Turns out… Tommy is still in there!

Tomi woke to the soft rustle of sheets and the unmistakable weight on her chest.

That was still new.

Even before her eyes opened, she could feel them - heavy, warm, pulled slightly outward by gravity, rising and falling with her breath. They moved when she moved. They were… her breasts.

She blinked, light filtering through the curtains in soft stripes. Her comforter shifted as she stretched her arms overhead, and the fabric dragged across her nipples with a tantalizing rasp. They responded immediately, stiffening under her sleep shirt.

Tomi exhaled slowly, relishing the rush of sensation without acknowledging it. She didn’t need to acknowledge it. The newness was part of her now.

Except, of course, it wasn’t. Not really.

He had gone to sleep as Tommy McFirth a week ago — lanky, dorky, a flip-flop-wearing econ slacker who could barely flirt without sweating through his collar.

Now?

Now she was Tomi Jeong. Five-foot-six, impossibly curvy, half-Korean physics undergrad with a habit of chewing gum and dropping things when she got too excited.

It had all been so seamless. When she’d woken up the first morning after the change - when she’d looked down and seen her own chest straining against a tight cotton camisole, when she’d sat up and felt her hips shift under her, when the reflection in her closet mirror revealed long black hair and pillowy lips and big, blinking anime-girl eyes - she should have screamed.

But she hadn’t.

She’d just… blinked. Frowned. Touched her cheek. Then, slowly, she had stood up and walked - cautiously, experimentally - to the mirror.

The girl who looked back was gorgeous. Not in an intimidating way. In a fuckable way. Soft, slightly nerdy, the kind of girl boys stared at but didn’t expect to talk to. The kind of girl girls called “blessed” while secretly wondering what her diet was. The kind of girl whose DDs led every motion and bounced with a rhythm she still hadn’t fully gotten used to.

And inside that girl’s eyes, Tommy was still there. Watching.

⸻

This week had been… surreal. She played the role well - breezy, a little ditzy, effortlessly smart in the lab but perpetually distracted. Dr. Kekyll never questioned a thing. To him, she had always been Tomi. She could feel it in the way he looked at her. Not like a colleague. Not even like a crush.

More like an artist staring at his favorite sculpture - proud, a little possessive, and way too interested in her cleavage.

She let him look. That was part of the fun.

Every morning, she dressed carefully but not intentionally. The hoodie that just barely zipped. The shorts that clung a little too tight when she leaned over a monitor. The lace bra she hadn’t known she owned until it appeared in her drawer.

It was all part of the script.

But when she got home?

That was her time.

Tomi sat cross-legged on her bed now, holding her phone with one hand and idly squeezing her left breast with the other. Not hard - just testing. Feeling the yield of flesh under her palm. The softness. The warmth. The heaviness.

She was amazed at how responsive her body had become. A single circle of her thumb over her nipple and - ping, a jolt in her stomach. Her thighs squeezed together unconsciously. Her breath hitched.

“God,” she whispered. “No wonder guys are obsessed with tits.”

She glanced toward the mirror again - a habit she’d picked up quickly. Seeing herself topless now wasn’t shocking. It was affirming. The wide curve of her hips, the dark peak of her areolae, the way her boobs jutted forward when she arched her back even slightly - it was all delicious.

She turned, twisting at the waist to check the rear view.

The ass was… outrageous. High, firm, just enough jiggle when she slapped it. Perfectly framed by that hourglass waist she still didn’t believe was real.

She ran her hands down her sides slowly.

“Damn, girl,” she murmured to her reflection, grinning. “You’re a problem.”

At the lab, she kept the mask on - bright, distracted, scientifically useful. She even managed to help with a few calculations by letting her new brain wander. It was like the transformation had added more than curves - it had layered in a sense of pattern recognition, spatial logic. She understood the RAC more intuitively now than Tommy ever had. And Kekyll? He adored her for it.

But she noticed the way he paused when she bent over the console. The way he swallowed when her glasses slipped low on her nose. The way he sometimes asked questions just to keep her talking - her voice higher now, a little breathy, the kind of voice that naturally fell into soft giggles.

She pretended not to see.

She always pretended not to see.

That was part of the thrill.

The night before, she had finally decided to test things.

She’d waited until she got home, peeled off her hoodie and shorts, and stood in the mirror in just her matching bra and panties.

Then she’d sat on her desk chair, spread her legs, and touched.

She thought it might be awkward. Too weird. Too different.

It wasn’t. It was heaven.

The first brush of her fingers was enough to make her gasp - not from shock, but from how damn easy it was to feel everything. Slick warmth. Tension like an electrical wire strung through her belly. Her clit, so tiny and sensitive and hungry, responded like it had been waiting all day.

She didn’t even last two minutes.

By the time she finished - a slow, rolling orgasm that made her toes curl and her breasts jiggle with every twitch - she was laughing into her pillow.

She’d never come like that as Tommy. Not even close.

And tonight?

Tonight, she’d do it again.

For now, she pulled her hoodie back on, flipped her glasses into place, and grabbed her bubble tea on the way out.

She had a lab to run, a rhythm to maintain, and a scientist to keep curious.