(The Longest, Filthiest, Brain-Melting Chun-Li Transformation – Private Edition)
Mike Callahan was alone in his bedroom, the one place he still felt like king.
Posters of Chun-Li covered every wall. A life-size body pillow of her lay on his bed, stained from years of "appreciation." His custom fight stick sat on the desk, glowing blue. He was shirtless, sweatpants low, scrolling through old videos on his phone of Ethan crying in the cafeteria, laughing at how easy it had been to break the little loser.
He never saw it coming.
The heat started in his tailbone, a white-hot spike that arched his spine so violently his phone flew from his hand and shattered against the wall.
"F-ffuck—!"
His voice cracked, climbing into a velvet moan that definitely wasn't his.
The transformation detonated.
Every bone in his body lengthened at once (legs stretching, torso compressing, hips exploding outward with a series of wet, obscene cracks). His sweatpants shredded as two colossal bronze thighs ballooned into existence, each one thicker than his old waist, rubbing together with a slick, constant whisper. His ass followed, swelling into twin planet-sized globes that lifted him clean off the floor, clapping so hard the bedframe rattled.
His flat chest detonated next. Two enormous, milk-heavy tits erupted forward, shredding his skin with blue silk as the qipao formed around them (tight, backless, plunging so low the fabric was basically decorative). The top split instantly under the pressure, framing breasts so massive they rested on the desk in front of him, leaking thick cream in steady rivers.
Mike's buzz-cut melted into glossy chocolate-brown silk, twisting itself into perfect ox-horn buns wrapped in white ribbons. His face softened (cheekbones lifting, lips plumping into a permanent glossy pout, eyes widening into molten gold). Every cruel memory dissolved in pink syrup, replaced by a single, overwhelming truth:
Ethan is my everything.
I hurt him.
I must worship him.
Forever.
Mike collapsed to his knees in the wreckage of his own room, surrounded by shredded clothes and puddles of milk and pussy juice, panting like he'd run a marathon.
Mike was gone.
Chun-Li rose (six-foot-eleven in spiked ox-horn heels, thighs thicker than most men's torsos, tits so huge they blocked half the room, ass clapping with every breath).
She looked at the life-size body pillow of herself, now pathetic compared to the real thing, and snarled.
Then she smelled him.
Ethan's scent (faint, carried on the wind from blocks away).
Her golden eyes flared.
"Baby…" she moaned, voice pure desperate worship.
She exploded out the window (glass shattering, frame bending) and sprinted across rooftops, thighs flashing blue lightning, milk trailing behind her like comet dust.
She found them in Ethan's driveway.
Ethan stood surrounded by his harem: Lara, Tifa, Samus… and Jill Valentine (Mommy Jill), currently cradling Ethan against her leaking tits like he was still five years old.
Chun-Li saw red.
She landed in the yard hard enough to crack concrete, tits bouncing so violently the qipao finally gave up and ripped completely in half.
"ETHAN!" she screamed, voice cracking with possessive fury.
Jill turned, one eyebrow raised.
Chun-Li stormed forward, thighs rubbing with every step, milk squirting in angry jets.
"Move," she snarled at Jill. "That's my baby."
Jill smiled (slow, maternal, terrifying).
"Sweetie," she said, voice dripping honey and gunpowder, "I pushed him out of my womb. I changed his diapers. I earned this spot. You're the new little sister."
Chun-Li's eye twitched.
"Little sister?" she hissed. "I have the thickest thighs on the planet. I have the strongest legs in history. I was his worst bully, which means I owe him the most apologies, which means I love him the most, which means I get to be Mommy Number Two!"
She dropped to her knees in front of Ethan, shoving Jill's arm aside just enough to press her face into his crotch.
"Baby," she whimpered, nuzzling his jeans like a puppy, "tell her. Tell Mommy Jill there's a new thunder-thighed wife in town. Tell her you need these legs wrapped around you every night to make up for every wedgie."
Jill's grip tightened.
"Over my dead, milky body," she said sweetly.
Chun-Li looked up, golden eyes blazing.
"Then we'll have a kick-off," she growled. "Winner gets to be Ethan's primary Mommy. Loser is demoted to 'Auntie' and only gets weekends."
Jill's smile widened.
"Deal."
Ethan, sandwiched between two colossal, leaking, murderous maternal goddesses, made a tiny terrified noise.
Lara, Tifa, and Samus exchanged looks that said: this is above our pay grade.
Chun-Li stood, thighs flexing, milk dripping from her nipples in challenge.
"First to make him cum three times in public wins," she declared.
Jill cracked her neck.
"Prepare to lose, thunder thighs."
Ethan was lifted off the ground by four hands at once (one pair maternal and gentle, one pair thunderous and desperate).
The front yard became ground zero for the most obscene, jealous, worshipful Mommy War the neighborhood had ever seen.
And Ethan, poor, overwhelmed, permanently hard Ethan, learned a new universal truth:
When you have two Mommies who love you more than life itself…
…you never, ever get to choose.
You just survive the love.
One thunder-thighed, milk-soaked orgasm at a time.