Jennifer didn’t remember falling asleep. The show still flickered faintly from the corner of the room, volume low, forgotten. Her body had given out at some point—too tired to fight, too overwhelmed to think.
But the moment she stirred the next morning, she knew something had changed again.
It wasn’t subtle this time.
Her limbs felt heavier. Her skin tugged in new places. She blinked up at the ceiling, her chest rising with a slow, burdened breath. When she pushed herself up in bed, her body moved differently—weightier, softer, slower.
The sheet slipped down, and she froze.
Her breasts—massive now—spilled to the sides of her chest, full and heavy, their shape unfamiliar. The bodysuit she’d slept in clung uncomfortably to them, the neckline stretched wide, the fabric nearly transparent over her skin. Her areolae were larger than she’d ever seen, dark and full, her nipples sensitive even to the cool air of the room. They sagged slightly with weight, natural but undeniable.
She reached down and touched her belly—curving forward now in a full, firm swell. Six months, maybe more, if she judged by the look. The skin was tight, subtly shiny, with faint stretch marks beginning to form just beneath her navel. Her thighs pressed together, rounder, softer. Her hips had widened, her ass fuller, and her arms felt pillowy as she pulled herself upright.
She stood slowly, carefully, the way pregnant women did in movies—one hand on her back, one on her belly. But this wasn’t pregnancy, was it? The doctor had said no. So what was it?
Her feet padded across the floor to the bathroom, and when she flicked on the light, she stared at the reflection—mouth slightly parted, heart pounding.
Her face had changed too. Rounder. Softer at the jaw. She barely recognized it.
She tugged off the bodysuit, peeling it carefully past her belly and down over her legs. She caught a glimpse in the mirror of her pubic area—untouched, wild now with hair she hadn’t let grow in years.
She stood there, naked, vulnerable, changed—and didn’t know what to feel. She wasn’t in pain. She wasn’t sick. She just… wasn’t her anymore. Not the way she remembered.
She placed both hands on her belly again. It was so real. So warm. So undeniably there.
And yet… there was nothing inside. Nothing the doctor could see.
Jennifer turned the water on, stepped into the shower, and let it run over her skin in silence. She didn’t cry. She didn’t scream.
She just stood still and let the transformation settle in.