Morning Run (Patreon)

— Well, what a sleeping beauty, — cooed Stephanie Leclair, a 45-year-old woman, as she sat down on the edge of the bed in their townhouse in Portland, Oregon.

She lay on her back on a light blanket, in a tight sky-blue sweater and dark navy leggings with white stripes, like from a running club ad. One arm stretched to the side, the other bent the other way, her mouth slightly open… and a thin trail of drool slowly slid down toward her neck. Her face was relaxed, her breathing deep, and the heavy hemispheres of her breasts lifted the fabric a little, springing with every inhale and exhale.

Stephanie smiled wider, taking a tissue and gently wiping away the thin line of drool from her daughter’s chin.

— Well, you’re sleeping like the dead, Riley, — she whispered softly, adjusting the collar of the blue sweater on her. — I did warn you: morning runs at your pace are exhausting.

Riley shifted a little, her glasses—better suited for some nerd than for a girl with a body like that—slid down to the tip of her nose.

Stephanie sighed, looking at her daughter—or rather, at the one everyone around now believed to be her daughter.

— God, Riley, — she muttered, carefully tucking a stray lock of short chestnut hair behind her ear. — Why don’t you want to at least put on a little makeup? Or grow your hair out? With a body like that… and you still look like my son after an algebra exam.

She smiled faintly, though somewhere inside her she felt a strange pang: this scene seemed way too new, too unusual. But the thought slipped away and vanished, leaving only her usual motherly nagging.

If only Stephanie knew that just a few hours earlier her “daughter” had been sitting at a computer by an open window, in a stretched-out T-shirt and wrinkled pajama pants, staring into the dark sky… and saw a bright streak of a falling star slide across it.

Back then, still in the body of Ryan Leclair, a 27-year-old unemployed gamer, he smirked and muttered, more as a joke:

— Damn, I’m so sick of everyone, — he thought, remembering the sharp jokes that had grown harsher over the past few years, and then not even jokes anymore, but straight-up mockery from friends and acquaintances. But most of all it came from his mother, who constantly nagged her son, demanding that he find a job. He loved computer games and didn’t want to work, believing that life was too short to waste it on boring office hours and meaningless meetings where everyone pretended to care.

— I wish, — he finally muttered, scratching his stubbly chin, — that everyone would finally stop seeing me as a loser… and that Mom, damn it, would be proud of me. Not just proud, but really… spoiling me. That I’d be the most precious to her, the best, and that everyone would think I’m… perfect.

Ryan smirked, shut down the computer, and flopped onto the bed, realizing he was drained from the game. Thoughts kept spinning in his head for a few more seconds: about the online raid with his friends, the unfinished mission in the RPG, about how much his mom’s friend Michelle annoyed him, who, just like his mom, every single time asked: “Well, Ryan, did you find a job yet?”

He fell asleep instantly, and outside, in the night sky, that same fiery trail he had seen just minutes earlier suddenly lit up again. Only now the star didn’t just slide across the sky—no, it seemed to explode with a quiet but bright pop, and orange-gold sparks scattered to the sides, dissolving into the clouds.

Ryan was already asleep, not feeling how his breathing grew uneven and his body—warm and heavy, as if someone had covered him with an invisible blanket of electricity. His arms grew slimmer. His fingers longer, gentler. The stubble disappeared, giving way to smooth skin that begged to be touched. His breasts, suddenly heavier, lifted his torso slightly, while something soft and springy swayed in rhythm with every breath. His lower back arched, his hips filled with roundness, and on his skin appeared the faint sensation of elastic fabric, as if it had always been there.

He truly “woke up” only when he felt something cool touch his chin—a thin cloth of a tissue. He opened his eyes at the exact moment soft fingers wiped a drop… of drool from his face.

In front of him was Mom, but not the one he was used to: there was no judgment in her eyes, only warm pride and tenderness, almost… admiration.

— I told you, Riley, — she said softly, — your morning runs always wear you out like this.

Ryan squinted, his gaze still slightly clouded from waking up. His body ached strangely, especially in his calves and thighs, as if he really had spent the morning running laps around the track. Every slightest movement rolled through his body with a soft but unfamiliar shift. He felt something heavy resting on his breasts, and at the same time his whole body seemed tightly wrapped, stretching tighter each time he inhaled.

— M-Mom… — his voice slipped out quiet, high, almost tender. He swallowed quickly, but that only made the thin vocal cords ring out even higher.

— What is it, sweetie? — Stephanie, it seemed, didn’t even notice his confusion. She gently ran her hand through his short chestnut hair, tucking a strand behind his ear, and slid off his glasses, very slowly, in the most motherly way. — Your eyesight is fine, why do you keep hiding behind these glasses?

Ryan—or what was now called “Riley”—froze, staring at her with wide-open eyes. The glasses vanished from his hands, and suddenly it felt… too exposed. Everything around him, starting with his mother’s face and continuing with the pale wallpaper, the shine of metal on the doorknob—everything looked sharper, brighter, as if someone had cranked up the sharpness on a monitor.

But the scariest part was that he could feel how something heavy and warm rested on his breasts, bouncing firmly with every breath. Right now, the fabric of the sky-blue sweater stretched tighter, and he felt it tugging a little at the collar. Even the slightest movement of his shoulders rolled down to his hips with a strange, soft shift.

— M-Mom… — he exhaled again, and this time he was certain that this too-high, too… melodic voice was definitely not his, even though it came out of his mouth.

Stephanie, meanwhile, stood up, stretched, and smiling, walked toward the closet.

— What a beautiful day. But honestly, it would be even better if you used at least a little mascara and lipstick… mmm… you’d knock anyone dead.

‘Mascara?.. Lipstick?.. What the hell?..’ — the same thought pounded in his head as he slowly sat up on the bed. And then the weight on his breasts swayed especially strong, while the fabric of the leggings clung tighter around his hips and waist. He felt the thin, stretched waistband and how every fold of elastic seemed to show off his new shape even more.

His eyes dropped down, and he saw two round, heavy forms. Breasts. Female breasts. And they were his—he understood it instantly, clearly, with just one glance, his back tensing up at that very moment.

He swallowed hard. Everything inside clenched with a mix of fear and… a strange trembling heat that ran along his spine.

— Mom… — he exhaled a little louder. — I…

Stephanie turned around and suddenly laughed.

— You’re so sleepy, Riley, you can’t even put two words together.

Riley swallowed again. Looks like Mom didn’t see anything strange.