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Original caption:

My thoughts exactly!

These were test images to make the bikini as small as possible without showing any explicit bits.

oh no! now we’ll have many lil prego tests!

@Background Pony #2B0A
(Background Pony: Ignore this if you read my previous comment.)
I find it more plausible they are just going to try him as a juvenile because that was what the psychological testing gave as his equivalent level of emotional maturity…

Honorary test subject.

@Bad Dragon
Yeah it is pretty good. I tried to make her run but it was awkward for some reason. I also tried to merge that pic with the full body “rubber tux”, and make it like a transformation. She has this nice tux but transforms to full body cover, you know, like KITT pursuit mode or something, but AI kept doing uncool things, like splitting the clothes in 2 parts, one full cover and one this. So I just uploaded this rotation, which is nice and her back mane was guessed correctly.

Also notice that AI managed to correctly place the cutie mark on the other side. I prompted this as “She has symmetrical mirrored tattoos her hips: a cyan-magenta thunderbolt.”

I am still working on another animation, I already generated 7 GB of clips and these are just tests/components. It will be anthro Luna but the source material is so good. Will beat my 12m Zipp animation. Hence the inactivity.

Research Assistant: “Dr. Spangler, we are ready to start the test.”
Egon: “Good. Introduce the bunny.”

Bunny introduced. Fluttershy happy.

Egon: Frowns as he takes ectoplasmic flux measurements, getting very little measurable effect.

He turns to his assistant.

Egon: “Let’s see what happens when we take away the bunny.

@Bad Dragon
Ohh ambitious, even by length alone. If you can build a storyboard and gen appropriate images – very doable. Try making the coolest few scenes of the entire thing first and see if it is good enough to warrant progressing further. The only vid of mine where the scenes morph a lot is that one lewd anthro Sunny one >>77313 and it is a clusterfuck, but it was just a test. It is not good, but proves it can work. There’s also 12 minute long lewd Zipp video that has no cuts in it, single take. This means you can make longer scenes.

Planning is the key. Good storyboard, a dozen gens per input frame to get a really good pair to morph between. My Zipp vid is in white void (masquerading as white sheets on a bed) because backgrounds are very unstable. You can try generating in the white void as well and then photoshoping backgrounds to first-last input frames.

But this is a loooot of work. Scale down and see if you can do 30s of it first.

@JesterOfDestiny
Hmm I guess this encourages me to try to write longer prompts. Btw this is WAN 2.2, and there is WAN 2.7 already. No idea how much better it is. I know Grok does really good stuff, like that Sunny:

Haven’t tried grok myself. I guess this Zipp could be a good test. Maybe next time.

Give me your best prompt for this and I will try it on WAN 2.2 :D

@Background Pony #0B4C
The “Lollipop In the Wooden Holder”?
Sounds more like a test for The Element of Laughter than Queen, but… y’know, any of the three could be good, although two of them come with a LOT of responsibility.

Either a gift, or a test to see if she’ll become Queen of Equestria.
Either way she happy.

Content: TG/TF, nudity, weird

“Here we are, chat! Not a lot of people know this, uh, place exists. Apparently after the mall lost a lot of business and stuff, it got bought out by, you know, one of those Suspiciously Wealthy Furries or something. Yeah, they wanted to make it into like a permanent Brony Con, but it only lasted about two years before the feds shut it down. Turns out they had started, like, some kind of sex cult. But the cover story was about health issues with the building, right?” Lenny prattled through his prepared notes as he spoke into the selfie cam of his phone, hoping this would be the video that put him on the Influencer map and get those all-important sponsorship deals.

The dust was thick, and smelled dank. Not dank in the silly way, in the bad way. Like a cross between a tub of cottage cheese left out in a hot room and a pile of sweaty gym socks. But he put it out of his mind as he shot a few takes in the huge void of the former shopping center, now covered with a small hill of dirt all around. He’d been the only one to find the fissure that admitted access. He could tell because there weren’t any homeless camps inside. He was quite proud of himself for not just researching his hometown’s past claim to Internet fame, but also being the first person to set foot inside the place for a decade.

If that wasn’t enough to compete with the slick Let’s Players and overbaked makeup chicks, he didn’t know what was.

“So anyway, most people already know the government’s lying to you all the time, right? Well obviously a whole shopping mall isn’t going to sink into the ground on its own, no matter how bad the foundation is-” He sputtered and started coughing, cursing the extra time he’d have to spend editing that take out before posting the video. Time was money, and he was fast running out of both. With my luck, he thought, the roof will collapse on me before I get anything decent to post. It was unnerving enough that his cell reception had died as soon as he’d gone underground, preventing any actual live streams from taking place. But at least that meant he could practice his amazed reactions and rubble and junk for the best edit.

“Well it’s not a bruise, Mr. Swift. It’s some sort of fungal infection.”

“Fungus? Like mushrooms?” he asked, thinking of all those video games he’d played where zombified mushroom-people ambled around a post apocalyptic landscape as fodder for the player character.

“There’s all kinds of fungus, you won’t be sprouting mushrooms,” the dermatologist said. “I’m not sure what specific type this one is, it doesn’t quite match any of our tests, but a broad-spectrum fungicide will most likely help it clear up. I’m going to write you a prescription for some topical. The most important thing is to keep on top of your hygiene to keep this from spreading or coming back. Alright?”

“Okay doc, but I can’t afford a lot of medicine…” Lenny admitted sheepishly. He hadn’t been able to land a job for three months and his savings were getting really low. “So just, like, shower a lot and this shouldn’t happen again?”

He regretted allowing himself the luxury of taking a day off from the job search to do a little urban exploration. The old mall had been fascinating, but it was probably the mold and weird growths on the walls that had led to this nasty fungus boring into his skin.

“That doc was full of shit,” Lenny grumbled as he scrubbed the purple spot on his shoulder even harder. He’d been showering three times in the last two days but the weird mark was still growing, now it was starting to reach around to his back and all under his armpit. He wondered if he shouldn’t have bit the bullet and bought that medicine the doc recommended anyway, even if it would have meant asking for an extension on his rent. It seemed like cleaning wasn’t getting rid of this infection at all, maybe even making it worse. He hoped it wouldn’t show through his shirt when he went in for the interview this afternoon.

The interviewer had not seemed very impressed when Lenny explained it wasn’t a “tattoo,” just a weird fungal infection. Maybe he should have said it was a bruise from playing paintball or something. Maybe it was the sheen of sweat on his brow, too. Probably thought he was some kind of tweaker, or had some kind of catching disease. Lenny covered his face and sighed deeply as the bus pulled to another stop. Just a few more until his block of apartments, then another empty evening of trying to find work and wondering if he had enough clean clothes to get through the next interview. He’d have to dip into his dwindling funds for another round of laundry. Stress. More stress. He scratched the rash on the back of his neck without even thinking about it.

Cheese stick. That was the first thing that came to mind as he looked at the horrifying sight in the mirror: one of those mixed orange-and-white cheese sticks. Except he was tan and… purple. Somehow the weird stain had spread around him through the night and morning (and early afternoon) he’d been asleep, leaving just blotches of his original skin color showing through. And when he was able to see past that, he looked even more awful. His body was weirdly sunken in, his eyes peering out from two huge sacks of deep, dark purple bruising, and he felt like someone was taking an angle grinder to all his joints.

He needed to get that medicine, but the thought of going out like this make his stomach lurch. Actually, it might not have been the anxiety. His guts were churning nonstop ever since he woke up, so much later than usual. Painful cramps and twinges of shooting agony, but at least it wasn’t accompanied by a need to supplicate himself before the porcelain throne.

In fact, he felt completely empty, like everything in him was being burned up in a furnace and the hopper was getting low. Uneasily, he staggered into the small kitchen area and took everything out of the fridge, one by one. Unable to stop himself, he realized he was cramming all the food left in it into his face like some kind of conveyor belt sending junk to the incinerator. The milk. The leftover mac and cheese. The cold cuts. When there was enough strong-tasting food past his tongue, he followed it with three glasses of OJ and let the empty carton toppled off the counter to the floor as he reached for the frying pan to take care of the last four eggs all at once. While the scrambled contents of the now evacuated shells bubbled and congealed in the heat, he opened the cabinets and started devouring the half-loaf of bread. It was a little stale, but it went down all the same. Beer accompanied the eggs. Nacho chips formed a search party to go in after them. They in turn were to be rescued by a jar of olives. Then it was the mayo’s turn, spoon by spoon until the spoon rung hollow against the empty plastic container.

His stomach felt so heavy and full but he couldn’t stop himself. Everything vanished and yet his brain refused to signal retreat. It was only went he realized he was down to a single can of chilli that he was able to convince himself of the need for restraint. Still feeling like a car on E, he staggered back into the bedroom. His eyes were getting heavy again, and he felt so warm and achy that it was easier to pull himself away from the wreckage of the kitchen for another nap.

Everything stunk of dried sweat. He was pretty sure the mattress made a squelching sound as he rolled off it. He felt weak, and light, and dizzy. Something was wrong with his chest. Too puffy. And everything was so noisy, despite the constant ringing in his ears. He shuffled back into the bathroom like a zombie ambling away from its freshly-opened grave.

Something in the mirror looked at him. She was pretty, despite being a weird color. Purple eyes, purple hair, big purple ears poking out of the top of her head. Thin, delicate neck and tiny shoulders. Modest boobs, not even covered, with turgid nipples a deeper, fleshy purple poking outwards as if pulling the rest of her chest behind them. Thin, small waist and hips, kind of scrawny limbs. She was wearing his underwear, and it hung funnily in front with nothing to fill out the space between her legs. The contours of her bony hips were softened momentarily by the flicking of some long, silky purple hair from a pivoting point behind her butt. The eyes that were looking him over from the mirror sparkled a bright but saturated purple, like the deepest shades of a twilight sky once the sun had retreated beyond the horizon.

The unreality of it was matched only by pangs he felt at seeing her visible ribs in the sunken chest. She needed to eat more. And he felt hungry, still. There was only a single can of chilli left for them to share, and it wouldn’t be enough.

A lot of people stopped to watch him as he packed away the two bags of fast food without pausing for a break. The shade of the tree was nice and cool, but the eyes of the people passing by made him feel warm and weird. Not exactly humiliated, but definitely something he wasn’t used to feeling. Maybe they’d never seen a purple pony shaped like a human girl walking around. Maybe it was the growing pile of empty burger containers and the line-up of fries and the cardboard tray of full-sugar large drinks vanishing into her. Some teen girls were clearly looking at her from across the street and talking amongst themselves, smiling, laughing, punching each other on the shoulder over whatever silly thing they’d said. They disappeared, but replacing their attention were the men of all ages who simply watched from what they thought were private little spots scattered all over the park.

Lenny didn’t mind at all. Eating was far more important. That’s why he’d finally given in and made the expensive excursion out into the daylight to blow most of the last of his savings on the fast food. You only live once, after all, and he needed the calories… apparently. It felt like his stomach would never run out of room, like it was converting all the mashed-up beef and bread and lettuce and fried potato slivers into energy and flesh as soon as they landed.

Whatever was going on, it made him feel so much better than he had been for the last two days. It was easy to focus on eating, and the starchy and sugars were doing wonders for his mood. The beefy flavor of the patties reinforced his flagging spirits. The sodas soothed his frayed nerves. Before he realized it, he’d set the tail wagging. It had taken a couple of tries to cut a hole wide enough in the back of the sweat pants for it to fit through, but now he barely regarded it as something unusual.

Guess you can say it’s really grown on me, he chuckled to himself through a mouthful of burger. Leaves rustled behind him as the appendage flopped to and fro in amusement. A twitching ear flicked, prompting him to emit a suppressed giggle despite his mouthful of chewed food. Consuming all these calories completely took the pressure off of his mood, like things weren’t as dire as they had been when he was starving. Every inch of his body started to feel warm and tingly, like playful pinpricks were peppering his tissues along every thread-like nerve.

*I wonder if it’s something to do with the fungus,” he thought. He surprised himself with the lack of alarm that kind of question raised. There wasn’t room for anxiety or worry right now, just the joyous relief of fueling his body’s metabolism after it had almost run out.

“I need new clothes,” he said to himself as he looked in the mirror. A gorgeous purple girl with cute little ears and a nice, silky mane was looking back at him approvingly, silk tail bobbing from side to side as if to add its enthusiasm to the review. In just the twelve hours he’d slept since gorging himself, all the bony edges had been rounded off of his figure and his flesh had smoothed and filled out into a pleasing, if slender, feminine shape.

Long, sleek purple legs joined at a luscious, enticing snatch just barely adorned with a tiny patch of eggplant-shaded hairs to decorate it, set between some relatively wider hips which instantly bottlenecked into a trim, flat tummy barely as wide as his head. Perched atop his compact chest were two perky purple globes, peaked with plump plum-colored nipples that he knew, from brushing them against the bedsheets, were quite sensitive in the best kind of way. Rising above his small, delicate shoulders was a youthful, doll-like face with finely sculpted features that were bordering on inhumanly attractive. Set above two mauve blushes were stark black lashes rimming marble-white glistening eyes that caught the light and threw it back in amethyst hues from the far end of the color spectrum, shimmering and sparkling with all the magic of the night sky. Framing the amazing face was a shock of hair in riotous mystic violet with stripes of springtime-blooming pink and even something approaching lime green, punctured by two absolutely adorable little ears that twisted and flopped to assist in expressing his mood.

Right now they were at ease. Just like him. No room for fear, no access to stress, stormclouds of trouble seemed to be locked away from his grasp on a high shelf in a closet somewhere that he didn’t care to remember. It almost felt impossible to believe those were even real emotions, he thought as he watched the girl in the mirror turning and posing. A striking body like hers deserved to be clothed in something other than baggy, ill-fitting thrift store fair! She needed everyone to see her, to touch her, to breathe in her air and enchant their lives the way she had been enchanted by that dust in the tunnels.

The tunnels! The old, sunken mall! On her first trip through, she had passed many clothing stores with their fluorescent lights still dimly flickering. It was the perfect place to find some more clothing, something more appropriate to her new figure, something to make her absolutely irresistible!

“Here you go, miss!” the gig driver said with a smile as she handed her the catering box of fast food. “I like your cosplay!” she added with a slight blush.

“Thank you so much!” she replied, beaming back at the woman who had delivered her precious cargo. “Can you guess who I am?” she asked, spinning around as though she were really intending to show off some kind of special effects makeup.

“One of those My Little Ponies, isn’t it? Twilight Star or something?” the woman asked, her guess unwittingly solicited by her patron who had no knowledge of such things herself.

“Got it in one!” she said with a girlish giggle. “Thanks again!” she added, blowing a playful kiss and waving with her free hand as the charmed driver went off to make her next delivery.

Between the lunch order and bus fare, she had spent the last of her dwindling cash. The ride had been necessary to preserve invaluable calories, and the meal of course would keep her from wasting away during the final hike to and down into the forgotten mall. She parked herself on a nearby bench and destroyed the eight pounds of food with mechanical precision, her mood elevating to even loftier altitudes as her body worked overtime converting mass and calories into mass and motivation. It was as though she could feel the contents of her stomach being siphoned away directly into tiny pipes that cobwebbed her flesh, ferrying nutrients and sugars in real time. Endorphins and dopamine flooded her nervous system in response, giving her a natural high and fuzzing away anything that wasn’t 100% positivity from her emotional slate. The old shirt felt tighter across her bust by the time she’d finished her meal, and two nubs were poking through mischievously. She felt like a flower that had been under-watered, now plumping up after a drenching rain, drawing vital fluids through its roots into stems and leaves that fattened up as they stored the extra mass.

Twilight Star, she repeated to herself. Twilight Star. I don’t know any of those ponies, but it sure seems like a fitting name! I’ll take it!

Her old clothes displaced volumes of purple dust as she shed them for the last time on the cold, dirty tile floor of the underground mall. Dust that smelled musty and patient and full of still, dreaming life yet to be. The walls, the ceiling, the overturned food court furniture was all coated by fluffy layers of dark, dull flocking. Velvety fuzz that waited with unrelenting patience to attach its lingering spawn onto anyone and anything that disturbed it. Purple, sky blue, orange, buttery yellow, she passed by clinging patches of growth in a pastel rainbow of colors as she made her way deeper in. They formed the microscopic forest that needed her help to flourish beyond this tomb.

Barefoot, she retraced her own former footsteps from the cavern-like opening that was still hot with the last bit of sunlight from outside. Her shoes had left big, wide tracks that her narrow, slender, shorter feet made a game of landing on. Her body jiggled happily in ways that it had never been able to the first time through. All she carried now was her phone, but this time she wasn’t trying to film her excursion to try and entice a streaming audience to fund a Coffee account. This time she was going to use it in lieu of mirrors to see if any outfits she found might work to set off her pleasing curves.

The air was cold, clammy, and thick with spores. They would find no fertile fields inside her lungs this time; her body held no vacancies to shelter and nurture another migration of hopeful little lives. She had already blossomed, and now she felt their gentle touch on her skin as a reminder of the solemn duty she bore to help them escape this prison and find new, warm, unsuspecting places to root and spread. And to do that, she needed a cute outfit!

The LED strip had been running so long that the white phosphors had faded and left it flickering a weird, otherworldly purple, like those street lamps with the cheap bulbs that would just go bad every once in a while. But it case enough of a glow for her to pick through the shelves of accessories. Shoes and purses, essential for the girl on the move.

She stopped in the glow and examined her selfie cam’s image, her pulse quickening as she took in the sight. She looked cute and sexy, and the little black dress she’d picked up and slunk into was doing amazing things for her figure! Especially the way it stretched over her perky, bouncy, eye-catching curves. The sleek material just screamed for hands to be run all over it, to explore her alluring contours. Nobody would be able to resist slipping their arms around her like this, holding her close, putting their face next to her cheek or her neck and breathing in. Breathing in the magical stardust she’d be shedding, unknowingly inviting it in to settle into their warm, moist, thoroughly habitable lungs where they could start to grow and change.

The very idea sent hot shivers tickling her spine and bouncing from top to bottom until they settled into a warm, cozy spot in her fluttering tummy. Her future spreading the little ones far and wide was going to be so much fun!

Having the positive pregnancy test:

Celestia: >>70195 what have i done, oh no no no
Luna: >>70191 Thats how it’s done, bitch~

Having the positive pregnancy test:

Celestia: >>70195 what have i done, oh no no no
Luna: >>70191 Thats how it’s done, bitch~

Hehe, I’ve officially marked you as mine, Rarity! And why two pregnancy tests? Is one not accurate enough and you needed a double take?

My partner and I practice BDSM, she is the sub. We did something similar to this one time, role-played that she was a psychiatrist that went mad and murdered her patients. We prefer latex and we do own a white latex straight jacket. The gag part is what reminded me of it.

We have a muzzle gag that is VERY restrictive and covers half her face with a rubber penis going into her mouth. It’s not uncomfortable, any gag worn too long hurts the jaw. Before hand we talked about trying to test her as long as we could and she made it a LOT longer than I thought she could, but boy did we have fun pushing her limits and her holes, lol.

@CappyAdams
I tried five different test prompts and couldn’t get any, but I also didn’t try very hard–I was time limited at the time. But all of my tests just gave generic anime girls. I likely just need to figure out its prompting. I’ll start with your prompt and workshop it and figure out what it can and can’t do.

Interesting… my initial tests with Anima were incapable of getting ponies, so I just immediately discarded it. Perhaps I should check it a second time.

this is a pic my friend generated (added his tag to this pic, btw) that he sent me while he was testing a lora he trained that i shared on the tanta discord because it was funny how inconsistent it was between checkpoints.

noticing the source was some 4chan thread, i got curious and attempted to read it.
i saw another pic i genned and only posted on the discord a long time back in the thread, but other than that, i only found reinforcement for my belief that everyone (and i mean everyone) who posts on 4chan regularly in this day and age is hideously deranged and would benefit from staying away from it for the rest of their lives.

My headcanon:
The Bodiless Fox was created as a pet by a rare pre-Unification deep cooperation between Unicorn nobles and Earth Pony biomage contractors. They can not survive in the wild, because, among other reasons, even a minor cold can easily suffocate them on their own mucus since their nasal passages also function as their lungs. They also hop very slowly, and expend a lot of calories per distance moved.

The concept of letting the species die out has been raised more than once throughout the centuries, but the pet-ownership side of the debate has always won out. In the modern era ownership requires a special liscense, ensuring their specialized needs are met. Usually the testing and inspections are rigorous, but the clerk knew about Fluttershy’s accomplishments with animals, and simply filled out the license and hoofed it to her without saying a word. This confused and flustered Fluttershy, but she managed to recover after only a few minutes of “Umm…“ing and hesitant questions.

Ah yes… another test of Loyalty for her to continue winning the rest of her life, and a very rewarding one at that!

I am simple man with simple likes.

Boobs.

Anyway, this was a test on a new workflow/model I found for Wan2.2, https://huggingface.co/Phr00t/WAN2.2-14B-Rapid-AllInOne/tree/main

Took about *3 minutes on a 3070 (8Gb card). Caveat is res has to be low (think half a standard SDXL output) and you best clear out everything on your system using GPU memory else prompt processing will OOM.

@Background Pony #C439
Most of these were test images from my v2 LORA, no real story.

Chemistry or micro biology course at dental school?

I shall head-canon that the cuvets (sp?) or test tubes* are enchanted to with an auto-kinetic (as opposed to telekinetic) effect to tend to remain upright, negating the need for a rack/holder.
*I don’t know the difference, just that the ones I used in high school chemistry were NOT test tubes. Too late at night to web search it up.

“Yes sir… no sir… yes, we’ll certainly be renewing the contract… no sir, I’ve been alright… thank you sir, yes, I’m very flattered sir… very funny sir… never heard that one before, sir… well, unfortunately I’m afraid I have another appointment that evening and I won’t be able to make it… I’ll try sir… yes, definitely next time if we can… you too sir…”

Ms. Smith sighed as the phone call with her client ended. She was sick of every man she talked to making “clever” remarks about her figure and trying to get her to go on dates with them. Despite everything she’d hoped, things still weren’t getting any easier. Her life as a law professional had become difficult in ways she couldn’t even have imagined before “the incident”, with things worsening still further with each passing month…

“Jack Smith” had been one of the most respected and feared powerbrokers in the game, effortlessly scoring new clients and lucrative deals for his firm – but “Jacqueline Smith” struggled to lock down half as many contracts despite putting in what felt like three times the effort. The depth of her knowledge and expertise in her field hadn’t diminished in the slightest since that fateful morning when she had woken up with the body of a woman, but in the dog-eat-dog world of corporate politics it was the ability to build certain types of relationships and navigate complex dominance hierarchies which mattered most – and Jacqueline was finding out first-hand just how sexist & unfair these male-controlled good-ol’-boy business networks and social clubs could be even towards hard-working highly-skilled professional women like her.

Everything had started last fall when Jack, stumbling out to his Lamborghini late one night in the strip club parking lot, had in his rowdy stupor apparently taken it upon himself to hurl random drunken insults at a young woman with short black hair in a purple pony T-shirt and slacks who happened to be passing by on the sidewalk. Jack mocked her rail-thin appearance, calling her a “beanpole” and a “flatsy with no ass” and other crude names. The woman seemed to ignore him and kept walking, muttering something under her breath that Jack couldn’t even hear… and yet that would determine the future course of the rest of Jack’s life…

The witch’s incantation took root in Jack’s DNA, rewriting his genetic code as he slept in a blacked-out sprawl across his big penthouse-suite bed, waking up with a hangover, a rather spotty memory of the night before, and a new, magic-altered body that was totally unfamiliar and strange – and totally female.

Staring in terror at the unfamiliar woman in the bathroom mirror, her new body at first had seemed remarkably similar in appearance to that of the young woman she had lived to regret making fun of – lean, slender, a somewhat boyish frame although on the shorter side at 5’1”, short black hair. Her hips seemed quite narrow and masculine for a grown woman, and her chest didn’t seem like anything that would require a bra, to her great relief. Still, living the rest of her life with a pussy instead of big “little Jack” filled her with dread. She felt vulnerable and fearful without her old male attributes and equipment. What the hell was her life going to become?

To her shock, nobody seemed to treat her all that differently at first – the next day at work, although her office nameplate now read “Jacqueline”, it was as if she were simply picking up where she had left off the previous week when she’d still been a man. Same clients, same job. Only her name, gender, and wardrobe had changed.

But over time, Jacqueline realized just how different things were indeed going to be for her from now on…

The small ways in which her male co-workers would ignore, belittle, or talk over her; the little negs that all the self-styled “alpha male” types she worked with would habitually slip into their word-choices when speaking to the opposite sex; the subconscious expectations of subservience that she’d started to notice being sprinkled into the power dynamics of her business meetings and directed towards her; the little hints of secret conversations she’d catch whispers of around the corners of the office halls that insinuated that she had achieved her present position solely by sleeping around or unspecific “diversity and inclusion” initiatives…

All of these things got much worse the more her body continued to change – because her body wasn’t done changing, not by a long shot…

To Jacqueline’s revulsion and horror, after a mere two weeks as a woman, she had slowly come to realize that her upper chest was starting to feel inflamed with an irritated tingling sensation more and more frequently. Her nipples felt swollen and sensitive; it was starting to become difficult for her to focus at her job. She found herself absentmindedly clutching her chest with her forearm when she walked to prevent the sensitive nerve-endings from constantly chafing at the inner material of her shirt. One evening, looking herself over in the mirror at home, she couldn’t deny it to herself any longer – her chest was no longer flat.

Getting measured for her first bra had been absolutely humiliating for her, but she really didn’t have any other options; she’d overheard one joke about the outline of her nipples being visible through the fabric of her white business-casual button-up, and that had been enough. Maybe things wouldn’t be so bad, she reckoned, adjusting her bra strap the next morning, guiding the cups to cradle her still-sensitive still-swollen nipples – a B cup bra seemed to keep her new feminine woes under control well enough, and soon enough Jacqueline adapted with ease to adding the new undergarment to her daily dressing and undressing routines. And anyway, she had much more important things to think about – like by what potential strategies she might still manage to lock down that big juicy Powell contract by the end of the upcoming fiscal year…

As autumn changed to winter, “big” and “juicy” became words that entered Jacqueline’s mind in a different capacity one afternoon as she was forced to accept that her panties no longer fit comfortably over her ass. Pudgy deposits of squashed flesh strained against her underwear lewdly as she came to grips internally with the fact that her butt was definitely several sizes larger than it had been just 2 or 3 months prior. Her hips were wider now too, framing her delicate feminine waist with an alluring sexuality that was seriously unnerving. Her hair had grown too at an alarming rate, changing in color from black to violet as it inched closer to her ass with each passing day. It was starting to look rather unprofessional, so she took to bundling it up into an increasingly lengthy ponytail, the mere thought of simply cutting it somehow never crossing her mind.

By February, Jacqueline took great care to replace the entirety of her wardrobe as her body increasingly tested the limits of good workplace taste despite her best efforts to ignore what was happening to her. Even her most modest black skirt was beginning to show off the curvature of her ass quite lasciviously as it had continued to fatten itself up against her wishes, and she’d finally been forced to admit that her little B cup bra was so thoroughly overmatched by her still-burgeoning bust that it was actually getting rather difficult to breathe. Her boobs were overflowing the cups so excessively by the time she went in for her long-overdue second measurement that the assistant at the lingerie shop felt compelled to lecture Jacqueline for a several minutes about the warning signs and consequences of an improperly-fitting brassiere. After all, a girl with breasts as big as Jacqueline’s now were would need to take great care to manage her boobs properly or risk serious long-term back pain, and embarrassment. Jacqueline drove home from the mall that day with several G cup bras, feeling humiliated, and the loosest-fitting office-appropriate shirts and skirts she could find to wear without looking ridiculous.

Despite her best efforts to conceal her generous curves, one by one all of her clients and co-workers sooner or later began to occasionally drop references to her buxom, stripperesque hourglass figure into their daily conversations. Sly jokes about her boobs and butt became increasingly commonplace, the crudest of which were flung when male co-workers thought she wasn’t listening. Jacqueline got in the habit of simply ignoring them. But by the time summer rolled around, it had seemingly become the office sport to make ever-bolder passes at Jacqueline Smith – seemingly every other week she was overhearing some loud water cooler argument about which guy at the office would get to fuck the most eligible bachelorette in the business first. After all, surely she was going to discover her true place sooner or later… who ever heard of a professional in this industry who was a woman anyway – let alone a girl like that, with boobs almost as big as her head…?

After overhearing that last comment, the famously thick-skinned Jacqueline Smith nearly felt like crying when she got home that night. Unbuttoning her large shirt, which for several weeks now had failed ever-more distressingly to mask the contours of her still-burgeoning chest, she felt a dark shudder of shame crawl up her spine as the sturdy black nylon material of her newest JJ cup bra revealed itself. There was no denying it – she was big. Two huge mounds of bowling ball sized titflesh jiggled distractingly with her every breath, wobbling like squashed jello in their holsters. Already, she was starting to noticeably overflow her new bras, and it hadn’t even been 2 weeks. Untying her long and violet-colored hair, which now hung down lankly well past her hips, Jacqueline rotated her body to assess the state of her butt in the mirror. A deep pit formed in the depth of her stomach as she realized that her plump buttcheeks were now straining so extravagantly against the fabric of her skirt (which had been the largest and most modest size that would still fit mere months ago) that the dark outline of her panties was easily visible even in low light. Jacqueline wanted to scream. This body was a nightmare… what had she done to deserve this?

She called in sick for the rest of the week, rush-ordering several custom-fit skirts, shirts, and bras from a specialty site for extra-curvy girls and refusing to leave her home until they arrived over the weekend.

Several weeks passed. Jacqueline noticed that while she could more-or-less manage her existing clients successfully, she was having real trouble locking down new contracts, losing out at nearly every opportunity to her male competitors. She simply wasn’t being taken seriously any more as an industry professional in her field – and worse yet, she gradually became aware that nearly all of her clients and co-workers seemed to feel personally slighted by the fact that she wasn’t interested in sleeping with any of them. To her disgust, their efforts became more and more explicit. Clients began to insist on hugging her, and sometimes they would try to cop a feel. Co-workers made rude allusions to the size of their cocks whenever she walked by, and increasingly slipped transparent attempts to “meet up” in varying scenarios after hours. Jacqueline was beginning to feel deeply alienated in her former home turf. The strain was becoming so intense, putting in extra work every day for diminishing returns… Jacqueline felt exhausted.

A different form of strain and exhaustion was taking its toll as well.

Jacqueline’s breasts and ass were still greedily swallowing up seemingly every ounce of calories her body took in, blossoming extravagantly to reach truly ludicrous proportions by the time September arrived. With deep distress she examined her side profile in her mirror – her now-more-than-huge boobs were now absolutely monstrous in size, filling out and stretching even the extra-large shirt she’d ordered last month; her womanly burdens now weighed 15 pounds each and seemed to scream with heightened sensitivity to every slight brush or pressure, making it nearly impossible to focus in meetings; her new P cup bra seemed to need constant adjustments as she went about her day. Each breast was now several inches bigger than her skull, swallowing her torso and wobbling incorrigibly with her every step, no matter how carefully she tread. The constant pulling and stress on her body caused solely by her gargantuan chest was draining her energy so completely that she found herself regularly needing to sit down and massage her breasts, shoulders, and back in secret just to manage the pain.

Jacqueline’s eyes moved to review her backside.

Jacqueline’s ass had become so gigantic and overstuffed with taut lobes of sumptuous fat that it seemed to have a mind of its own, wobbling even worse than her tits when she walked. The bulging shelf it defined as it protruded obscenely against her straining skirt was breathtaking, competing so successfully with the impossibly bloated contour of her chest that she looked like she was constantly smuggling four pumpkin-sized waterballoons under her clothes – two up top and two down below.

Her waist, of course, was just as trim and taut as ever.

Her curse-molded physique was dominated by an impossibly exaggerated and cartoonishly-proportioned hourglass figure so overwhelmingly voluptuous that the words “fantasy fetish model” immediately sprung to her mind despite her attempts to suppress such thoughts. Her body, despite her wishes, was nothing short of pornographic, no matter what clothes she wore, no matter what she did.

Her lavish curves were simply impossible to conceal under any circumstances.

Harassment at her job become a daily concern. Her co-workers made no attempt whatsoever to conceal their obvious boners in Jacqueline’s presence – and, even more distressingly, her body seemed to be responding to their pheromones more and more aggressively. Walking down the office hallway one day, her head full of anxiety regarding an issue with one of her clients – her skirt constricting the huge lobes of her buttcheeks so tightly that her gait became demure and restricted by sheer necessity just to keep the damn thing from ripping open – a passing male co-worker reached out and gave the tempting quarry of her rump a mighty slap right then and there just to watch it wobble and marvel at her mortified reaction as she squealed in surprise and the sympathetic jiggling of her titanic tits and ass nearly sent her toppling over. Her arms seized her wayward curves in a bid to restrain them as her male co-worker laughed and walked away. To her horror, afterwards, her panties were soaked and a warm energy tingled in her loins.

Somehow, this awful experience had only managed to make her feel incredibly horny.

After this, Jacqueline soon found herself escaping to the restroom to masturbate more than once per week, then every day, then several times per day, as her co-workers and clients’ bold passes and crude remarks increasingly made her laugh and flirt back if she didn’t catch herself. Male confidence, boldness, cock size, and wealth – she increasingly discovered – were starting to turn her on so much that she couldn’t help but fantasize about certain exceptionally masculine men she had encountered that day – especially any who had been bold enough to somehow lay hands on her in some unsubtle way – when she went home every night.

Despite herself, Jacqueline couldn’t help but love the way that being touched by powerful men made her feel.

Soon, the big day arrived – the Powell contract dinner. Jacqueline had ordered a tall pair of high heels and a sexy evening dress especially for the occasion; Mr. Powell had made his preferences crystal clear regarding the sort of attire he expected the women in his life to wear when it counted, and Ms. Smith was not about to let him down. Mr. Powell was so incredibly wealthy and powerful that she actually caught herself masturbating to fantasies of becoming his mistress the night before their big dinner. Lying in bed fondling her huge P-cup babyfeeders as she imagined taking in Mr. Powell’s legendarily massive cock, Jacqueline knew that if any girl could bring to the table the unique attributes that could sufficiently impress such a high-status man as Mr. Powell and lock him down, it was her. Again and again, Jacqueline made herself cum that night.

The next evening, Jacqueline was tired, but she took every effort to look absolutely ravishing. Her colossal watermelon-sized funbags splayed generously from the top of her glamorous crimson dress with a deep rift of cleavage that was sure to bewitch every male she encountered; her gigantic rear-end filled out her outfit so completely that her twin lobes of bootyflesh nearly knocked over a lamp as she wobbled obscenely towards the door. Navigating her protrusive body as if she were guiding a great ship at sea, Jacqueline steered her massive chest carefully down into Mr. Powell’s waiting limousine, taking care to avoid slamming her hip-hop-dancer-sized booty into the limousine door. Her massive breasts swallowed her lap entirely as she sat down, the tips of her tits nearly reaching her knees if she leaned forward. She loved the way Mr. Powell grinned, watching her body with great interest as it bounced, jiggled, sloshed, and swayed in time with every slight motion of the vehicle. His bold hand reached under her massive caboose to fill his grip with a bulging spilling fistful of willing ass.

Jacqueline squeaked with delight.

The night would be long and the rendezvous would be successful; Ms. Smith would indeed win the business contract hands-down and ass-up. However, she would also turn in her resignation the following month – after all, if she was going to be a proper loving mother to these triplets Mr. Powell had seeded in her belly, she wasn’t going to have time for professional pursuits any longer. Even though she was going to be just one of Mr. Powell’s well-stocked harem of biologically-gifted mistresses, Jacqueline knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she was most certainly going to always be his favorite, and would without a doubt receive the most lavish and preferential treatment possible from her powerful new lover.

At last, Jacqueline Smith was happy.