extraordinarily wide hips, butt, and thighs that provided at least a little physical counterbalance to his top-heavy frame. The shirt passed the widest part of his legs and slid down around his ankles to the floor. Looking down, he couldn’t see it past his tremendous globes of breast-flesh.
Massive. Two massive shapes hanging dependent in front of his torso, completely obscuring his stomach and hiding his shrunken waist from the front. Everything about his body was girlish and feminine, except his tits and ass which were pornographic and feminine. Crouching down, he picked up the shirt and guided it over his head, catching it on the horn a couple of times, before stretching it over the expansive breasts and tucking it around his hips snugly into the waistband of his shorts. The stretched neckline exposed cleavage by the foot rather than by the inch.
His reflection looked like someone’s hentai waifu, a unicorn monster musume. His new face blushed deeply at the idea and an unwelcome thrill zipped up and down his spine, causing his tail to shudder slightly. He didn’t want to process that, so he looked around the unfamiliar room for something that might explain how his wish had gone awry.
There was a notebook on the bed sheets, with a pen that bore a cartoon unicorn topper at the end. He wobbled awkwardly over and picked it up, examining the latched cover. Jordan Almond’s Private Diary: DO NOT READ. The name, Jordan Almond, seared itself into his neurons, overwriting the shorter single first name and replacing it with this two-word version that bore so many sugary, candy-associated thoughts. Jordan Almond unsnapped the latch and started flipping through the diary.

“ … already bigger than my classmates … boys are talking about me on the playground … Ms. Gwen giving me sympathetic looks …” A new narrative flooded his brain, memories of late elementary school, of his body changing early, earlier than the other girls’. Other girls? Yes, her friends were being pouty and not treating her fair anymore. They were envious, but she hadn’t done it on purpose. It’s not like she wanted to stand out like this.

“… at least now other girls are feeling the cramps like I did, small measure of revenge … Kenny was the last boy to talk to me like a normal person, and he’s GAY! OMG can u believe it??? … coach won’t let me sit out gym even with doctor’s note, mom and dad going to straighten him out. Bastard. … the other girls are so mean I don’t want to change clothes anymore. … Everyone calls me Tits McGee behind my back … “ Junior high, struggling with her growing body and all the social ills brought about as her peers began dealing with their own puberty, all the girls regarding her as an enemy and all the boys eyeing her like a fatty piece of prime meat. The awful way her teacher didn’t want to make an exception for her in gym class.

She continued reading and remembering, each page turning her recollection inside out.

“Finally get to sit this year out but still have to change into gym clothes… Can’t believe it took a lawyer to say I have a handicap… Mom said when I’m old enough, I can talk to a surgeon, but she just doesn’t want to do something that’ll permanently hurt me right now. … I saw old Mr. Burdette staring at me from his window when I was getting changed this afternoon. Maybe I’m as bad as the other girls say, but it was so wrong and still a little hot. Don’t tell anyone! … The other girls are such bullies! Today in the locker room they surrounded me and started tossing their panties at my horn, like a game. Bunch of bitches. And then they laughed when Tanisha pointed out that I was getting wet. That sure didn’t help! They called me a fat dyke but they still warned me from even looking at their boyfriends! It was so unfair and humiliating. So of course my horrible body decided that it just had to get turned on right in front of everyone. God I’m such a slutty little whore. Why am I like this? It’s not like they’d give me the time of day except to abuse me…”
The memory was equally painful and erotic. She couldn’t help it, something about feeling powerless and belittled, it just… stoked her flames like nothing else. High school offered plenty of humiliation, being a toxic cesspit of hormones and cliques as all the teens tried to establish their own identities by tearing down their peers. Instead of growing up as a quiet and invisible nerdish boy, her history now traced the life of a young woman with multiple physical deformities that stood out and marked her as an object of ridicule by the other students. First it was her horn and tail, then her breasts and butt. They’d never stopped growing, robbing her more and more of any identity beyond themselves. She was a magnet for unwanted attention by the boys and a threatening rival to the girls, who acted like a pit of vipers around her. Was the arousal some kind of coping mechanism? She didn’t know, all she knew was that at some point her misery fetish became a dirty little secret she tried to keep to herself. How all the bullying and negative attention was becoming more and more of a turn-on, an inspiration for her growing masturbation habit in private. How she’d advanced beyond simply recalling her abuse from the day, and ventured into imagining new scenarios of humiliation and embarrassment to get herself off. She remembered every detail in the diary, and every detail she’d left out of it.

The last entry so far was from a week ago. “Still haven’t heard back from the coffee shop. Gottta keep filling out applications. Wish I could go to college but dad said they only have enough to pay for school or the surgery, not both… Krissy brought home a new boy today, I gotta say he was super cute! Drives a nice car, too! Must be nice having rich parents. And now I know why she’s been watching MLP lately, after years of making fun of me for doing it: her boyfriend’s a brony! If I wanted to get on her bad side, I might ask him about his favorite ships. But I wouldn’t do that to her, dear Diary… not unless she pisses me off, anyway.”
She looked over at the stuffed unicorns on her bed and the statuettes on the shelf, and suddenly had names and personalities for all of them. Twilight Sparkle, the bookish librarian princess. She identified with her social awdwardness and nerdy habits. Rarity, the fashionista: well-kept beauty and generous with her talents, a hard working business owner who was ultra-femme, the ultimate lipstick lesbian mistress. Trixie, the con artist with a heard of … maybe not gold, but Jordan Almond still put her on a pedestal because there were days where she didn’t feel pretty or talented but still wanted to feel like a 100-percent girl boss anyway, and that’s when Trixie was her spirit animal! Sunset Shimmer, the hot GF archetype who also struggled with her image at school… and finally Starlight Glimmer, the talented but anxious bundle of nerves who kept trying to do the right thing but kept messing up. She saw a bit of herself in all of them, or who she wanted to be, or who she wanted to be with, and had spent years obsessing over an imagined polyamorous relationship between the five of them. She’d amassed a huge virtual bookshelf on a fanfic site catering to her personal fantasy about their polyamorous relationship-

“That’s her sister?” someone said from the hallway. Jordan Almond dropped the diary and tried to spin around quickly, but her breasts slowed down her movement and she was only able to catch the last second of two boys falling through her doorway and into a pile in the floor. They stared up at her, and she stared down at them, both speechless for endless seconds.
“Uh… hi. We were just looking for the breastroom,” said the one on top.
“Rest room! Get off me, dude,” the one on the bottom corrected him. She recognized that face: it was Kirssy’s boyfriend, Brad! He pushed the other boy off his back and they both stood up. When did they start making high schoolers so tall, she wondered as they both put five inches over her, horn included.
Then she corrected herself: school was out now, Krissy was going to college this fall, and Brad had graduated the previous year, putting him about two years behind herself. Still, she wasn’t used to being so short… was she? Somehow the odd feeling that she had been taller seemed to recede into the background, and her memory filled instead with a lifetime of having to look upwards at almost everyone. Her classmates had kept growing up while she was busy growing out. But her focus returned to the present, and the two boys in her bedroom; her inner sanctum, her sacred retreat from the outside world. She felt vulnerable and self-conscious. How long had they been here?
“Um… were you two spying on me?” she asked nervously.
“No! Just looking for the john,” said the friend.
“Actually, yeah kinda,” said Brad. “I was watching you from the doorway. Liked what I saw, too.”
While his friend stared at him slack-jawed at the audacious admission, Jordan Almond’s stomach did backflips and her skin lit up like a space heater. “O-oh?” was all she could stammer out.
“Yeah, I saw you pulling your shirt down over those great big milkers,” Brad said, boring a hole in her cleavage with his dark brown eyes. “But Zack here missed the show,” he continued, tapping his friend on the arm. “That’s not fair, is it?”
“Um… I guess not?” Jordan Almond agreed, distracted by her own surge of erotic panic. The shame of her privacy invasion stoked a hot flame in her womanhood that used her embarrassment as fuel. Tendrils of lust climbed up her body like a trellis, sprouting vines of sensual pleasure in defiance of her discomfort. The sudden intrusion of two men into her privacy, the shameless admission of watching her dress, putting her on the spot like this… it was incredibly hot!
“I mean, I was showing him some older pictures,” Brad said nonchalantly. “My ex girlfriend had some that they were passing around in the locker room, back when you were at school.” With these provocative words he pulled out his phone and brought up the photo gallery, tapped the display, and turned the screen towards her. It showed her half-naked body, bosom exposed as she was leaning against a tile wall… no, not leaning, being held in place! She remembered this. It was her senior year. Some of the meaner girls had pinned her while she was getting changed… and one of them had a marker. Sure enough, the old photos showed black shaprie letters scrawled over the white curve of her naked breasts. “HAG” said one, and “BAGS” finished the other. Hag-Bags, the name they’d started giving her when Tits McGee had lost its charm. Her face was bowed in the picture, and she knew it was because she had been trying to hide how turned on she was at her mistreatment.
“But that was back when your hag-bags were smaller,” Brad said with a smirk. He handed the phone to his buddy, who took it and looked at Brad questioningly. He mouthed “trust me” quietly, and his buddy held the phone up to compare it to the figure standing before him.
“Um, yeah. Definitely… put on some weight since then,” he said, unsure how far to take his belittling talk. He and she were both surprised when a small moan escaped her mouth. Jordan Almond covered her lips, eyes wide. The understanding of what she’d just done in front of these two almost-strangers who were sharing old pictures of her from the locker room sizzled through her nerves like electricity through a wire. The friend glanced back at Brad with a smile. “But I think I want a better view to compare?” he suggested, emboldened by her sensual slip-up.
“Here, let me help you out buddy,” Brad said, looming closer to Jordan and reaching out towards her hips. She offered no resistance as his fingers probed into the waistline of her shorts and dug into her shirt. He closed in and moved behind her, pants brushing her tail and both arms closing around her waist from behind. Slowly he inched her shirt up from its confinement, drawing it over the skin of her hips and back. He leaned in closer, his hot breath on the back of her shoulders as he lifted the loose top up enough to reveal the bottom of her breasts. His friend’s eyes widened at the slow reveal, and Jordan Almond felt her heart hammering away deep inside her. She leaned back slightly and felt Brad’s hot, stiff cock against her butt, separated only by a few layers of fabric.

Some part of her was still Jordan, 22 year old college boy who had come home for spring break of senior year to spend summer with his family. That part of her was shocked at this body’s quick, excited reaction to these goons making every inappropriate advance and treated her like some kind of sex doll. His lived experiences offered up all kinds of parallels that had turned him on the same way; the time he paid for his first lap dance, the time he drunkenly made out with the homecoming queen who was so buzzed she thought he was her date, the time he helped two classmates “experiment” with their sexuality to see if they were lesbians or not. All the sexual encounters of his young life, and the ones where he’d been in control of the situation. Those were the empowering, validating encounters that he’d relished and kept close to hand when he needed to supplement his porn of the moment and get himself off.

Another part was Jordan Almond, a mutant freak with an out of control body that others teased and bullied her over her entire life. She offered instead a memory of the time Chantrelle stole her clothes in the gym locker room and made her swear in front of all the other girls to stay home on prom night. She remembered the time during a physical exam when her body decided to have a spontaneous orgasm right at the moment her doctor was checking her heart beat with a stethoscope, surprising them both. She recalled the way her unsympathetic coach berated her for being “lazy” during physical education and how she hoped he would make her suck him off for a passing grade… and her guilty disappointment when he didn’t.
Her elder neighbor watching her change clothes through the window. The way boys kept “accidentally” swimming into her at the pool. How her dentist made a point of always using the old “look a gift horse in the mouth” joke and resting his hand right on top of her tits during her check-ups, pretending not to realize it, as if daring her to confront him and smiling when she didn’t. Her life had been one of unbearable duality; shame and arousal frustrated by the perpetrators either ignorant of how they were affecting her, or testing her but not following through, leaving her to sort out the guilt and lust by herself. One tease after another, ad nauseum, never amounting to more.

This moment was all of those at once and even more. The long-awaited culmination of Jordan Almond’s fantasies, the concentrated instant of awkward memories and vulnerability being actively exploited against her, going further than anyone else before. All the way, she hoped. She was excited and a little scared, but more than anything she was thrilled to find a boy who seemed willing to go the distance and do to her just what she wanted done to her, no questions asked, no permission needed. There was a kind of power in knowing at last that someone needed her complete submission and humiliation just as much as she wanted to submit and be humiliated, a symmetry she hoped wouldn’t falter at the finish line. She was ready if he was. This was truly the opportunity of a lifetime for both of them… even if he was technically her little sister’s date instead of hers. If anything, that element of taboo transgression made it even hotter! Besides, her bratty sister would never debase herself for him. Not like she was about to. She was already feeling weak in the knees, her tummy fluttering and her underwear clinging damply against her meticulously trimmed snatch.

Brad’s hands slid up and around her breasts and took their concealment away with them, exposing her pale flesh to the nameless boy in front of her and leaving her totally at the mercy of the near-stranger behind. She wore a mask of awkward embarrassment that rested on a squirming core of illicit arousal, struggling not to moan like a whore and only succeeding in tamping it down to a muffled, meek whimper.
“Gawd… damn!” the friend said, staring in open awe at the two massive tits that entirely hid her torso behind their bulbous curvature. She kept her eyes fixed on his face, delighting in how shamelessly he stared down at her chest, which was now tinging red all over from the involuntary blush that lit up her otherwise pallid skin. The pressure of Brad’s clenched fists squeezing into their sides brought back the aggressive, almost painful tingling sensation to her over-sensitive mammaries, but this time it felt… pleasant somehow. Like muscle soreness after a good workout, a pain that was welcome rather than intrusive.
“Hey, can I try?” the nameless friend asked, looking past Jordan Almond’s face and instead seeking permission from Brad.
“You seeing anyone right now, sugar sacks?” Brad asked, shifting his hips to grind against her plump butt deliberately. She bit her lip to keep from giggling and ruining the mood, and simply shook her head slightly. “Knock yourself out,” he replied from over her shoulder. “Unclaimed tits are public property,” he said, resting his cheek on the top of her head. Jordan Almond could only respond with a sensual sigh as the friend closed in and reached out with his free hand. He seemed unsure, searching her face for signs of disapproval and, finding none, tentatively placed his fingertips on the underside of her right breast. He tried lifting it, but hadn’t counted on the sheer weight. He spread his fingers out to cup as much as he could and tried again, hefting the bosom up a few inches and giving it a jostle from beneath.
Her breast’s drum-tight skin stretched where it flowed around the groping hand. More sharp tingling, but with a warm, sweet edge. She was loving the hard fondling from these two boys, and the naughty context turned her overdeveloped chest’s extreme tenderness into erogenous delight. She couldn’t help but coo softly, which betraying her enthusiastic complicity in the deed just as much as the slight rising of the two blunt lumps in the middle of her smeared-out areolas.
A cool face tickled the red-hot, pointed tip of her left ear as Krissy’s boyfriend leaned closer and said to both of them, “Hey, get me some video while I put this horny bitch through her paces.”

You can say no, the Jordan part of her thought.
Why? the Jordan Almond part of her replied.

@Background Pony #75C0
i love it. really looking forward to part 2 !!

Part 1: Physical transgender transformation, vulgarity.

“What the hell-” Jordan’s voice broke off as he watched his old bedroom transforming in a wave that radiated out from him. The posters of superheroes and shonen anime wall hangings disappeared, replaced with embroidered needlepoint art of kittens and wall hangings of magical girl anime characters.
The bed sheets changed from turquoise and black to white and pink, and a chintzy faux-canopy with lacy trim grew out of the four bed posts. The rippling wave-front of altered reality spawned a small collection of unicorn plushies gathered at the foot of the bed.
Still the march of change swept around the bedroom, leaving no sacred cow unmutilated. The gaming PC case changed from black to white and sported chibi character stickers, while other items on his old desk adopted pastel colors and girlish flourishes. When the wave of glistening unreality reached his small bookshelf full of vinyl busty anime girl statues over his old study space, they warped and distorted, arms and legs merging together, faces blanking and 3D-sculpted billowing hair and skirts shrinking down close in, until the entire collection was rendered unrecognizable. Whatever was left look like… tall kittens or something, with big hair and tails, in all kinds of colors schemes.
Jordan gawked and watched with horror as the impossible wrinkle in reality reached the dresser where he used to keep his gaming console before taking it with him to college. The TV was still on the wall, and his small collection of pervy, nearly-hentai anime DVDs was unceremoniously changed into cases full of romance anime series instead. And so that he would have something to watch them on, his console re-appeared before his eyes, just long enough to spark terror as he saw the black plastic housing mutate into a white and pink modded color scheme sporting more unicorn and chibi character stickers.

This isn’t what he wished for at all!

Jordan thought he was having a panic attack, the way his heart was pounding and his body was getting hot, a tingling sensation catching fire in his extremities. He tried to turn and get out of this cursed bedroom, but something lifted up his foot as he was twisting around to leave, throwing him off-balance. He toppled gracelessly onto the floor with a loud thud, the jolt of impact reverberating into his joints painfully. Jordan glanced toward his feet to see what he’d tripped over and couldn’t believe his eyes. Someone had taken off his sneakers and replaced them with girly black high-heeled shoes somehow! And his legs were looking pale… and bare. Where had his slacks gone? Even as he watched, the highly contrasting forest of dark black leg hairs seemed to evaporate into thin air, leaving his pallid bare skin behind.
Something lurched in his stomach. Well, not just his stomach, but his entire lower body jerked and sort of… contorted? There was pulling and spasming, a feeling like all the cramps he’d ever suffered getting together for a rave in the space between his thighs and his rib cage, paralyzing him in shock. There were popping sensations and crunching sounds, but the predominating noise was a kind of sickening squelching, like someone making balloon animals out of his guts. He watched in horror as his pelvis shifted and grew, gaining mass and volume and forcing his legs into a new, disturbingly feminine posture. Whatever was left of his pants shrunk tight to the oddly pale legs like a vacuum-packed second skin, squeezing tight and wreaking havoc with his proprioception as it conformed to unfamiliar contours… and rubbed against his crotch in an unfamiliar way, drawing his attention to the horrifying lack of substance around his groin.

“Where the fUCK DID It gO?” he blurted out in a voice staccato with involuntary pitch-shifting. He commanded his weird new legs to tuck in and pushed himself onto the solid soles of those black shoes, then bolted upright and swayed backwards, over-weighted in the rear, falling back down. The floor punished his recklessness with a hard smack on a well-padded rear end that felt too large and too fleshy. But what threw him for a loop was the girlish coo that forced its way out of his mouth. “Ooo!” it said, filling his ears with the uncannily sexy voice of a porno slut receiving a playful spank. His face reddened and his pupils dilated, an electric surge lighting his spine on fire. Something made a tearing sound as the erogenous energy bounced from his brain back down to the base of his spine, and a feeling of relieved pressure and freedom signaled the release of some new body part. Something hairy tickled his hand viciously, and his head snapped down to look at the floor, where a pale purple wig had fallen over his fingers. He recoiled in surprise, and the wig disappeared. Then it landed on his other hand.

Jordan didn’t know what was going on, but he was at his wits’ end. He again tried to stand up, teetering awkwardly and leaning on the four poster bed for support. Something brushed the back of his calves. He bent over to look down, and it was pulled away from his legs and out of view. He was in a full-on panic now. T changes to his room, the shoes, the changes to his lower body… the pieces of this puzzle slamming together despite how impossible it all seemed, but the hairy thing that kept tickling him when he wasn’t looking didn’t fit and he wasn’t eager to find out what it meant. He had to get out of here before anything else happened.
He made another lunge for the door but his foot landed wrong, unaccustomed to the tilted footwear attached to it, and belly-flopped onto the floor. Something landed on top of his head. He reached to brush it off and was greeted with a lock of the same long, light-purple wig as before. Gripping it, he pulled hard… and gasped as his scalp burned painfully from the pressure. Crawling to his knees, he looked over at the closet door where a slender mirror… used to hang. It wasn’t there, but beside the closet was a much wider full-length mirror, in which he saw a pale-skinned femboy wearing a light purple wig staring out at him from a kneeling position. The wig even had a high-tied ponytail, set by a red scrunchy. I looked messy but somehow elegant, tufts and locks tossed just-so. Completely out of place on him. As he shook his head to one side, he saw pale skin where it shouldn’t be, sticking up and out from the side of his head. The long, purple locks of hair that hung on either side of his new face were concealing delicate, pointed elf-ears!

“No way,” the image of that pointy-eared femboy said with a voice that had nothing boyish going for it. Reaching against the wall to steady himself again, Jordan rose up in sync with the effeminate reflection, noting in horror how impossibly thick and wide their hips and thighs were. His heels clicked dully against the floor as he stood to full height, staring at his illusory double and trying to put the image into context. His eye twitched, and so did his lower spine. Something purple flicked to the reflection’s right, a long ponytail swinging out behind the black shorts that spanned its massive hips. No, not a ponytail… a pony’s tail. The same color as the long, purple hair on its head.
Just then, Jordan’s purple-clad head started to ache. A pressure built up over his forehead, a pushing… and a pulling sensation. Something pale and smooth simultaneously began rising up out of the reflection’s skull. A lump, growing and twisting, spreading up and outward and widening at its base. Toothy-white and with a pronounced spiral groove radiating down from the tip, it sprouted in fits and starts perfectly timed with the throbbing of his own skull.

A horn. He had a horn growing out of his face.

Spreading from its base at his head and pulsing underneath the skin of his face was a warmth, like a hot towel used to open up the pores before shaving. It set off a weird series of changes that Jordan watched with morbid fascination in the mirror. His cheeks twitched as the bone beneath them shrank. His nose jumped and spasmed as it contorted and reduced in size, becoming small and slightly up-turned in contrast to the stronger, ‘noble’ arched schnoz he’d been saddled with since childhood. He grunted as his jaw collapsed in on itself, shifting his teeth in an unexpected wriggling of molars and incisors as they arranged themselves to fit the new, smaller frame in which they were set. He opened his mouth and inspected it, finding a neat set of pearly whites where he was afraid there might be a jagged mess. But the overall look of his face was different now; he was a stranger to himself. A girlish stranger, because every feature proclaimed delicacy, softness, and smooth femininity. His stubble had disappeared, his eyes widened and rounded, having changed somehow into a dark red-wine color, his mouth a painfully kissable set of naked lips. The face staring out at him was that of a surprised, frightened, and somehow absolutely adorable young woman.
A young woman’s head and smooth, slender neck on top of a young man’s broad shoulders and chest, which continued in more masculine contours underneath his black T-shirt down until it met the profanely broad set of hips and those unmistakably womanly thighs, tracing down the most eye-catching legs until they terminated in a pair of black platform heels. His eyes shot back to the tight black shorts and… well, so much for being a femboy. More like a masc-fem? Whatever, the point was the tight fabric left no room for imagination, or anything else for that matter. There was no bulge where it should have been, no squashed frank ’n beans crammed into to small of a wrapping. There was a womanish tummy, tapering down and in until it ended with a very slight mound at the lowest pelvic point between his two thighs. Framed on either side by hip, and showing off a surprisingly pronounced gap, there could be nothing underneath the crotch of those shorts except snatch.

Jordan was still processing the lack of manhood when something started spreading over his shirt. It was like someone was pouring bleach into the center of the chest area, a ring of pinkish discoloration spreading outward, leaving a stark white circle behind as it grew to claim all the surface of his shirt for itself. In a couple of seconds, his black tee had been replaced by a white one. Which then began to grow… flowers? Blotches of blue, yellow, and red with ancillary leaves of green began popping into place all over the surface of the material, covering the front and sleeves. The material billowed out, draping extra loose and long and looking like someone’s floral tablecloth or one of those big bibs they put on you at the barber’s. Almost like a loose dress, it engulfed his entire upper body and hung loosely midway down his thighs, completely covering his black pants-turned-shorts. Then it began yawning, or at least that’s what it reminded Jordan of as he watched the neckline opening up. It spread and spread out and down until his entire chest was visible, dark hairs looking terribly stark against the creamy white-ish peach of his new skin color. What was even the point of having a shirt like this?
Once his shirt had finished crossing over to the girly side, the same sinking-in feeling of shifting bones that had just finished sculpting his face spread all over his torso. He heard something pop and some weird crunching noises as his chest squeezed itself tight, too tight to breath, forcing all the air from his lungs. He would have panicked if his heart had any room to beat, but it stopped hard and deprived him of oxygenated blood for a brief moment as his shoulders caved in and his rib cage crushed itself together into an impossibly small and compact volume. At the same time, he felt his arms getting lighter as all the muscle he’d tried to pack on with the dumbbells in his dorm room this semester seemed to simply evaporate, becoming smooth and slender twigs that were as hairless as his legs. Air rushed back into him as his lungs adjusted to fit his new shape, and his heart began pounding angrily to make up for lost time. He gulped in gallons of air in a few hurried breaths, eyes swimming with spots for a moment while fixed on the girlish shape in the mirror. More of it was revealed as the incredibly, counter-productively wide neckline of his new shirt finally lost its grip on his diminished shoulders and slid entirely off, hanging down to an elbow and revealing some three-quarters of his diminished upper body to the mirror.

“Oh god, is it over?” Jordan asked his reflection, the distinctively female voice ringing in his ears as his pulse subsided and returned to a mere 120 beats per minute, his terror baseline.

As if to answer, his chest started feeling warm. Warmer. Hot. How could flesh get so hot without cooking itself? He grunted in discomfort and raised a hand (so delicate-looking, he couldn’t help but notice) to feel his chest and as he did so the last remaining hairs on it vanished, leaving it smooth to the touch. His nipples were throbbing, aching, poking out angrily. Puffing up, he realized. As he watched in the mirror, the two dark lumps on his otherwise porcelain chest were raising up and growing outwards, a pair of swelling prune-like bumps. His flesh felt like it was on fire and he briefly wondered if he was having some kind of cardiac event… until he saw two shadows develop underneath his pecs. Two sharply-defined shadows that indicated the tissue above them was starting to jut out more.
“Crap,” he said in frustration. The last part of a body necessary to make him look like a real girl was filling in, and there was no denying it. Two small breasts began poking out from below his still-growing nipples, budding from training bra fillers to A-cup mounds as he watched. The heat of his flesh was joined by a sort of intense tingling, a series of diffuse zaps like static electricity crackling at the removal of a particularly charged sweater, but all concentrated entirely on his chest. It didn’t stop, and neither did his growth spurt.
Before his eyes, the modest pads of fatty tissue kept swelling, filling out past B cup and into some alluring, perky C’s that were just starting to round out under the effects of gravity. Still the sensation of angry ants swarming through their new volume persisted, and so did the rapid emergence of his brand new bust. He gasped when their mass plumped further out, giving him a nice pair of D’s, then double-D’s, then… he didn’t really know how to keep track of sizes past this point, but the tingling invisible energy continued to fill new flesh. His nipples were now quite stiff, roughly the size and shape of strawberries, and still spreading and puffing around their base as the skin beneath them pulled further and further out.
When will they stop? he thought anxiously. They were already bigger than most women’s he’d seen in real life, and still going. The buzzing little jolts of constant tingling were like biological static, crowding out other thoughts and focusing all his awareness on the bulging melons jutting out through the oversized shirt and jiggling luridly with each breath. He lifted his hands up to cradle them and the feeling of touch immediately intensified the lighting storm of searing, almost painful buzzing sensation in them. He heard a girl gasping erotically and realized it was him. The horse-like tail twitched involuntarily, reminding him of its existence briefly before his awareness was once again consumed by the bowling balls of flesh that hung from the front of his chest.
And they were still growing by the second. The nipples that capped them, so briefly transformed into hard lumps the size of dates, were starting to fan out and flatten. Stretched like a face drawn on a balloon, the firm border between areola and pale breast flesh began to fade and blend. The weight of them increased, and Jordan tried to prop them up with his hands, but they were starting to overflow his palms like loose water balloons, and the buzzing feeling inside them became almost intolerable. He released them and they fell like rubbery beanbags onto his rib cage, each one weighing dozens of pounds, and continued to fill out as if connected to some invisible hose.
“Come on… s-stop… please?” Jordan begged. But the obscene fatty growths paid him no mind and pressed together heavily in front of his sternum even while bulging further and further outward to either side. In the mirror he saw his body disappearing behind the swelling pair, and the face of a purple-haired girl with a bony white horn watching it all happen to them both, slack-jawed, dazed, trapped in a fog of disbelief and denial as their bodies continued to bloat and grow in unison. He stared at her chest to gauge what was happening to his, now observing the curve of them push down past the lower limits of her rib cage. He shifted focus to watch her nipples spreading out to keep pace with their foundation. Each fat breast’s front was marked with a dark disk of stretching areola, now almost the size of his hands, ill-defined patches of darker and bumpier skin, radiating out from what were no longer conical peaks but merely distinct lumps raised slightly in the middle. The constant, ceaseless expansion had obliterated their forms and rendered them nearly flat. They’d gone from youthful, perky towers that stood proud from their surroundings to resembling somewhat puffy, flattened, distorted hubcaps. They looked like the ones decorating the oversized breasts on the hentai MILFs in his porn collection.
He looked away from the mirror for a top-down view again, and was shocked to see his feet disappearing below the gigantic, fleshy teardrops that continued their rapid expansion, pulling mass out of nowhere and causing him to continually compensate by adjusting his posture just to keep his torso upright where he stood. He passed another ten seconds in mute silence until the hot, attention-stealing tingling sensation of growth slowed to a stop, fading away like the long-awaited departure of an unwelcome guest, to leave him alone in peace.

But he didn’t feel peaceful.