Abbigale's New Life Ch. 01

"Oh, I didn't mind!" I shifted my weight, trying to insinuate myself more into his field of view. I could feel myself flexing down there... FUCK, I was horny. Those pills really do a number on you for about an hour. "I usually don't get that sort of attention. Especially not from someone like you... big and strong..."

He coughed again, and moved to stand. I took half a step back, letting him pass, but my too-friendly expression never left my face. I knew that he wasn't my type, inasmuch as I definitely wasn't his, but if I was anything other than sincere he might actually get upset. "Sorry, ma'am, I gotta get going. Running late. You know how it is, goodnight, sorry again." He pulled out his wallet, scattered a pile of bills onto the table (a hell of a lot more than his meal cost, I can tell you that!) and practically scurried out of the diner.

I sighed grandly and rolled my eyes. "Every time," I grumped, even though I was laughing my ass off inside. The waitress passed by with someone's coffee; she glanced down at my wildly-indecent bulges, and smiled sympathetically.

I also left a lot more money on my table than my meal cost. She earned it.

- - - - -

Back in my room, I was all over myself before I even got through the door. The pills were in full effect now, and I wasn't just aroused: I was going out of my fucking mind, and the operative word was fucking. If the guy in the diner had made even the slightest flirtation after seeing everything I had to offer, I would have dragged him up here, or out to his truck, or hell, maybe even the diner's bathroom.

I knew it would pass in about twenty minutes, but there was no way I was letting this opportunity go by without taking full, glorious advantage.

My shirt was off in a flash. I hugged my arms around my body, hands crossing and cupping and squeezing my breasts. I hunched over, pleasure radiating through my body, which only made the constricting tightness of my yoga pants that much worse. I tumbled onto the bed, hooking my thumbs under the waistband and frantically wriggling my way to freedom.

I cried out with relief when I got them down past my knees, my cock springing up and smacking me across the belly. I squeaked in surprise, and then started laughing as I kicked my feet, sending the offending pants flying off into the corner of the room.

"Gotta... gotta be careful," I mumbled, still grinning. "No more pills before going out."

I rolled onto my back, gripping the base of my shaft with one hand, stroking my fingertips across my nipples with the other. Damn, but I looked big now! Nine inches soft translated to a heck of a lot more of me hard, a deep pinkish-purple length that was intimately familiar and yet barely recognizable. I'd been less than half this size a week ago!

I whispered a silent prayer to Doctor Schottenheimer and his wonderful breakthroughs, closed my eyes, and just lost myself in the sensations for several long minutes.

When I finally regained a modicum of control, I focused on slowing my breathing. I had a couple things I needed to do before the side effects wore off, after all. Research needed to be conducted! This was all important information that needed to be recorded. For... science.

I rolled to the side, legs moving awkwardly. I had a lot of very delicate stuff down there now! My balls might have been the size of mangoes, but they were still sensitive as all get out. I fished around blindly in my suitcase, which was still unzipped at the foot of the bed, until I produced my tape measure and a small square of crinkly foil.

"First thing's first," I mumbled, trying to sound all business, when all I wanted to do was get off and pass out. This had been a long, long day. It was tempting to cheat, but honesty was important. I held the metal tab firmly against the base of my shaft (on the side, not the top or the bottom!) and extended the tape measure, inch by wonderful inch.

I took a deep breath and flexed, bearing down on those internal muscles I'd become so much more aware of in the last week. The whole shaft responded instantly, pushing forwards another fraction of an inch.

That wasn't cheating, I thought. That was just maximum effort.

My mouth went dry when I saw my final score.

"F-f-f-f... fifteen and a half," I moaned softly, going briefly cross eyed. That had to be some kind of a record! Maybe not a straight up record for size, not in this day and age of elective surgery just for Instagram views, but I doubted there was another petite lady medical transcriptionist packing that much under her scrubs. And even if there was... well, I still had most of a bottle of pills to go, didn't I?

And, of course, there were refills.

I repeated the number to myself, over and over. I needed to send it to Doctor Schottenheimer later, along with a couple other measurements, but those could all be handled in the morning. It was like a mantra, a balm, and even now it was an aphrodisiac. "Fifteen and a half," I giggled, fiddling with the foil square. "Fifteen and a half..."

I tore the package open, and began to roll the condom over the head of my dick, which was considerably more difficult than I'd expected. "Magnum Plus-XL," I snorted. "Yeah, right. Pull the other one."

Eventually I managed tug the little latex ring wide enough to get it past the tip, and I worked furiously to roll it down as far as it would go. It had apparently been designed for the biggest and the best and the mostest manliest of men, but barely two-thirds of my shaft bore that shiny latex sheen.

"Oh, well," I purred. "This'll have to do!"

This was another aspect I'd been asked to keep an eye on. I was supposed to submit samples weekly, so they could monitor my hormone levels. It was a rough job, but someone had to do it. With any luck, I wouldn't be doing it alone for long. I start my new job Monday, in one of the busiest clinics in Cherry Bay.

So many new people to meet, I thought warmly, stroking up and down. One hand busied itself with the upper half, squeaky and rubbery, while the other worked the base. So many first impressions to make. So many rumors to start. The new Abbigale doesn't hide who she is. The new Abbigale doesn't shrink away from attention. The new Abbigale doesn't hold back.

It was like an electric wire lighting up, anchored somewhere deep inside and extending all the way along the underside of my shaft. It forced my fingers apart for a moment, and I couldn't help a cry of pleasure. "F-f-f-fifteen and a half..." I gasped, squeezing harder in response before returning to a light, gentle touch. Everything was so sensitive lately, I could have done this with a couple fingertips.

I snuggled the latex-clad tip between my breasts and closed my eyes. It was all too easy to imagine they were someone else's hands working up and down, someone's lips caressing the head of my cock. Squeeze a little bit harder, and it wasn't their mouth taking me, but somewhere lower... warmer... tighter...

I shuddered, my hips bucking reflexively. Not every guy was into a girl like me, but I knew they were out there. The forums were full of them, wishing that those horse-hung ladies in the videos could be theirs. I thought that I had been one of those guys, my dreams and fantasies filled with gorgeous, curvy women packing obscene amounts of flesh between their legs... but it turns out my goals had been slightly different.

I'll find you, I thought, picturing just what my future in Cherry Bay would be like. Thirty times as many people as Mount Hope. Trans-friendly nightclubs. Pride parades that made national news. One of the world's foremost teaching hospitals. The opportunities were limitless!

Because limits were meant to be surpassed...

My hands started to move faster, my thighs twitching, my heels drumming against the bed frame. I could feel my fingers being forced further apart. My shaft was aching now, as it had been for most of the week. It was as though the innermost portions were permanently bruised. I had been warned this was another side effect of the pills, and would eventually pass, but I tried to see it as a positive. Like any other muscle that was getting more workout than it could handle, I knew it led to progress. Growth.

As always, it was that word that pushed me over the edge.

"Hhnnngggg-hhhhhnnnnngggggg!!" I hissed through teeth clenched. I squeezed as hard as I could, one hand gripping the base of my cock, the other clamped hard against the base of the condom. I might as well have tried to stop a hydraulic ram with my bare hands. The pressure built to a maddening level, enough that I feared something might tear, but as always I found blessed relief with the first immense spurt of seed.

In an instant, the tightly-stretched condom flashed white, bulging out violently at the tip. Another throb, another flex of overstressed tendons, and the sphere above my fist expanded to the size of a grapefruit. Gasping with each surge, I pumped more and more, again and again, until the condom was a taut, quivering mass that I was having a hard time supporting.

All at once, the latex bulge sagged to the side, nearly dragging me with it. With a soft, wet 'thud', it formed an immense orb on the bed, the condom's reservoir tip now a creamy white mound the size of a basketball. I was still coming, but it was finally starting to wane. Working carefully, I slipped my hand along my length, guiding the base of the straining condom to just behind my sore glans.

I was a panting, sweaty mess, giggling like a drunkard, when I felt myself finally start to soften. I collapsed onto the bed, still attached to the wildly-overfilled condom by a thin umbilicus of wet latex.

"Wh... whoa," I breathed, watching it sloshing back and forth, just inches from my face.

My production had been markedly increasing as the pills did their work, but this was something else altogether. My first test, the past Tuesday, had produced about a quarter cup of seed. Wednesday, half a cup. By Friday night, last night, almost \ quart had left me feeling giddy and drained, wondering if condoms were even going to mean anything for me anymore.

With a damp snapping sound, I popped free from the condom, my now merely foot-long, semi-hard shaft flopping tiredly against my thigh. My fingers were still tingling, but I managed to tie the latex off into a quick knot, letting me finally breathe easily.

"This is... going to raise some questions," I mused, patting the medicine-ball-sized cum balloon as though it were a beloved family pet. I cast my eyes down my body, craning my neck to see past my heaving breasts, and gazed wonderingly at my balls. "What is going on with you two?"

When I finally regained my senses, I delicately transferred the quivering, bloated condom to the floor, and crawled under the blankets. My entire body was radiating heat, a chorus of tiny aches and pains lighting up my senses. Most of those fiery motes were concentrated in my breasts, which were tender to the point that even breathing was awkward, and my groin, which felt as though every muscle had been pulled.

In the morning, I'd have to find a box large enough to send my 'sample' back to Doctor Schottenheimer. I was reasonably sure I'd been fooling him regarding my pill consumption, but I doubt he'd think this was a normal reaction to the procedures.

I shrugged, yawned, and stretched my arm out from beneath the blankets to shut off the bedside lamp. That would be a problem for future-Abbigale. Right now, all I wanted was a good night's sleep. I cradled one hand against my sac, another hugged around my chest, closed my eyes, and dreamed warm, wet, safe dreams.

- - - - -

The next day went pretty smoothly. I wandered into the motel's office just after breakfast (where I once again downed a heroic amount of food to the amusement of the guests), and asked if they had any small boxes I could use to ship a parcel. It amused me when I had to gauge with my hands the size of the box needed, knowing all too well what it would be containing. When the clerk asked what it was I was sending, I winked at him and said it was a matter of national security.

I showered again, thoroughly enjoying the endless hot water, and spent quite a bit of time picking through my suitcase for just the right outfit. Today, I was to be meeting my new landlord, as well as my new roommate, and I wanted to make sure I made a good first impression.

To my delight, I'd blown past the 34-DDD from the day before, and now fit comfortably into the cheap pink 34-F bra. I had a dozen more sizes in there, so I would always be prepared throughout my growth, but I knew once I started to plateau I was going to need some custom-fit underwear. These store brand ones were fine, but didn't really give me the support that I needed (and, if I'm being perfectly honest, they weren't as cute as they could have been.) A snug white top went over it, immediately pulling tight across my bust.

Perfect, I thought.

While I was still hot and toasty from the shower, I measured downstairs. I was just shy of ten inches soft now, all of it feeling tired and weak. My balls likewise still had a nascent ache, but it was the pleasant sensation of sexual exhaustion, rather than the previous night's rabid horniness and then brute-force hormonal upgrades. I cupped them, feeling their weight, marveling at how much they filled my hands now; these were going to be very noticeable if I wore anything snug.

I couldn't wait until even loose clothes wouldn't be enough...

I had a wide variety of panties in my suitcase, in varying styles and cuts, as well as a couple pairs of boyshorts. Comfort at this size was still being figured out, and I was looking forward to figuring out exactly which undergarments went with which pants, skirts, stockings, and what have you. I'd been wearing these sorts of clothes for years, but this was the first time people would be expecting me to be wearing them!

In the end, I settled on a pair of fire-engine red cotton-lycra panties, complete with a tiny, adorable pink bow on the front. They were stretched tremendously snug around my junk, the waistband pulling away and exposing a couple inches of smooth, weary shaft. I turned this way and that in the mirror, admiring the size of the bulge, how high and proud it all projected from my thighs. It was like trying to keep a large cantaloupe contained in a bikini. I tried on a few items over it all, and settled on some loose black slacks that, if you weren't particularly perceptive, might just seem to be bunching funny.

I composed a text message to Doctor Schottenheimer with all of my latest measurements, informed him I would be sending a surprising 'sample', and then hauled everything down to my car.

As expected, my phone rang as soon as the trunk was open.

"Yeah, Mom, I am literally still standing in the same motel parking lot. I never left. Hung out here all night. Tried to pick up a trucker, in fact."

I chucked my suitcases into the trunk, frustrated but amused. My mom meant well, she really did. She took the transition from having a son to having a daughter extremely well, all things considered, even if she thought that my end goals with the procedures were, in her words, 'frivolous'. She was constantly trying to find faults with my dream body. 'You won't be able to see your feet to tie your shoes!' she cried. 'They'll cause terrible back pains. It's not the size down there that matters, you know! No-one likes it too big! You'll never be allowed at a public pool like that! What if airport security stops you? What will you tell them?'

She worried because she cared, and I loved that about her. But she just didn't understand.

"No, Mom, I'm just kidding. I'm not in the parking lot. I never plan to use parking lots ever again. These princess feet of mine are only going to touch red carpets between front doors of galleries and my own personal fleet of Uber Blacks. No, I'm not making fun of you."

I slammed the trunk and leaned against it, watching other guests heading to their own vehicles. I waved to the waitress I recognized from the night before, and enjoyed the way her eyes lingered on my body. Perhaps it was overkill, but I arched my back just a little bit, pushing my breasts against the thinning white material and angling my legs to make my bulge as prominent as possible.

When the waitress walked directly into the diner's glass doors, I knew that I was on the right track. She laughed and rubbed her nose, and I laughed and waved again.

"Mom, I'm heading the rest of the way into Cherry Bay now. I've got the meeting at my building at one o'clock, scope out the apartment, and then I'll have the rest of the day to myself. I'll call you then, OK? I promise. I won't even pick up any truckers between here and there. OK. OK. Yes, OK. Tell Dad I love him. Yes, I love you, too, Mom. Jesus. Bye. I love you. Bye."

Shaking my head ruefully, I hung up on her and tucked the phone into my cleavage. Seriously, these were so convenient when it came to stashing my keys or my phone for a minute! I double checked everything, made one last quick panic scan through the motel room, dropped my keys off at the office, and continued on my way.

On the passenger seat next to me, the box with Doctor Schottenheimer's address on it sloshed and flexed. I'd put the 'sample' into three layers of garbage bags stolen from the motel room, and packed around it with Kleenex. With any luck, it would arrive unscathed sometime this week... and even if it arrived damaged, surely there'd be enough left to run tests on. I didn't try to figure out how my production could be so excessive; I assumed there was a perfectly reasonable biological reason for it, and decided just to enjoy it.

Cherry Bay was visible after only an hour, the gleaming studded skyline materializing out of the farm-filled landscape, but these flatlands were incredibly deceptive. For the next ninety minutes, I figured I would be passing into the city limits at any moment, but the city seemed just out of reach. How as anyone supposed to gauge distances down here, without the mountains to provide a sense of scale? It was madness, I tell you. Madness.

And then, all at once, I wasn't surrounded by rural wilderness studded with small housing developments and mini malls anymore. The highway had become a major six-lane thoroughfare with regular intersections, thronged with other vehicles and more foot traffic than I'd ever seen back in Mount Hope. Buildings that had seemed tall and majestic and forever distant now rose so high into the sky I practically had to rest my chin on the steering wheel to see their peaks.

A new, worrisome feeling settled into the pit of my stomach.

Oh my God, I thought with a stab of genuine worry. There's so many fucking people!!

I puttered through the urban landscape, just drinking in all the chaos, confident that I still had plenty of time. It was barely noon, after all. Back home, I was used to the local population, and the way they all seemed to blend together into a familiar blur. The pulp-town fashion was varying degrees of plaid and denim, with the occasional sensible polyester suit for special occasions. You might see a cocktail dress or a designer shirt at one of the nicer bars, but they stood out like sore thumbs.

Here, just on a lazy Sunday afternoon, there was more style and skin on display than I'd ever seen in my whole life. Like, combined.

And the stores! I drove for probably thirty city blocks, and I didn't see the same name repeated once! Shops, boutiques, dressmakers, outlets, clothiers, designers, and more euphemisms for 'sexy lingerie' than I could possibly keep straight in my head. I even saw a couple mannequins that had my sort of a figure (at least, from the waist up). I couldn't possibly visit each one in my limited lifespan, but that wouldn't stop me from trying.