Hillary woke up four hours later, her two flaccid and drooping facial penises sticking to each other and her chest in a dried puddle of semen. Her dicknipples, on the other hand, were still ragingly erect on her six breasts, which were feeling uncomfortably full.
Even in the groggy afterglow of sex, Hillary could feel that there was something different. With a surge of energy, she jumped up off the couch, facial penises slapping her chest and her breasts and dicknipples bouncing, flinging stray strings of pre-cum in every direction.
Hillary, in addition to now having much more muscle on her frame than before (she now looked as fit as Sarah Connor from Terminator 2), had four additional arms. They lay beneath her original pair, one of the new sets around her ribs, and the other just above her hips. They were as muscular as her original was now.
The newly minted Amazon flexed her new limbs, and then her legs, before tensing up her new abs, looking down as she pursed her navel-mouth in glee, feeling the strength and testosterone that coursed through her veins (that would likely be in constant, overstocked supply thanks to her 14 testicles).
Curious as to why her pants were crusted, Hillary briskly pulled down her pants with her lowest pair of arms. Looking down between her three rows of breasts, her dicknipples quivering and throbbing in anticipation, she saw an engorged vagina - its pink lips were so thick, the reminder of her femininity resembled a scarlet clam.
"Smirking" to herself, Hillary looked her body over once more and sighed. Sure, she now had dicks for a nose, mouth, and nipples, with six arms, who couldn't even talk - but since when had she ever been a social person? If she was going to be indoors for the rest of her life, at least she had a striking, extremely pleasurable body to be in. So what if people thought she was a freak? Everyone at all her schools already did . . . At least her family might support her . . .
This ignited a chain of thought in the young woman. What had happened to her parents? What had happened to the world? How did she turn into . . . this?
Hillary's eyes darted around, looking for her phone. Almost slipping on the semen-soaked carpet, she looked up and saw the semen and milk-painted hellscape of her apartment. Some of it moist, and some of it dry, the sticky, goopy cream had decorated almost all visible corners of the room. She would clean it. After she called her parents.
Upon seeing that her phone had broke, disabled by the pool of semen and milk it had been covered it, Hillary growled and stormed to the landline - which she too discovered was coated in the semi-dry and sticky, but surprisingly not too smelly, substance.
With no other options, Hilary went to the television. Though dried globs and streaks of semen and milk covered its surface, it still worked, to her delight. And so she learned of the Fusion Wave. Of what it had done to the humans and the creatures of the world, and of the riots it started.
Rushing to her apartment's windows, she saw that the reports were true. There was fire and yelling and screaming.
Sitting her naked body down to process all of this, Hillary again noted the sticky sogginess of the fabric - and set to cleaning everything.
An hour passed in this way, as Hillary, naked, cleaned her apartment with an assortment of mops, towels, rags, and cleaning supplies, while watching the rather disquieting news (and getting horny every now and then at the shown transformations - and the reporters . . .)
After some time, Hillary began to feel, despite her newfound strength, back pain - her breasts had grown, and now felt far too heavy and tight, their dicknipples erect to the point of light pain, dribbling their breasts' contents down onto her chest.
Her breasts were becoming full. Too full.