Content Note:
Mind Control; Incest (mother-father-daughter + sister-sister)
When, at the age of eighteen, I still hadn't gone through puberty, despite numerous attempts by various doctors to initiate it with hormones, I signed myself up to participate in a trial for a new, experimental treatment. I was not the only girl to do so. There had been many cases reported in my age group, girls who should have blossomed into young women during the lockdown.
I had no breasts, I didn't menstruate, and I was the shortest in my class. Physical excitation could arouse me, and I could make myself come, but I didn't experience sexual desire in the way others my age did. I concluded that I was probably asexual, or on that spectrum somewhere. The others who signed up for the new treatment were similar in this way, many identifying as aspec in the discord.
It was a frequent topic amongst us: What if going through puberty changes our sexuality? The idea was both exciting and frightening. It was also, in the end, the least of our worries.
The treatment lasted a full year, with pills taken daily, and clinic visits monthly. The effects were subtle to begin with, breast growth beginning four months in, menstruation at six months. My emotional state was a mess throughout, and it was a good thing I had taken a year off rather than rush to university. I stayed at home, grateful for my parents' support throughout. My mum took me to buy my first bra - an A cup only, but I was ecstatic - and later I used her tampons too, which I was less ecstatic about but still thrilled in a way.
I was becoming a real woman.
I wasn't getting any taller, but high heels helped with that. At the café where I worked part-time, I grew ever more aware of people, and aware of their awareness of me. Eight months into the treatment and my breasts were D cups, a definite weight. Not only did I have breasts, but they were full and round and perky too. I loved them, and loved to see people stare at them. And I was crushing on people too, fantasising about them. I masturbated every night in bed, imagining my boss, my co-workers, this customer or that.
At the clinic, after nine months of treatment, I said, "Maybe I should stop now." My breasts were still growing, and my clit was starting to hurt, no doubt from being assaulted by my fingers morning and night. "The pills have done their work," I pleaded.
The doctor scratched his head anxiously. "That wouldn't be clever," he said. "If you stop now, the changes will accelerate. There's some evidence already that these final treatments should have started earlier for optimum results."
"Has something gone wrong?" I asked.
He hesitated before answering. "Two of the volunteers were identical twins, and their close proximity seems to have caused some odd side-effects." He refused to elaborate further, but I couldn't stop wondering what the side-effects were.
Ten months in and my clit had grown until it stuck out like a miniature cock. It was weird and ugly and I hated it. Also, my orgasms had become intense and very wet. If I wanted to masturbate in bed, I needed to lay a towel first.
The doctor examined my clit as I blushed bright red. "Hmm," he said. "This seems to be a common side-effect. But I wouldn't worry. Many women have a large clitoris." He confirmed that my breasts had grown no more. I loved my huge breasts, but they did strain my back. I was seriously thinking about getting a corset for support. My monthly cycle had settled into a predictable rhythm too, so all in all we were both pleased with the trial.
I was less pleased a month later. "It's definitely not a clit," I growled irritably, showing him my cock. "I pee out of it. It gets erect when I'm aroused."
He blushed. "I'm sorry. Yes. You're not the only one. I really can't explain it - but I promise you, we're studying it. Do you, ah, think you could make it erect? So that I can measure it?"
It was easily done. I just had to imagine the doctor on his knees sucking my cock and it was soon hard and throbbing. "Length: six inches," he said. "Girth: five and a half."
My final appointment was cancelled at short notice. We had a video call instead. "Sorry we can't meet in person," he said. "I wonder if you could give me your final measurements?"
My cock had not grown for the final week of the trial period, but by that point it had reached twelve in length and nine in girth. It made wearing sexy knickers impossible. "Would you like to see it?" I asked, a little spitefully. I had gone through all this - this trial - to become a woman, not a freak of nature.
He blushed. "No. When was the last time you achieved orgasm?"
"This morning."
"Oh, right. Good. Did you, ah, -"
"If you're asking whether I produce cum, then yes."
"I see. How much?"
I had anticipated this. I held up a glass tumbler that was half full of creamy cum.
"Gosh," he said.
"Yes."
"One last question. Have you noticed any unusual odour from your genital region?"
It was my turn to blush. Indeed, I had noticed the smell of my pussy when aroused becoming particularly... pungent, perhaps. As if I had caught an STD or something, not that I had had sex with anyone else. I had taken to showering four times a day to hide it. "Another delightful side-effect?"
