Sam

Sam groaned, face buried in the pillow, the usual post-nut haze from last night still clinging to her brain. She’d smashed that teammate’s girl in the club bathroom like it was nothing — just another easy win, another proof that bitches stay bitches whether they had a ring or not. Typical night. But something felt… off. Heavy. Like her chest was pinned under two sandbags. She shifted, trying to roll over, and the weight jiggled. Actual jiggle. Her eyes snapped open. One hand slid up automatically, the way it always did when she woke up horny, expecting to palm her dick and stroke one out real quick. Instead her fingers sank into soft, warm, insanely full flesh. Huge. Way bigger than any tits she’d ever grabbed on other girls. Her palm brushed a hard nipple and electricity shot straight down her spine. Yo what the fu—? Her voice cracked higher than it should’ve. She froze. Both hands shot to her chest now, squeezing, lifting, feeling the weight bounce back. Massive, firm H-cups that overflowed her palms, sensitive as hell. The tank top she’d passed out in was stretched to death, riding up over a narrow waist and those same ripped abs she’d always been proud of. But lower… her hips felt wider. Thighs thicker. Ass way fatter when she shifted on the mattress. Heart hammering, Sam kicked the blanket off and shoved a hand down her basketball shorts. Fingers met smooth shaved skin — her old habit — then dipped further. Nothing. No dick. No balls. Just soft, puffy folds that were already a little slick from the way her body was reacting to her own touch. She yanked her hand back like it burned. She scrambled off the bed, legs wobbling from the new center of gravity, and stumbled to the full-length mirror on the closet door. The reflection that stared back made her stomach drop like she’d been dunked on from behind. Dirty-blonde wolfcut messy as hell, big dark brown eyes wide in panic, same sharp jaw and thick brows… but the body. Curvy as fuck.