Just A Cigar

A hyena gets enough confidence to own her new, enhanced looks. (Also, a penis. She gets that too.) Explicit.

The cigar was huge. At least an inch thick and seven inches long. Cam had owned dildos smaller than that. She dug it out of an old cigar box in the back of her closet, so old the green-and-gold paper had started to flake. A gold seal wrapped around the cigar near the base. It smelled not quite like tobacco; still heavy and imperious, but more spice than musk.

Cam wrinkled her snout. "Jesus Christ, that's big," she muttered. The cigar box she tossed over with the stuff she could maybe sell on Craigslist for rent money: a taped-up hockey stick and a portable CD player with blue crystal buttons. The cigar she held onto. Everything else from the bottom of her closet, the torn up shirts and used skateboard wheels and orphaned shoelaces, sat in the 'useless junk' pile.

With a sigh, she heaved herself onto her feet and went to hunt through the kitchen drawers for her lighter. The drawers were only a few feet from her closet, and that was only a few feet from her bed, which was pulling double-duty as her couch.

Cam was a hyena: big ears, scruffy mane, brown spots on her tawny cheeks, the whole package. Well, not the whole package. That had more to do with recessive alleles and testosterone levels and it was pretty rare anyway. Aside from that, she was the sort of lean, strong-shouldered girl everyone expected a hyena to be. She went by Cam because her real name, Camilla, just felt weird on someone like that.

She found her lighter hiding beneath the Wendy's forks in her silverware drawer. On the way to her bed, she kicked the designated smoking-in-the-apartment towel up against the bottom of the front door. She threw herself back onto the bed and just lay there for a little while, her paws dangling above the floor.

The cigar felt thick between her fingers. Wedging it between her teeth made it feel even thicker. Her fangs dug in and held it steady, its tip pointed out above her. She cocked her head to one side, lifted the lighter, and clicked it a few times. A soft flame bounced against the tip of the cigar until it glowed red.

Cam worked her lips around its base. She had to squeeze tight to get any kind of suction on the huge thing. After some fiddling, her puffs began drawing smoke into her mouth. It played along her tongue, swirling with spice beneath its thick weight. Once she had a full head of smoke, she plucked the cigar from her teeth and blew it all into the air above her.

A soothing shiver ran from Cam's forehead, back down her spine, and all the way to her tail. Her mane stood on end. It was as pleasant as being stroked, and as it washed over her, so did a sense of looseness. Her shoulders relaxed. Her eyelids fell half-way. The cigar found its way back between her lips, and she nursed it lazily.

Her free hand brushed back through her mane. Starting from its tip and spreading back along her scalp, her short hair grew. As it inched outward, its color became more distinct against her pelt: a dark mahogany brown, nearly black.

Cam breathed in. Tension built across her chest, tighter and tighter. She breathed out, and as she did, her breasts swelled forward, rolling out into her shirt. Her back curled upward as they grew, then sank back down against the sheets. The sudden rise was enough to pull her nipples stiff and taut. Cotton dragged across them and sent a tender twinge up her spine. Cam bit down on the cigar and sucked a sharp breath between her fangs.

Again the tightness grew as she breathed in. As she breathed out, a second surge of growth pushed her breasts outward against the front of her top. Their weight shifted on her chest. They sagged to either side as they grew, until large enough that her shirt grew tight and drew them back together. This time, her breathing stayed low and even.

Stiffness dissolved away all along her back, leaving just a lingering ache in her legs from squatting in front of the closet for so long. Cam kicked her feet up, holding them out straight, paws pointed and toes curled. The more she stretched her legs, the more her lean frame softened. Her thighs pressed together. Her skinny jeans pulled taut around her hips. She was balancing out: more weight on top, more weight on the bottom.

By now, her hair tickled her cheek. Under its own weight, her mane had slumped to one side, more like an undercut than the typical hyena mohawk. Her claws combed lazily through her hair.

While she puffed at the cigar, entranced, her bed shifted beneath her. The mattress folded in on itself and split into cushions, while the sheets shrunk into cream-colored upholstery. Her pillow popped into two, dividing into a pair of throw pillows propped against the rising armrests. As her bed rose into a proper couch, it pushed her up into a sitting position.

Cam's eyelids batted heavily. She reached up, pulled the cigar from her lips, and squinted across the room. Since when did she own a TV? Or a black wooden coffee table to prop her paws on, or a red Persian rug beneath it to protect the hardwood floors?

Wait a minute.

Cam shot up from the sofa. Her body wobbled in all sorts of ways she wasn't used to. Her heartbeat quickened and her head spun with surprise and excitement and embarrassment all at once. What had happened to her place? What had happened to her?

Looking for a mirror, she rushed into the bathroom and found that it had changed, too. Sure, it had her toothpaste and stuff on the counter, but the shower stall had extended itself into a full bathtub, complete with with embroidered trim on the shower curtain. The countertop had grown wider, as had the mirror. There were actual bath mats on the floor.

After a few moments of breathing deeply and trying to quell the dizzy feeling in her gut, Cam set the cigar down on the edge of the sink, stepped in front of the mirror, and turned to face her reflection.

The first thing she thought was: Oh god, I'm cute.

It was her new makeup that did it for her. Dark eyeliner, contoured around the corners of her eyes; a dusting of pale gold across her eyelids; a light touch of mascara to bring out her lashes. Her mouth hung half-open, and she could see her lower lip had grown plumper. She dragged her tongue along it and it felt invitingly soft. A small stud glittered in the corner of her left ear.

Cam turned in front of the mirror, examining herself from every angle. She brushed back her hair and leaned in close. She studied her chest from one side, then the other, then pulled her shirt up for a peek and had trouble getting it back down again. She stood on her tiptoes and twisted around, trying to get a good look at her hips. Her hands were shaking. She gripped the counter to keep them steady.

Under her fur, her cheeks were flushed and warm. Her eyes fell away from her reflection, staring at the sink, the smouldering cigar, her hands. Seeing herself like this felt too good, like a guilty delight. It was the same nervous embarrassment she got when she walked by a Victoria's Secret in the mall, or back in school when she'd spend a whole period trying to steal glances at a cute girl sitting next to her.

She'd always assumed that was just horny, but maybe there was a kind of longing there, too.

Cam met her own gaze in the mirror and blushed again. She shrunk back into her shoulders. Her hands fiddled with the hem of her shirt. She still felt guilty, though. She was a hyena. She was supposed to be tough and butch and cool. The fact that getting makeup and some tits was making her so excited felt really un-hyena.

Then she began to wonder: What if she smoked the cigar again? Part of her felt it was too risky. It had already altered her body and transformed her apartment. What else might it do to her if she kept going? (And how was she even going to pay rent on this place?) She ought to throw the cigar away and forget about it. That was one part of her. The other part, the one that felt queasy and excited when she looked in the mirror, didn't want to let this opportunity slip by. Sure, she looked cute now. But what if she could look beautiful?

Her hand hesitated above the cigar. Was she a hyena, or not? She thought about it. A hyena would be confident. Take what she wanted, and fuck anyone who gave her shit. She let out a nervous breath, then curled her lips and jammed the cigar between her teeth.

Cam leaned on the bathroom counter and fixed her eyes firmly on her reflection. Her plush lip wrapped around the bottom of the cigar and held it tight while she drew in smoke. Her eyes flickered and blinked. She kept puffing until sheer instinct forced her to breathe. Smoke blew from her mouth and blossomed across the mirror in front of her. She blinked twice. Her eyelids drooped low, but her jaw kept a tight grip on the cigar. Wisps of smoke curled from the corners of her mouth while her breaths came slow and easy.

The shiver passed over her again, from tip to tail. She slumped against her arms, keeping herself propped up on the counter. It was like being unwound---from tight to loose, bunched to free.

This time, her clothes were the first to change. With a soft snip as threads severed, her sleeves fell from her shoulders and unraveled into nothing. The fabric of her shirt flowed downward, as if pouring off her chest and shoulders. A new neckline formed across her chest, and thin straps looped over her shoulders. The rest of her shirt wrapped close around her waist and slid down to meet her rising jeans. Denim peeled back along her calves and thighs, climbing higher, blending with her shirt. As they merged, the colors rippled, shifted, and then settled on rich satin red. The hemline of her new dress settled just above mid-thigh on her legs.

Beneath her feet, simple black pumps formed, looping one strap around her ankle, another behind her toes, plus a leather sole with a few inches of lift to hike up her heels. Cam swayed for a moment on the new heels, then leaned forward to keep her balance.

Gradually, as smoke rolled from her lips, Cam's face was tugged and tweaked, as if she had an invisible stylist. Her eyeliner carefully contoured itself. Her eye shadow swept thicker around the edges of her eyes. Wrapped around the cigar, her plumpening lip shone with fresh clear lip gloss. Her eyebrows were smoothed and corralled. From her dark snout to her speckled cheeks, her fur was brushed to a sleek softness.

Vacantly, she brushed a few stray bangs back behind her cheek. Her mane eased out longer by the minute. By the time it stopped, her hair hung just past her jaw with a smooth glow like varnished chestnut. The stud in her ear glimmered, then drooped and expanded into a small golden earring, with its twin now hanging from her other ear.

Fresh smoke rolled from her lips as she breathed out. The mounting pressure against her chest broke, and her breasts swelled outward again. They pressed forward, squeezing into the cups of her new dress, and filling them tight. They were soft, and warm, and heavy enough that she'd be making good use of her lean hyena's build.

Cam adjusted her grip on the counter. She tipped her neck one way then the other, rolled her shoulders, and twisted her hips. Pops and snaps rose from her joints, small jolts that dissolved into pleasant looseness. Bit by bit, she grew taller, rising to six feet...six foot one, six foot two... The change was subtle, but counting her heels, she was at least a half-foot taller than before.

With her mind wrapped up in a spice-tingle haze, she was only half-aware of what she was doing. So she didn't think too much about her free hand drifting down, running along her smooth satin dress, tugging up the hem, and sliding her fingertips beneath the black lace panties which had, until very recently, been briefs.

Her tail wagged behind her back while her unconscious mind guided her fingers. She panted; the cigar nearly slipped from her teeth. With a quick push of her tongue and tug of her lip, she shifted it to the corner of her mouth against her cheek. Waves of warmth washed over her lower body, and with each wave, her hips thickened and her ass filled out. Her figure was less modest, more eye-catching. Small slits split her dress along each side of her hips, to help accentuate her long, sculpted legs.

While Cam kept herself occupied, her bathroom reorganized itself around her. The shower head slipped back into the wall, then emerged again as its own walk-in shower stall, separate from the widening jacuzzi. White tile became polished faux-marble, and her towels doubled in both number and fluffiness. The counter in front of her populated itself neatly with cosmetics and brushes for both hair and fur, and even a nicer brand of toothpaste.

Cam's eyes fluttered, blinked, and then fell open. As she rose back to her senses, she realized that she was fingering herself. Reluctantly, she lifted her hand away and tugged her dress back down. She plucked the cigar from her lips. It settled comfortably between her knuckles.

Looking into the mirror set her heart pounding again. Excitement overflowed into a fang-filled grin, framed by her plump lower lip. She tossed her hair, swung her hips to one side then the other, squeezed her cheeks, hefted her chest in both hands, and spun around to wiggle her tail through the hole in her dress. She was curvaceous, poised, a little salacious---in a word, beautiful.

The only thing better than how she looked was how she felt. She'd never realized before how self-conscious she'd always been. With that weight lifted from her shoulders, it seemed almost silly how much she'd worried about what other people thought. Why should she need anyone's approval? She was a hyena; she got to decide what that meant for her. If that meant looking great and wearing hot dresses, everyone else would have to deal with that.

Cam cleared her throat and rubbed at her neck. Feeling like something had changed, she leaned toward the mirror and said, "Hi, I'm Cam." Her voice felt soft to her ear, less nasal, more of a purr than a growl. Even the sound of her nickname didn't quite fit. She tried again: "Hello, I'm Camilla." Hm, that felt nice. And while it usually bothered her to hear it, somehow her full name just fit. "It's a pleasure to meet you," she added, drawing out the word so it dripped off her tongue. Ooh. She could certainly cope with that.

This all would take some explaining to her friends, though. And thinking of friends, would the cigar work on other people? She might need to sort out rent first. Though with this body, and her new confidence, she felt like she could walk into any interview and get the job on charm alone. Not to mention she would look fantastic in a blouse and pencil skirt...

Maybe she ought to lie down first.

As natural as her new body felt, there were many things she'd need to get used to, heels among them. One hand steadied herself on the bathroom wall while she took a few careful, teetering steps, then walked out of the bathroom with a delicate stride. When she wobbled now, she felt it all over, especially in her chest.

With her hand grazing along the wall, Camilla emerged into the living--err, whoops, the hall. The hall that led to the living room, past which which she could see a small dining table with enough seats for four, and a granite countertop separating it from the kitchen. As she turned toward her bedroom, she wondered if she had a new address now, or if her whole apartment block had gone upscale like hers had, or if this whole suite was somehow wedged inside her old building.

Beyond the door to her bedroom, Camilla was greeted by a plush, queen-sized bed, stacked with pillows and draped in linen sheets. She walked up to the side of the bed, turned on her heel and tossed herself back onto the mattress. It caught her like a cloud, her arms spread and her feet sticking out over the edge.

"Oh my," she sighed. This was wonderful. She felt wonderful. It would take time to adjust, and more time to figure out what exactly had happened, but for the moment, she was content just to kick back and enjoy herself.

Oh, that was odd. She noticed the cigar was still sitting between her fingers. She was sure she'd put it down. She lifted it toward her face so she could see it. The tip was still glowing. The gold seal glinted in the light from her curtained windows. She bit her lip. Just get up and put it down. There might even be an ashtray next to her bed.

Camilla didn't get up. She wanted to know what would happen next. She was already beautiful, but what if she could be gorgeous?

She wrapped her lips around the cigar and sucked down smoke. Little groans slipped from her nose. Her body bobbed on the sea of sheets. She couldn't have made it more Freudian if she was trying. When she couldn't hold it in any more, she breathed out. The smoke billowed up into the air, into curls and eddies that dissipated into a dreamy haze.

The shiver washed over her, less like one single stroke and more like a wave of massage rolling down her back. Camilla groaned luxuriously and her eyes batted once, then slid shut completely.

Again her clothes were first to change. The neckline of her dress flowed lower, sinking across her cleavage until tip of the V touched the bottom of her chest. The thigh-length hem fell lower, while the slits at either hip rose higher until they reached her waist. Both back and front hung freely, draped across her thighs, giving plenty of space to show off her bare hips. If she stood, the bottom of the dress would now nearly touch the floor. Sleek, glossy fingerless gloves rolled up across her arms, from her palms up to just above her elbows. Beneath her feet, her polished black shoes curled and grew---straps thickening, sole rising and heel narrowing to a five-inch stiletto.

This time, the changes worked deeper on Camilla's face. They pulled and tweaked, fluffing her cheeks, smoothing out her chin and snout, slimming her nose, and giving her lip an extra shot of plumpness, to bring out her pouty look. Her makeup shifted; not thicker, but more artfully applied, giving her a heavy, sultry gaze. Lipstick as rich as red wine rolled across her lip.

Her hair spilled out across her shoulder and fell against her chest. She reached up to brush back her long, straight locks, tucking them over her shoulder. The tips of her hair slipped down her back until they nearly reached her waist. The gold rings in her ears shimmered, then melted into dangling gold chain earrings studded with fiery diamonds.

Camilla's back arched as her chest began to swell. Unlike before, there was no tightening and release; now it was a constant, growing pressure inside of her, pressing outward from her chest. Laid out on her back, her breasts had slipped to either side of her, but now as they grew, they rose up: firmer, rounder, and less natural. The neckline of her dress crept dangerously close to indecency as it filled with her cleavage. Finally, the growth came to a halt, and the pressure subsided into an ever-present weight against her chest. She eased back against the bed with a smokey sigh of relief.

Camilla stretched her arms above her head and straightened out her legs. More small pops ran along her limbs and down her back. Her body stretched taller bit by bit---six foot four, five, six. Her claws curled into the sheets slipping by beneath her as she grew, freshly filed and painted with rich red nail polish.

A deep, pulsing sensation centered between her legs throbbed through her lower body. Her thighs squeezed together. One hand slipped down, sliding beneath the front of her dress. Even in her new body, muscle memory took over as her fingers slipped back between her folds.

Her hips rolled. Her ass thickened beneath her. A grunt left Camilla's nose, followed by a puff of smoke between her teeth. She bucked again, harder this time. Pounding picked up in her ears, thudding all the way through her body, from her heart to her head to her pussy. Her lips curled. She jerked her hips. The bed rocked beneath her. Her eyelids began to flutter open. She didn't think she'd ever felt this wet. Or...tight. Like something was...

One last violent thrust of her hips, and a shaft sprung free with so much force it threw the front of her dress aside and knocked away her hand. Her eyes jolted open. She scrambled to sit up. She found herself staring down at a thick, dark cock jutting long and stiff from her crotch.

"Oh, dear," Camilla said. The sultry tones of her voice had thickened to the point that everything came out as a lavish purr.

The new cock throbbed. Trying to keep it still, not thinking what she was doing, she grasped the base of the shaft. The sudden squeeze made her hips jerk and a groan spring from deep in her throat. A bead of something slick rolled across the tops of her fingers.

Her eyelids fluttered. Her head pounded. Between her legs, tucked comfortably into her black lace lingerie, were her balls. They were flooding her body with more testosterone than it knew what to do with. She gnawed on the butt of the cigar and squeezed her fingers around her cock and thrust her hips again. Hormone-drenched thoughts sparked and crackled in her head.

It took all of Camilla's presence of mind to force herself onto her feet, down the hall, and into the bathroom. She stumbled into the shower stall and propped herself against the wall. By then, her instincts were taking over. Her hips thumped against her fist. Her fingers tightened. Another throb brought more slick fluid dripping from her cock.

She growled; even her growls had a refined, suggestive lilt. Her muscles strained. Her claws dug against the tile. The shaft throbbed heavily and drooled onto the floor beneath her. Her tail quivered and the fur along her back bristled and her toes dug against the soles of her shoes. She slammed her palm against the wall and snarled out loud. Her cock pulsed in her hand, teetering on the edge for a few aching moments before her cum spattered down the marble tiles.

After finishing herself off and cleaning up, Camilla returned to her bedroom much-relieved. The pounding need to fuck had eased. While her libido still ran hot, she felt in control of herself again. Her bed looked even more inviting now, but before she shucked her clothes and slipped under the covers, she wanted to get a proper look at herself. Plus, she'd found a full-length mirror next to her walk-in closet.

Camilla guided her dress with her hands as she turned to one side, then the other. She swayed her body to watch the satin dance across her spotted hips. The straight line of her dress draping down her legs only accentuated the curves of her figure, as if they needed it. Up above, the edge of her dress sat so low and snug against her chest that it may as well have been hung from her nipples.

It would take some time before she got used to the new weight of her breasts, not to mention their size. They were large enough to fill her chest and hang proudly in front of her. She lifted them from underneath, testing their weight against her palms, then cupped and squeezed her fingers around them. Implants, just as she suspected, though in the end she didn't mind. She thought her tits looked fantastic, and the only person she needed to please was herself.

Camilla turned sideways to examine the profile of her chest, brushing her hair back over her shoulder like a curtain. Her heavy, sultry gaze met her reflection's. She winked and pouted her thick crimson lip as if blowing a kiss. Even with everything that had changed, the same brown spots speckled her tawny cheeks. She was still herself.

Though she hadn't expected to wind up quite so posh, she couldn't deny it was a strange delight to hear herself speak. She found herself playing up her lavish voice, not out of compulsion but simply because she felt it suited her now; a new voice for her new self.

Having a penis was the largest adjustment she'd have to make. Tucked snugly into her panties, she could almost mistake the bulge of her shaft as one of the draping folds of her satin dress. She had no worries about hiding it, though. She didn't care who knew she had a dick. As far as she was concerned, it was a point of pride.

As for the cigar itself, she had put it out in the ashtray on her nightstand. She didn't feel terribly tempted to use it again, which she took as a good sign. Still,there were a good five inches of cigar left. If someone else wanted to use it... Hmm. She would have to ask her friends, and see if anyone was interested.

Once she figured out where her cell phone was. And if they were still friends with her. And how all of this worked, and whether the cigar had changed her history too or only her present, and where her apartment actually was, and just what exactly was going on, but those were questions for another time.

For now, she slipped off her heels and slid out of her dress, tugged her gloves off, and took out her earrings. Before climbing into bed, she took one more look into the mirror, and smiled.