Re: The Escapist!
They were using the paint as a marketing ploy, basically going nude as most people showcasing their wares at the Annual Show do.
You are not logged in. Please login or register.
A Bizarre Transformation Fetish Literotica Forum – join us at https://discord.gg/tqezsy8 for art, RP, and more
They were using the paint as a marketing ploy, basically going nude as most people showcasing their wares at the Annual Show do.
Part 6: The Apparatus
The sixth time happened when I went to clean up an alchemy spill at The Freyan Temple.
It was in the early days of my alchemy clean up company with Avola. They were lean times; despite the attention from the Alchemists Convention we only had a few clients. We had a small stable of notoriously clumsy alchemists who frequently needed small or moderate spills cleaned up and a larger client list of alchemists who called us the one time they actually had an accident they couldn’t handle themselves. We also received the odd referral, a client forwarding someone who found an environmental dcum source on their property or a private citizen who had a mishap with alchemy. We were getting by, but it was hardly a lucrative business yet.
Avola had suggested that working as a cleanup crew might be a suckers’ game, and that we should take a more proactive approach and get into the safety consultation and sales racket. I was coming around to her way of thinking, at least entertaining the idea of offering that as another product. Helping alchemists have fewer accidents would probably do more for the environment and other people than any kind of remediation.
We were having another conversation about this when we got a call for a rush job from a new client. Avola, who took the call smiled widely and set the phone back on its receiver with her long penis-trunk. “Saddle up, darling. We’re going to The Freyan Temple.”
It took all day and night to drive in our rented van, filled with what cleaning supplies would fit in the vehicle. I drove and Avola ‘navigated’, napping happily in the sunny passengers seat, trunk thrust out the open window. My androgynous friend with her elephant-like cock-trunk, large elephantine penis, and mane of styled black hair blowing in the wind was the very model of contentment. Her mana-sensing antenna flexed slowly in happiness. As we neared the border of the Freyan Realm, Avola grunted and told me to pull off the freeway and turn into a parking lot at some kind of roadside amusement park. I stopped the van and Avola hopped out. “This is the place,” she said brightly, stretching out her arms and trunk.
“I thought you said we were going to a Freyan Temple,” I asked.
Avola smiled mischievously and wagged her antenna at me. “No, I said we were going to ‘*THE* Freyan Temple’.”
“Which is a roadside tourist trap…” I muttered.
“Yep!” laughed Avola, “You should see the look on your face!”
I climbed out of the van with a sigh. I rolled down the sleeves of my blouse, pulled on my cheap suit jacket, and changed into my rubber nurse shoes. I stretched out my neck and wound my long hair into a businesslike bun. Avola kept her bright paisley dress on and her long hair and mane free, but did pull on a pair of cute rubber boots she had made by ‘footfetish shoes’ to fit over her altered feet. Avola wound her trunk around her shoulders like a scarf where it wouldn’t cause trouble. She nodded at me and we pulled on thin nitrile gloves, picked up our toolboxes, and walked towards the ticket gate.
The ticket gate was a small wooden hut mounted in the tall chain-link fence of the theme park’s boundary. It had a narrow turnstile entry, a tall one way exit gate, and a single glass ticket sales window. A bored looking and naked young woman sat in the booth, leaning back in her chair reading a comic. A sign above the gate read “The Freyan Temple!” in peeling, painted block letters. Under it the sign said “A friendly enclave of Freyan Culture safely outside the realm!” Below that, in much smaller writing, read “No refunds, no transfers, and no satisfaction guarantees.” I glanced questioningly at Avola who only smirked.
“Hi! I’m Katy!” chirped the naked ticket girl as we approached the window. “Welcome to The Freyan Temple roadside attraction! A ticket will be 19 bucks each!”
Avola giggled, “Robbery…” she mouthed at me.
“Hi, I’m Tesca Piste and this is my associate Avola Unteer. We were contacted to clean up an alchemical spill.” I held out our card to the ticket taker.
She looked it over. “Oh! You’re the ladies form P.U.B.E.S.!”
I groaned and Avola beamed. When Avola had suggested we name our company Piste-Unteer Belial Environmental ServicesTM, I didn’t realize what the acronym would be. And it was already much too late to change it.
“Why yes, we *are* the ladies from P.U.B.E.S!” gushed Avola. “Right, darling?”
I just glowered at her.
Katy looked from one of us to the other, puzzled but disinterested. “Okay,” she said, “I’ll call the park manager, Judy, to show you were the problem is.” She picked up a walkie-talkie and radioed someone.
A few minutes later I could see a Freyan Dickgirl striding purposefully towards the ticket booth. She had the tall, torso sized cockshaft body, heavy bulge of udder-like testicles, long legs, shapely ass, and vagina of the beautiful and much celebrated form. “That’ll be Judy,” said the ticket girl, exiting her booth and walking over to meet the dickgirl. When Katy met Judy, the dickgirl bent over, resting her shaft body on the ground, ass in the air. Katy wrapped her arms around the dickgirl’s shaft body and started tugging on it, grinding her breasts on the huge penis. I was puzzled by the display and glanced at Avola who just shrugged and kept watching. Katy’s ministrations, rather than cause the dickgirl to come, made the body split apart and the torso of a human woman to pop out the bottom of the shaft. The woman, Judy, stood up, stretched her arms and then undid her suspenders and dropped the heavy balls hanging from her waist. She was completely human.
“A costume…” I said.
Avola giggled. “I love this place!”
Judy, now naked, marched the last few steps up to us and shook our hands. She was a wiry but handsome woman with a lean compact body and small breasts. She was a bit red in the face and sweaty from wearing her heavy costume and had odd tanlines: pale, pale torso and face but thoroughly tanned legs, hips, and ass. She scratched at her short, shaved hair, extended her hand and introduced herself. “Thanks for coming on such short notice,” she said.
“Coming on short notice is our specialty,” purred Avola.
I jabbed her with my elbow. “We’re happy to help. Can you tell us about the problem?”
Judy beckoned us to follow her and started to explain. “Well, it’s a real pickle actually. We usually celebrate the solstice by affecting a real transformation, it’s one of the biggest draws to the theme park.”
“I didn’t realize the solstice was a Freyan holiday,” I said, interested.
“It’s not,” Judy replied, “but the kind of tourists who stop here don’t know that.” She smiled plastically, “We are more about a fun experience than… an authentic one.”
I looked around the park, seeing what Judy meant. I was far from an expert on The Realm, but ‘The Freyan Temple’ was a parody of the culture. Everywhere there were fake huts built of cement and fiberglass, some selling kinky tourist tchotchkes, others selling ‘Freyan fertility charms’, and others selling ‘classic Freyan cuisine’ like cum smoothies and breast-woman milkshakes. Small gaggles of cockgirls strutted around, but now that I knew what to look for I could tell they were all women in costumes: the balls hung too solidly, the latex and foam of the shaft bodies pinched and folded, and there, at eye level was a hidden screen to see out of. We walked past a ‘breast-woman corral’, a fenced in patch filled with large round tits, but most of them were clearly inert fiberglass, and the few flexing breasts near the front were clearly filled with performers. A fake Freyan pussygirl waddled along, just two girls providing the legs for a paint-scarred and hideously fake double-sided vagina body made of fiberglass. The sound of them chatting to each other inside the costume echoed as they passed by. It was a pretty pathetic spectacle.
I did manage to spot one real Freyan transformee, an anus-woman. She was leading a stupid looking group of tourists who were gawking at everything and snapping photos. The anus-woman just kept tromping along on her arm-legs, her sphincter pulsing as she kept up a stream of bored sounding exposition. I couldn’t imagine what it must be like working in this farce as an actual Freyan woman. “I’m afraid the Great Temple is closed today… but if you follow me this way I can show you a real live breast-girl being milked.”
Judy smirked. “Breast-women are the easiest to come by since you can sometimes purchase them at farm foreclosure auctions,” she confided to us quietly as she waited a second for the tour group to scuttle past.
“So you were saying about the solstice celebration?” I asked, trying to change the subject.
“Right, right. On the solstice we transform a volunteer. Since this is a big deal for us we do the transformation up at the top of the Great Temple, where everyone can see and where we can charge extra for prime viewing. We use a kind of Freyan transformation apparatus for this, so when it’s not the solstice we keep it stored inside the temple chamber and use it as a prop.” Judy shrugged, “The tourists eat it up.”
“And this device is the source of the problem,” I asked.
Judy nodded, “I think so. One of our ‘temple guards’ stepped in a puddle of something in the temple chamber and now has two stiff, inflexible cocks instead of legs.”
“Demons,” I said, “I’m sorry.”
Judy waved her hands like it wasn’t important. “Yes, well, because of that we’ve had to close the Great Temple, and that’s the main attraction! Now we have unhappy customers who thought they were coming here to see a Freyan temple who are going to leave disappointed.”
“Tragic,” whispered Avola.
“If word gets out we’ll have to close for repairs, or worse, offer a discount!”
“The humanity,” breathed Avola. I elbowed her. “Just show us the problem and we’ll see if we can’t quickly and quietly clean it up.”
“It’s what I’m paying you for, isn’t it?” Judy pointed, “That’s the Great Temple there.”
'The Great Temple' was a terrible name for the structure Judy was pointing at. It was, like everything in the ‘Freyan’ attraction, a sad parody of actual Freyan civilization. The ‘temple’ was a three story, trapezoidal ziggurat assembled from cement cinderblocks. On the top of the structure was a flat terrace and a small square cinderblock pillbox that must be the ‘temple chamber’. A broad stairway made of garden paving stones lead from the base of the structure to the rooftop. It was just as tacky, poorly executed, and inauthentic as the rest of the theme park.
Judy lead us up a wide, paved path toward the base of the ‘Great Temple’. It was lined with propane torches and had stones painted with crude genital symbols along the edge. We walked past a crowd of ‘worshippers’, nude women wearing grass skirts, and a ‘high priestess’, another costumed dickgirl wearing gold cockring bands on her shaft and a headdress held onto the top of her glans with a cockpiercing. The fake dickgirl bent forward and released a shower of white fluid on the other actors with a whoosh of compressed gas. Avola giggled, but I could only grimace at the spectacle.
When we reached the base of the pyramid, Judy was called away for a second by one of the grass skirt wearing ‘worshippers’ to deal with bit of park business. I gave Avola a long look as Judy walked away. “This is offensive.” I said frowning.
“An absolute travesty!” laughed Avola.
“You’re enjoying yourself, aren’t you?”
“Completely! It’s spectacularly tacky!” Avola gestured grandly with her penis trunk, taking in the sorry theme park. “Could it be any more kitschy?”
I had to grant Avola that, The Freyan Temple was a monument to bad taste and if you ignored the rampant cultural insensitivity, was hilariously poorly executed. I shuddered. “These place just bums me out.”
Avola nodded, her smile a little sad. “Yeah, as funny as it is, it’s also… pretty shitty. But you know we need the work…”
I sighed, “Yeah, and it’s probably better that we clean up whatever this is before some dumb tourist gets reduced to a knot of genitals.”
“Are you sure they don’t deserve it?”
Judy walked back to us “Deserve what?”
“To have a fabulous time, of course!” gushed Avola innocently, “Darling.”
“Could you show us the apparatus, please?” I asked.
Judy nodded and led us up the steps of pyramid and we started to climb the ‘Great Temple’. As I looked at the cracked and clearly precast paving stones I couldn’t help but wonder how any thinking person could be taken in by this farce. One stone step was installed upside down and the manufacturer’s brand stamp was clearly visible! In just a couple sweaty minutes we had reached the summit and stood on the paving stone terrace. From the top I had a fantastic view of the rest of the park, the large parking lot, the highway, and a rundown strip mall and scrapyard. Truly a magical, mystical experience. I sighed, I couldn’t wait to leave this miserable place.
Judy called us over to the cinderbox ‘temple chamber’ a small square room on the top of the pyramid. It was dark and shadowy, pierced with beams of light from gaps in the tops of the cinderblock walls. The floor and walls of the space were decorated with crude mosaics made from smashed up dishware in the shapes of cocks and cunts and breasts. In the centre of the room, gleaming in the limited light was the transformation apparatus. Superficially it looked like a chrome throne that someone could sit inside of. It had a wide base with a seat and grooved leg rests for the seated person. Suspended from the base by an articulated mechanism was a tall, vaguely egg shaped pod. It was clear that a volunteer would sit on the base and the pod would descend, sealing the person inside before transforming them. The apparatus was obviously a Freyan Phallification device.
With an eye to any wet spots on the floor and trusting my rubber nurses shoes to offer some protection, I hurried over to the device. Despite my desire to remain unchanged, I had a professional curiosity about the machine. Unlike alchemy, which used relatively crude demon cum as its transformation engine, Freyan technology harnessed the power of raw mana to change supplicants. They produced rigorously controlled, reproducible transformations without the risk pollution or the fickle madness of an avatar. I had always wanted to see a Freyan transformation device in real life, and now I had a chance to inspect one up close!
I put down my toolbox, removed my jacket, rolled up my sleeves, pulled on heavy rubber gloves, and started to examine the machine. I ran my hand along its cool, metallic exterior. I knelt a little and tried to glance at the interior of the pod, to maybe get some insight into its internal workings. It was too dark and an awkward position to see anything. “Judy, this thing isn’t on right? It’s safe, right?”
“What? Oh. Yeah, sure.”
I decided that the best way to inspect the transformation apparatus was to climb inside it. I swung my feet over the base and sat in the seat, legs resting in their groves. I wiggled a bit, it was surprisingly comfortable but chilly through my pants. I swung my body inside the suspended pod and squinted into the gloom, touching the interior of the machine. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting… maybe some runes or circuitry or something. Instead the interior was smooth except for a ring of depressions 2/3 of the way to the apex of the pod. I touched one of these and felt… some sort of emitter, like the fixtures used to spray pressurized steam in less advanced alchemical rigs…
Avola who had been performing a careful circuit of the ‘temple chamber’ while I had been poking around the machine had found, using the mana-sense of her antenna, a small puddle of alchemy on the floor. She knelt careful not to touch any of the fluids and saw that that the dcum solution was leaking out of the transformation apparatus. A peek around to the back of the machine showed an exposed riot of pipes, heating elements, a vaporizer to mix chemicals with pressurized steam, and an alchemical holding tank that was slowly leaking onto the floor….
“Fuck!” Avola and I said simultaneously, “This isn’t a Freyan Machine!”
I started to wiggle frantically, desperate to be out of the unsafe fake Freyan device. I didn’t know if it would safely turn me into a dickgirl like the real device, but I had no interest in finding out. I scrabbled at the inside of the pod and tried to slide out and touched… something. A wire shorted somewhere and my finger was bit by an electric spark. I yelped and the transformation apparatus whined into life. I screamed and the lid mechanism crunched to life, lowered the pod, and trapped me inside the machine. I screamed and pounded on inside of the pod with my arms as transformation device continued to activate, humming as heating elements started to make steam. I kicked my legs futilely and tried to push the lid off of me, but it was locked in its lowered position. I didn’t want to transform! I didn’t want to be an offbrand cockgirl! “Fucking help me!” I screamed.
Avola stepped well clear of the alchemy spill and grabbed onto the lid with her arms and trunk. She tried to pry it open, but despite her considerable strength, found herself unable to make it budge. She slid her hands and cock-trunk across the outside of the machine searching for a lid release lever or emergency shutdown control. Not finding anything she shouted at Judy. “Get over here and help me get her out!”
Judy kicked the ground, “Not my problem…”
“I will sue you and this fucking park into the ground unless you help me right now,” growled Avola.
“Why didn’t you say so!” Judy spat and hurried to the machine to help.
The transformation machine had developed a whistle like a kettle and somewhere a valve banged open. I whimpered and stopped struggling. I wasn’t going to get out of this machine in time, I was trapped and there was nothing I could do to escape. And judging by the rumble of machinery as pressurized steam started to move, it wasn’t likely that Avola and Judy would be able to rescue me. I closed my eyes, tears running down my face and braced myself for the inevitable. The machine started to shudder alarmingly. Maybe being a dickgirl wouldn’t be so bad; they were beautiful in a weird way and certainly seemed very glamorous. Having a huge penis should be erotic, even if it was at the expense of everything else. I could make the best of it. The transformation machine banged alarmingly. That was all assuming the apparatus didn’t turn me into something else, something awful. Or just exploded. The apparatus was vibrating wildly and then with a thunderous, explosive BANG! steam shot into the pod, scalding me! Time had run out!
My skin was burning!
Was this what transformation felt like?
Why did it have to hurt?
And then, after what seemed a lifetime… a thunk and the whoosh of steam. The transformation apparatus had unlocked and was opening. I blinked my sore eyes at the sudden light and looked down at my body. I gasped in relief, I was still myself: my body, bright red from steam burns, white shirt transparent and clinging from moisture, hadn’t transformed. I scrambled out of the machine and winced at the discomfort of my burns. “What? What happened?” I gasped.
Avola pointed behind me.
Judy had transformed instead.
It seemed the leaky alchemy tank had, when the machine pressurized, failed spectacularly. The final bang had been the tank exploding and spraying its contents out of the machine. This meant the machine lost its alchemical payload and sprayed me with ordinary steam. Which is why I had been spared a transformation.
Judy, who had been searching through the wiring and pipes in the back of the machine for a way to free me, was less lucky. When the tank ruptured, she took the full blast of alchemy in the face and promptly transformed.
Judy had stumbled back from the machine cursing, “fuck fuck fuck!” She kept right on cursing as her arms slowly shriveled up and sunk into her shoulders. She kicked the ground and spat, as her torso became rounded and stretched, her breasts sinking into a familiar cylindrical shape. As if to confirm everyone’s suspicion, Judy’s hair began to fall out and her head started to mold itself into the familiar shape of a glans. Judy had become a living version of her costume: her untransformed body from the waist down, a massive cock from the waist up. She was becoming an ersatz Freyan dickgirl…
…or maybe not. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck!” warbled her voice from the dickslit at the top of her body as her glans peeled open in two places revealing her blinking eyes. “Fuck!” again as her pussy sealed over and her labia expanded into testicles, but not the massive ones you’d expect for a cock as big as her torso, just small little droopy human scale balls in a wrinkly little scrotum. Judy sputtered as a slow drool of precum started to dribble from her dickslit/mouth. “Fuck! Fuck!” she sloppily slurred as her legs clenched and then started to shrink, losing their feminine softness and length, growing short and gnarly with muscles. As her legs shrank, her ass contracted and became wasted but muscular. Judy stumbled for a moment and cursed again as her feet grew longer, becoming huge, veiny, bony things that flopped meatily on the floor. All the while the precum kept dribbling from her dickslit. Judy hadn’t become a glamorous Freyan dickgirl, she became a kind of warped little dick-goblin. “Fuck!” squealed Judy.
I couldn’t help myself, I gawked. Judy might have started the day as the manager of the park in a dickgirl costume, but now she was like a living mascot for the theme park: a sad shadow of a true Freyan. I was hugely relieved that hadn’t happened to me, and wasn’t sure whether to cry in relief or laugh at Judy’s predicament. I knew it wasn’t kind or good of me to feel this way, but I found it hard to sympathize with Judy. A part of me couldn’t shake the feeling that Judy had received a kind of karmic, or maybe Freyan, justice.
“What the fuck are you two staring at?” spat Judy through precum. “Get this place cleaned up!” She tottered to the opening of the temple, her feet slapping the ground. “I want this place ready to be reopened by tomorrow!”
And that is how I escaped The Freyan Temple because a fake dickgirl became a real live parody of one.
Words and story by Indigocarmine
Key transformation and Belial setting help by Demon-Man
Additional editorial help by KSG
This one was really great! good work!
I like how you can see the different themes each chapter brings with different morphers, really well done.
The commercialized bastardization is too real. Good job.
I really liked this one a lot. I love that it seems like her luck had finally run out and she was doomed to be transformed.
Part 7: The Device
The seventh time happened when I went to remove a mystery device buried in a town park.
This incident happened after PUBES Inc. had finally become successful. We had become one of the preeminent Dcum and alchemy cleanup companies with a reputation of providing quick, competent, and discrete services at a reasonable price. We were often the first people alchemists called when accidents happened and increasingly the first people anyone called when an unexplained transformation happened in their community. It was keeping us busy and proving to be a fairly lucrative business.
We had also, as Avola suggested, started a side business as alchemical safety consultants. It seemed that the companies that insured alchemists were willing to incentivize better business practices to cut down on claims by angry, transformed victims. As a result, alchemists were in the market for advice from the ladies from PUBES Inc. on how best to reduce accidents. Add in Avola’s inherent ability to detect mana and therefore provide inspection services, and we had a business that model that was also profitable between accidents.
All this meant we could invest in some proper equipment. Gone were the days of renting a van, using hardware store garbage cans, and hoping rubber gloves, gumboots, and a facemask would provide protection. These days we had our own truck, PUBES Inc. proudly emblazoned on the sides and the very state of the art in heavy duty containment canisters and cleanup equipment. We had also invested in state of the art hazmat suits with thick, impermeable rubber body suits, helmets, cowls, and shatterproof plastic facemasks. The suits also, when worn correctly, had an airtight seal and an integrated air supply that meant we would be protected from both splashes and airborne transformative agents. After my near miss in ‘The Freyan Temple’ I decided that an alchemy cleanup crew could never be too cautious.
Our business fortunes also meant we could hire consultants like Vikki Time, who was along for this adventure. Vikki was a mechanical engineer by training and made her living by helping alchemists design and build new devices. This meant Vikki was an expert in all manner of transformative contraptions, and so we frequently paid her to come help us deal with leaky or malfunctioning devices. Vikki always gave us a good rate, claiming that she liked spending the day with us and that it was always fun to see other inventors' work. She also admitted that diagnosing the problems in broken apparatus was extremely helpful to her, since it taught her where things were prone to failure and what to avoid in her own devices. Vikki called it a mutually beneficial business friendship.
For this job we were squatting around a small hole in a small park in the centre of a small town in our hazmat suits. Some workers dug up something metallic while putting in a new drainage line and when one of them accidentally pierced part of the thing with their shovel he was splashed with alchemy. The poor man was now a beautiful woman who had single cylopian eye, nine breasts arranged like a diamond on her long torso, and an octopus’ skirt of tentacles for legs. She seemed happy, but the town’s mayor wanted the device removed and park decontaminated lest there be more accidents. Since we didn’t know what we were dealing with, we called Vikki Time, donned our thickest most protective rubber hazmat suits with the integrated air supply, and set to work with the utmost caution. I’d had too many near accidents to be anything but cautious.
Vikki and I were carefully digging the device out of the ground with a pair of small trowels. As it was likely contaminated, every scoop of dirt was put in watertight containers for safe disposal. It was slow and, with our heavy moon suits, sweaty work. Avola just knelt and watched.
I gave her a look and she waggled her antenna at me. “I’m concentrating on the mana fields,” she said. I just kept staring at her. She waved a hand dismissively at me and snorted, “Please. You know I don’t dig.”
Slowly, slowly, we carefully uncovered the mystery device. While it was still half underground, the visible part was a long metal cylinder with a circumference I could maybe just get my arms around. I couldn’t tell how long the cylinder was, since most of it was buried, but we had uncovered at least four feet of the device. The exposed end of the device had a smooth rounded end and welded to the walls of the main cylinder were a lattice of round metal pods, each about the size of my head. There were dozens of these pods visible, with potentially dozens more still buried. It was one of these pods that the worker had broken open while digging and where the dcum solution had leaked out of. I suspected and Avola’s mana-sense confirmed that the other pods held similarly transformative contents.
“So what do you think?” I asked Vikki.
“Gosh,” she brought a hand up to chew on her nails, her thinking tick, and bounced her glove off the faceplate of her hazmat suit. She grinned sheepishly. “Gosh. Well… these pods here don’t look particularly useful. If you look at the one the worker broke open, there isn’t any internal opening so it’s just a bunch of small, separate metal tanks filled with alchemy.”
“For storage and transport maybe?” I suggested.
“If it is, it’s damn stupid. The bigger a storage tank the more efficient the space, less surface area and more volume.”
“Maybe the little tanks are for all different types of alchemy?” offered Avola.
“Could be,” Vikki nodded, “but you would still expect there to be some sort of opening to charge and empty the contents: a spigot, valve, or heck, even a bung hole. I don’t see anything like that, it’s as if all these storage tanks were never meant to be opened.”
“Why would you make an inefficient storage tank that you’d have to break open?” Avola asked.
“Break open…,” muttered Vikki. “Oh Demons! Fuck! We have to get out of here!”
“What?” I asked. “What is it?”
“It’s a fucking bomb! A big fucking bomb with a transformation payload! Those tanks, they’re like that to spread alchemy in the blast. And shrapnel.” Vikki had climbed to her feet, face sweating in her facemask. “We need to get clear of this, who knows if this thing is still dangerous!”
“But shouldn’t we… try and contain it? Disarm it?”
“Thesca, we are neither equipped nor trained to decommission an explosive device. We need to get the fuck away from this thing and call… the army or someone. Probably evacuate the town.”
Avola was already jogging away, “Guys!? Why aren’t you running!?”
Vikki and I looked at each other stupidly for a moment and then broke into a run after Avola, sprinting clear of the park and down a quiet residential street. We zigged and zagged around buildings, putting several blocks between us and the transformation bomb. Panting heavily, Vikki waved us over to a particularly strong looking stone apartment. “We should be far enough away now,” she gasped, “going to… try and call… the police.” She fumbled with the seals of her hazmat suit, releasing the cowl and pulling the helmet off her head.
“I don’t know that you should be taking that off…” I said.
“Can’t be helped,” she smiled bravely, face red from exertion. ‘Gotta warn the town.” She reached into the neck hole of the hazmat suit and started rooting around in her shirt’s chest pocket for her cellphone. She pulled it out and fumbling with her rubber gloved hands dialed the emergency number, “Hello…”
And that’s when the bomb exploded!
The entire world lurched, and a roar louder than anything thundered through the air. Windows all around us shattered, and despite the distance and layers of buildings between us and the park, we still stumbled as we were buffeted by the shockwave of the device. Debris clattered down around us, dust and a strangely pink cloud of smoke filled the air. My ears were ringing. “Fuck!” exclaimed Vikki, coughing and breathing in the glowing smoke. “Oh,” she said. And then she started to transform.
The first things that happened were that Vikki’s hair started to fall out and her hazmat suit and clothes started to melt and burn off her body as if she were very, very hot. She whimpered a little and then moaned in pleasure as her eyes grew larger on her face, and merged together into a great, central cyclopean eye. Meanwhile her naked feet and toes grew long, and mobile, and then plunged into the ground, rooting Vikki to the spot. She squealed in orgasm, and her arms crept back into her shoulders and her legs merged together into a central stalk, sealing over her vagina. Vikki panted heavily for a moment, until her mouth sealed up as her eyeball grew larger and larger, becoming a huge ocular globe that took up her entire head aside from a pair of small nostrils and her ears, strangely human and still pierced with small stud earings. Her armless torso became much thinner, her hips and shoulders contracting into slight bulges in her otherwise smooth stalk, the cleft of her ass and asshole the only obvious imperfection and opening. Vikki’s eye lidded with obvious pleasure as her small breasts swelled, becoming much larger, then multiplied as she slowly grew fifteen breasts arranged in three rings of five that surrounded her body. She blinked her eye, and it seemed she was done changing.
Vikki Time, alchemical device inventor, was now a limbless stalk creature, rooted to the ground with nothing but a lot of breasts and a huge eyeball.
“Vikki…” I said cautiously.
Vikki’s eye looked at me with shocked panic. She looked down at her changed body, moving her eyestalk head frantically all around to see her entire altered form. Then she looked up, blinking in confusion. Her eye widened in surprise for a moment and then her entire body became suddenly rigid, her eye looking staring blankly at us.
“Vikki?” Avola asked, waving her arm.
The eye continued to stare at us as if we weren’t there, Vikki either gone or unable to answer.
“Fuck…” I said. “What do we do?”
“I guess we have to call for help… see if anyone needs assistance…”
“My phone is in the truck,” I said.
“So is mine,” Avola admitted.
“And the truck is by the park…” I said.
“At ground zero.”
“Then I guess that’s where we are headed.”
Avola stepped closer to Vikki and leaned forward so her face was just in front of her vacant, unblinking eye. “Vikki, darling, if you can hear me, we are going to get help. Get you help.”
“Hang in there,” I added lamely.
And so we set off, two hazmat clad figures walking through a smoky, too still town. As far away as we were, the houses were all intact aside from the broken windows. Here and there we passed other victims of the blast, townsfolk transformed into identical eyestalk creatures to Vikki, and rooted to where they had been standing at the time of the blast. Some of these cyclopean, multibreasted creatures stared blankly unmoving, but here or there we would pass one that was looking around, eye wide with worry and confusion. Avola would approach these eyestalks and tell them we were going for help and that everything would be okay, often earning a dubious nod in return. As we walked we passed more and more eyestalk creatures, rooted to the sidewalk, or through the floor of their cars, or staring out of house windows. It seemed that everyone in the town who had breathed the smoke from the blast had been transformed in the same way.
And then we rounded a corner close to the park and saw the damage caused by the bomb itself. The buildings around the park, upscale houses, trendy offices, and cute shops, had been destroyed by the blast. In their place were smoking shells of broken buildings and heaps of rubble, but fortunately, bizarrely, no bodies. I breathed a sigh in relief. The park itself, now visible, was itself a ruin: trees, gardens, playgrounds, and landscaping had all been obliterated in a flash. But there, instead of a smoking crater at the site of the explosion, was a massive tower of wriggling flesh.
Right where the bomb had been was now what looked like a huge, five story tall tower built of titflesh, great huge breasts stacked in a pile that were studded with smaller tits of all sizes. Instead of nipples, each of these breasts had grown something else. On the very largest breasts, the automobile sized ones that made the foundation and structure of the tower, were long arm-thick tentacles that ended in penis glans instead of teats. On the medium sized breasts, each as large as a person, the nipples had scrunchy vulva and gaping cunts in the centre. The cock tentacles waved around, rooting for these nipple-cunts, and finding one, began to fuck them. The smallest breasts, those that were the size of tits on a woman, had lipples; smiling, chattering, moaning mouths in place to nipples. We approached this towering monstrosity cautiously, wondering what had happened.
As we approached, I couldn’t help gawking at the scale of destruction and transformation that had occurred. Working as an alchemical cleanup specialist I had seen a lot of transformations and heard a lot of stories. I had been told about a girls’ school that had been visited by a demon, and how the entire student body had been remade by its whims. I had heard about a transformation show where, as a finale, the studio audience had been doused with alchemy and merged into the theatre. I myself had witnessed an entire wedding party that been transformed after their wedding cake had been contaminated by an unnoticed dcum spill in an adjacent alchemist shop. This transformation bomb ravaged town, though, was probably the worst I had ever encountered.
“Thesca Piste! Avola Unteer!” A voice from the direction of the tit-creature.
“What?” Avola asked in surprise.
“Thesca! Avola!” one of the lipples of the tit-pile shouted. “Over here! It’s me! Vikki!”
We rushed over to the breast mouth that was calling us. “Vikki?” I asked, “But… how are you here? We left your body back over there…”
The lipples smiled, “I know. That body… my old body, is now just a, let’s call it a terminal. This is the… nucleus.”
“What do you mean?”
“When the blast happened, when I transformed, the entire town did. I breathed in the smoke and became that eye-creature, along with a lot of other people. Those closest to the blast were struck by shrapnel from the bomb. The alchemy closed their wounds, but made them march here, to the blast crater, where they all merged together into… this tower of breasts and genitals. All of us, the eyestalk creatures and this central breast tower, we all grew roots that grew and grew and touched each other creating a kind of network. Thesca, Avola, the entire town is conjoined into a single body with our minds free to travel throughout it.”
“Wild!” said Avola, clearly interested.
The mouth on the tit continued, “This tower here is the nucleus. It’s where the town’s central consciousness is, filled with nearly everyone’s minds. This body has our shared genitals that we can all feel and take turns controlling to bring everyone pleasure. It’s also the one part of the body with mouths that we can use to talk to outsiders.”
“And the other bodies?” I asked, “your body?”
Vikki’s borrowed lips pursed in thought. “You can think of them as terminals or nodes. Bodies we can visit to away from the central nucleus with eyes and noses. They are places where we can see the world or visit other parts of town away from here. They are also… less crowded. Places in the network where we can be alone with our thoughts or have privacy.”
“And everyone in the town is in there?” I asked.
The lipple mouth pursed for a moment. “We think so. Everyone but you two.”
Avola grunted, “I guess these hazmat suits really do work…”
Vikki’s purloined breast lips smiled, “I guess I should have kept my helmet on!”
Avola and I exchanged a guilty look.
Vikki’s lipples blew a raspberry. “Hey! Don’t be like that! It was an accident. I will accept zero survivors guilt from either of you!” The mouth smiled a brave Vikki smile, “And I’m okay. This is… different, but interesting. I’m part of a whole new kind of community surrounded by interesting new people. I think, I think this will be fun,” she smirked, “or at least never lonely.”
“What will you do now?” asked.
“I think I will carry on as before, as much as I can. I still want to keep inventing and helping others to invent. It’ll be more complicated now… I can’t exactly swing a tool.” She laughed. “But I can still think and see and speak. People can still bring me ideas and prototypes and I can look at them and give them advice. And, actually, with all of the craftspeople, artisans, alchemists, and other skilled professionals in here we can probably give collectively great advice.” The lips pursed thoughtfully, “We can share ideas and thoughts really easily in here, almost perfectly. The kinds of collaboration we can do here could be very valuable to a lot of people and fields.” The lipple grinned, “Huh, now I’m really excited about this!”
“I guess we won’t be able to use you as a consultant anymore though,” I said sadly.
“No,” agreed Vikki wistfully, “I suspect my days of working in the field are over…”
Avola cleared her throat, “So what should we do now? About the situation.”
Vikki chewed her lip for a second. “Everyone is okay here, it isn’t an emergency. But. I imagine you should still call the authorities. Let the townsfolk’s family know what happened, start clearing the rubble and rebuilding the town. Find out if there are any other transformation bombs out there.”
Avola and I agreed to go find help, but as we turned to go, the lipples coughed for attention, “Guys, just, promise that you’ll visit.”
We promised, Vikki smiled and then told us it was her turn to control a cock tentacle and the mouth feel silent. Our friend had gone to fuck her new community.
In the days and weeks after the explosion aid was sent to the town and an investigation was launched into what had happened. It became clear that the bomb was leftover from a long past conflict, an unexploded prototype that had failed to detonate when deployed. It had been buried and forgotten after the war was over, lost with so many other unexploded devices and laid dormant for years, a constant unknown threat. It was just our shitty luck that we had disturbed it and that it had chosen that day to explode. The government of the army responsible offered to pay restitution and rebuild the town.
As for the merged townsfolk, they got on surprisingly well. Despite their traumatic transformation, the constant intimacy and empathy of their bodymates helped the town heal surprisingly quickly. ‘The Community’ as they called themselves, were a very resilient bunch. In the early days after the explosion, townsfolk who were away when the transformation happened were reunited with their altered families and friends. Many of these people opted to undergo complimentary transformations, becoming new, customized terminals in the network and rejoining their loved ones and community. Their transformed bodies that could see, talk, and fuck all at once, became much sought after Community resources. The other thing that happened as time went by is that, like Vikki had suggested, The Community became an important intellectual resource. People from all around travelled to the merged being to consult its many minds with all kinds of problems. So, as the town was rebuilt, it became a centre of artisans, tinkerers, and researchers who worked with The Community to build and develop new things. Vikki Time became a Community leader and a key figure in the new town. She was, and is, very satisfied with her life.
And that is how by investing in great safety equipment and keeping my damn helmet on, I escaped the transformation bomb and avoided joining The Community.
Story and words and transformation concept by Indigocarmine
Setting and transformation advice by Demon-Man
Additional editorial help by KSG
And your PoV character has the Devil's own luck. Love this series.
Someone get Thesca to a lottery office
Part 8: The Transformist
The eighth time happened when my business partner decided that I really needed to go on a date.
It all happened one evening when we were reviewing quarterly expense reports in our office. Things were going well for PUBES Inc. and the business had grown, which meant the paperwork and administrative side of the business had grown along with it. Avola and I had started our day with the intention of crunching through the numbers by the afternoon and quitting early as a reward. But like most great plans, it hadn’t survived contact with the enemy. And now here we were, well after quitting time, munching our delivered dinner and sipping beer, among the mountainous carnage of paperwork we still needed to plow through.
“Will this never end?” I whined, “I’m beginning to feel like an airship pirate crew’s whore…”
Avola tittered, “Darling, please. A pirate’s whore gets laid once in a while.”
Avola was leaning back in her chair, feet up on my desk, sipping a beer with one hand and snatching another slice of pizza from the box with her penis trunk. I snorted a laugh and looked at my best friend. The penis-trunked, elephant-cocked, shemale somehow managed to look fresh and relaxed despite our long, obnoxious workday. She popped the pizza in her mouth daintily, careful not to knock any grease into her artfully kinked black hair and mane or onto her cute dress. I scowled at her and tried to ignore how rumpled my untucked shirt looked, how tangled my hair was, and how greasy I felt.
Avola took another swig of beer and examined the three, vividly painted fingernails of her left hand. “Speaking of getting laid,” she said giving me an appraising look, “when was the last time Ms. Thesca Piste has gotten her ham stuffed?”
“Ew,” I groaned. “Do you have to put it like that?”
Avola grinned, “Of course. The point stands though.”
“I will admit,” I said breezily, “that it has been a while since I’ve been intimate with a gentleman caller.” Taking a ladylike sip of my beer to punctuate my point.
“I didn’t realize that ‘whiles’ were now the favoured unit of epochs.” Avola purred.
“Okay, so maybe it’s been more than a while.”
“I know.” Avola smiled a worryingly predatory grin. “Which is why I’ve set you up on a blind date.”
“No…” I whined.
“Yes. You know the alchemist Carl?”
“Ugh. ‘Carl the Canny’? That weaselly little fuckup who has more accidents than anyone? Please tell me you did *not* set me up with him!”
“Of course not. He’s married and his wife’s cock is much too large for you to compete with.”
“Gabriel, one of his lab assistants. Very handsome, young, but not too young for you. Still completely factory issue human, since you like that. Dresses well and looks like he works out. Very symmetrical face. The total boring Thesca Piste package.”
“Is it too late to cancel?” I asked.
“It’s tomorrow dear, and you should really go to this. Your romantic life needs a kick start and you, darling, desperately need to get laid.”
“Oh yeah?” I wheedled, “It’s not as if you have much of a dating life either…”
Avola quirked an eyebrow at me. “What makes you think that?”
I stammered, realizing I was headed for troubled water. “Uh, well, you haven’t had any boyfriends or girlfriends in years…”
Avola frowned at me. “You are making some pretty big assumptions there, darling.” She jabbed me in the shoulder with her penis-trunk. “I keep my personal life private, so you honestly have no idea what my romantic life is like! You’re right that I don’t take longterm heteronormative partners, but that isn’t because I suck at dating. It’s because I *don’t* want a partner. I have a life filled with love and people I care about! I have friends I go out to dinner with, lovers I sleep with, and friends who are also lovers that I’ll go out for dinner with, then sleep with. I get everything I want and then everyone goes home and I have my nice big warm bed and perfect apartment to myself. My romantic life is fulfilling!”
“Sorry,” I said, meaning it.
“I know you didn’t mean anything by it,” sighed Avola, “you just think you know everything like a total butthead sometimes.”
“I know,” I replied contritely.
Avola waved her hands theatrically, “But we aren’t here to discuss my unorthodox and amazing sex life, we are here to talk about how you are a boring workaholic who needs to get some.”
“I’m not a workaholic,” I protested. Avola just gave me a look.
It’s true that I worked a lot. Running PUBES Inc. was more than a fulltime job. Between managing the business, coordinating our three cleanup crews, pitching in for the big jobs, and doing safety inspections and consulting, there was always something to do. Then there was maintaining all of our certifications, getting supplemental training, and keeping up on what was new in environmental technology and alchemy to stay ahead of the game, most of which had to be done on my own time. And a girl had to sleep sometimes. It didn’t leave a lot of time for socializing… My schedule was busy, but it wasn’t crazy… was it?
It’s not like Avola didn’t work a lot. She pitched in on the biggest, hardest cleanup jobs just as long as I did. She also did the lion’s share of the consultation and, with her mana sense, almost all of the safety inspections. She had nearly as full a plate as I did. But… she also made sure she didn’t work for more than 10 hours a day unless she had to, kept weekends sacrosanct unless there was a crisis, and I suspected, didn’t use quite so much of her free time doing homework. Avola had, I realized, developed a functional work/life balance and I hadn’t. Maybe I was a workaholic?
“I *am* a workaholic, aren’t I?”
Avola nodded. “And that’s why I set up this blind date. Which you will be going to for your own good.”
I nodded mutely.
“And if he is a nice boy, I expect you to fuck him right away.”
I gave her a look.
“What? It was worth a try.”
I was sitting across from my date trying to smile encouragingly at him while feeling rather uncomfortable. I was never any good at talking to strangers, especially strangers in supposedly romantic situations. I did all right in a professional context, as I could always lean back on a shared interest or my competence to muddle through. But when I wanted someone to like me I always found myself clumsy and bashful. And it certainly didn’t help that Avola bullied me into wearing the slinky, blue halter dress that she had once forced me to buy. I recrossed my legs in the tight skirt, took a sip of my drink, and tried another encouraging smile. I hope I didn’t look sick.
“So Gabe,” I tried, “I hear you work for an alchemist…”
“Yeah,” he coughed.
Gabe was, to Avola’s credit, a good looking guy. He had warm brown eyes perched around a straight, well-proportioned nose. His cheekbones were high and well defined and his jaw has square and strong and even had a little cleft at its tip. When he smiled, his eyes wrinkled and his cheeks dimpled a little. His haircut was stylishly short, he looked like we worked out, and his button down shirt and dark jeans were sufficiently stylish. As jokingly advertised by Avola, he had symmetrical features in galore.
He was also, it turned out, *very* boring and quite bad at conversations.
“What does an alchemist’s lab assistant do?” I asked.
“Assists, mostly,” he managed.
I resisted the urge to sigh. “And what, pray tell, does that entail?”
“Uh,” he said, brows furrowed. “I guess I do all of the work that doesn’t need the alchemist’s expertise. Like, mixing some of buffers and solutions and reagents that shape the dcum effect. Some of it is pretty time consuming to make, but straight forward if you know what you are doing.” He pursed his lips for a moment. “I trained as a chemist, you know.”
“Uh huh,” I said, taking another sip of my drink.
I took a look around the bar we were meeting in, The Serpent’s Hood. It had a nice long bar tended by a transformed woman with a kind of built-in hood and puffy skirt made of labia and a slick, pink face made of clitflesh. Around this bar was a large common room with booths, high tables, shelves built into pillars filled with chattering patrons, about half of whom were transformed. A team of waitresses slinked through the crowd, most of them pretty young women with normal bodies, but a couple were transformed. One was a woman with her face on her crotch and a pussy slit where her neck should be and another had clits for tits, a huge vaginal gash on her torso, and a long cylindrical caterpillar tail trailing behind her. A stage with mounted brass stripper poles was set up in one corner of the bar. A heavily tattooed transformee with cock dreadlocks, six cock-nippled breasts, and a phallic serpentine tail instead of legs was chatting with the DJ, a tall man with a cock-tongue and a curly afro, which on closer inspection was a massive round scrotum on the back of his head covered in pubes. Avola picked the place and I could see why she liked it.
Avola, who was seated at the bar on a stool, I realized, was actually one of the transformed girls from the alchemy show a few years ago. Avola flirted with the bartender with an easy familiarity, chatted happily with the pair of stool girls, and looked to be having more fun than I was.
“…the thing I love so much about alchemy is how much potential there is. You can make anyone into nearly anything. You could turn someone into your heart’s desire! Make them your deepest fantasy!”
“Mmm,” I said. Gabe was talking now, but I realized I hadn’t really been listening. Most of what I had caught had been dull. It was a bad sign when the venue is more interesting than your date.
Gabe, oblivious to my waning interest just kept droning on, going from mute to self-obsessed orator. “Think about it!” he said intensely, “the chances of meeting someone just right for you is what? Infinitesimal right? They might make you laugh but be bad with money. They could be kind but lack ambition. They might be attractive…”
“But they might be boring.” I said.
“Exactly so!” Gabe said without missing a beat. “Or they could be perfect in every conceivable way, but not… quite what you want sexually. Finding a perfect mate is complicated! Too complicated to leave to chance!”
“I’m finding chance to be a pretty lousy matchmaker right now,” I said, shooting a dirty look towards Avola. She was laughing at some joke the bartender said. Bitch.
“I’m glad you feel that way! It is going to make all of this so much easier…”
“Gabe, sorry to interrupt you, but I’ve got to go to the powder room for a moment.” I smiled, draining my glass of wine. “I’ll be back in a jiffy.”
I marched across the bar, poked Avola in the shoulder, and kept going to the bathroom. Avola got the hint, excused herself and followed me to the bathroom. “Demons,” I said, “you have set me up with the most boring, self-centred man I have ever gone out on a date with!”
“Then you haven’t been on many dates,” mused Avola.
“That is hardly the point!” I spat.
“So it isn’t going well?”
“No. It really isn’t,” I sighed. “I don’t see why you thought he would be a good match for me.”
Avola blushed a little. “Well… this is probably my fault, but I didn’t exactly lay a lot of groundwork here… Carl the Canny may have mentioned that Gabriel had asked if you were single that least time he needed a cleanup. I thought he looked cute and if he was already interested…”
“Avola…” I grumbled.
“What? I thought it couldn’t hurt for you to at least meet the guy.”
“It hurts! It hurts!”
“Fine, I owe you a drink.”
“Two, darling, I will buy you two drinks.”
“Fine. But one of them will be a double. And you also have to help me find a way to gracefully get away from this guy…”
“Just be honest with him.” Avola advised. “Dating is a numbers game, not all of them work out. I’m sure he will understand.”
“Two. Drinks.” I checked my reflection in the mirror and fiddled with my hair. “You better have them ready.”
As much as I preferred to just leave the bar and vanish on Gabe, I wasn’t quite that much of a jerk. I had to face the crushing awkwardness, at least for a few moments more. So, like a condemned woman, I walked back to the table. “Two drinks,” I said to myself, shooting Avola a look at the bar.
Gabe saw me coming and smiled and waved. He was sitting at the table with a fresh pair of drinks: another snooty microbrew for him and a fresh glass of wine. I smiled thinly; at least the bore had the good sense to buy me more booze. I was willing to grant him a point for that at least. I slipped into the chair.
“Hey,” he said, “I got you another special drink.”
“Sure. If you think the house red is special…”
“I do! This one at least!”
“And what makes it special?” I asked, eyebrow quirked.
“Just take a sip.”
“In a minute…” I took a deep breath and sighed it out. “Gabe, buddy, pal, I don’t think this is going to work out. I think you’re a nice guy but I’m not really feeling the chemistry.”
“Oh,” he said with a strange look in his eye. “I thought things were going well.”
“I’m sorry. I’m not really feeling it,” I smiled at him, “You’re a great guy, but I’ll be honest, I’m not in a super datey place right now. I’m kind of here because my friend gave me a push…”
“Maybe you’ll change your mind,” he said in an odd way, glancing at my drink.
“I’m pretty single minded,” I said gently.
“Oh,” he said, “I imagine you could be more single minded.”
What was the supposed to mean? Weirdo. “Well, thanks for the drink. You shouldn’t have.”
I reached for the glass of wine, planning to take a sip. Gabe was staring at me and the glass intently, eyes roving back and forth between the two. He was biting his lip a little and his fingers were clenched. What was wrong with this guy?
“GABRIEL D ICKHOLT!” shrieked an angry voice. Gabe sat bolt upright in his chair, eyes wide. I looked all around to a see a furious woman making right for us.
“Debra!?” Gabe said, blanching. “Honey.”
“Don’t you honey me, you philandering twit!”
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“What’s going on, you hussy,” growled Debra, “is that I’m his wife. This piece of shit is married.”
“I had no idea” I squeaked.
“Debra! Thesca! I can explain!” stammered Gabe.
“Save it! I don’t want to even hear it!”
Debra reached forward, snatched up my glass of wine and flung at Gabe, soaking him in wine and splashing the cute waitress and two young women at the next table over.
All four of them started to moan as their clothes dissolved.
“Oh. Fuck.” Said Debra.
“He spiked my drink…” I choked. “he’s a transformist!”
Gabe moaned in an oddly throaty and feminine way, his voice cracking and becoming a smokey contralto. “Oh my…” he rasped in a bedroom purr. His lower body began to soften, and swell, and feminize, leaving the would-be transformist with wide hips, a luxurious bubble butt, and long, silky gams. He wiggled his newly pneumatic derriere, going up on the tips of his delicate toes and cooing. His penis and balls started to shrivel up, and slowly contracted into his crotch. I was expecting to see his male genitals retract and invert and blossom into a new vagina, but instead Gabe’s feminine crotch became genital-less, just a smooth plane of blemish free skin. Gabe groaned and stumbled forward as his shapely ass began to swell oddly, pushing out behind him. He caught himself on the edge of the table to balance as his large ass growth developed a second pair of legs that slowly grew down to the floor. Gabe settled onto his four cute little womanly feet and his four long, tremendously shapely legs and cooed prettily. Gabe arched his back, and slowly between his front legs and rear legs, he grew a new horizontal torso, a female one covered with eight heavy breasts that hung heavily below his body. He gasped and shrieked in orgasm as his new rear filled out into a huge, round butt and the labia and slit of a massive, fleshy new cunt grew in.
Meanwhile the waitress had also been transforming. She started as a petite, cute brunette with modest curves. She cooed herself, her own voice becoming husky as her changes began. A coo that became in stereo as the moaning waitress grew bulges on the back of her neck and shoulders that extended outward and gradually gained definition, becoming a second neck, head, and face as well as an extra pair of arms that grew from her back and faced backwards. The two heads glanced down in shock as the waitress’ chest bloomed, her breasts becoming bigger and perkier and being joined by a matching extra pair below them. Her back swelled as four identical breasts budded, swelled, and flopped into being. She gasped with two mouths and pawed at her chests with her four arms. She groaned in stereo again as her crotch began to also swell outwards, growing into a huge, round ass, while her original ass grew to match it. Below that her legs changed shape, thickening and changing to look like two inward facing legs melded together. Her knees crunched as her kneecaps dissolved, leaving her with legs that bent either way and her feet became symmetrical with toes pointing in either direction. The waitress mewled from both mouths as she came as her changes completed. Where before there was a cute woman, there was now a doublesided waitress, like two women joined back to back above the waist and two women joined face to face from the hips down.
The two girls who were splashed, also started transforming. When they had been splashed, one of the women, an angular blonde, was leaning close to the other, a curvy dark haired woman, to whisper in her ear. The two became fused together wherever they had been touching and slowly melded into each other. The two, newly conjoined women moaned in sexy, raspy contralto, their voices becoming identical. When the two women finished melting into one body, they shared a single torso with their heads side-by-side on a wide set of shoulders. They had a single pair of arms and on their chest sat five breasts: a row of three small, pointed ones from the angular blondes, and a second row of two larger breasts donated from the darker woman. Below the waist they still had four legs, awkwardly arranged to hold them up. The two women cooed huskily as their hips rotated outward, so that their crotches pointed out to either side of their torso. The legs dropped into a squat, leaving the conjoined women with four radially arranged legs with a central pussy that had clefts that opened on three of her crotches: the front and either side. The rear-facing crotch had the pucker of their anus. The conjoined women yelped and cooed as their back sprouted nipples which then swelled into four truly massive tits, the lower pair resting heavily on their backward facing thighs and the top pair, resting on the lower, riding as high as their shoulder blades. The changes slowed and stopped, leaving the former friends a multibreasted, conjoined pair on four squatting legs. The conjoined women orgasmed, one releasing a husky screech and the other tightly biting her lip and grimacing silently, as a gush of feminine fluid splashed out of them.
“Ooo” Gabe cooed, now a fit man from the waist up, but a curvy, hypersexual humantaur below the waist. He slowly turned in place, showing us his single, rear-mounted cunt. It was swollen, dripping, and reeked of arousal. His shapely ass was blushing bright, bright red. “I think, I think I’m in heat,” he breathed. “I need to be fucked,” he whined in a raspy purr.
“What the fuck?” I asked, still stunned. “You tried to do this to me?”
Gabe shook his red, womanly ass, spreading his scent around. “Yes,” his contralto purr responded, “I wanted to make you my perfect lover…”
“This? This is your perfect lover? A multi-breasted, purring, sex slave in raging animalistic estrus?”
Gabe panting in need, nodded. “I told you,” he gasped throatily, “it was impossible to meet someone who matched my sexual tastes by chance…”
“So you were going to make me into your fantasy against my will?”
“I had hoped,” he whined, “that you would come to like it.”
“But why me?”
“Because I love my wife too much to do this to her.”
“Fucking transformist piece of shit.” Debra barked. “How could you do this?”
“Please!” Gabe squealed. “I need someone to fuck me! I can’t reach my pussy…”
“What the actual fuck!?” Screamed the tattooed serpentine dick woman. “We had a transformitorium installed to avoid shit like this. You are all looking at a lifetime ban, if not a lawsuit from my transformed staff. That is, if I don’t just fucking kill you first.” She glowered menacingly at us, her tail lashing the air, her fists clenched, and her cock dreadlocks writhing.
“He… spiked my drink…” I said meekly. “I didn’t know.”
“Wait? He’s a fucking transformist!? In my bar!? FUCK!”
I nodded, still a little stunned.
“Robin! Call the cops!” Shouted the tattooed serpent woman at the bar. “And you,” she said addressing Gabe the would be transformist, “I’m going to kick the shit out of you until they get here…”
“Can you really kick him without legs?” muttered Debra, sounding like she hoped the serpent-woman could.
“Watch me,” promised the serpent.
“Could you not just fuck me instead?” whined Gabe waving his fragrant pussy and blushing ass at us.
Suffice it to say this experience put me off dating strangers for a while and made me swear off blind dates set up by Avola entirely. Avola did buy me those two drinks and several more as an apology. The double-sided waitress stayed on at the Serpent’s Hood and made better tips, at least double what she had made before. The conjoined women seemed to cope with their transformation fairly well. They became regulars at the Serpent’s Hood where they could often be seen happily flirting with boys or squabbling amongst themselves like an old married, conjoined couple. Gabe the transformist went to prison for his crime. He was sentenced to 12 years in a mens prison where he was very popular with the other inmates because his permanent heat meant he was always, always seeking someone to fuck him. Debra divorced the man and ironically chose to transform herself into a busty, leggy humantaur.
And that’s how I escaped a transformist through the intervention of an angry wife.
Story and words by Indigocarmine
Key transformations were developed with Compound37
Additional editorial help by KSG
I am so curious about how this story will end up closing out. It's a fascinating idea, and the writing of it shows a lot of restraint. In my hands, I am not sure Thesca would remain unchanged this long.
I kind of hope after seeing so many changes in her life she decides to get a change on her own terms. Maybe she doesn't hate transformations as much as she hates unwilling changes more.
I dunno, just a thought.
Part 9: The Cavern
“That was truly an inspirational story,” Avola gushed sarcastically. “I especially loved all the parts of it I already knew about because I was there for them.”
Thesca sighed, “I’m just saying I’ve had a lot of near brushes with disaster.”
The two women were sitting on a stone floor in a mineshaft huddled around an electric torch. They were wearing their yellow, rubber hazmat suits but had taken off their helmets and facemasks and set them down. Their shoulders were touching and Avola had draped her penis-trunk over Thesca’s shoulders, although whether it was to comfort her friend or herself it was impossible to tell.
“Alright, Escapist, how do we get out of this one?”
The two girls from PUBES Inc. had been called to help remediate an old silver mine. Decades ago the place had been a highly productive operation, bringing out tons of the precious metal and creating a small mining boomtown. The miners delved deeper into the natural caves of the hill, finding richer and richer veins… until something happened. Miners started to transform, becoming warped and twisted. The first documented changes were fairly minor: enlarged genitalia or a few small extras or a change in sex as well as a newfound love of angry, rough sex. As time went by though, perhaps as the mine cut deeper, the changes became more extreme with miners coming out reduced to furious, gibbering masses of genitals or not emerging at all. The mine, despite still being rich in silver, was deemed too dangerous and shuttered. The mine closed, the boomtown became a ghost town, and the entire incident was all but forgotten. Now, though, with the price of silver climbing and a new concern owning the land, there was renewed interest in reopening the mine. Thesca Piste and Avola Unteer have been sent to make the mine safe for workers again.
While the two women have employees who do most of the direct decontamination and abatement work, for unusual jobs like this the two principles like to perform an initial inspection. Thesca insists on this because it allows her give a more accurate quote to clients and because it gives her a chance to assess the risks to her staff before she sends them into danger. Avola comes along for the novelty of of seeing something new, like the depths of a retired mine. And so the girls from PUBES Inc. put on their hazmat suits and descended into the old silver mine to do an initial inspection.
An initial inspection that, it turns out, has more or less solved the problem. Using the mana-sense of Avola’s antenna, the two specialists were able to track down the source of the dcum contamination. The women, sensing mana through a crevice, found a small natural cave jutting off one of the mineshafts. At the end of this tunnel was a small cavern covered in ancient cave paintings which contained a kind of living artifact: a disembodied human penis and balls covered in glowing tattoos. This apparently immortal cock was just resting on the floor, periodically erupting in cum that Avola could tell was laden with trace amounts of dcum. Water, dripping from the ceiling, would collect in a depression right in front of the cock, perhaps eroded there by decades of ejaculations, creating a little pool. This little pool would catch the dcum, and when it overfilled, would trickle the contaminated water deeper into the mine through a crack in the wall. This then, was the problem with the silver mine.
This would be a fairly easy problem to fix. Avola suggested they just take a shovel and put the magical cock in a bucket. Thesca agreed that would be a reasonable first step, but that the mine would still be filled with who knows how much contaminated water. After thinking about it a moment, Thesca suggested they could probably give the clients two plans of approach. The quick and expensive approach would be to remove the contamination source, find any pools of contaminated water, and pump it all to the surface in holding tanks. The cheaper approach would be to just remove the cock and leave the mine closed for a few years until the dcum washed away, and then do periodic inspections until everything was safe. Avola thought that sounded about right, but suggested that the pair of them could probably sell the magical cock to an alchemist looking for a safe, dilute source of dcum rather than burying it somewhere new. Thesca agreed it was something to look into.
The two wiggled their way back into the main mine shaft, and decided to head a bit deeper to see if they could find out where the contaminated dcum water was ending up. They picked a downward sloped shaft that seemed to follow the direction of the hidden stream and set out. They walked a few hundred yards and…
The earth rumbled and released a muffled roar as the ground bucked and shook and shaked!
It was an earthquake!
A cracking smashing sound rolled through the air, and the sound of tumbling rocks echoed down the shaft!
The shaking stopped and Thesca and Avola picked themselves off the ground where they had been huddling. They looked at each other silently and made hustled back up the mine tunnel to find that it there had been a cave in. The shaft was completely blocked. They were trapped.
Which is when Thesca noticed the new cracks in the ceiling of the tunnel and trickle of water running down the wall. Thesca scowled at the water thoughtfully. “Avola, is this water contaminated?”
Avola turned and looked at it, swishing her antenna around. “Yeah, it’s definitely radiating dcum energy…”
Thesca sighed, “I was afraid of that. I think we’re in trouble.”
“Because we are trapped down a mineshaft?” Avola asked.
“And because I’m pretty sure we’re about to be washed away in a flood of transformative water. I think above the ceiling of this tunnel is a natural cistern full of the run off from that magic penis thing. If those cracks get any bigger, I suspect it’s all going to come rushing down at once.”
“Maybe the hazmat suits will protect us?”
“I doubt it, the suits were made to protect us from splashes, aerosols, and gasses. I doubt the seals will hold up against the pressure of standing water…”
Avola grimaced, “So much for your humanity and my lovely body…”
“Yep. Although it’s more likely we’ll just drown.”
“That’s a cheerful thought. So what do we do?”
The two women found a smooth section of the floor and sat together. They removed their helmets and began to chat about their options. Maybe they could wait for rescue and hope help arrived before the ceiling flooded the tunnel. Maybe they were wrong about there being a cistern, maybe the trickle would stay a trickle. Or perhaps the women should go deeper into the mine and try to find one of the natural caves, maybe find an alternate exit. Avola started to despair, and Thesca launched into a passionate recounting of her various escapes from transformation. Avola rolled her eyes.
“Alright, Escapist, how do we get out of this one?”
“I don’t know. But I'm sure we'll think of something..."
Aw hell no! You aren't pulling that shiz. I demand an ending damnit!
In all seriousness, I am enjoying it, but please don't let that really be the end....
Great so far!
.... I really hope they escape. First story in a long, long time where I'm rooting for the heroine to get out unchanged.
They made a house in the mine and lived happily ever after. Seriously though, can't wait for the finale!
A character sketch of the ladies from PUBES Inc.: https://www.furaffinity.net/view/22011177/
FYI, Chapter 9 was the end of this iteration of the Escapist. Decided to end it on a cliffhanger.
I want to thank all of my collaborators for their help writing this story. It was really fun.
Hmmmmmm. Not sure how i feel about that, haha. Well done. an excellent tale all around.
Stories this juicy need an even juicier finale - take all the time you need.
I am appreciative of what you have written, and I have very much enjoyed this story…..with that being said…. Come on, man. Dick move. You cannot leave us hanging like this, please tell us you are starting a new series or are going to have a big finale. It won’t take away from what I read, but don’t pull a Sonic Sat AM and end it all this way
Clearly the solution is to bribe him with fan art the way Indigocarmine tempts Madmax.
To be honest, I'm sort of relieved with leaving this here...
It's not optimal, but I have the suspicion a proper ending wouldn't be satisfying to this story. I like the glimmer of hopefulness we've got going right now.
I call this the 'Mass Effect 3 Effect'.
Just to make it clear, I won't be upset no matter what IC does. I very much enjoyed the series and I will be happy with whatever she decides to write next and will be excited to read it. All I wanted to do was give my take on the ending, and I wouldn't be doing anyone any favors if I wasn't honest.
Nevertheless, I look forward to seeing what IC writes next.
Boooh!!! Booohh!!! I want a refund (I changed my mind)!!!
Ending stylistically best part of this story so good job
Generated in 0.015 seconds (68% PHP - 32% DB) with 12 queries