Second Saturday

You awaken Saturday morning to your second weekend after being infected. Its an effort to turn over in bed, with basketball size breasts impeding your way. Every brush of the fabric across your gumdrop size nipples sends an electric shock through your body.

Rolling over on your back, the most impressive feature the infection gifted you with was a morning wood of epic proportions. It stood about 18" stem to tip, thick as your arm and tipped by a glans 6" in diameter. You leaned the monster toward your mouth a took a taste of the sweet salty pre dribbling out.

Every other morning since your conversion, you've had a house guest from school to help relieve the pressure. Today was no exception, but everyone else in the house was fast asleep.

You slowly lift yourself our of bed and stand in front of the floor mirror naked. Orange sized testes, hot and swollen, dangle on either side of the shaft, pointing straight out at the image. Lifting their weight, behind it were original cis-girl labia, lengthened to 4" sheets of prehensile pleasure flesh. Excellent at extracting cum from the uninfected and mutated alike, you also use them to stroke your balls and taint, heightening your orgasms.

You shuffle thru your drawers for the most workable ensemble, white yoga tights and a white xxxl sports bra top. Wrestling them on, you realized lycra was the almost the only thing that the new boi and gurl population could wear. The new decency laws didn't allow exposure of nipples, areolae, labia, testes or glans. True to the newly lusty legislature, infected hypertrophied breast flesh and veiny cock shafts could remain exposed!

Pulling on the tights, your cock extends out a foot above the waistband. The sports bra seemed like a parachute but was stretched to its limits to cover your breasts, the rock hard nipples showing thru the double ply fabric. The final step was tucking your cock into the bra top, nestling it between your massive mammaries. The fabric was stretched so thin, it almost didn't matter.

Aside from these morphed sexual organs, the infection had reversed your age and complexion a good 20 years. The image in the mirror wasn't the frumpy 40 something teacher, but an early 20s runway model, blonde locks cascading down your shoulders, petite waist, flat tummy, thigh gap, petite face with pouty lips, and long skinny arms and legs.

Before breakfast you wanted to review your diary from these last few days. Most of the infected seemed to be bimbo bunnies, but luckily you retained your wits. You sauntered over to your desk, the massive orbs wobbling with each step.