In Character

A late Halloween story: Morgan pieces together a last-minute costume and really gets into the role. Mature.

It was one in the afternoon on Halloween. Costumes were splayed on the ground, hanging off the hooks, and half-stuffed back into their bags. Morgan wasn't the only person in the store, but the clutter and high shelves left him feeling alone as he searched for a suitable costume. Maybe he shouldn't have waited until the last minute, but he hadn't known that Faye was going to be at the costume party.

All of the good costumes were gone by now. What were left were the things no one wanted to end up in-character as. A cheap gorilla suit listed to one side on its hanger; he'd have a hard time flirting as a literal ape. An angel costume with halo was slowly shedding its foil stars onto the floor; good if he wanted to be a total goody two-shoes. If he was going to be stuck in-character for the night, he wasn't going to settle for a gorilla or an angel or a cop.

Morgan rounded the corner of the aisle and stopped in front of a tall barrel, big enough that he could have sat inside it. A hand-written posterboard sign was taped up behind it. 'Grab Bin!!' it exclaimed, 'Build a unique look from these assorted accessories. Pick out three for $10!'

Maybe he could piece together something Faye would like. Morgan leaned forward over the thick rim and tried to peer into the barrel. He stuck his hand in, grabbed the first thing he felt, and lifted out a pair of shiny black pumps. The shoes had slim heels and chunky soles and a cheap, plasticky-gloss surface. He was not getting stuck in-character as a girl for the night. He tossed the shoes off to the side and bent over to keep searching through the assortment..

Up on his tiptoes with his head in the barrel, Morgan couldn't see the black heels moving.  They quivered, then inched across the floor. Once they were close enough, the black shoes reared back onto their heels, lifting their toes into the air right behind Morgan's feet. In unison, they stomped down on the back of his sneakers. His shoes popped right off his feet and the black plastic heels wriggled their straps up around his black socks.

The sudden push tipped Morgan off balance. His feet kicked up into the air, tracing wide arcs with their stiletto heels, and then he flumped down into the pile of costumery, splayed out, legs spread, and heels fastened snugly against his feet

Morgan pushed against fabric and plastic and straw hair to sit up and look down at the shoes. "What the hell?" he grumbled, turning his feet from side to side. The pumps glistened, already looking less cheap and more sturdy the longer he wore them. "I didn't want to wear you guys."

He gripped the narrow heels and pulled. He'd meant to pull the shoes off, but as he tugged, instead the heels grew longer in his hands. The pumps curled underneath his feet, twisting his toes to squeeze his feet into higher arches. The tendons in his toes throbbed, protesting against being forced into six-inch heels.

Morgan tried a different tactic: he shoved his thumbs into his socks, trying to use them to force his shoes off. He pulled and stretched until the socks snapped back against his legs, slimmer and clinging to his skin snugly. The athletic socks thinned their weave and crept up over his ankles, slowly engulfing his calves. The creeping nylon flattened out his leg hair and made the air feel cool and sharp against them. Sheer stockings ran all the way up to his knees as he kicked against the side of the barrel, trying to make noise.

"Hey! Someone get me out of here," Morgan said. He fought against the pile of costume bits to try to haul himself out of the barrel. His heels slipped against the wigs and plush tails, refusing to give him any purchase.  He couldn't push himself up high enough to reach the rim of the barrel.

The sleek stockings gripped his growing legs. Thickening calves and thighs squeezed tight against the denim of his pants. His widening hips put pressure on the stitching, until his jeans were practically skin-tight.  Every wiggle and squirm of his lower body came with extra motion. Each kick sent a jiggle rippling up to his plump, rounded ass..

Down near his ankle, the outer left side of his pant leg split open without a sound. The stitches vanished all the way up to his waist, freeing his hips and thighs from their tight fate. From his crotch down, the legs of his jeans merged together like a zipper being pulled, until what hung from his waist was not jeans but an ankle-length blue split skirt.

Morgan had to get out and get these shoes off before he was stuck wearing them for Halloween. He shook off what costume bits clung to his arms and reared his shoulder back. He slammed all his weight into the barrel's wall. It tipped, rocked, and tossed masks and gloves all around him. He pulled back again, slammed the wall again. The barrel teetered forward onto its side, then spilled its contents onto the floor in a flood of costume bits and bobs with Morgan in the midst of it all..

Morgan looked up at the fluorescent lights and exhaled. His breath was hot against his face. He reached up and grabbed at the cheap plastic mask on his face. It wouldn't  let go of his skin. A sudden panic struck him and he flung both hands to either side of the mask.  His fingernails dug in, but couldn't pry open the edge. Breathing heavily through the mouth hole, he gingerly patted the front of the mask. It was round, and the eyeholes were small, and he could make out the contours of fur and a broad nose. The tag batted against his cheek as he squirmed around. He ripped it off and held it in front of him to read: 'Children's Tiger Mask'.

Every second, the mask was becoming a tighter and tighter fit. His face pressed forward, filling out the empty form of the mask like a mold. His cheeks swelled and his nose stretched until they fit the broad feline shape waiting for them. A twitch ran across the mask's snout. He could only make strained grunts as his lips peeled back, mimicking the snarl on the mask's face.

If Morgan could just get help, maybe he could get out of these stupid heels and dumb cartoon mask before he ended up in-character.  Just as he was getting up, a sudden thump struck him right between the legs.  He grunted and dropped back onto the pile of costume accessories, doubled over while his crotch throbbed insistently.

His underwear tightened around his thick hips, cupping his crotch more snugly, squeezing his package back against his body. The tiger-face of the mask squinted an eye and wrinkled its nose. Two forces pushed against his body at once. One squeezed his waist inward, drawing the laces of an invisible corset tight, while the other tugged at his balls and drew them up into his groin, leaving him gasping for air. Like an invisible hand molding him, his cock squeezed and shrunk and nestled down into its new, more delicate home. Though he couldn't see them, he could feel the garter belt wrapping around his slimmer waist, and the straps holding up his stockings, and the new lace panties cupping his smooth mound.

The heels wrapped around his feet were velvet. The skirt draped cheekily against his calves was fine, black, and glittering. His shirt wrinkled and rippled around his waist, as the satin skirt began to gobble up its stitches. Glittering black fabric crept up across his stomach while he sat, legs still spread, hands still grasping at his face.

Tracks of fur sprouted along his forearms. They grew in white at first, but quickly darkened to orange. His nails curled, then popped back, retracting into his growing, padded fingers. With one hand, he grasped at his lower jaw and pulled his mouth open. With his other, he squeezed his soft, furred cheek. His rough tongue flicked against his large fangs, trying to get some sense of the shape of his new, growing snout.  It was big and bulky and broad and just took up so much space.

Morgan curled his spine and pushed his shoulders back. Prickling fur squeezed from his hair follicles, fluffing up across his shoulders and down his chest. His toes clenched as pawpads developed on the undersides of his feet. The straps of his heels squeezed tighter as his feet grew, toes hanging over the edge, struggling to keep from bursting right through the velvet pumps. Finally the shoes themselves shimmered and shifted to make room for bigger, puffier, plusher paws. The shoes grew taller and chunkier and more sharply arched, lifting their soles up into short platforms.

The new shape and size of his tiger-face made every expression thick and powerful. His stripes knotted in concern as he brought his hand to his chest and tried to keep his breathing steady. The shimmering black dress reached up to his ribs now, wrapped around his elegantly thin waist. He could already feel the something brewing inside of his chest. He knew exactly what was coming.

A gasp hit his lips. His sharp green eyes widened. Beneath his pillowy paws, twin swells of mass pushed up, warm and tender, stretching his skin and already itching with fast-growing fur. His shapely hips squirmed against the pile of costume accessories while his hands massaged his small breasts.

The fabric changed underneath his pawpads. As his shirt turned to satin, the mounds of his breasts swelled forward, surging out to fill the space the dress afforded. With each bulge of his bosom, his panting and grunting grew softer, sweeter, and throatier. Soft white fur covered his throat while silky black stripes cut across the orange along his arms. Down his legs, the stripes were visible through his leggings, curling across his curves, all the way down to his paws.

Morgan's eyes fluttered. His black lace panties squeezing his swollen mound with every involuntary jerk of his hips. His pawpads began to knead at his breasts, as if trying to coax them larger. The collar of his shirt drooped down into a V-shape, showing off the soft fur of his cleavage. His sleeves shrunk into slim shoulder straps. His breasts were heavy, rounded handfuls—and with paws like his, a handful was quite big.  They were so warm and soft and tender to the touch of his pawpads that he could hardly drag his hands away.  With a great effort and a lingering purr, he managed to drop his hands, smooth out his dress, and start pushing himself up.

Panting softly, Morgan wobbled his way up onto his feet. He balanced precariously on his heels and tried to find a new center of gravity between his shapely legs and enhanced chest.

"Hey!" he cried out. His voice sounded alien to him even inside his own head: feminine and sultry. "Hey, someone help me out of this stupid costume!" He kicked at a white wig-plus-witch-hat clinging to one of his shoes. Carefully, he clacked forward on his heels, trying to weave his way back to the checkout lane. He wasn't in-character yet; he still had a chance to get this off of him before he was stuck for the night.

Each step made his hips sway and his dress sparkle, highlighting his finely squeezed hourglass shape. He had to swing his arms to keep balance, his paws daintily balled into fists. His striped tail lashed behind him with each step, while a concerned pout sat on his lips.

Something clung to his leg. Morgan twisted around to see the wig he'd tried to kick off climbing up his thighs. With a yelp, he reached down to shove it off, but with long tentacles of hair, it grabbed his arms and heaved itself up toward his head. He thrashed, stumbling around, and it thrashed, grasping at his scalp until it was able to get a grip and force itself down onto his head.

Morgan's jaw fell slack and his eyes swam. He had to grab hold of an empty rack to keep himself from stumbling over. His pounding heart slowed and his worries fizzled away. This was a lovely costume, the wig told him. His eyes batted a few times and he tried to thick clearly. The hair falling around his shoulders lost the cheap strawlike texture, more fine and silky with each passing moment.

He didn't want to be stuck in-character as a girl for Halloween.  He pretty like this, it was hard resist the urge for more.  The tension across his shoulders came unwound and he let out a sigh of relief.  Morgan began to purr. One of his paws roamed over his torso, smoothing out his dress, while the other paw slipped through his white hair and combed his claws through the curling locks.  

Morgan's posture shifted; his new flexibility let him arch his chest forward. The orange fur, bright against his stripes, grew paler. The color leached out of each follicle in turn, washing a white wave of fur down his arms and legs. Vibrant orange traded in for rare, shimmering platinum. Soon, his silvery, striped pelt matched his long, flowing hair.

Settling into character was like sliding on a brand-new glove and finding that it fit perfectly. Morgan was still there, still in control, but filtered through the personality of this elegant tiger witch she'd become. There was a rollercoaster thrill in the new impulses and emotions that ran through her. She wanted to see herself. With a confident strut and a roll in her hips, she walked up to the nearby full-length mirror and flicked a few curly locks over her shoulder.

A gorgeous tigress in a tight dress and high heels gazed back at her from behind her thick, silvery mane. Morgan loved what she saw. Did that mean she was narcissistic, or was she just appreciating her own beauty? She posed for herself, turning her chin from side to side, smoothing out her cheek fur, straightening the pointed witch's hat perched atop her head. Her sparkling dress cupped her slinking figure at every angle and her face sat in a modelesque pout. Her paws brushed the sides of her breasts, squeezing them together gently.

This costume was fantastic. But what if she could have just a little bit more? A little more glamour, a little more to make her look pop.  Morgan gave her heels a light stomp and eyed her reflection firmly. "Come on, girls. I know you've got more in you," she said, speaking to her costume directly.

It started again with the heels. An effervescent tingling against the pads of her feet, as both platform and heel inched up taller. A puff of fur fluffed up her paws, squeezing them tight against the straps of her shoes. More of her hips peeked out through the slit in her dress, exposing enough bare fur to show the top of her stocking and one of the straps that clipped it to her garter.

A purring groan left Morgan's lips. Her hips swayed and one of her paws slid down to press against her crotch, fingers splayed. Her tail beat the air eagerly while she licked her lips, a foggy look in her eyes. A seductive tigress needed a powerful sex drive.

The bubbling, energetic feeling crept up to Morgan's chest, where it lingered. Morgan felt the pause like a beat of anticipation. And then her breasts began to swell again. Her skin ached; taut, pulled into snug, rounded orbs; but still her chest grew. Without having to squeeze them together, her breasts met in the middle. Their weight kept them pressed against one another. The neckline and back of her dress both dropped deeper, showing off more smooth fur and more carefully curled stripes. Morgan thrust her enhanced rack forward. Her thick pawpads kneaded the heavy mounds, put pressure against her stiff nipples, and struggled to grasp her chest-dominating bosom. They were wider across than her chest was, eye-catching and visible from every angle.

Inches added onto Morgan's spine and legs and arms, pushing her up past six feet, until she was tall enough to suit her one-third tiger nature. Subtly thicker muscle tone rippled beneath her stripes, adding a bit of bulk to balance her height.

Morgan struggled to keep focus as the tingling change reached her head and arms. Her lower lip plumpened out; her curls grew thicker and more lustrous. Eyeliner carefully sculpted itself around her stripes, and mascara drew out the thickness of her lashes. A tickle curled in her throat as her voice grew thick and syrupy.

Around her throat, a diamond choker appeared. Around her elbow, a small black purse. From her biceps down to her fingertips, smooth black velvet gloves wrapped snugly around every inch of her arms and thick paws.

"Look at you, darling," Morgan said.  She turned toward the mirror again, hands on her hips, tail in a sultry swish behind her. "You look ready to work some magic." She winked at her own reflection, and then chuckled and bit her lip and blushed beneath her fur. The tiger-witch she was in-character as definitely had a dramatic flair. At least no one had heard her talking to herself.

With the click of her heels setting the beat for her swaying hips, Morgan made her way up to the cashier. He barely batted an eye at Morgan's costume, though his eyes lingered on her chest as he tallied her up.

"So, costume party?" he asked.

The tigress smiled and nodded.  "I'm going as a classy witch." She paused and heaved her paws up under her breasts, lifting up the heavy mounds and pushing them toward him. "If you don't mind me asking, dear, do you think these are large enough?"

Her gloved fingers squeezed against her soft tits. They threatened to spill straight out of her dress. She curled her back toward the cashier, a look of thoughtful concern on her face.

"Well..." the cashier said, his gaze traveling down into her soft, white cleavage, "We do have gel inserts for ten dollars each, if you're looking for that fake look. Otherwise, I think you're good."

Morgan swished the thought around, then shook her head. "No thanks, I'll just stick with these," she said. "But thank you, darling." Cocking one foot into the air, she leaned over the counter, wrapped a gloved paw around his head, and planted a kiss on his lips.

The cashier's hair was ruffled and a bit of black lipstick lingered on his chin after she pulled back. "Three grab bin costume pieces—that'll be ten dollars, ma'am," he told her.


Morgan squeezed away from the crowd of the party, slipping into the kitchen to pour some fresh wine into her glass. She'd never been a big drinker before, but she'd also never flirted with men before, and it was such a thrill to let the character drive what she was doing that she didn't even try to fight it. She sipped her wine and took a deep breath, one which made the fabric of her dress groan.

Into the kitchen stepped a young woman, dark-haired, with a pair of black cat ears rising from her head and a black tail batting back and forth behind her. Her triangular nose stuck out in a short, subtle snout, while a few whiskers poked from her cheeks. Fur coated her hands like gloves, with small, pink pawpads dotting her fingers and palms.

"Hey, Morgan," Faye said, her slit eyes glinting at Morgan. "Just wanted to say, great costume."

Morgan purred and tossed her hair. Her curls poured down her shoulders. "Thank you, dear. Yours too, quite classic," she said, setting down her glass and reaching out to rub Faye behind the ear. Faye's head bent forward and she started to purr involuntarily.

"I, um, mmm...didn't think you'd dress up as a girl. Mmmh..." Faye said, in between throaty rumbles.

"I make such a fine witch, how could I not?" Morgan said. Her hand moved from Faye's ears to her chin, scratching her like she was a docile housecat. "And you'll make a wonderful familiar."

"Mmnn?" Faye mumbled. Her eyes blinked heavily; her head was slouched forward into Morgan's paw. "I'm not..."

Morgan made a soft tsk. "You're dressed up like a black cat. I'm dressed up like a witch. It's a sign, don't you think?"

Faye pouted her lips and squinted as she looked up at Morgan.  The way she squirmed, she was fighting the urge to to rub against the paw that was petting her.  "You're costume's...really nice, but..."

"Shh," Morgan said, putting a finger to Faye's lips.  "I know you want it.  It's an instinct.  You want to be my servant."

Faye's eyes drifted closed and she just purred, her head heavy against Morgan's paw. Morgan was giddy. She hadn't expected any of this out of her character, but she wasn't going to fight it. Watching Faye fold under her sent a shiver down her tail and made her want more.

"Down on your knees, darling. We need to make some adjustments," she told Faye.

Faye sunk down onto her knees, a hazy look in her eyes, like she was trying to focus but unable to find something to fixate on. Her mouth opened and closed, mouthing things she didn't have the will to actually say.

Morgan worked her pawpads around the back of Faye's ears, rubbing slowly. Her skin grew warm beneath Morgan's fingers, followed by a flush of fur that crept down her forehead and along her neck. Faye's hands clenched, curling her small claws, kneading reflexively. Black fur climbed up along her arms.

"We can't have the witch being more cat than her familiar, can we?" Morgan said.

"Nnno," Faye mumbled, though it was hard to tell whether she was agreeing or protesting.

With gentle rubbing, Morgan coaxed Faye's costume to grow. The black shirt and skirt that Faye wore clung tighter and tighter to her body, until with a puff of fur, they became part of the sleek black pelt that enveloped her. The line of fur running down the bridge of her nose drew her face forward. More whiskers prickled out from her cheeks. Now sporting a short, domestic muzzle, she licked at her strange new lips and let out a soft mrowl.

"That's more like it. Although...I could always shape you a little more. You'd like that, wouldn't you, dear?" Morgan asked. Her cool exterior didn't show it, but her heart was pounding away in her chest. She'd never expected to find herself so much in control, or that it would be so easy. It just seemed to come naturally to her character.

"Mmmh," Faye groaned, rubbing her head against Morgan's hand and pawing at her knees. "Mm-hmm."

"Ask for it. I need to hear that you want it," Morgan said.

Faye took a few slow breaths before saying, "Please, shape me."

Morgan smiled and continued to rub Faye's head. With a gentle touch, she squeezed her ears, coaxing them into a rounder shape. There was enough leeway in Faye's costume to reinterpret her character. It was a black cat, but what kind of black cat?

Faye's chin thickened and her nose grew broader, stretching her muzzle into a blockier form. Her paws grew thicker and larger and stronger, resembling Morgan's more than a housecat's. Her joints creaked and groaned against the new, thicker muscle filling in along her frame, wrapped up in her silky black fur.

The new panther's back arched, chest thrust forward. With no clothes to constrain them, her breasts sat freely atop her chest, stretching out thicker and rounder, dragged forward by their own weight. Her arms lay at her sides, palms up, claws curled. With each heaving breath, her fur glistened, almost like Morgan's shimmering dress.

"Now that's a proper black cat," Morgan said. She stepped back and lifted a gloved hand to her lips, smiling to herself. "Up on your feet, dear."

Faye rose onto her paws, nearly as tall as Morgan now. The tiger witch wrapped an arm around Faye's waist and pulled her close. Her panther familiar started rumbling loudly, rubbing her head against Morgan's shoulder and chest and curling her long black tail around her.

"Now, be a good kitty for your mistress, and we can have some fun when the party's over," Morgan said, giving Faye's hips a squeeze.  Faye nodded wordlessly and kept rumbling.


It was ten in the morning on the first of November, and Morgan woke up in a bed he didn't recognize, laying next to a sleeping mound of black fur. The initial confusion washed away as he remembered Halloween night, the costume, the party, Faye...

He peeled back the sheets and looked down at the bits of his costume. It had been long enough since he'd put them on that they had finally come off. The mask and wig laid next to him; the high heels were tossed on the floor beside the bed.

His eyes traveled from the costume, to the sleeping panthress next to him, and then back. Morgan slipped the mask over his face, set the wig on top of his head, and slipped his feet into the heels. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he leaned back and started to purr as fur sprouted up thick across his chest.