Heather's Metamorphosis, Chapter 3 - Disrobing

As they stood on opposite sides of the threshold, their eyes took in the full effect of each other’s conditions before locking. Kathryn saw Heather’s furrowed brow and wide stare returning hers. As for Heather, she looked into two bloodshot eyes punctuated by dry cascading streaks of last night’s mascara. 

Heather hadn't known what to expect before opening the door, and if she were honest with herself, she hadn’t dedicated much mental energy to doing so. Given her friend’s anxiety, she half expected to see Kathryn in a state similar to her own — distended, engorged breasts that dominated her appearance. 

Instead, upon laying eyes on Kathryn, she found herself profoundly confused. Kathryn was wearing a baggy maroon hoodie that Heather had seen her in plenty of times before. Only instead of draping loosely around the upper half of Kat’s hourglass physique, it was pulled tightly across her bosom, a smattering of small lumps protruding through the fabric as if hastily wadded fabric had been stuffed underneath.

But the erratic texture was exaggerated: the dark red fabric was made even darker by a wide stain of liquid that spread across her chest. Like the mascara under her eyes, two trails of this moisture descended, one below each breast, culminating in narrow streaks at the elastic hem of the hoodie. 

If Heather had not had any context, she would have thought this was the most obscure coffee spill in the history of hitting speed bumps while taking a sip. The patter the liquid rendered on her shirt was far too specific to be anything but… Heather had an idea of what was happening to her friend. But her deepening distraction was cut short as she noticed Kathryn scanning her body, incredulous, shocked, as wide-eyed as Heather herself must have been.

“Heather, holy fuck — are those… are those your tits?”

Heather cast her eyes down for a moment, observing the generous slope that caused her silhouette to flair outward and downward. She scarcely recalled what she looked like in the mirror before heading to the door, but to the best of her memory, her torso was fairly… ball shaped, given her current state of dress. A flicker of embarrassment welled in her throat as she muttered an, “Umm… yeah.”

A movement caught Heather’s eye over Kathryn’s shoulder: one of her neighbors, an elderly woman taking her dog for a walk, was slowly making her way down the sidewalk outside of Heather’s front door. 

“Come on,” Heather said in a hushed but urgent tone. “Get inside.” The last thing she wanted was to have a profoundly awkward conversation with a bewildered neighbor. Not while she and Kat were still trying to figure out what the hell had befallen them. Kat obliged, and Heather slammed the door shut, sliding the door chain once her friend was safely inside. 

“Heather, I… I just…” And a new round of tears, obviously not the first of the morning, began to well in Kathryn’s eyes as she darted her head wildly, first too her own wet shirt, then to Heather, and then to the ceiling. Clearly, she was trying to keep herself together, but her choked silence spoke to how overwhelmed each of them were. 

Heather felt a similar welling straining to burst forth from herself. Instinctively, she took a step toward her friend and gave her a hug. 

“Unnnggghh...!” Kathryn gave a shudder that verged on an unrestrained moan; an expression of discomfort that punctuated itself from the bottom of her throat. It caught Heather off guard, and she stepped back suddenly, as if she had just given someone a tight hug while momentarily forgetting that they had a broken arm.

“S — Sorry,” Kathryn said, taking a sharp inhalation of breath before trying to compose herself, cupping her hands gently to the edges of the wet, lumpy mound that protruded from the level of her chest. “It’s just… so tight…!” Heather had forgotten that, now, there was much more of herself in front of her than she was used to. If her friend’s situation was as dire as she feared, she not only knew what “too tight” meant, but was conscious of the fact that she much have pressed much more heavily into Kathryn than she had intended to.

“Heather, help me,” Kathryn said, a pleading tone in her voice. “You have to get this thing off of me. It’s just… unnngh…” Kathryn had already begun to tug at the bottom of the dark red hoodie, but was having a difficult time raising it up over her chest without doubling over with pain.

Or pleasure? Heather shook a little, remembering the sensations she herself experienced only a few moments ago while she was on the phone with her friend. Or perhaps, a mixture of the two? What was certain was the urgency in Kathryn’s eyes.

“Umm… OK. OK, just… stay right there, alright?” Heather queried herself for a moment, unsure of how to proceed. “Just… lift your arms up, OK?”

Kathryn abided. Though in doing so, the fabric that clung tightly to her chest caused the whole mass to shift upwards. A series of short, sharp breaths betrayed whatever sensation she was trying to conceal. 

Heather gripped the elastic at the bottom of her friend’s hoodie tightly, stretching it as much as she could in anticipation of lifting it.

“Does it hurt?” Heather asked, trying to keep her voice steady, trying to supply a tone of strength for the both of them.

“Mmmmmm…!” Kathryn welded her eyes shut and pursed her lips between her teeth. “Just… just do it, OK?”

“Uhh… On three, okay?”

“Mmm-hmm.” Kathryn’s eyes were still tightly closed as she struggled to keep herself together. 

“OK, one… two…” Kathryn gritted her teeth in anticipation. 

“Three!” With a mighty yank, Heather lifted the hoodie over her friends breasts, obscuring Kathryn’s face with the outside of the fabric. At the same distance, an animalistic cry, muffled by the dampened cloth, erupted from Kathryn’s lips as she collapsed to her knees. The force of her fall revealed the source of the lumps beneath her hoodie: a wadded-up hand towel and a similarly bunched T shirt, which had apparently been used in a vain attempt to stymie the source of the wetness, flopped to the carpeting with a quick set of softened slaps. 

Heather had only a moment to take note of the soaked-through pieces of cloth before she was caught off guard by an additional sensation: multiple needle-thin streams of white liquid, emanating from Kathryn’s breasts.

As Kathryn’s knees hit the floor, and as her initial howl subsided into a breathless staccato of high-pitched wheezes, and as the soaked fabric makeshift nipple-guards hit to the floor, Heather was only able to note the swollen, pink spheres of flesh that bobbed about wildly, spraying their contents every which way: wildly about in the air; across the carpeting; and on at least two instances, Heather caught a healthy spritz across her face, neck and hair. The shock caused Heather, who had now only rediscovered her lopsided center of balance, to collapse backwards onto the floor. Landing firmly on her ass, her breasts shook violently at the impact. The last thing she noticed before watching her best friends body collapse sideways to the carpet, was a pair of buttons detaching from the strained shirt with a firm snap. At least one of them struck Kathryn in the belly — something she likely didn’t notice as her limp figure, with its writhing, denim-clad legs, still-spraying breasts, and most of all, the maroon hoodie still trapped in place by her arms and neck gyrated on the floor to a consistent stream of descending, breathless moans.

“Kat!” Heather cried, as she struggled to her own knees, unsure of how to tend to her friend. Kneeling next to Kathryn, she finished the job she started, and helped remove the rest of the hoodie, rolling her onto her back in the process. The face that greeted her was flushed, red-cheeked, still panting heavily from the exertion of what had just transpired. Distracted from the thin streams of milk that spritzed at least a foot into the air from breasts that rested, very firm and the size of grapefruits atop her Kathryn’s chest, Kathryn rested the hoodie over her nipples. If anything, to stem the flow from spraying into her face again. 

But there was another characteristic on her friend’s face. One that Heather knew as familiar, but in the chaos of the events that had just transpired, utterly out of place. 

“Kathryn! Kat, Jesus Christ, are you OK?”

Breathing so heavily that she was barely able to speak, and with a listless expression in her ceiling-pointed eyes that caused her to look halfway between stoned and punch drunk, Kathryn breathily squeezed a few words from her throat.

“God dammit. I… fucking came… came again…”

“You what?!” Heather was convinced that Kathryn had been in a state of reeling pain. And while agony wasn’t an incorrect term, it was a very different brand.

“Fourth… Fifth time today… So sensitive… Can’t help…” Her eyes fluttering, Kathryn was still helpless in the aftermath of achieving an immensely powerful orgasm, right there, on the floor of her Heather’s living room — something that was caused purely by the tautness of fabric compressing her breasts, caressing her nipples, as the confining garment was removed.

If Heather was scared before —terrified, even — it was nothing compared to the emotion that swept through her now. Or more particularly, the lack of emotion: the absurdity of the events that had occurred only in the last several minutes of the morning had wiped Heather’s ability to register shock. She didn’t even have the emotional wherewithal to feel grateful for the fact that, for the moment at least, her mind was as lucid as it could be, despite the mounting, unanswered questions. 

“Heather…” Kathryn slurred. “Your tits… My tits…”

Heather couldn't believe that only a minute had passed since her friend came through the front door. It seemed like an eternity. More so, she couldn’t believe that she had been so focused on her friend’s predicament that it took a millisecond for her own situation to return to the forefront of her mind. 

“Kat,” Heather said, taking advantage of her clarity of mind, for as long as it would last, before the profound shock allowed her to descend back into a place where she could feel… human again. For her friend’s part, the bleariness seemed unwilling to subside — a prolonged afterglow that clung fast. 

“Kat,” she repeated. “What should I do. What happened to you? What’s happening… to us?”

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