Chapter 4

John couldn't believe his eyes when Molly walked through the door. They'd arranged to meet at his favourite restaurant, the same place that they'd had their first date. He could remember watching her enter, years ago; she'd been dressed casually (slightly underdressed for the setting, if he was being honest) and he remembered seeing her smile for the first time.

It was her smile that he'd fallen in love with; on that night so long ago, his first thought had been that she looked drab and uninteresting - but when she'd smiled, it had changed her whole face. It had made the room light up, and suddenly transformed Molly into one of the most beautiful women he'd seen.

The Molly that walked through the door, however ... well, John didn't honestly know how to react.

She looked like sex on legs. For the second time, she was underdressed, but not because her clothes were too informal - this time, it was purely because of how much flesh she was showing. John couldn't believe that the same girl who had arrived at their first date in a sweater was wearing a dress that showed more boob than it covered.

And her ass - for Molly and her work colleagues the changes had been gradual. Previously, her work colleagues had never had a reason to pay attention to the size of her assets, and whenever Molly had spent too long staring at herself in the mirror in the last week, she'd quickly become distracted and ended up bringing herself off. As a result, no one had noticed the exact nature of Molly's changes.

But John was seeing it all at once, showcased by the slinky black dress Molly was wearing.

Her ass had more than doubled in size, practically reaching cartoon proportions. It resembled an over-the-top parody of what a fantasy butt would look like, emphasized even further by the way she walked, sticking out so abruptly below the small of her back that you could have used it to rest your drinks.

John couldn't stop staring at its perfect heart-shaped form as she walked from the door of the restaurant to the maître d', who pointed her in his direction. She smiled as she saw him, and her attractiveness somehow doubled.

The rest of her may have changed, but Molly's smile had stayed exactly the same.

She was wearing a simple black tube-dress, leaving her arms and shoulders completely bare and showing ample cleavage - and as she approached their table, John realised that it wasn't just her ass that had grown. Her breasts, already large, seemed to have increased in size as well.

The dress was clearly made for a slightly smaller woman, and Molly's assets were causing it to practically burst at the seams; her ass had brought the hemline up by at least half a foot, and John couldn't work out how big her boobs had actually grown, they were so restricted (and yet enhanced) by the tightness of her ensemble.

The black five-inch heels on Molly's feet lengthened her legs, almost forcing you to follow them up with your eyes until you reached her magnificent rear, and John realised that this was the first time he'd ever seen her in heels at all. It all came together so perfectly, creating an image of curviness and womanhood like John had never seen before that he was instantly hard, his mind immediately filled with dirty images of everything he wanted to do to her.

If he'd been capable of taking his eyes off her for a second and looking around the room, he would have seen that she had caused a similar reaction to every other man who had seen her.

By the time she reached the table and sat down, John was speechless. He felt as though his mind had been turned into putty by the gorgeous creature in front of him. He was vaguely aware that she was saying something, but he couldn't stop staring at her cleavage and remembering that ass - that ass! - of hers.

"Sorry I'm late," she purred. Even her voice was somehow sexier. "I had to pick something up on the way here."

John noticed for the first time that Molly was holding a plain paper bag. The rest of her body had blinded him from noticing anything else about her. The restaurant could have caught on fire and he wouldn't have spotted it.

"That's okay," he replied. It took a few seconds for his brain to catch up to what she'd been saying, and a few seconds more before he was able to respond.

"Shall we eat?" she asked, seemingly unaware that anything was different, and almost before she'd finished the sentence, their waiter was at the table, visibly struggling to stop himself from drooling.

Molly ordered first, John unable to tear his eyes away from her for long enough to look at the menu. He dimly noticed that she was moving her lips as she read. It should have been horrifying, the smart, sassy girl he'd fallen in love with, seemingly struggling with reading basic English, but John couldn't stop thinking about how good her lips looked, how thick and full they were, how perfectly-constructed they seemed to be for sucking cock...

After Molly was done telling the waiter about the meal she wanted - emphasizing the "cream" in "creamy mushroom sauce" - John hurriedly ordered as well, not even registering what he'd asked for.

John stared, agog, as Molly munched on bread rolls and prattled about the changes she'd made in her life. He tried to listen out for any kind of information that would suggest how she'd changed from dowdy office worker to sex bomb in a week, but nothing jumped out at him, and soon he was forced to ask.

"Molly," he said, interrupting her story about which treadmill she liked best, "what on earth happened to you?"

Molly froze, a bread roll halfway to her lips, and John suddenly felt tremendously guilty. She looked like a dog who had been told off for jumping on the table, or a child scolded for grabbing the largest piece of cake.

"What do you mean?" she asked, pouting.

"Just ... look at you!"

Molly looked down at herself, and suddenly went bright red.

"Excuse me," she said, and before John could respond, she left for the bathroom, leaving a trail of erections as she sashayed across the restaurant.

On the verge of tears, Molly burst into the bathroom and stared at herself. Dear god, what HAD happened to her? A few weeks ago, she was a respectable graphic designer who wouldn't be seen dead in a dress like this. Now, here she was, in a classy part of town, dressed like a common street-walker. No wonder John was disappointed in her.

And if John was turned off by the way she looked, just imagine how he'd feel about how damned horny she was all the time. The way that he'd stared at her, it had made her so wet that she was surprised he couldn't smell it ... of course, now that she thought about it, that must have just been a look of disappointment.

Molly began to sob, huge, heart-broken sobs that caused her whole body to heave. She didn't fit any of her clothes, she couldn't go more than an hour without needing to masturbate, and she was so restless, all of the time. She could have gotten through it if she'd just had John's support, but he thought she was a freak. She had been looking forward to fucking him, but he probably wouldn't even want to touch a worthless whore like her.

And she definitely couldn't let him see her tattoo. Any chance of a reconciliation would be destroyed if he saw her new tattoo, saw how proud she was of it. He already thought she was a slut, he didn't need to see that she'd gone out and labelled herself as one.