A Night as Camille Something's Changed: A Transformation Story chapter 4 by deleted_user

As Camille, the world feels slightly off-kilter. Your center of gravity has shifted. Your hair—a fiery curtain of glossy red—brushes against your bare shoulders. You look down while getting dressed and nearly choke.

Two heavy, perfect breasts swell against your chest, pale and full, the pink tips brushing your forearms as you move. A curve of hip catches the light, rising from the swell of your ass. Every shift, every breath, makes your body jiggle in ways you’ve only dreamed of.

You can’t stop touching. Your hands go instinctively to your chest, hefting the weight, squeezing gently. The sensations spark across your nerves, electric and unfamiliar. You run your palms down your waist, across your ass, the thin lab shift brushing tantalizingly against your thighs.

“Christ almighty,” Marcus mutters.

You look up. He’s standing in front of the mirror, but of course he’s not Marcus anymore. He’s Miriam: tall, willowy, honey-brown skin, those librarian glasses perched on her nose. Her breasts are smaller than yours but still generous, perky, rising proudly with every breath. She’s tugging at the hem of her panties, trying to adjust them around her hips.

Your cock—your old cock, gone now—would have exploded at the sight. Instead, you feel a strange, hot pulse between your thighs, the new folds of your sex tingling with awareness.

“You’re beautiful,” you blurt, stepping closer, unable to stop yourself from tracing the slope of Miriam’s hip.

Marcus—the woman—slaps your hand away. “Focus. For god’s sake, we have a meeting with Verena in less than two hours. Stop playing grab-ass with yourself and with me.”

But even she can’t hide the blush creeping up her cheeks.

Dressing is another revelation. Camille’s body was made for couture. The emerald dress hangs on your shoulders like it was tailored yesterday, plunging low between your breasts, hugging your waist, flaring over your hips. The slit up the side bares your smooth thigh with every step. Stockings slide silkily over your legs; heels force your hips into a sway that makes you dizzy.

Across the room, Miriam is fighting with her blouse, her breasts threatening to spill as she buttons it wrong, then right, then wrong again. You can’t look away.

“Stop staring,” she hisses.

“Can’t help it,” you murmur, smoothing your hands over your own curves again, marveling at how the fabric pulls tight over your nipples. “This is… unreal.”

“Unreal is one word for it,” Marcus-as-Miriam mutters, tugging on a pencil skirt that makes her ass look spectacular.

The two of you catch sight of yourselves together in the mirror: two stunning women who look like they belong at Verena Dusk’s side. But your cheeks are flushed, your lips swollen from biting. And every time your thighs brush, your breath catches.

Marcus sees it too. She shakes her head, muttering, “We’re doomed.”