They got not much choice

The two of them had barely made it out of the box before the full weight of what had happened settled over them. The first one stepped clear of the threshold and stopped dead, staring down at the broad hands hanging at his sides. When he curled his fingers, thick muscle shifted under the skin and the veins along his forearms stood out. He rolled one shoulder and felt the cape of his costume pull taut across a chest that was suddenly flat and solid. The second one followed a second later, bumping into him hard enough that both of them had to catch themselves. Neither spoke. They just stood there for a moment, breathing a little too hard, trying to reconcile the bodies they were in with the ones they’d had five minutes ago.

Everything felt heavier and more present. Their legs carried them with a different kind of balance thicker thighs, a lower center of gravity, a constant, low-level awareness of the weight hanging between them. Every step made that weight shift against the inside of their costumes. The strength was the strangest part. When one of them absently flexed an arm, the fabric of the sleeve strained. It didn’t feel like costume padding. It felt real, and the realization sent a sharp, hot pulse straight down through their guts. Around them the convention floor was packed. Women in tight costumes moved through the crowd short skirts, low-cut tops, latex and spandex that clung to every curve and both of them felt their new bodies react before they could stop it. Blood rushed south so fast their vision briefly swam. They shifted their stances, trying to hide the growing pressure against the front of their outfits, jaws tight, eyes darting anywhere but at each other.

Amy, still in the full Batman costume, was moving more carefully than she ever had before. The cowl sat differently now that her jaw was broader. The utility belt rode lower on narrower hips. And between her legs the constant, heavy throb was impossible to ignore. Every time a woman in a revealing costume walked past, the throb got worse. She was so focused on not staring that she didn’t see the Catwoman cosplayer step out from between two groups until they collided.

The impact was solid. Amy’s chest met Catwoman’s shoulder and they both staggered. Catwoman’s gloved hands came up automatically, one landing on Amy’s bicep to steady herself. Even through the latex and the armor of the Batman suit, Amy felt the heat of that touch. Catwoman was close enough that Amy could see the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the way the glossy black suit clung to the full curve of her breasts, the zipper pulled low enough that the upper swell of them was visible. Catwoman’s cheeks were flushed under the mask. She looked just as off-balance as Amy felt.

“Oh I’m sorry,” Catwoman said, breath a little shaky. Her voice was higher than Amy expected, and she shifted her weight like she wasn’t used to the way her body moved. One hand drifted down to tug at the suit where it sat at her hips. “I’m not used to my new body yet.”

Amy swallowed hard. The contact had sent a jolt straight through her. Catwoman’s body had been soft and warm against her, and the faint scent of skin and latex mixed with something sweeter that made Amy’s cock twitch hard enough that she had to clench her teeth. She could feel herself getting thicker against the inside of the suit, the pressure growing with every second they stood this close.

“No, it’s my fault,” Amy managed. Her own voice came out lower and rougher than she was used to, vibrating in a chest that felt too broad. “I wasn’t looking where I was going. I’m… not used to this either.”

They stayed where they were, neither quite stepping back. Around them the crowd kept moving laughter, the click of heels, the low murmur of conversation but the space between them felt charged. Catwoman’s eyes flicked down for a second, taking in the way the Batman suit sat across Amy’s chest and shoulders, then lower. Amy caught the glance and felt heat crawl up her neck. She was painfully aware of how hard she was getting, of the way the suit was starting to outline the shape of her cock. Catwoman shifted again, thighs pressing together under the tight latex, and Amy realized with a sudden, dizzying clarity that she wasn’t the only one dealing with a body that felt too new, too sensitive, and far too responsive to every beautiful woman in the room.

“You… also?” Catwoman asked quietly, almost under her breath. Her gloved fingers flexed against Amy’s arm before she seemed to notice she was still touching her and started to pull back.

Amy caught her wrist without thinking. The grip felt easy, stronger than she meant it to be. Catwoman’s eyes widened slightly behind the mask, but she didn’t pull away. They stood there in the middle of the crowd, both of them breathing a little too fast, both of them hyper-aware of the new weight and heat in their bodies and the fact that the other woman was looking at them the exact same way they were looking at her. The strength hummed under Amy’s skin. The ache between her legs was getting harder to ignore. And for the first time since they’d stepped out of the box, neither of them was entirely sure they wanted to walk away.