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Heather's Metamorphosis, Chapter 2 - Reflections
🕑 Added 2018-12-10 01:40:00 +0000 UTCThe door to the bathroom was slightly ajar when Heather slammed it open with her shoulder. Her arms were occupied as she pressed them into her breasts in a vein attempt to reign the violent swaying that threatened to topple her over as she lurched quickly down the hallway. Through sharp intakes of air, she could feel her heart pounding in her chest as a dizziness began to fall over her like a pale fog. Her new weigh aside, she felt a lightness in her head — was she going into shock?
A sharp pain in her shoulder. The door had rebounded off the wall, threatening to knock her off balance altogether. Hunching over, Heather had only just managed to catch herself on the edge of the sink before she face planted into the ceramic. A sharp tug yanked at the skin below her collarbone and under her armpits; without arms and hands to stabilize the newfound girth, her breasts were allowed to yank freely. For an instant, she felt the cold underside of the ceramic pedestal sink make contact with her tops of her breasts before they swung back against a two bent knees.
Unngh! Heather took stock as she bent her legs into a half squat. She felt the weight of her breasts resting on her thighs as the fattest parts of her distended mammaries settled into the space between her legs. She could already feel the relief on her lower back, even though she had only been upright for as much time as it took to lumber awkwardly the 20 feet it took for her to arrive in front of the upper-body mirror above her sink.
For the first time, her view was obstructed. She rested her chin on the edge of the sink. Blinking wetness from her bottom eyelids, she allowed herself to breathe deeply. Lifting her eyes she peered at her own reflection in the mirror. Blue eyes and a furrowed brow peered back at her from underneath a tuft of matted dark-auburn hair.
But obstructed from what? How had this happened? Breasts just didn’t… grow overnight. It was impossible. She tried to remind herself, again, that this was a dream. But the stinging, iron-tinged pain inside her cheek was a reminder. Dreams didn’t feel this real.
Her breasts — this is what they were, her breasts — were still nestled between her legs. Gingerly, carefully, with her chin still perched on the edge of the sink, she reached her hands to the sides of the firm, yet yielding skin that overflowed, slightly, her slim thighs. A cautious touch with her fingers gave way to palms, and finally, a return to wrapping her arms around her swollen self. Never breaking contact with her own eyes, she deadlifted herself, slowly, into a standing position before the bathroom mirror.
She mustn’t have blinked since she nearly smashed her head against the ceramic. But while she stood, she pressed her eyes tightly shut. She could feel the flesh between her fingers; the warmth that shifted to the front of her hips; the strain that had formed in her lower back, a burning that radiated to her calves. For one final instant, she strived, in vain, to abdicate herself of this new, perverse reality. Another deep breath. And again, she opened her eyes.
As she had hoped, she wasn’t still in her bed. No sign that this was the end of some odd nightmare. Instead, she saw herself for what she had become.
She was paler than she remembered. Maybe it was the still-lingering hangover combined with the physical exertion. Or the light reflecting off her skin from the vanity lighting. But it settled on her. She was never one for sun worshiping, but like most women, her breasts were paler than the rest of her body. Only instead of occupying two small portions of her upper torso, they now covered it completely, hanging absurdly — freakishly — low. Where her breasts had been before were two two slopes of flesh. What she had of a tan line before had been pulled downward so it rested equally with the bottom of her ribcage.
But downward and outward these two new shapes flared, wider and fatter, capping off in two nipples that pointed away from one another, down and to the sides. As small as the difference had been only the night before, her new size magnified the fact that her right breast was larger than her left. Fuller. Lower. Massive.
Without realizing it, her hands had begun to wander around these shapes. In the instances where her eyes flickered to her face, she saw her drawn face and slack jaw. But her attention was focused on her inflated chest — entirely so once her fingertips reached the soft amber-colored nubs that protruded.
Flicking her fingertips across her nipples sent a sensation coursing up to her collar: a barely perceptible shock of energy that made her eyes flicker. She was too baffled by her new form to spend time on pleasure, but she had to know — gently, she grasped each teat between her thumb and forefinger and administered a light squeeze. Her bated breath released with a small reverse gasp as she received a sensation magnitudes more powerful than she had ever received from her nipples before… twin orgasms that made her knees weak enough to buckle again, before she thankfully caught herself.
She closed her eyes and gave one more small tweak. If she had to, she could have sworn that the sensation was coming from her conservative, pert nipples that had, before, capped the ends of her smaller breasts. As far as what to make about the fact that her arms were fully extended, craning around and pressing into the mounds of breast flesh in order to even reach her nipples, she couldn’t even conjure. The nerve endings were there; they were more electrically charged than ever; they were just… farther away.
After regaining her composure, a minute could have passed, or 20, as she regarded her own reflection. Side. Front. Side again. Her heart pounding in her chest. Her ponderous chest.
What if this is something serious, she thought. What if I’m having an… she couldn’t place it. An allergic reaction? Was her throat going to clamp shut at any moment? She imagined this happening on her next intake of breath. Unable to breathe, would she suffocate? Would she collapse? Would someone find her on the floor of her bathroom, still and lifeless, pinned to the floor by two cartoonishly over-inflated breasts?
The hospital! It came to her head, like a bolt of logic. She had to call 9-1-1, an ambulance, she had to see a doctor, anyone who could tell her what was happening. She had never heard to this happening, ever, to anyone, but there had to be some logical explanation. A doctor. That was the answer.
But… what the hell would she tell them? Her mind flashed to sitting on an examination table, her tits resting in her lap like two giant bags of flour, billowing out whatever hospital gown they had given her. A doctor with a cold stethoscope, doing (probably) his best to ask her to “go ahead and lift that for me, if you wouldn’t mind.” A total stranger, poking, prodding, squeezing, hefting…
She doubted that any prescription would be able to take care of her predicament. No over-the-counter regimen of pills that would… what? Shrink her back down to normal? She wasn’t a doctor by any means, but… things didn’t work that way.
Then… who would she call? She tore her gaze away from her unimaginable shape and went back to her bedroom. Without realizing it, she flashed forward to sitting on her bedside, her breasts resting, again, in her lap, threatening to pull her forward into the floor.
Who? She fumbled, with shaking hands, her phone. She was due to arrive at work tomorrow morning. She would have to call in sick. She wouldn’t be able to… her mind flashed to her wardrobe. What would possibly fit?
The police. Maybe they could help. But god, no, they would just call an ambulance, and then she would have two people in bulletproof vests, trying to act professional as some crazy woman told them that she woke up with two enormous tits, all of a sudden. Bullshit. She wouldn’t believe it, either.
Her mind flashed to her parents. Her dad was six states away, and was hardly the kind of person she could call up and say, “Hey, dad! So, guess what, remember that stripper you cheated on mom with when I was 11? So, I have knockers 10 times bigger than hers, and I was wondering if you had some advice to impart.” No, either.
And her mom… She would probably just drop to her knees and start praying or something. Surely, I must have offended The Almighty to be so blighted. Which, in a lot of ways, would be even worse than calling her father.
Her mind was swirling, round and round the maelstrom. Maybe she should just bulk up. Layer the hell out of her clothes, sneak into her car, and go for a drive. Get out of this fucking apartment. Maybe she needed a shot or two of vodka. She felt like screaming like a banshee and bashing her head into a wall.
No! A voice in her head, a small one, resounded, pleading for reason. She had to keep her head together, literally and figuratively. A couple more deep breaths, and she fumbled with her phone again. The trio of texts she had received earlier were still there. Kyle… Kathryn… Well, brunch was definitely off the table now.
The phone vibrated in her hand as Kyle’s name flashed across the screen. Was this something she could tell him? Kyle was one of the girls, and arguably, the most responsible among them (being the only one with his own mortgage had to mean something). But… no.
A nugget of insight formed in the back of her head. Maybe he would be able to shed some light on any of this madness? She would know right away, but if she didn’t want her crew to drop what they were doing and rush to her alarmed aid, she would have to play it cool.
She rested a hand atop her unfamiliar, but all-too-attached breast, and clicked the green button.
“Hey!” Heather said, just a little too loudly, through a feigned smile and a glance at the ceiling.
“Slut,” Kyle said in his typical effeminate drawl. “We’re all here, and your skank ass isn’t, of course.”
“Yeah, I, uh, it’s just… last night! You know?!”
“Waiter’s here,” Kyle said. “You coming or not?”
“I… I’m not gonna be able to…”
“Right,” he said, before, a distance from the receiver, “Bloody Mary, Grey Goose.”
“Huh?” Heather said.
“Bethany owes me the next drink,” he said. “She was saying you were gonna make it, I said no, I win, so I get to be fancy.”
“It’s a waste of good vodka!” It was Bethany, her voice in the background, mixed in the din of ambient voices at their usual eatery.
“Ha,” Heather said, half heartedly, but still with an unusual enthusiasm. “You know. Waste of vodka by putting it in a Bloody Mary, or because its going in your slutty stomach…!”
“Cute. Hey, you haven’t just rolled out of bed. Sounds like you just snorted a line or something.” Kyle feigned an audible gasp. “No. You fucked someone, and you’re trying to cover, or get them out, or some shit!” Bethany squealed in the background.
Thank God. This was her out, her chance to think, before her day-drunk friends banged on her door in a half hour, dragging them along on the next adventure.
“Yeah! I’ll… tell you all about it. Looong, story, hahaha…” Time to wrap it up. “But tell Bethany and Kat hey, and I’ll get the next round.”
“I’ll tell Beth,” Kyle said, “but it’s just the two of us. Kathryn ended up going home with some… whatever, some Longhorns fan, or something.”
“Some… what?” Heather said. For a gay guy, Kyle’s knowledge of college football was certainly tinged by a strict, conservative Southern upbringing.
“Yeah, you know, that neckbeard in the orange jacket. The one who was trying to pick you guys up.”
“She…” a stab of confusion pierced Heather’s skull. “Uhm… OK.”
“Right? Hey, she’s been so fucking dry lately, I can’t even. But listen, fritters are here, don’t slut around too much, maybe come meet us later if you’re not a loser, m-kay?”
“Yeah,” Heather said. “Like I said, long story and…”
It was too late. He’d already hung up. Classic Kyle. But at least she had time to think.
Her thoughts returned to Kathryn. She had known this woman for years, and she was damned sure Kat was as put-off by Orange Jacket as she was. Was she roofied or something? And… what about that fucked up dream? Something just didn’t make sense. To coincidence factor was just too high.
She thumbed through her phone with her right hand. Recalling her texts, she had a feeling that calling Kat would reveal some answers. She was about to click on her incoming texts, when she discovered that her left hand, subconsciously, had wandered down to her left nipple. She was aware of the warmth over the patch of dark, delicate flesh before she found herself giving a cursory pinch — this time longer and more fervently than she had before in the bathroom. As her head tilted toward the ceiling, she let out an audible, sharp moan before retracting her hand suddenly. What the hell? She shifted her gaze from the phone screen to her hand, hovering over the nipple that was only visible because of the way her breast rested on her leg. What made me do that? A welling of fear gleaned through her firewall of forced logic — she wasn’t sure what made her more scared: the fact that she had fondled herself unaware… or the fact that she wanted to do it again.
No time for that. She opened the incoming texts from Kathryn. The most recent, the plea for Heather to call, was as it appeared. But the one before that made Heather’s heart stop.
11:27 a.m.
Call when you get this. Some crazy shit happened last night and you are the only one I can talk to. I don’t know how to explain it but somethings wrong. Like really fucking wrong H and Im freaking out. Call me!!!!!
Now Heather was certain. This wasn’t some isolated incident. She knew it in her gut. Something had happened to Kathryn as well. She didn’t know what, and she didn’t know how. But something… similar.
On an impulse, Heather clicked the telephone icon to call. Kat was her dearest friend, but now, Heather believed, they had a lot more in common than either of them would like to admit.
One ring. Two. And then, a rough pickup noise. Background static. A tense voice on the other end.
“Heather!” It was Kathryn’s voice, coming through as a tremulous screech. “What the fuck!”
“Sorry, Kat,” Heather said, plugging her ear with her finger. “I was, uh… I was asleep, and I just got your—”
“Heather, it’s… I don’t know what the hell is going on. And I swear to God, I’m not on anything! It’s just… my…”
“What happened to your body, Kat,” Heather shouted into the phone. A car horn pierced the gap in their conversation.
“You too?” Kathryn shouted “Oh my God, Heather, I don’t know what’s happening, and I—”
“Where are you, Kat?”
“I’m, like, a minute away from your place. Just hold on. Please, tell me you’re there.”
“Yeah, I’m here! Just… come over.”
“Okay. Heather, I’m freaking out, and there was this weird fucking thing on my dashboard when I got into my car and—!”
“Just… we’ll figure out what’s going on. Just… I’m here.”
The line clicked to silent.
Heather’s head spun again. So this was happening to Kathryn, too. On one hand, Heather was even more horrified than she had been since waking up only a few minutes before. But a part of her felt relief — something had happened to Kathryn as well, and while Heather was mortified at finding out exactly what that might be, she at least knew that she wouldn’t have to figure this out… alone.
Kathryn was going to be here in a few minutes, and from the sound of the conversation, she was breaking all sorts of traffic laws. For a perverse reason, Heather felt the need to maintain some manner of decency. Casting a glance at her dresser, she took a mental stock of the clothing she might have around. Her closet was a no-go — all form fitting dresses and blouses that, well… wouldn’t fit her current condition. But there had to be something in her dresser, some old painting shirt or leftover garment from one of her exploits that would suit her need.
Stumbling taking a few measured steps to the dresser, she opened the second drawer. The first shirt she saw was a no-brainer — this baggy old thing with a psychedelic Einstein head that would probably keep her swaying from being quite so violent. She yanked it out of the drawer and pulled it over her head, stretching the bottom hem so it would fit over her fullest self. For a moment, she pulled too hard, and let out a deep staccato gasp as she pulled it over her nipples — she still wasn’t used to the profound sensitivity they offered, even at something like a tight band of cotton pressing them into place.
Another garment presented itself. While she felt confined and relatively under control in the now-tight T shirt, she felt the need to be a bit more well-assembled. She was certain that Kathryn’s attention would be well-focused on her own issues, whatever they were, but Heather was still processing. She wanted to feel as normal as possible.
The great button down was the next garment to come out of the drawer. A leftover from one of her heftier interests, she thought it might fit alright. This guy had been 6’ 1” and 250 pounds, so with any luck, she might be able to get it closed. Fiddling with shaking hands, she pried to get the buttons shut, and was dismayed to discover that the center two were straining to stay closed. One false breath, she thought, and the white threading on these buttons would fail, causing the plastic discs to come flying off.
Heather didn’t have time to think anymore about what she was wearing, let alone what she would do about her neglected bottom half, before she heard a pounding at the door.
Sprinting with a bit more confidence than she had a moment before, being, at least, well contained, Heather, cautiously sprinted to the front door and peered through the peephole. Kathryn’s face was waiting on the other side, stress worn, streaked with vertical lines of mascara, her gaze shifting from the left to the right as she hunched over something that was just out of sight. But what? Kathryn was pretty short, and it was hard to see anything beyond her chin.
Heather undid the deadbolt and opened the door slowly. And for the first time, she forgot completely about her own altered state as she gazed, bewildered, at her best friend.
[So, yeah, a delay. Ugh. But hey, it couldn't be helped. But I WILL make it up to you all during this month with some fun extras, pinky swear (an extra supplementary chapter as this story grows, me thinks). In short, my old computer died, and it took a little while to get a new one that *didn't* have the screwy Spanish keyboard. No offense to the Spanish layout, but I'm a touch-typist, and I can't get over the placement of that darned Ñ key. Anyway, I got a new computer — thanks to you guys! Seriously, this is a gamechanger for me, not just for Patreon, but for work as well. I can't thank you enough (I forgot how fast computers can be that weren't made in 2011...)
So, let's get back on track. The next chapter will be posted this Thursday, as it's SUPPOSED to, exclusively on the "Heather's Metamorphosis" tier. The poll, where YOU decide what happens next, will be posted momentarily. It will close on Wednesday, Dec. 12 at midnight (wanna give you all a fair amount of time to cast your votes!).
Thanks for your patience, gang. Total kissy emoji here.
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