Skyler’s body was a prison. Against his will, it had transformed itself mysteriously overnight into the anthropomorphic spitting image of Twilight Sparkle, changing his gender in the process like it was nothing. That had been traumatic enough in & of itself — but the strange illness did not stop there, as the ravages of a sudden & unnatural puberty began to warp Skyler’s body even further beyond all reason. Now, after a two full months of relentless hormonal oversaturation, Skye had become the reluctant owner of an incredible pair of heavy, watermelon-sized P cup tits. Each burdensome lobe had to weigh at least 15 pounds each, and poor Skye’s miserable back was feeling every ounce as her posture began to adopt a permanent forward slouch. She was sick of being gawked at by strangers, sick of being treated like a walking set of sentient tits, sick of all the cruel, lewd jokes made behind her back. She was sick of the way they shook her entire upper body with every step, getting in the way, making basic everyday tasks impossible — like sitting down normally at a desk, or typing on a computer without her elbows constantly bumping into them. She dreamed of one day being able to afford a breast reduction. In an act of absolute desperation, Skye had accepted an internet offer to become a semiprofessional fetish swimsuit model, hoping to drum up the necessary cashflow. The job was stupid, tiresome, & humiliating — but with a just little luck, maybe there could be light at the end of the tunnel after all. Maybe…