This choice: "How... How will... this end?" you ask, your voice quavering. • Go Back...Chapter #7"How... How will... this end?" you ask,... by: Mr. George   You want to clutch your hands over your expanding chest. A need to try to crush the girls flat, to restore your masculine chest. But you helplessly keep pumping the hand weights as you feel your nipples widen and spread. Their increased... increasing sensitivity an intriguing problem.
With a snap, you feel your tiny top start to split, a rapid -zip-, and you feel the material split... just to the lower edge.
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Humiliatingly, the girls are freer to bounce and dance, as you pump the weight. It feels like a humiliating display. As you glance around, terrified of spotting an appreciative audience. Thankfully, there are no men present. No other men, you correct yourself.
Although judging from the way you fill the top, it's hard to prove your masculinity. Your blue shorts, now little more than... well, panties, seems like the best description. Again they demand you accept your new femininity, with no hint of anything masculine hidden ... down there. Everything feels like it's adding to your pain, the trickle of sweat, over your toned belly. The soft, rhythmic ripple from your full arse, as each weight reaches the end of it's swing. The tracks the sweat traces, as it slips lower, guided by your bust. Others seeping down your spine, into another canyon of flesh you don't want to think about.
But the horror is far from over, as your arms piston back and forth, the weight of the girls increases. The friction on your nipples, the heat building there, intensifying at the constant brushing of the fabric back and forth, like a caressing touch.
You manage to see, as well as feel the extra heft.
Dear God... Goddess. You didn't realise a chest could shift as much, could pull at your shoulders as heavily.
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"Please..." you pant to the empty air, hoping Cindy will grant you some relief.
A chuckle resonates through the air, that only you can hear.
Your body still on autopilot under her control. You change your exercise. Working your arms tight to your stomach, and then throwing them wide, you feel your chest heave with every rep. "Just burn a few more calories. You want to be cute for your man." Cindy's mocking voice adding to your pain.
Her words are undercut, with a soft but impossible to ignore -tick-, as the last few stitches surrender, to the thrashing of your bust.
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Until you feel the girls slosh free. Heaving wildly, you feel control return to your muscles, as you flail wildly. The weights crash to the floor, causing everyone to turn in your direction, as you fight to cover your chest, pulling the little fabric to cover as much sweat streaked flesh as possible.  indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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