Kotep Strips Down

Some kind of jackal trickster god manages to turn themself into a Gideon-sized stripper. Explicit.

Deep in the temple, in a small sanctuary off of the hypostyle hall, Kotep stood in front of a mirror flanked by flickering braziers. The golden jackal turned to one side, then the other. They hiked up the edge of their dress, exposing a little more hip, then let it drop back down with a sigh.

"This isn't going to work." Not for this trick. The plan was too complicated to get into, but the important part was that Kotep needed to sex things up for it to work. The only problem was: "What the hell are mortals horny for these days?"

One arm folded across their chest and one finger tapping at their chin, Kotep stared at the floor. They contemplated for a good minute or two before they began to get bored and impatient with waiting. It was too hard to put themself in the mindset of some idiot constantly driven around by their procreatory bits. It was much easier to just cast a spell that would take care of it all for them. Riskier, sure, but no one got to be a trickster god by playing it safe.

Kotep raised a hand and the ground began to rumble. Gusts of wind fluttered against their dress and ruffled through their hair like unseen wings. A few green-blue feathers fell to the floor and traced the outline of a circle around their feet. They cocked their hips, planted their hands on their waist, and watched the mirror, waiting for the sign of some change.

It was their breasts first. Of course it was. Ever since the Thirty-First Dynasty it'd been breasts. Swelling outward with their soft weight, they pulled the linen tighter around them. Kotep arched their chest toward the mirror and ran their hands down their dress to smooth it out. Their breasts stretched with a slow, steady motion, like the filling of a balloon. If they rested their hands on either side, they could feel the faint quivering of mass pumping into them—as well as a small jolt from their nipples, from the feeling of linen brushing against tender skin. Kotep yanked their hands away, rolled their eyes, and huffed, "Mortals."

The Party

Five short stories filled with Halloween-y costume transformation. Mature.

The setting sun lit the tops of the trees like Halloween lights against the purple sky. The old house poked its third story up above the leaves, looking down at the town below, where trick-or-treating was in full swing. The weather had relented just in time, making the evening crisp, but not cold. Cars already lined the narrow road leading up from the highway, parked off the shoulder wherever space could be found.

The path to the house was strung with small lanterns, but Mitch lingered by the side of the road, pacing while trying to look like he wasn't pacing. He picked his head up every time he heard another car rolling by, and occasionally reached back to make sure the duct tape holding his tail on wasn't peeling off. His fox costume was a last-minute affair: a headband with red ears, a costume tail taped to the seat of his pants, and a scribble of black marker on top of his nose, with a few whiskers drawn along his cheeks.

When she saw Mitch, Leah called out, "Hey!" Then she remembered her mask and pushed it up on top of her head. "Hey, Mitch!" she called again, jogging up to meet him.

Leah was dressed as a lion, in a costume that could have come from a stage production: a tawny bodysuit, big furry gloves and boots for paws, a fake mane with rounded ears poking from the top, and a rubber mask, which had been painted over to match the rest of the costume. A wire in her tail kept it curled in the air and made it swing behind her when she walked.

Mitch turned and smiled, relieved to see someone he knew. "Oh, hey!" he said, then nudged his glasses up his nose and took a closer look at Leah. "Where'd you get that? It looks good."

"My parents' attic. I had to kinda sneak it out of their house, but it was pretty dusty, so I don't think they're going to miss it for one night," Leah said, turning sideways to show off the tasseled tail.

"By the way, thanks for inviting me," Mitch said. "If you hadn't, I'd probably just wind up sitting in my dorm all night."

The two of them joked about tearing themselves away from video games until Allison arrived, dressed in a tank top in defiance of the fact that it was almost November, and with her arms folded tight against her chest. She looked from Mitch's bargain-bin fox costume to Leah's full, theatrical lion outfit. With a hesitant frown she asked, "Uh, is...everyone going to be dressed up?"

"There's probably going to be some people not in costume," Leah said. She lifted the lion mask from her forehead and offered it to Allie. "But you can borrow this if you want."

"Thanks," Allie breathed. She slipped the mask on over her face, then ruffled her hair to hide the elastic strap and tugged at the eye holes until they lined up with her eyes. The well-rendered snarl and wrinkled snout went a long way toward making up the fact that it was just a mask. "I don't want to look lame if Tory's going to be here," she said, wrapping her arms around herself again. "Now can we go inside?"

"We're still waiting for Erin and Chris. Let's give them another minute or two," Leah said.

It was hard to miss Chris. As he walked up, he announced himself with a dramatic growl of, "Greetings, puny humans!" He was dressed in a long-sleeved shirt patterned with red scales, a pair of tattered pants he'd used to be everything from a pirate to a peasant, red body paint to cover his hands and legs and face, a small rubber dragon's snout on top of his nose, and a stuffed red tail bouncing against the back of his calves.

Erin showed up just after Chris, wearing a jacket and jeans and canvas trainers. The only thing of hers that was even remotely a costume was the shock of red dye she'd put her hair the week before, and she had insisted that was just because she was tired of purple. "I heard you all the way down the road," she told Chris, giving him a mild glare. He didn't take it personally. Mild glaring was Erin's default state.

"You know this is a costume party, right?" Allie asked Erin.

Chris added, "I've got some horns and extra body paint back in my car. You could make a pretty good devil."

Erin rolled her eyes and sighed through her teeth. "Thanks, but I'm fine. I don't want a costume, I'm just here for the party."

And so the five of them filed up along the path toward the house: Leah in most of a lion costume, Chris already in character as a dragon, Allie wearing Leah's lion mask, Erin resolutely refusing to be anything but herself, and Mitch as a makeshift fox, bringing up the rear and gazing up at the old house rising from among the trees. The night was already settling in, rolling up the last rays of sunlight and drawing the sky darker. The warmth of music and voices rose as they crossed the lawn, eager to join...

 

The Party

 

Sacculina

A parasite slowly turns a young man into a woman and drives him to have sex. Explicit, rough language, mild body horror.

The grinding headache was the first symptom. Tom woke up feeling like two wrecking balls were smashing together in his head, and his limbs were so heavy they might as well have been tied down. Last night, there had been the party; the girl with the most amazing smile, who was so warm against him; sneaking off while snickering like drunk idiots; and then a big blank nothing.

Tom swung a hand onto his face and rubbed his cheeks: flushed, hot. He needed to shower. With legs made of lead, he crawled off his bed and forced himself to his feet. Vertigo spun around his head a few times. One hand on the wall to steady himself, blinking, scratching at the crust around his eyes, he pushed himself into the bathroom. The hot water creaked on and began to flood the bathroom with steam, while Tom, with his feet now firmly underneath him, peeled off his shirt and tossed it into the hamper.

The second symptom was the rash. It looked almost like webbing, like the outline of pink veins beneath his skin, tracing upward along his torso, blossoming across his chest, and fading as they stretched along his arms.

For a few moments, Tom's stomach churned, but then that passed and he was left staring down at his own chest with the crawling rash wrapped around it. That didn't look good. He'd have to look it up, WebMD or something. Right now, he felt like he was made of cheap frat beer and dried sweat, and he just wanted to dunk himself in the hot water and wake up his pounding brain.

With the water splashing through his dark hair and pouring down his shoulders and back, Tom felt better. He nudged the water a little hotter, then tipped his head back and let some of it fall into his mouth. He reached for the knob again; a little hotter still. He lowered his head. The water soaked his hair and ran down over his face, dripping from his nose and rolling from his chin to his chest. The knob wouldn't go any further. The air was thick with steam, and nearly as warm and wet as the water itself. Panting, Tom leaned against the shower wall.

Feeling Bonnie

An Irish toon bunny TF, inspired by an old Blackshirtboy sketch. Mature.

Sean had a cup of beer in his hands when he really shouldn't have. The party had occupied all level surfaces in the house, though, and he couldn't just pass it off to someone else, so he was stuck holding it. He was nudging his way through the crowd, trying to find the sink, when he spotted Julie standing in the doorway to the kitchen and talking with one of her friends.

Sean jerked sideways and squeezed out of view, so Julie wouldn't spot him by chance. Obviously he wanted to talk to her, but what could he say? Did he look sweaty? Why was this place so warm all of a sudden? His heart thumped as he looked down into the cup in his hand.

All he needed was to loosen up. It wouldn't take much, and he wouldn't have to lose control. Just enough to get over his own self-consciousness.

By the time he lifted the cup from his lips, it was empty. Sean gulped, then began to forge a path out to the porch, where he could get some air.

The cool night breeze sent a shiver down his back, but it was worth the relief. He leaned against the railing, taking slow breaths and patting his cheeks with the back of his hands. Definitely warm. He tried to think about how to introduce himself to Julie. Hey, are you in Chem 22? Or would 'hi' be better? Maybe that sounded too enthusiastic. What about 'yo'? He probably wasn't cool enough to pull that off, though...

Sean swiped a hand through his hair, then paused and held a handful of it in front of his eyes. His normal rusty-orange locks looked redder and more vibrant. He let out a small sigh and threw his empty cup into a nearby garbage bag. At least it wasn't much. In the dim light, it was hard to even notice.

Little sparks of energy ran up and down his body: traveling through his legs, along his back, and out to the tips of his fingertips, then turning around and coursing right back down. He gripped the railing, rose onto the balls of his feet, and stretched his back until he felt a few joints pop. He was just anxious, that was all. Perfectly normal, especially with Julie here. He'd have to talk to her soon.

Free Beach Vacation!

A certain someone gets sent to the Vacation Zone and gets turned into an otter bimbo along the way. Mature.

It was spam—it had ended up in his inbox, but it was obviously spam. In colorful bold letters it said, 'Congratulations, you have won a free Beach Vacation! Redemption begins in...' with a timer next to it, ticking down from ten. Curious, he waited for it to count down to zero. Nothing happened, it just stopped. He wasn't sure what he'd expected, a gif of confetti to pop up?

With a click, he sent the spam email to the trash, then turned and pried himself up from his chair. He rubbed his hand along his face. It felt like he'd been sitting in front of his computer all morning. A quick brush of his tongue wet his dry, tender lips...and then they bulged outward.

His lips pressed against either side of his tongue. It felt as if a sudden rush of fluid had been pumped straight to his mouth, swirling out and filling up the available space, leaving his lips taut and nicely plump. He sucked a gasp through his light pout and clapped his hands over his mouth. The urge to fiddle with them was too strong though; they were just so strange that he couldn't resist prodding at them, tugging them, squeezing them gently between his thumb and forefinger to feel their firmness.

In the middle of squeezing them, they swelled out again. With his fingers on his lips, he could feel the pressure welling up from inside, pushing outward against his fingertips, then firming up like a plush pillow. Gingerly, he felt at the edges of his lips. They were large, not unreasonable, but certainly a bit surprising to find on a guy like him.

Lips

A quick story about lip transformation. As in, getting turned into a giant pair of lips. Sorry about that! Explicit.

It's just a tube of lipstick: deep red, almost purple, with a satin glow and a glossy shine. You don't remember buying it, and you probably would—the tube is flashy and golden. Maybe one of your friends left it there, and in any case, what could the harm be? It's just a tube of lipstick.

You lean toward the mirror and roll it across your lips, starting in the middle of your upper lip and moving in a smooth motion all around and back to where you started. You press your lips together, give them a light pop, and then grab a tissue to tidy up the edges. Wait a second. Were you going out? Do you even wear lipstick? You know you wouldn't just put on some lipstick you found in your bathroom. There must have been some reason, even if you can't remember right now.

At least it makes your lips look great. The warm sheen catches your eye and draws you in toward the center of your lips. You pout them, mime a kiss into the mirror. You're looking right at them when they begin to swell.