Topic: Women Make The Clothes - by indigocarmine

Hi everyone,

I've written a new story with some accompanying character sketches. Rather than just throw it up all at once, I thought it might be fun to try serializing it. So here's the deal: I will post a new chapter of the story on Sunday's at around noon BST.  There are six parts with four accompanying quick character sketches, it's all already finished so I should be able to keep the schedule. The character sketches will be posted to fur affinity. Hopefully this will be a fun experiment in episodic fiction that we can all enjoy together.

The story is about a fashion show thrown by Carman, an avant-garde designer with an interest in transformation.

I'll see you all back here on Sunday for the first instalment!


Re: Women Make The Clothes - by indigocarmine

Perfect! Thank you for the story! I'm looking forward to it.


Re: Women Make The Clothes - by indigocarmine

I look forward to reading it as well.

4 (edited by indigocarmine 2014-07-13 16:25)

Re: Women Make The Clothes - by indigocarmine

Women MakeThe Clothes

Prologue: Before the Curtain

The night of a big runway show is always nerve wracking for me. Even though I'm just a lowly backstage dresser, not a brilliant designer or a dazzling model, I still get the jitters at every show. I mean, even though they aren't my designs being judged on the catwalk and it's not me in the spotlight (as if!), it's still my job to make certain everything goes off without a hitch, that every model is wearing the right outfit in the right order and everything goes smoothly for the designer. So I always take my responsibility very seriously. And get nervous!

I'm especially nervous tonight because this particular runway show isn't business as usual. For one, tonight I'm working for Carman, the most avant garde designer in town for the first time. Recently Carman has been building up to a new approach to fashion: one inspired by permanence and transformation and the great demons. And this show that I'm dressing (can you believe it!), is going to unveil Carman's ideas to the world.

The premise of the show is very, terrifyingly simple. Four beautiful models are going to walk the stage, naked for all the world, and then be dosed with a special alchemical mixture that will give each model a new body designed by Carman and inspired by fashion.

And it is my job to make sure it all goes off perfectly.


It's only minutes to curtain and Carman has gathered us, her little crew, for a pep talk.

Carman as always is breezy cool, an imposing six foot figure wrapped in a voluminous, full length terry cloth robe, no doubt to disguise whatever amazing outfit she is hiding for later. Her square chin and sharp cheekbones make a stark contrast with the warm pride shining in her striking green eyes. It was clear our visionary was excited for the night.

"Ladies, I know I don't have to tell you all how important this is to me and how much I want this night to come off perfectly. But you are all beautiful and talented and so very, very brave for doing this with me and I have nothing but faith in you all. So work your magic, remember your stride is going to change, and most of all: have fun."

The models are nodding their heads and smiling nervously as they listen. Breanne, the pale blonde with the hazel eyes, due to be first, looks (understandably!) the most nervous, clutching her thin silk robe to her body and blushing. Criss, a taller, tanner model with long black hair, looks more relaxed, letting her robe hang open and is gently running her hands over her body. Maybe she is saying goodbye. Saffron, a curly brunette with mocca coloured skin, is clearly already excited, cupping her breasts and stroking her privates. And Magda, the headlining diva of the show, is.... nowhere to be seen!


"Yes Erica?"

"Has anyone seen Magda? I haven't seen her backstage."

"Shit. Girls, where is my finale diva?"

Breanne looks sideways, avoiding eye contact. "She said she had something she needed to do, and that she might be just a little bit late getting here."

"Bother. Just like Magda to make things harder than they have to be. Well, the show must go on. Erica, get my girls ready, it is almost time. We will deal with Magda when we have to."


Being a dresser at a transformation based fashion show is going to be interesting. I don't have to worry about any clothing, or quickly switching the models wardrobes. No last minute alterations. No makeup or hair emergencies. What I am responsible for is delivering the correct transformation formulas to the correct models. So my place is here backstage peeking through an artfully hidden gap in the curtains being ready to open the valves on the pressurized chambers of modified demon cum (eww!) at the perfect moment according to the plan.

From my vantage point here I can see the entire stage setup, despite the muted preshow lighting. The catwalk is an unconventional one with a barely raised semi-circle catwalk that runs around the perimeter of the stages, within arms reach of the audience (touching is encouraged!). In the middle of the stage setup, running from the backstage to the apex of the circular catwalk is a raised straight catwalk with a glass chamber in the centre (well away from the spectators) rigged to spray a cloud of transformative mists. The plan is for the models to walk a human lap of the circular stage, then walk the central catwalk from the backstage, enter the changing screen, and then emerge in their new outfit body. And then to take another lap of the stage. It's up to me to make sure the model is sprayed at the right moment.

It's a lot of responsibility, but making fashion shows perfect is my gift.

With a burst of dramatic music and an excited murmur from the gathered crowd, the show is ready to begin.


Join me next Sunday for the next instalment (one that comes with an illustration).


Re: Women Make The Clothes - by indigocarmine

awww... a whole week!


Re: Women Make The Clothes - by indigocarmine

Haha. Yeah. Actually I'm curious to hear what people think of this. I know I love the expectation of waiting for the next chapter of things but hate not knowing when that will be. Also, this way you get something new from me every week for a while, instead of only hearing from me once every couple months. I'm also hoping to use some of the lead up time on the next things so maybe I can keep posting stuff for a while weekly. But yeah, as this happens, what do y'all think?


Re: Women Make The Clothes - by indigocarmine

The wait will be madening.  But anticpation makes the reward sweeter. 

And if this keeps things coming longer, all the better.


Re: Women Make The Clothes - by indigocarmine

Setting a pace is good for you as a writer.  Don't let us greedy readers push you to go faster than you can spit out new stuff, you'll just burn out faster.  In the end, though we like having it all immediately, spreading the story out over time increases the enjoyment.

Looking forward to Sunday!


Re: Women Make The Clothes - by indigocarmine

Of course are going to make the transformations extreme?


Re: Women Make The Clothes - by indigocarmine

*antication building*


Re: Women Make The Clothes - by indigocarmine

Women Make The Clothes

Part I: The First Look

Peaking through the curtains I see the room darken completely and a hush fall over the room. A pulse of light ripples around the circular perimeter catwalk accompanied by rumbles of bass music. The rumbles build into a driving electronica anthem, and a cluster of spotlights stab down and congregate on a naked Breanne, posing professionally.

Breanne sets off at once, strutting with poise and elegance along the perimeter catwalk. The catwalk lighting kicks back in, illuminating Breanne's nude form. As Breanne struts she displays her slender body to the gathered crowds, showing off her long elegant legs, the roll of her high, athletic ass, the hint of her modest A-cup breasts, and the pink of her shaven vulva. Hands reach out rom the audience and brush her smooth skin as she walks by, occasionally patting her butt or cupping her breasts. Breanne, the consummate professional model never breaks her stride.

As Breanne completes her lap of the perimeter stage and turns to climb onto the central transformation stage she makes eye contact with me and smiles nervously. I can tell she is worried, but I can't help but think she is excited too.

I know I certainly am.


It only takes a moment for her to strut down the stage and enter the transformation enclosure. I pull a lever and the entry door slams shut, sealing Breanne in. Breanne strikes a pose and moues at the collected audience through the glass. The stage lights dim and I manipulate a valve and smoke machines below the chamber kick in and fill the chamber with a cloud, shrouding Breanne's naked body. Another switch activates a bank of strobe lights inside the chamber and provides ghostly glimpses of Breanne in the fog. On cue the music cuts out, and microphones inside the chamber are activated. The slightly raspy breathe of Breane fills the theatre, conveying her nerves and excitement.


My own heart racing, I double check the canisters and open the transformation valves. Vaporized Dcum formula boils down the pipes and with a mic audible hiss begins to flood the transformation chamber.

Breanne instantly begins to pant and raggedly groan. Amongst the strobe lights and the fog I can see her double over and clutch her sides. Moans begin to emit from the box, moans of fear and then moans of pleasure. The panting grows faster, and in the fog, something vaguely inhuman begins to writhe in the smoke. The panting and moaning build until finally, in an orgasmic cry the sounds stop.

A metallic clink brings me back to the task at hand as the Dcum formula's canister indicates it's spent. I close the valve. On cue the lighting drops out and a gradual pulse of bass fills the room. I pull the next lever and it activates the purging vent which safely sucks out the transformational gas and smoke machine fog. I wait the requisite time for the air to cycle, and pull the lever which opens the front door of the chamber.

A moment goes by.

And another.

And with a burst of music and light, Breanne stands revealed in her new look and body.

Breanne's smiling face  is flushed below eyes shining with arousal, but is otherwise unchanged. Her head is now bald and shiny and instead of hair, Breanne now sports dozens of octopus like tentacles that dangle down to the small of her back. Perched on one side of her head is a ring of labia petals surround a thumb sized clit, resembling a flower worn in her hair. Breanne's chest has been changed, now sporting three perky, ccup breasts in a row capped with upturned, pointy nipples. Her torso is otherwise unchanged, still sporting a pair of elegant arms and the taught athletic contours of her old body. At her waist however, her body flairs into a ring of twelve more octopus tentacles that dangle down just past Breanne's knees. Each tentacle is joined to the next by an octopus' skirt that covers her crotch to midthigh. Below the the tentacle skirt, Breanne still has her long, athletic legs, but now they are enhanced by her feet which have been elongated and now end in hooves.

A solid, pulsing beat infects the room and Breanne, her tentacles all hanging listlessly, begins to strut down the central stage to its end where it meets the apex of the circular perimeter stage. The rhythmic clop of her hooves manages to echo above the techno as she works her way along the stage. Her new hooves lend her steps a new elegance and the gentle sway of her tentacles emphasizes the orbit of her hips. She looks so sexy with her body's new movement.

As she nears the end of the stage Breanne shows off another of her new tricks. Her skin, which on further inspection appears too smooth and cephalopod rubbery, begins to glow with a riot of colours that chase each other across her body and ripple along her tentacles. Her tentacles begin to move and sway a little independently to the beat of the music adding even more drama to her walk.

Breanne finally reaches the end of the catwalk, stops and strikes a pose. She cocks her pelvis, places her hands on her hips, and splays all of her tentacles in a massive display of limps. In the process she fully splays her octopus skirt and reveals the long inhuman penis and balls jutting from her otherwise smooth crotch. Breanne's new cock was a foot and a half long, flexible like one of her tentacles, and possessed a number of ridges along the shaft below the glans. It also glows and pulsates with the same flashes of colour that race all along the rest of her body.

Breanne, clearly loving the moment, reaches down with both of her hands and, right there on stage, begins to jerk off her new organ. Her various tentacles writhe and coil, twist and knot, and with a burst of light that makes her whole body flash, Breanne cries out as she splatters inky black semen all over the gathered spectators.

Panting and grinning, Breanne spins on her hooves and begins to walk her next circuit of the perimeter stage this time groping the audience back with her tentacles whenever they touch her.

So far, so good.


To see Breanne's new look, go here: http://www.furaffinity.net/view/14040442/

See you all next Sunday for the next instalment. Let me know what you think.


Re: Women Make The Clothes - by indigocarmine

Pretty nice and it's far more arousing if we never see the transformation.

Of course will the transformations get less and less humanoid over time in the the story till the end where the last volunteer is a extremely inhuman creature? or rather extremely unrecognizable?


Re: Women Make The Clothes - by indigocarmine

You'll have to come back next Sunday to see!

(But seriously, I'm a lot more interested in less extreme transformations where people stay recognizably people. My Alchemist Convention story is a pretty good atlas of what I'm interested in. This story, that's riffing on the intersection of fashion and transformation, is definitely going to fall on the milder side of the Belial spectrum. Sorry, but it's how I roll.)

(Also, how do other people feel about the illustrations? I know I'm not a great artist (certainly no Demon-Man), but I have fun making my character sketches. Do y'all like them? Or at least like having the option to see them if you want? I can keep them to myself if they are mostly reviled.)


Re: Women Make The Clothes - by indigocarmine

While your sketches are not as good quality as his current work, they do remind me of some of his oldest works.  That being said, I do like them, because it gives me a clearer image of the final 'product', as it were. 

Nice chapter (or whatever it is you're callin' em), looking forward to next Sunday!


Re: Women Make The Clothes - by indigocarmine

Hi, at last i had time to read the story and i'm not disappointed! The mild transformations are a good idea. We hadn't many of them lately.

I like the sketch. You are certainly a much better artist than me and - well - the more pics you are drawing the better you're getting.

The only thing i want to critisize i missed a longer description of the transformation itself. But i'm a little biased since i really enjoy reading about the change.


Re: Women Make The Clothes - by indigocarmine

Women Make the Clothes

Part II: Street Style

As Breanne, with a final pose and dramatic wave of her tentacles finally ducked backstage I began to reset the transformation apparatus. With great care I remove the spent gas canister used on Breanne, and double checking the valves and labels, I slowly screw in the next transformation canister. A quick survey of the dials look good, so I give the system a tiny test squirt. I think I hear a hiss and I feel a little dizzy, but it only lasts a second. But I'm still me, the seal is good. Everything is ready. Phew!

And not a moment too soon.

With the snare of a drum line the next stage of the fashion show is beginning. I manage to glance through the curtains in time to see the darkened theatre pierced by spotlights converging on Criss as she makes her entrance. The drum line is joined by pulsating bass and a creeping guitar line creating a catchy, bouncey urban sound. As the music swells Criss starts to make her lap of the perimeter stage.

The lighting shifts to the catwalk and shines on Criss' nude body. Criss, unlike willowy fashion model Breanne, has a background in lingerie modelling and is a much curvier woman. The bright lights illuminate Criss' perky C cup breasts and tight but generous ass and hips. As she walks in a slow and seductive slink, her pale skin is alive with the moving shadows caste by her charms. As she makes her way around the stage she manages to incorporate the beat of the music into her walk, causing her breasts to sway. Criss is just pure walking sex.

Criss finally completes her circuit and climbs onto the central transformation stage, shoots me a sly smile full of promise, and bringing an element of dance into her motion makes her way into the transformation chamber.

(Mmmmm...) I think I'm getting rather hot....


I focus on my task and seal the chamber. Inside the chamber Criss vamps and blows little kisses to people in the audience. The fog machine kicks in, the lights dim, and the chamber begins to strobe showing the ghostly shape of Criss' sexy curves in the mist. The music cuts out and the internal mics kick in. The room is filled with the throaty, yet surprisingly steady sound of Criss' breathing. It really sounds like she is ready for this.

And so am I.

I throw the switch on the Dcum gas chamber and with a hiss, it begins to fill the chamber.

Criss' breathing picks up immediately and her sillouette reaches up, pushing her breasts out, to clutch her head. I spot something growing and flapping in the shadows, but then Criss stumbles into a dense fog bank and is completely hidden. She moans loudly a couple times and then with a gurgle stops. A wet, hissing sound fills the theatre.

The metal clink of the empty chamber drags me back to reality. I do my thing, and cycle the chambers gasses and then, as the room darkens and the music begins to trickle back in, I pull the lever which opens the chamber.



And there, amongst the light and music,  is Criss in all of her new, changed, sexy glory.

Criss' eyes are alight with arousal and mischievous joy. They are the only indication of how happy she is, since the rest of her face is split by a fleshy cunt. Where once she had a mouth and nose, now she has the vertical slit of a vagina nestled in fleshy labia and sporting a sizeable clit. Criss' changed face peaks out of a fleshy labial hood that covers the rest of her head and comes together at the base of her neck. On her torso Cris now sports five hefty ddcup breasts: a row of three perched on top of a lower pair that hang down nearly to where her navel once was. On her lower stomach, Criss has a pair of vertical vulva-ike openings on either end of a strange fleshy bluge resembling a kangaroo pocket on urban fashions.  Criss still has her arms and legs, but now they are covered by a shiney, leather like skin that begins at the elbows and midthigh  and her feet have been replaced by elegant hooves. Criss' most dramatic change though is around her waist and crotch. From her wide hips a flap of skin, an elongated coattail of labia open from her crotch and trails behind her, nearly reaching her knees. Her exposed crotch mean while has become a massive cunt, with a fist sized clit at its crest and massive fleshy lips that stretch around to her anus.

With startling grace, Criss begins to dance to the music and slink her way along the central stage to the apex. Her hooves click with every step, her five large breasts swinging against each other, and her labia coattails swing and slap slap behind her. Criss is clearly excited, long strands of lubricant drool is pouring out of her face vagina, and her vulvic hood and labial tail glisten with fluids. On the stage, a slick trail of her juices leave a clear path behind her dancing, swaying path.

A final clopping stomp and Criss reaches the apex of the central stage, cocks her hips, jams her hands into the vulva openings on her stomach and into the pocket, and... wetly squeals through her mouth cunt. Her knees wobble, and she is forced to scrabble on her hooves as she nearly falls over. Her wide eyes, narrow and lid in pleasure as, inside the fleshy pocket on her stomach, Criss' black leathery hands gyrate and probe at something hidden from view. Based on the look of ecstasy on her face, I have to guess that hidden within her carnal kanagroo pocket is a second vaginal opening that Criss has to be furiously fingering. All composure gone, Criss continues to wetly, inarticulately squeal as she continues her menstruations. The huge cunt on her crotch pulsates obscenely, gaping and closing in rhythm to her sopping breath until finally a torrent of girl cum sprays out of her as she orgasms, soaking the front row spectators, already speckled with the black spots of Breanne's jizz.

Criss pulls her glistening hands out of her cunt pocket, pants for a moment, regains her composure and begins to slink around the perimeter stage to give the audience a better look at her (oh so!) sexy new body and an opportunity to feel her slick folds.

Goddddd I am so hot.

To see Criss' final forum go here: http://www.furaffinity.net/view/14101829/

See you next Sunday for the next episode!


Re: Women Make The Clothes - by indigocarmine

Women Make The Clothes

Part III: Vintage

Flushed and a bit wet, I go about resetting the transformation mechanism again. I rapidly work the valves and levers, discard the empty gas canister and screw in the next transformation mixture. I check the seal, and after another tiny burp of gas, the seal checks out. Everything is ready as Criss finishes her circuit and gracefully clops up the stairs backstage. (I am a fashion facilitating star.)

This time a brassy fanfare fills the room and summons the spotlights revealing Saffron, posing dramatically, in a classic pinup pose. The music picks up steam: an uptempo jazz orchestra piece full of saucy brass and hopping bass. With a roll of her hips Saffron wiggles onto the perimeter stage.

The lighting changes and Saffron is revealed in all her curvaceous glory. Unlike the other girls in the show, Saffron's claim to fame is as a pinup girl and sometime exotic dancer and lounge singer. And she has the body to match: her mocha skin stretches over a pair of gravity defying F cup breasts, a truly yawning span of hips, and the swell of a generous bubble butt. In the light and the jazz, the sway of her generous hips is pure seduction.

As Saffron makes her circuit of the perimeter stage she shimmies and shakes to the beat of the jazz. With a huge grin on her face she grabs the face of a woman in the audience and smothers it in her hefty tits. Laughing she spins away and strokes her cunt for a moment before skipping further down the stage. Spotting a man she recognizes in the crowd, she slides on her knees to the edge of the stage, snags his tie, and reels him into her cunt. Rubbing her tits she stays there until the audience volunteer chews her to orgasm. Clearly she views this exercise as a once in a lifetime show.

Saffron gradually completes her route where she has literally been pressing the flesh hops up onto the central stage, and sketching a jaunty salute in my direction, saunters into the transformation chamber.

I can't fucking wait to change her.


I slam the door shut on the chamber, which seamlessly kicks in the fog, strobes, and mics. Inside the chamber Saffron pounds on the walls "Bring it on! Change me already!". Backlit by the strobes she mashes her massive breasts against the glass. "Fucking do it! Do it already!". Over the mic comes the sound of heavy panting as, in the fog, Saffron is clearly fingering herself.

Panting myself, I lift up the hem of my dress a little and slide my left hand into my panties. My thin fingers slide into the slick trough of my vulva and I begin to work them back and forth over my lips and clit.

Oh I shouldn't be doing this.

With a shudder and a stifled moan, I open the valves on the transformation canister and flood the chamber with the dcum gas.

"Oh fuck yes! Finally!" booms over the mic as Saffron feels her changes start. She groans and pants and gyrates in the fog and strobes. I lift my dress even higher, squat a little, and slip a pair of fingers into my aching cunt. "Oh my god! Fuck! Fuck! Yesssssss!!" I see a strange shape writhe in the transformation chamber and lash out. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck..." I reach down with my other hand and pinch my clit, moaning in harmony with Saffron in the chamber. "Oh, ohhhh gooood!" And....


The sound of the dcum gas canister emptying brings me back to attention. I still have a job to do. Blushing I close the system, purge the chamber, and open the door as darkness falls.

A jazzy fanfare sounds, spotlights snap on, and slowly out of the fog slithers the new Saffron.

I jam my hands back to my hungry cunt as I survey the new, serpentine Saffron.

Saffrons face is largely unchanged, except maybe slimmer and with higher cheekbones. Instead of hair her head is now capped by the massive glans of a penis with slit on the back of her head. Her head cocktip looks like nothing so much as a fleshy cloche hat, with the rim of the galns forming a hat brim over her forehead. Saffrons neck has stretched slightly, and is now long and elegant leading into a pair of delicate shoulders which end smoothly: Saffron is now armless. Her torso has become slender and elongated, losing weight and becoming sleeker. Saffron no longer has breasts, but her torso retains a compact feminine taper that is slightly androgynous. From her hips down, Saffron's body has fused into a great long serpentine tail that is capped by another penis glans, equal to the size of the one on her head.

Her most striking change however, is her skin from the swell of her chest to her tail-thighs. Her torso is covered by the textured, pink skin of areola. Hanging from this rough pink flesh are hundreds of dangling three inch long, stringy nipples arranged in rows. The entire effect, especially with her cloche glans, is that of a flapper dress with its dangling strings.

I slip four fingers into my cunt, while stroking my clit furiously with my other hand. Trembling and biting my lip I watch as Saffron gracefully slithers along the stage as the music builds of to another pumping jazz number. Saffron bounces and sways on her tail, her nipple tassels swaying in time to the music. She laughs and i notice that nestled where her crotch would be is the vertical slit of her unchanged vagina. I also notice that she has nipple-tassles hanging from either ear like earings and that she has a chain of clits in a row around the base of her neck like a pearl necklace.

Saffron's gradual, swaying slither reaches the end of the stage, and in a feat of her new anatomy, she wraps her torso one way....

(My slick fingers penetrate me and furiously kneed my clit....)

...and then explosively twirls it the other, coiling her tail as she goes, nipple tassels whipping around....

(Shaking, I feel myself cresting....)

Before she, eyes lidded with pleasure, lowers her chin, elevates her tail...

(I shudder and cry out as I orgasm around my fingers.)

...and spews torrents of hot cum all over the spectators from both urethra.

Grinning broadly, face flushed as semen drips off the brim of her glans onto her face, Saffron executes a snakey turn and begins to slither her circuit of the peripheral stage.

Dress up around my waist, panties hanging around my knees, I lay ass on the floor basking in my after glow...



To see Saffron's new form go here: http://www.furaffinity.net/view/14162039/

See you all next Sunday for the next episode!


Re: Women Make The Clothes - by indigocarmine

I haven't had the chance to read this until now and I must say you've done a good job with the story so far. I look forward to the next episode.

See my FurAffinity account, where most of my stuff is found: http://www.furaffinity.net/user/thetransformationguru/


Re: Women Make The Clothes - by indigocarmine

Women Make The Clothes



I nearly jump out of my skin as I glance up to see Breanne, her tentacles reared in surprise. Blushing furiously, I awkwardly tug my dress down over my thighs, climb to my feet, and smooth the front of my clothes. Breanne grins at me with bemusement and points at my feet where my soaking underwear sits around my ankles. With profound awkwardness I wiggle and kick the sopping panties off of my shoes. (I am so embarrassed!)

I can't help but noticed that Breanne's flexible, ridged penis has swollen and peaked out from under her skirt.

"Erika, come quick. Something's happened with Magda. Carman is freaking out. It's a disaster!"

"What happened?"

"Come and see for yourself."

Breanne reaches out with a pair of skirt tentacles, binds my wrist, and drags me after her.

I stumble to keep up with her as she clacks along ahead of me with her long, hoof extended stride. She drags me around a corner, down a hall, and into Magda's dressing room. I see the changed models standing in a huddle around a looming Carman and I hear the sound of a woman crying.

(I also smell the pungent reek of cunt.)

"Magda! This is unacceptable! You have ruined me and this show!"

"I'm, I'm, sniff, so sorrrryyy!"

"Sorry isn't going to cut it! What am I going to do!?"

I look around and don't see Magda... until, fuck, there she is. Kind of.

Standing in the middle of the group is a tearful, transformed Magda. Her hauntingly beautiful face is largely unchanged but now resides on her crotch between her two, long, perfectly toned legs. Her perfect ass is still taught, fuckable perfection. But everything above her waist, her graceful slender arms, her pert breasts, her elegant neck, is gone. Magda, the international runway sensation is nothing but a fine ass, perfect legs, and a crotch face.

"What happened!?" I hear myself ask.

Magda turns her pelvis to look at me, and her full lips tremble. "I was worried about the sh-show... and... and... found an alchemist who promised to make my l-l-legs l-l-look perfect!"

Carman scowled. "This stupid girl went and got herself transformed before a show where I REQUIRE unchanged models. And now, right before my finale, I have no one to send down that runway! Do you all appreciate how hard it was to find great models willing to perform in this show? Where do you expect me to find someone else with no notice! It's impossible!"



"It's not impossible. I can be your finale."


See you all next Sunday for the exciting finale of Women Make The Clothes


Re: Women Make The Clothes - by indigocarmine

Women Make The Clothes

Part IV: Finale

My heart is pounding.
I'm standing here just off stage. I'm naked and trembling, my body flush with nerves but my skin cool with perspiration. I am trying really hard not to throw up.

What have I gotten myself into? This is insane! I am a dresser, a fashion assistant. I am not a runway model. This is not what I am good at.
I am not a remarkable beauty. Naked to the world, no carefully chosen clothes to sharpen or distract, I am an underwhelming creature. I am too skinny, with weirdly long spindly limbs considering how short I am. My stomach is soft, my thighs are too big, my ass high and modest. I have fairly big breasts for my frame, but free of a bra they sag enough that my nipples point at the ground. My hair, free of its pins and clips (as per Carman's instructions), is a frizzy, unkempt tangle. My face is too round, my eyes too close, my nose far too hawkish for my soft cheeks and chin. The crowd is here to see the immaculate beauty of supermodel Magda, my pale, nude body is definitely not what this crowd is here for.

And I'm about to be transformed! Altered, changed, maybe mutilated, probably exaggerated sexually. Certainly my life is about to be massively altered forever. And then what will I do? Breanne has never quite broken through as a model and wants to get into design, Criss is clearly trying to break into the growing world of transformed lingerie, and Saffron's life as a singer and pinup girl probably won't change all that much. But me? I'm a behind the scenes dresser. I don't have a glamorous career to fall back on or prospects for what comes after. What the fuck am I doing?

But the show has to go on.

And fuck me, this whole thing is such a turn on.


I don't hear any music, but the wet hiss and wild gesturing of Criss is telling me it's time. I take a deep breath and step onto the perimeter stage.

Here goes nothing.

I am instantly blinded by the flare of the spotlights and glare of the stage lighting. I stagger a bit and thrust my arm up to block the light. There is still no music so I can actually hear the audible gasp of the crowd and confusing murmur. It seems the audience is as surprised as I am.
I take another deep breath and steady myself. I stand tall, thrust out my hanging tits, and take my first steps. I am trying for the smooth professional stride of Breanne, but I suspect I look jerky and awkward. I focus on the task, left foot, right foot, and try to ignore the pressing crowd. Thankfully out of shock or disgust they aren't pawing at me like the other models and I can keep making progress. Left foot. Right foot. Try not to slip on the cum. Left foot, right food.

As I complete my gradual circuit of the outer stage and climb onto the centre stage my heart leaps up into my chest. I can see the audience, all of them, staring at my naked body with interest. In the silence of the hall I can hear my own ragged breathing.

I take another deep breath.

And walk down the stage and step into the open transformation chamber.

My horny cunt is a burning and tight and leaking down my leg.

The chamber door slams shut.

I am so ready for this part.


As I enter the chamber the strobe lights kick in and my world becomes a stutter of blinding flashes. Obscuring fog begins to flood the chamber, and I begin to shiver from the cold vapor. I can hear my mic amplified panting echo through the building and a little moan as I give voice to my anxiety and arousal.

And then I hear it, the hiss of the transformation gas as it enters the chamber.

A moment passes.

And then I feel it! A warmth that races across my flesh and makes me moan louder. A warmth that grows inside me until all my flesh feels like its blushing and swelling. And I realize that some of it is. I feel my face swell oddly, and my hair fall out. I feel my feet stretch and my posture change. In the flashing light and fog I hear myself grunt, groan, pant, cry out. My torso and legs stretch, my arms go numb, my breasts feel strange and weights shift on my chest.

I am in pain, I am in ecstasy.

And then...

And then my world explodes. I feel a great, orgasmic swelling. I feel my labia (labias?) swell and multiply and grow huge and heavy and wet. I feel myself reaching a peak of arousal, and I scream in joy and it echoes through the chamber.

And the strobe lights stop.

As the strobe lights die, I can see myself reflected in on the inner walls of the transformation chamber. I gasp.

The creature, the woman, the me, that stares back is gorgeous, haute couture incarnate.

She (I think I'm still a she) has a beautiful, if altered face. Her chin is delicate and sharp, her lips are swollen and red. Her eyes, my eyes, peak out of a domino-like mask that stretches from her forehead over her cheeks and covers her nose. A mask made of penis glans tissue with a urethra where her nostrils should be. From the top of the mask at her forehead a pair of small, backswept antelope horns jut out. Instead of hair, she has a mass of short tentacles sprouting from her scalp.

She smiles in wonder, moues thoughtfully and gathers her tentacles into something approximating an elegantly piled hairdo.

Her neck is slender, long, and emerges from a large, elaborate collar made from fleshy folds of labia that originate from a clit on her chest and come to a point behind her head. It looks like haut couture drama and as if her face and neck were emerging from a cunt around her neck.

She is armless, her shoulders taper to elegant smooth ends. She has four, perky D cup breasts with upturned nipples arranged in two rows. Her giant collar clit sits between the top pair of breasts, creating the appearance that her top row actually has three tits.
She shifts her body to admire her new breasts and sculpted shoulder stumps. She hears a crisp clop, and feels her new hooves strike the floor. She smiles broadly.

From the waist down her body swells dramatically into the bloom of a ball gown. But instead of fabric, her lower body is a cascade of cunt flesh. Layer after layer of glistening labia, ruched dramatically along the opening slit at the front of the cuntskirt, hanging from her waist and surrounding the glowing, sopping cunt at the core of her.

She sways her hips experimentally, and her perfect lips gasp and moan at the sensation of her long, toned legs pressing against her insides and her labia rubbing against each other.

She laughs in delight.

I laugh in delight.

I'm her, and I'm the most beautiful creature I have ever seen.

The door opens.

The door opens, and I emerge from my chrysalis. My hooves beat a staccato rhythm as I confidently strut down the catwalk, my head and chest held high, my cunt skirts swaying and swishing with every step. I am magical.

The crowd gasps, and begins to applaud. They begin to stand, and by the time I reach the apex of the stage, I am surrounded by an ovation.

I do not pose.

I just stand, resplendent and bask in my glory. In my adoration. In my beauty.

I can't wait to fuck someone.

As I continue to stand and preen at the end of the stage, I hear the clop of other hooves and see that the other models have joined me on stage. Soon Breanne is standing to my left, Criss to my right, and Saffron has reared up on her tail behind us. We are blinded by flashbulbs.

Breanne leans over to me and whispers. "You look amazing..." I feel a tentacle slip under my cunt gown, wrap around my thigh, and press itself gentle against my most inner of lips. "I can't wait to fuck you."

I smile at her. Of course she wants to fuck me.

I hear more clopping and a gasp rise from the crowd. We all look back and see a changed Carman, now devoid of her robes, walking down the runway to join her models. From her chest now hang five breasts, and her hips sport petals of labia flesh. She walks on elongated hooves and an equine tail swishes behind her. From her crotch sprouts a massive equine cock.

"Thank you my public for witnessing my new vision where the women make the clothes. If you'll excuse us, my lovelies and I have to get reacquainted. I hope you enjoyed the show!"


To see the narrator (Erica's) final form go here: http://www.furaffinity.net/view/14288496/

Hopefully you enjoyed the story and my first experiment with a scheduled serialized story.


Re: Women Make The Clothes - by indigocarmine

Wow.  Your writing is amazing.  I can't believe I've missed all your stories so far! 

I absolutely adore this one.  All the changes are creative, kinky, and beautiful!  Especially Erica's (you really did save the best for last!).


Re: Women Make The Clothes - by indigocarmine

Thanks! I have plans to have the models recur a bit in other stuff: criss is a judge in  belial idol for instance.

If you like my stuff, my goal is to update every Sunday with something new and also to keep belial idol moving as quick as I can.


Re: Women Make The Clothes - by indigocarmine

My Favorite is Criss, i love how she looks in her new form.


Re: Women Make The Clothes - by indigocarmine

A rehash of the models: https://www.furaffinity.net/view/22029760/


Re: Women Make The Clothes - by indigocarmine

Very beautiful and how good my favorite Criss looks like, i love her.