Joana the petite bombshell as intended

The buzz of the café barely registered as Jon opened his eyes.

He gasped.

Everything was wrong.

No, not wrong. Just... transformed. Heightened. Electric.

His chest felt heavy and full, like a weight he'd been keeping there had tripled. His waist felt impossibly narrow. His thighs pressed softly together, and each shallow breath made something new jiggle.

He wasn’t upright. He was slumped against Olivia, half-cradled in the booth.

“Easy,” Olivia murmured near his ear, warm and close. “You passed out mid-transformation. Scared the hell out of me, Joana.”

Joana.

The name drifted through her like warm smoke, curling around her nerves.

“Joana?” she echoed, startled by the sound of her own voice, a soft, airy alto that felt dipped in honey. She tried to sit up too fast.

Her breasts bounced. The weight hit her center of gravity like a wrecking ball and nearly pulled her sideways.

“Oh my god,” she whispered. She stared down.

The top she wore - modified from her earlier clothing but still somehow conjured in the chaos of becoming - was stretched taut across a pair of breathtakingly large, natural breasts. The neckline scooped scandalously low, revealing an obscene amount of plush cleavage that looked more airbrushed than real. But they were real. And they moved.

Her legs shifted under the table. She felt the silky slide of thick thighs meeting and parting, hips spreading wide over the booth cushion. Her skirt crept upward slightly as she shifted, catching the curve of her ass where it was slightly stuck to the faux leather.

“Everyone’s staring,” Olivia murmured, calm as ever, sipping her coffee like this was just another Tuesday. “And not at your face.”

Joana instinctively threw her arms across her chest. Bad move.

All it did was squish her breasts together even more. A low whistle came from somewhere behind her.

“Bathroom,” she hissed, face burning.

Olivia was already standing, graceful, amused. “Come on, cutie.” Joana tried to rise. And stumbled.

She looked down. Heels. Three inches. Nude, strappy, somehow matching.

Her calves were amazing. Her balance? Not so much.

“Smaller steps,” Olivia said as she caught her elbow. “Let the hips roll. Let your body move.”

Joana shot her a look.

“You’re not Jon anymore,” Olivia added with a wink. “Trust the instincts. You’ve got new ones now.”

The café’s women’s restroom was mercifully empty.

Joana stumbled inside, the sharp clack of heels making her wince. Olivia followed, locking the door behind them.

Then Joana turned. And stopped. The mirror took her breath away. The girl staring back wasn’t just beautiful. She was devastating.

Short - five-two at best. Shoulder length, tousled strawberry hair that fell in waves just to her shoulders. Big, green eyes framed with thick lashes, wide and glassy with shock. Plump lips parted just enough to hint at disbelief. A heart-shaped face, dusted with a warm flush of confusion and heat.

And her body...

Breasts. Enormous, perfect breasts that stole the show with their roundness and bounce. Her cream-colored top clung to every curve, the neckline wide and deep enough to almost be brought up on indecency charges.

Her waist was snatched. Her hips flared. Her skirt hugged her high, soft ass like it had been painted on. Every curve was exaggerated, feminine, lush. The kind of figure you didn’t just look at - you remembered.

“I…” Joana whispered. “That’s… me?”

Olivia leaned against the wall, watching with a faint smirk. “That’s Joana,” she said. “My cute, busty roommate who faints in cafés and breaks hearts on the daily.”

Joana stepped closer to the mirror. Her hands rose almost involuntarily, cupping her breasts with both incredulity and careful reverence. They were so soft… but heavy. Real. They overflowed her hands. Her thumbs brushed the fabric over her nipples.

She shivered. “Holy shit,” she breathed.

“Now, you look like the kind of girl Jon used to stare at in magazine ads,” Olivia said, arms crossed. “Except…better.”

Joana turned toward her. “I need to… see all of me. Properly.”

A pause. Then, shy but certain: “Well then, best that we head home then.”

The walk up the apartment stairs was a whole new exercise in awareness. Joana’s hips swayed without trying. Her thighs grazed with every step. Her ass bounced, her breasts jostled, and the motion alone made her thighs clench tighter.

She wasn’t trying to be sexy. She just was.

By the time Olivia unlocked the door, Joana was flushed and slightly out of breath. As the door clicked shut behind them, and Joana leaned against the wall, chest heaving.

Her breasts lifted and fell dramatically with each breath. She looked down at them again, disbelieving.

“God,” she murmured. “They’re… just there. All the time.”

“They are,” Olivia said, dropping her bag.

Joana, sifting through hazy memories, found her way to her room. Her room. It was a modest professional setting - neat bed spread and desk - coated in a nice layer of pastels, stuffed animals, and other undeniably feminine things.

Not losing focus, she sat herself on the edge of the bed. In the silence of her new, familiar room, she began trailing her hands along her waist - so slim - then over her hips, the flare shocking under her own touch. She kicked off her heels and padded into the bedroom.

She peeled away her clothes piece by piece.

The skirt, revealing toned thighs and pink cotton panties stretched over a generous swell of ass and hips.

Then the top.

Her breasts fell free, bouncing into place with a weight and motion that made her gasp.

They were perfect.

Round, natural, heavy. Large, pink nipples stood taut in the cool air, already aching with sensitivity. She brushed them, just once, and the sensation shot straight to her core like lightning.

She sat still on the edge of the bed, in her panties, staring down at her new body.

“I feel like I’m made of…” she hesitated, voice husky, “…pure sensation.”

Olivia’s voice rang through the doorway from down the hall, as though she could hear Joana this whole time. “You are, darling!” she shouted.

Footsteps. Then, she appeared in the doorway. “You built this body with the mind of someone who wanted to feel.” She glided across the room, quickly kneeling on the bed beside Joana.

Joana let out a soft sound as Olivia’s hands ghosted up her sides, cupping her breasts from behind. Joana arched into the touch, whimpering.

“They’re so heavy,” she gasped.

“They’re yours. Better get used to them.” Olivia murmured into her ear.

Joana closed her eyes, sinking into the feeling - the heat, the fullness, the ache between her thighs she hadn’t even acknowledged yet.

But she wasn’t ready to cross that line. Not yet.

Her breath shook as she pulled away gently.

“I want to explore this,” she said. “All of it. But I need to take my time.” Olivia smiled. Kissed her temple.

“That’s what I thought you’d say.”

She stood, her hips swaying in a way that made Joana feel things.

“Take your time. Shower. Dress. Explore. I’ll be in the kitchen when you’re ready. And when you are - we’ll go out.”

Joana stayed there for a moment after Olivia left - naked, alive, impossibly aware. She let her hands drift again, tracing the curve of her belly, the shape of her thighs.

Her fingers brushed the waistband of her panties. She smiled.