The Painful Transformation

Gareth was twenty-eight, a muscular office worker whose dress shirts fought his shoulders by lunch. None of that saved him when the fever hit. It climbed for no reason he could name, a wet heat that dropped him shaking on his apartment floor, and the cramps came after it like wires pulled tight under the meat.

In the bathroom mirror he watched the first ruin. His biceps locked, then gave, muscle unraveling in hot ripping pulls that dragged a shout out of his throat. The arms thinned. Forearms narrowed to something fine. His broad shoulders cracked inward, bone grinding in his ears, the wide shelf of them collapsing until small, delicate limbs hung where a man's strength had been. Wrists looked narrow. Hands looked borrowed. He braced on the sink and the new arms trembled, pale and smooth, the dark hair gone, the power bled out.

His chest seized next. Flesh shoved forward under the pecs, aching, swelling into heavy tender mounds that strained the undershirt. Nipples thickened, darkened, puffed into huge sensitive points that dragged on cotton with every breath. He stared, horrified, sweat in his eyes.

"It's an illness," he told the glass, voice raw. "A bizarre fever. I'm a man. I'm still a man."

It was speeding up. Shirt hanging wrong. Balance shot. He staggered into the hall and pounded on the door across from his until Vanessa opened it.

She was thirty-two, his hot neighbor, robe belted, dark hair loose, concern sharp the second she saw him folded over his ribs.

"Gareth. Inside. Now."

"Help me," he begged, stumbling onto her couch. "My arms are shrinking. My shoulders won't hold my weight. My chest is swelling and it hurts like it's tearing open. I don't know what this sickness is, but I'm a man, Vanessa. You've got to help me make it stop."

She knelt, unsure where to put her hands, and another cramp wrenched those small shoulders so hard he cried out. His swollen chest bounced. The fat nipples stood stark through thin cloth. The air between them went tight as the changes kept accelerating under her eyes.

The next break came from his pelvis. Gareth arched off the cushions with a raw shout as both hips cracked and spread, joints popping, bone grinding wider until his waist felt cinched and his lower body had flared into a wide, fertile curve. Fat rushed in behind the pain, hot and thick, pouring into his ass until the seat of his pants could not contain it. The cheeks inflated, round and obscene, a massive plump bubble that jiggled with every twitch and strained the seams until thread snapped. His small hands sank into the overflowing flesh and the weight of it bounced.

"No," he gasped, horrified, still sure this was sickness and nothing else. "My hips are coming apart. There's swelling in my ass. It's huge. It won't stop."

Blonde was already bleeding through his hair. He barely noticed. He was clutching the enormous ass and trying not to sob.

The pain would not stay clean. It melted low and filthy, a throb that shoved his cock stiff against the ruined pants even while he shook. The new ass clenched and wobbled, and the unwanted arousal hit so hard his breath broke into a moan he hated.

Vanessa stayed on her knees beside him. Her palm slid over the quivering curve of that inflated bubble. She felt the heat. She saw the rigid line of his cock and the way his chest rose, nipples fat and dark, pale gold starting to spill over his shrunken shoulders.

"You're burning up," she said, voice gone low. "And you're hard. I can see it."

"It hurts," he panted. "And it feels good in the worst way. I don't want this. I want it. I don't know what my body is doing."

She soothed a hand up one delicate arm, over the swollen chest, thumb grazing a huge nipple until he jerked and groaned. The mound was soft and full, the nipple puffy under her thumb.

"I want you," she said, plain. "I've wanted you for months. If you want me to stop, I stop. If you want me to touch you while this is tearing through you, say it."

He looked at her, panicked and flushed, cock aching, ass too big for his clothes, and the want won without erasing the fear. "Yes. Touch me. I want you. Please. Don't leave me alone with it."

She kissed him. He kissed back, desperate, and they said it so there would be no mistake: she wanted the man shaking apart in her hands, and he wanted her, even while he swore the widening hips and the swollen chest were only an illness. Her palm squeezed that massive jiggling ass, and he moaned into her mouth like the pleasure was another cramp.

Vanessa stood and let the robe fall. She was bare under it, flushed, breasts full, and the sight of her punched a fresh throb through his cock. "I want this," she said. "Say you want it too."

"I want it," Gareth said. In his head it was still an illness. "I want you. Now."

She walked him to the bedroom, his small hands on her waist, that huge ass bouncing, and stripped him. The undershirt tore coming off the swollen chest. Nipples sprang free, huge and puffy, dark and thick, standing off heavy new tits. She peeled his pants down and the plump bubble butt spilled out, massive and round, jiggling above wide hips and thighs gone smooth. Blonde hair, fully gold, stuck to his tiny shoulders. He looked down, sick with horror and rigid with need, and he still did not see a woman. He saw a man the sickness had warped.

"Lie back."

He did. The enormous ass spread on her sheets. She climbed on, cunt wet, wrapped a hand around his cock—thick, flushed, still male—and sank down in one slick drop.

Gareth shouted. She rode him frantic from the first stroke, hips snapping, breasts swaying, taking him to the root. His small arms barely spanned her waist. His chest bounced, huge nipples aching, tits heavy and obscene. The bubble butt clapped the mattress, fat rippling.

"Stay with me," she gasped.

"Don't stop."

Pain returned mid-stroke, a white line of agony down the center of his cock. The shaft split. Skin parted under her cunt in a hot wet tear, the rigid length cracking open from the head toward the base while she kept riding, and he screamed through his teeth, horrified, bucking up because the pleasure would not let him pull free.

"It's splitting," he choked. "Vanessa, it's splitting down the middle."

She felt the cock opening under her and moaned, grinding, not climbing off. "Tell me if you need me to stop."

"Don't stop. I want to come. I want you." He was a man in his own mind even as the flesh began to fold.

The split edges rolled inward, forming swollen folds, slick gathering, a first shine of inner pink. A nub pushed up where the head softened, nerves screaming, swelling into a clit that pulsed every time she ground on it. His balls drew tight, then pulled with a deep cramping suck, retracting into his body, the ache shifting deeper as they changed and settled, ovaries waking in time with the opening. Slick ran in hot strands. The cock was still there enough to ride, failing and folding, and he sobbed under her, hips jerking up anyway.

"Turn over," he rasped, reaching with those small hands. "I need to fuck you. Please. I still need to."

She got off him, bent over the edge of the bed, ass up, willing. "Yes. Do it."

He stood on shaking legs, tiny shoulders heaving, enormous tits swinging, the huge bubble butt bouncing as he stepped in. The half-made opening dripped down his thighs. The emerging clit pounded. The splitting shaft still pushed forward, slick and agonizing and male enough to drive.

He bent over her back and fucked her from behind. Each thrust was a tear and a plunge. The cracking cock speared her cunt, then softened, then speared again, flesh folding inward with every slap of his massive ass. His enormous tits bounced and swung. He grabbed them himself, small hands full of his own flesh, and gripped the huge puffy nipples, pinching and pulling while he drove into her, horrified by the handfuls and unable to let go. Every twist shot into the new clit and the folding hole.

"They're so swollen," he panted, squeezing the bouncing tits, not understanding. "They're mine."

Vanessa shoved back, crying out, cunt gripping the splitting shaft and then the slick folds as the merge finished. The shaft split the rest of the way. Flesh folded fully inward. Outer lips formed fat and glistening. Inner lips unfurled, pink, dripping, obscenely wet. The nub became a throbbing clit, crushed to her with every grind. The last of the penile length was swallowed into those vaginal lips. A wet pussy sealed between his wide hips, clenching, gushing, ovaries aching as the balls finished retracting into them.

The merging tore the orgasm out of him. He came violently from the pussy being born, inner walls spasming, slick flooding their thighs, clit pulsing until his knees buckled, while in his mind he was still a man fucking forward. He kept gripping his huge nipples, tits bouncing wildly, bubble butt jiggling in heavy waves. Vanessa screamed and came with him, then came again, grinding on the new wet lips. A second spasm ripped through his fresh hole before the first faded, squirting, his small shoulders trembling, his sick cock broken open into a dripping pussy that would not stop coming.

He did not let go of his own tits until the aftershocks dropped him.

After the shuddering orgasms they collapsed on the sheets, sweat-drenched, panting, satisfied. Gareth lay beside Vanessa, tiny shoulders on the pillow, huge bubble butt still quivering, massive nipples sore from his own grip, blonde hair stuck to his throat. The new pussy throbbed between wide hips. He stared at the ceiling, horrified, and did not once think the word woman.

"What happens to me next?" he asked, hoarse and confused. "If this illness isn't finished. What happens to him next. To me."

"I don't know," Vanessa said against his small arm.

He was already scheming. Tomorrow, after the office, he would be at her door before the cramps could corner him alone. He would strip the second she let him in, put his hands on these swollen tits, and bend her over this bed again if the sickness surged. He wanted the next time worse than he wanted an answer.

"Leave the door unlocked at seven," he said, a man making arrangements with a body that would not obey him. "I'm coming back. We're doing this again."

"Seven," she said. "I'll be here."

He closed his eyes, pussy dripping on her sheets, and started counting the hours.