Sank Youuu~
The first night she sat cross-legged on their bed, arms folded tight under her modest chest, orange hair falling in soft strands around a face that was trying very hard to look stern.
Her tank top hung loose, the thin straps barely disturbed by the gentle rise of her pecs when she breathed.
Her biceps were small, cute little swells that barely broke the smooth line of her arms when she tensed them in frustration.
“You promised,” Riley said, voice low but edged with that needy quiver she could never quite hide. “You promised you’d get it.”
Her boyfriend had only smiled sheepishly and mumbled something about a delayed shipment.
She’d huffed, cheeks pink, then flopped backward onto the pillows without another word.
The silence that followed felt heavier than her disappointment.
Twenty-four hours later the small glass vial finally sat empty on the nightstand.
Riley woke up to sunlight slicing through the curtains and an unfamiliar pressure everywhere.
She blinked, once, twice—then her eyes widened as she tried to sit up and discovered that sitting up now required a whole different kind of physics.
Her chest didn’t just rise anymore; it surged.
Thick, rounded slabs of pec muscle pushed outward in glossy, vein-laced curves, so full they practically swallowed the tiny remnants of her sleep camisole. The fabric had ridden up helplessly, stretched to translucency across the canyon of cleavage that now existed purely because her pecs refused to let anything sit flat against her ribcage.
Every breath made the inner edges of those massive plates grind together with a faint, satiny whisper.
She glanced down—way down—and let out a tiny, startled squeak.
Her shoulders had exploded into smooth, bowling-ball delts that rolled like hills whenever she twitched.
The traps that used to be subtle hints of definition now rose in meaty ridges almost to her ears, framing her neck like a living yoke.
And her arms… god, her arms.
Biceps that looked like they’d been over-inflated, split by a vein as thick as a pencil, peaked so high they cast shadows across the inner curve even at rest.
Triceps hung heavy and horseshoe-thick on the underside, making her elbows look tiny and fragile by comparison.
Her lats had flared so dramatically that lying flat felt like resting on twin wings of meat; they spilled off the sides of her torso and pressed into the mattress, forcing her arms to rest at a 45-degree angle because there simply wasn’t room to pin them against her ribs anymore.
Her abs—once a soft, feminine plane—were now a cobblestone wall of bricks, each one so deeply etched it caught the morning light and threw little golden highlights across her skin.
Riley stared at her own body for a long heartbeat, lips parted.
Then her expression cracked into the sunniest, guiltiest grin imaginable.
“YAAAAAYY!!” she squealed, voice still high and bubbly despite the sheer mass she now carried.
She clapped both hands to her cheeks—her forearms collided with the outer shelf of her pecs on the way up, making them bounce and wobble like warm dough. “Sank youuu~”
She rolled onto her side (the bed creaked in immediate protest), sending a cascade of rippling muscle across her back and hips.
The movement caused her lats to flare even wider, her entire torso momentarily resembling an opened parachute made of flesh.
She giggled at the absurdity of it, cheeks flaming pink.
Her boyfriend stood frozen in the doorway, coffee mug halfway to his lips.
Riley batted long lashes at him, lashes that looked almost comically delicate compared to the hypertrophied landscape beneath them.
She patted the mattress beside her—except there wasn’t much mattress left visible. Most of it was already claimed by gleaming, overdeveloped curves.
“Now lets cuddle!” she chirped, voice soft and hopeful, like she hadn’t just become a one-woman furniture rearrangement.
She scooted over as best she could; the motion sent her quads—each head of the teardrop clearly separated and ballooned—sliding against each other with an audible silky rasp.
She bit her lip, suddenly shy again. “I… I promise I’ll try not to squish you too much?”
She opened her arms.
The biceps bunched into twin mountains, the inner peaks almost kissing her ears.
Her pecs rolled forward like they wanted to greet him first.
Every inch of her looked warm, inviting, and utterly overwhelming.
He set the coffee down very carefully.
Riley’s smile turned smaller, sweeter, a little nervous.
“Better late…” she whispered, repeating yesterday’s words as her gigantic shoulders shrugged in the tiniest, most endearing apology, “…than never?”