Topic: r/I am the asshole forum

It's been awhile since I've posted on the forum (I've been busy with other projects).  I've had a lot of fun doing caption stories for the last year and wanted to try something similar in this setting.  I had the idea for this subset of stories after listening to hours of the non-spoof version of this forum.  As it says in the description above, these are slice of life stories detailing the circumstances that led someone to becoming a Freyan anuswoman.  They're more erotica than porn and a chance for me to play with the world building (sorry Demon-man).  They are also extremely non-cannon, as I'm pretty sure I break the timeline (modernization of the Empire compared to the spread of transformees).

My plan is to post a new short every week along with the accompanying photos.  Please note my photomanipulation skills end at cropping an image, so try not to let any small irregularities ruin the visual.  If anyone else wants to jump in with their own stories/images, feel free but try to keep it within the theme of the forum.


Re: r/I am the asshole forum

Intro Post

Hello everyone.  My name is Dr. Karen Bumford and I am a research psychiatrist focused on transformees.  Specifically, why people choose to undergo transformation and how they deal with the results years afterward.  While transformees make up nearly half of the population of the Realm, less than one in every three hundred citizens of the Empire share such a condition.  This leaves Empire transformees to face stigma and constrains that their cousins in the Realm do not.

To shine a light on this issue, I created the I am the asshole forum to solicit stories from citizens who decided to undergo the anusification process.  I chose to focus on this transformation for many reasons.  While standardized as one of the Freyan woman transformations, it is by far the least common.  While as inherently sexual as other Freyan women transformation, there is an inherent taboo around assholes that does not exist (or exists to a lesser extend) with other variants.  While inflicting many physical, dietary, and other lifestyle constraints on those that undergo the process, it does not leave the resulting transformee completely helpless.

I encourage anyone who has gone through this process to share their background and circumstances, to help others who are considering undergoing a similar change make a well-informed decision.  Transformations are permanent and should not be performed on a whim, but they can bring many benefits incompatible with an unaugmented body.

Of course, this would not be a proper first post if I wasn’t willing to subject myself to the same process I was asking others to talk about.  I underwent conversion last month during a trip to the Realm.  The clinical part of my brain is surprised about how natural by body feels after losing over half my mass.  I’m still getting used to my new diet and many of my favorite foods either no longer taste the same or are impractical to eat (I used to enjoy sphincter puckering sour and spicy foods, which is hazardous when using said sphincter to eat them).

With me in the picture is my younger sister, Kylie, who is a doctor specializing in transformee anatomy.  She’s using me as a demonstration model to teach students at the university where we are both employees.  Being the research subject rather than the studier is quite the new experience for me, only one of many I have to deal with since starting this project.  I hope my sacrifice will be worth it to expand the wider scientific literature, if only in this small area.

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Re: r/I am the asshole forum

I love your storys smile


Re: r/I am the asshole forum

I am the person I am today, for many reasons, because of my daughter.  I was just two years out of high school when I discovered that I was pregnant.  Having decided to skip college and go straight into the workforce, my boyfriend, Jake, and I were barely keeping a roof over our heads serving retail.  But he did the honorable thing and popped the question, determined to do right by his girls.  My parents wanted me to abort the baby until I was in a financially stable place to create a family; they were so mortified that they didn’t even attend my wedding.  It was little more than a courthouse affair anyway, my bulging belly straining the thrift store white sundress I wore.  Two months after that, and our daughter Caroline was born.

Jake and I worked double hard to make a home for our little family.  I quit my retail job and found another with a call center that would let me work from home on a flexible schedule so I could keep an eye on Caroline.  Meanwhile, Jake was working so much overtime it felt like I never saw him.

Things proceeded for the next few years and we started to finally feel like our heads were above water.  But that was when tragedy struck.  A week before Caroline’s fifth birthday, Jake was killed in a freak workplace accident.  I pretty much shut down for the next month until I realized that my daughter was suffering as well.  We somehow managed to carry each other through that hard time, though to this day I don’t know how.  Thankfully, there was a large settlement due to the nature of the accident.  Though it in no way made up for losing a husband and father, the funds provided some financial security over the next few years.

Fast forward the next thirteen years.  Raising a child as a single mother is never easy, especially a moody teenager.  Caroline made it clear that she always felt that I wasn’t there enough for her, despite my best efforts.  It’s hard to explain to a middle schooler why mommy had to miss your music recital because she had to work to make the rental payment on your flute. 

Our disagreements got worse toward the end of high school.  I wanted Caroline to avoid my mistake and go to college.  She was ready to drop out of high school and run straight after her dream of being a fashion designer.  I managed to talk her into completing high school at least, but failed to get Caroline to apply to a single college.  Things came to a head a month after graduation, when I said she was an asshole for throwing away all the opportunities I had tried to make for her.  Angry, Caroline moved out and went to stay with a friend.

After that, I didn’t see Caroline for 6 months.  Then my doorbell went off and I was confused to find no-one there.  It wasn’t until I looked down that I realize there indeed someone there, or at least half a someone.  It wasn’t until the anuswoman spoke that I realized that it was my daughter.  “You were right mom, I was an asshole.  Can I come in?”

Stunned, I let my now half a daughter inside and over to the couch.  Caroline curled up beside me just like she did when she was little and something bad had happened in school.  “I suppose you have some questions?”  I simply nodded, waiting for my daughter speak her piece.

It turned out that five months after she had left, the friend that Caroline was staying with decided to make a spontaneous trip to the Realm.  Still sullen, Caroline and some of their other friends had tagged along.  After partying in the capital for a few days and way too much alcohol and other mood enhancers, one of the other girls had suggested they all get transformed.  Caroline was skeptical, but the idea caught on like wildfire among the others.  So, my daughter found herself dragged along under a heavy dose of peer pressure.

Two of the girls were twins, so it was a forgone conclusion that they would become a single vaginawoman.  Another had a run in with a cockfish that made her a better candidate for a cockwoman.  The friend my daughter was staying with was known for her busty nature, making her a good breast-woman candidate.  That left the anus-woman machine open for my daughter.  After flashing back to our last conversation, Caroline found the situation fitting.
The trip had fallen apart after that.  The vaginawoman had run off to join a commune, the cockwoman had found a nice guy and ditched them, and her friend had to sell half of herself to a boob-farm to pay for their expenses and make it back to the Empire.  When Caroline returned to her friend’s place with her half of a friend, the parents kicked her out for allowing such a terrible thing to happen to their daughter.  “I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”  If Caroline still had eyes, there would be tears falling down her face.  “Can I come home?”

I’m not a heartless monster, so I brought my daughter back into my life.  Caroline struggled with her new body and I brought her to support groups of other transformees to help her adjust.  I did some remodeling around the house to put important items on lower shelves or make sure there were plenty of stepladders available.  Dinnertime took a lot of adjustment to find foods that would work with my daughter’s anatomy and that she could eat without assistance.
It took a few years, but Caroline broke out of her shell and her entrepreneurial spirit rekindled itself.  She made money selling her “mousse” to high end restaurants looking for an exotic treat for guests.  With these funds, she purchased materials and started turning out custom clothing for transformees. 

This turn out to be an untapped market; after all, the local clothing store doesn’t tend to stock three cup bras.  I went along with Caroline to a large number of craft fairs, conventions, and other events as she slowly built her little company up into a profitable empire. 

Surprisingly, I made several transformee friends along the way.  Actually, more than a few, to the point one finally asked when I was going to get transformed myself.  This shocked me, until it was pointed out it was almost odd that I was so deep within the local transformee community without having undergone a change myself.  Up until that point, I had never considered getting transformed.  But I suddenly couldn’t get the idea out of my head.

A few weeks later, I surprised Caroline with two tickets to the Realm.  Pleasantly surprised, she asked what had brought this impromptu vacation on.  I explained that it was an apology.  Caroline had made a profitable career for herself without the college I tried to foist upon her.  If anyone was the asshole in this situation it was me, and I intended to rectify that situation.  In a stunned voice, Caroline asked if that meant what she thought it meant.  I nodded and asked if she could use another leg model for the tights collection she had been working on.  I think that moment was the happiest I had ever seen my daughter, only elapsed a month later when I walked out of the transformation machine looking exactly like her.

Edit to update: I thought my story was going to end there, but it turns out there was one more chapter to tell.  On our last night in the Realm, I met a handsome gentleman, Jason, at the hotel bar and we danced and drank the night away.  Something I hadn’t done since before Caroline was born.  And when I took my seat on the airship home the next morning, guess who was sitting in the row opposite Caroline and myself?  It should have been awkward, especially as I had snuck out of Jason’s room late that night to make it back to my own.  Instead, we spent the whole way back talking.  It turned out that Jason lived in the same town as us and had been in the realm for his cousin’s bachelor party.

As we spoke, I found myself feeling an emotion I haven’t in a long time.  Attraction.  I don’t know where it will lead, but I’m willing to give this new relationship a chance.  After all, there aren’t too many guys who enjoy their girlfriend being a dirty asshole in the bedroom.  Jason has a son around Caroline’s age and it seems father and son share at least some of the same fetishes.  I won’t start planning the double wedding yet, but it very well could be in our future.

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Re: r/I am the asshole forum

I’ve always been one to march to the beat of my own drum.  In my teens I alternated between emo, goth, and Lolita seemingly on a weekly basis.  It got my first tattoo at 16, which almost caused my parents to go into meltdown. It was worth it though, for that additional step of individuality.

Due to my parent’s vigilance, it wasn’t until after I moved out at 18 that I was able to get my second tattoo.  After that I was hooked and I never went more than a few months between sessions in my favorite artist’s chair.  Luckily, I worked in an environment that rewarded individuality rather than stifled it.  In fact, my patrons at the bar seemed to tip more the greater portion of my skin was covered in ink.  As such, by the time I was thirty I was almost completely covered in tattoos.  About the only open spots were my breasts and my face.  The former, because I was considering alchemically augmenting them and wanted to wait until I knew how much canvas I had to work with.  And that latter, because it was still nice to disguise myself as a normie in long sleeves and pants if I ever wanted to go somewhere in “civilized” society.

One day at work, my boss and I were watching the new transformed soccer league during a slow point in the bar.  My boss asked, given my body mod fixation, if I’d ever considered getting transformed as well.  Up to that point, I hadn’t, but it was an intriguing notion.  It certainly fit with my counterculture streak.  The problem was that trying to decide what to change about myself.
Ever the gambler, my boss offered me a bet.  If my team won the ongoing tournament, he would give me a 10% raise this year.  If they lost, then my transformation would be worked into a promotion at the pub.  Suspicious, I asked what kind of promotion?  He replied that buyers of the house special would also receive a raffle ticket where they could write a suggested transformation.  At the end of month, they would draw a winner.

I was skeptical and wanted to make sure I didn’t end up a boob-slug or something else unable to work, so my boss agreed that there would be three draws and I could pick among them.  He did promise that if the choices were all abysmal, they could fake a redraw until I got something palatable. 

I told my boss I would think about and the rest of the shift went without issue.  When I got home, I couldn’t help but go online and look at all kinds of transformations.  I masturbated myself to sleep looking at all the options.  The next morning, I told my boss I would do it.

Unfortunately, the best player on my team suffered an injury in the next match and they eventually lost the series.  With equal parts excitement and dread, it was time to start the promotion.  Unfortunately, both my boss and I underestimated exactly how popular socializing my upcoming change would be.  We did record sales that month and ended up with well over two hundred tickets in the raffle bowl.  The interest was so high we were forced to schedule a live drawing with the highest paying patron in attendance.  That ripped a hole in my safety net of jettisoning unpalatable choices.

The night of the drawing arrived and the bar was packed to standing room only.  I got up on stage and pulled three slips of paper from the bowl.  One by one, I read the options aloud. 
First slip, horse dick merge. That was a hard pass.  I was never fond of animals; nor did I feel like become a helpless appendage for the rest of my days.  Next slip, boob tree merge.  Still not ideal, see my feeling about being a helpless appendage above.  Fingers crossed for something better, I unfolded the last slip.

Freyan anuswoman.  I searched through my memory until I conjured up what an anuswoman looked like.  It wouldn’t have been my first choice, but I would be mobile and able.  The more I thought about it, becoming the fetishization of the dirty part of human anatomy made my nipples harden.  Ironic, seeing as if I went through with the change, I wouldn’t have nipples anymore.  Holding the last slip of paper high, I announced that we had a winner.

The next month, I was on a work funded trip to the Realm to undergo my change.  I took a couple extra days to enjoy the local culture (i.e., have lots and lots of sex for the last time as a normal human) before I went into the machine.  I then followed this up with several more days of sex as I explored the limits of my new body.

Back at work, I seemed to be even more popular than ever.  My tips have at least doubled, especially when I drop a huge load of the new house special on a customer’s plate.  My boss keeps talking about double or nothing with the upcoming baseball season, which scares me as I know the counterculture part of my brain is going to say yes.  At this point the odd of me making it to retirement without becoming a sentient pile of genitals is becoming slimmer and slimmer.  But hey, you only have one life to live, so you might as well make the most of it.

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