It's been three full days since I first woke groggy and disoriented in this sealed medical suite, and a gruelling ten days total since they rushed me here straight from the kidnap nightmare—my body now transformed in subtle but undeniable ways under the pheromone therapy's lingering glow.
My breasts had swelled noticeably fuller and heavier, the soft weight of them straining gently against the thin cotton hospital gown with every breath, sensitive peaks brushing the fabric in constant, distracting tingles that made me flush.
Dr. Ana told me that I was milking myself, which was too weir. I mean, I am not pregnant at all, but was producing milk due to the hormone therpay.
My thighs thickened plush and curvaceous, pressing warm together under the sheets, while my hips widened into a lush, fertile flare that shifted my centre of gravity just enough to feel alluringly womanly nature.
Thankfully, I will integrate it will my walking-learning process.
