All Chained Up

A quick sketch of a post-apocalyptic doberman transformation. Explicit.

When I wake up, my hand goes straight for my knife, which isn't there. I roll around until I can get my knees beneath me, then stand up nice and slow. There's a heavy weight around my neck, and the clank of a chain as I move. I grab at my neck—there I find the collar, and the thick chain hanging down from it.

The sun's as bright as it always is, but if I squint, I can start to make out where I am. Outside of some raider encampment, it looks like. I wince and cradle my head as last night barrels right into my skull, right up until I see a pipe swinging for my head.

Could be worse, I guess. I could be inside the camp.

I follow the chain back to its end, where it's been wrapped tight around some bent, rusted rebar sticking out of a concrete block. I don't like this. It doesn't make sense, chaining a girl up outside the camp and just leaving her there. I try all the things you'd expect to get free, but the collar's been welded shut and no amount of scrabbling at the chain will get it off the rebar.

Winter Weather

A quick sketch of a fluffy arctic fox transformation.

The snow whirled down outside so thick it looked like static, a haze that swallowed up anything more than about twenty feet from Kate's hotel balcony. Kate glared out the window as she stripped out of her skiing gear piece by piece, slapping her gloves on the counter and kicking her boots over by the kitchenette.

"Closed due to snow? You're a ski slope," she grumbled to herself, giving her left boot another kick, then zipping open her coat and tossing it over the edge of the couch. With her scarf and snow pants pulled off and tossed aside, she was down to just regular pants, wool socks, and her shirt and sweater.

With a sigh, she heaved herself back onto the bed, and lay there for about ten seconds, staring out the window, until she hauled herself back up again and over to the thermostat. It was too hot in her room, too. Seventy-six? In the middle of weather? That seemed ridiculous. She squashed the rubber triangle with her thumb, ticking it down to seventy before flopping back onto the bed.

Since she had her knees over the edge and her feet hanging down, she didn't see what was going on. Her toes wriggled in her wool socks, her ankles bent and then stretched, and then with a soft poof of fluff, the socks vanished, and in their place were a pair of thick white-furred paws, dangling just above the floor.

Sanctuary

A quick sketch of a deer-taur transformation folktale.

Men tell many tales of the Lady of the Wood, of her cruelty and caprice. They say that any son of man who enters into her Greenwood must either be fool, or desperate.

Desperate indeed I was on that night. The king's hounds were upon my trail, and his men so close behind I could hear their hue and cry. I had little choice but to enter the wood, or face the sword. I hoped, perhaps, that the men would turn their horses back at the edge of the kingdom, that they might be more superstitious than I, but still I could hear them. They were more distant, slowed by the branches and bramble that pricked my cheeks and tore at my legs, but still they pursued me.

I fled deeper into the forest, under roots taller than a man, over streams that wound silver in the moonlight. My breath was ragged, my face stained with blood and sweat. Still I ran, until from the woods around me, I heard a voice speak, "Halt."

The word chilled the blood in my veins, but I could not have moved even if I had wished. Where I stood, roots rose from the ground and twined about my feet, such that my legs were held fast, like a striding statue.

Good Girls Get Milked

A quick escapist VR cowification sketch. Mature.

It's one of those days that stretched on way longer than it should have, from rushing out in the early morning to driving back under an unpleasantly gray sky, bundled up in a coat I'm sick of wearing, after staying late for a job I'm sick of having. By the time I finally get home, it's dark. I manage to get off my shoes and coat and stick some frozen chicken in the oven, but after that, I'm spent.

Still in my shirt and slacks, I slump down onto the futon and just sort of hang there and stare at the ceiling. I stare over at my TV. I stare down at my VR set. It's been a week or two since I've used it—just too busy. But I need it, even if I feel like I'm not too far from passing out.  The metal contacts in the strap settle against my neck as I slip the goggles on. I lay down, and flip the switch.

There's a half-second of nothing, then the sensory drivers click on, and suddenly I'm standing. Then, chunk by chunk, the grass loads in under my feet, and the sky rolls blue and bright above me, and a light wind brushes over my shoulders, carrying the scent of hay and warm dust.

I take a breath, then exhale so deeply I feel like I'm deflating. I flop down onto the ground. It's soft underneath me, and the blades of grass are cool and slick under my fingers. As I sit up, I realize I didn't even get my socks off. I bend down, tug them off by the toes, and pitch them over toward the nearby tree.

Bull and Cow

A couple do a whole toon TF schtick, except their toonselves are the opposite gender. Wild! Explicit.

Anna had a few moments while she pulled her shirt over her head to say, "There's something you should—," but that was as far as she got. Taylor kissed her again, then she wrapped her arms around his bare back and pulled him down onto the bed with her.

Their third date was going well.

They were both still in their socks, fumbling one-handed with their respective jeans, eager and anxious and a little shivery. Taylor rolled onto his side while Anna lifted her ass off the sheets and started kicking off her pants.

Cocking her head toward Taylor, Anna said, "I should tell you before we—mmh." Before she could finish, their lips met again. Anna leaned against Taylor, her hand resting on the middle of his chest, feeling the heat of his body and his quick pulse. With her eyes closed, it was as if there was nothing but the presence of his body, pressed against hers, firm and nervous with energy.

Then she fell on her back again, with Taylor's hands sinking into the bed on either side of her shoulders and his thighs straddling her. Her feet shuffled against the sheets. One of her socks was still on. Taylor lifted his head and gave her a sheepish grin. "Sorry. Just excited," he said.

While the two of them held back for a moment, their bodies weren't interested in waiting. His hips pressed against hers, grinding his boxers against her panties.

With one hand splayed against the bed and her chest heaving lightly, Anna panted, "Same." After a few moments, she had enough breath to add, "Just wanted to tell you, I'm...part cow."

Taylor laughed and leaned back, putting more weight on his knees. "Like a toon?" he asked.

"Yeah. My grandpa was a bull. Is—" She swallowed and arched her hips. "Is that all right?"

Birthday Blow-Up

Starring Blackshirtboy! A quick birthday story about becoming a real big cat. Explicit.

Happy birthday! Sorry I couldn't be there to blow up your balloons. Hope this makes up for it!

'This?' Was there supposed to be something with the card? I flip it over, check the back, pick up the envelope, peek inside. Nothing. Weird.

That's when I hear the hissing sound. It's in the back of my ears, like the sound of running pipes or a faucet left on. It's the sort of sound you never think much about until it happens when it's not supposed to. It's not coming from the kitchen or from the bathroom. It sounds more like—

I glance down. Just past the collar of my tee shirt, my chest is swelling outward. Each side is barely enough to fill a palm right now, but they're growing so quickly I can actually watch my skin expand.

Oh god damn it. I was going to go out for dinner soon!

Take a deep breath. This is fine, I'm under control. Yeah, I'm growing, but it's slow, just a gradual swell pushing against my shirt. Maybe a little tender, but that's the worst of it. I lift a hand to my chest. I prod at the edge of the swollen mounds; they give way beneath my fingers, as if they're filling up with air. Maybe I can just squeeze them back in, problem solved.

I clap my left hand flat against my chest. The pbbt sound against my ribs makes me flinch. So does the sudden shift of volume. On the left, my hand squeezes my chest flat, but the right side bulges outward in an instant, stretching twice as far as before, letting out a squeaky whine. I gasp. My hand jerks away. Without the pressure keeping it flat, the left side of my chest surges forward, until it's also twice as full and round as it was before.